“How’s your wound?” I asked, mesmerized with his mouth and the incredible things it could do to a simple palm.

The intense look that landed on me was so powerful, it took my breath away. “Better than other parts.” His voice, deep and rich, felt better than the warm water that had been rushing over me moments earlier.

Since I didn’t have an ETA on the hand he’d taken captive, I dropped the shower curtain and grabbed a towel with the other. His head tilted to the side for a better look.

“One of the men on the list you gave me was found dead this morning. Murdered.”

He thought a moment, then wrapped my hand into one of his and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Farley Scanlon,” I continued. “You might have warned me good ole Farley was psychotic.”

“He was a friend of Earl Walker’s. I’d have thought it apparent,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, your faithful dog was on your ass the whole way, right?”

I pulled back my hand and wrapped the towel around me. “How did you know that?” I thought a moment, then stared in astonishment. “Are you following me?”

He stepped back to the vanity and crossed his arms over a wide chest. “I thought he was following you.”

“He is, but it’s not his fault. Garrett’s following orders.”

“Garrett’s following you,” he said, casting me a glance from underneath his dark lashes. When I pressed my lips together, he acquiesced. “Fine, then whose fault is it?”

“Yours, actually. Why do you think he’s on my ass? And you show up here? You’re lucky you haven’t been arrested yet.”

“Your boyfriend’s not out there,” he said, gesturing with a nod of his head. “That other guy’s hardly a threat. He’s asleep in his car.”

I rolled my eyes. Garrett really needed to screen his applicants better.

“And what the hell were you thinking, getting into that car?”

“That was you in the shadows?” I should’ve known. I really should’ve. “Are you just begging to get caught? Because I can call my uncle right now and we can be done with this whole thing in a blink.”

“I have no intention of getting caught. How was he killed?” he asked, changing the subject midstream.

“Tragically.” I grabbed another towel to dry my face.

“Was his throat cut?”

I froze. How did he know that? “Yes.”

“With what?” he asked.

“Probably something really sharp.” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Is that what he does?” I stepped out of the shower, and Reyes’s gaze wandered to my lower extremities.

“That’s what he does,” he said without looking up.

“I thought Earl’s MO was to bash people in the head.”

“Only when he has an ulterior motive.”

“He’s tying up loose ends, isn’t he?”

“Don’t go back there,” he said, lifting a corner of the towel.

After slapping his hand, I asked, “Where? Corona?”

He’d grinned when I slapped his hand. “Yes.”

I took the towel and tried to sop up the dripping water from my hair. “I have to. The sheriff wants to talk to me.”

He snagged the second towel from me, draped it over my head, and started to rub, his hands kneading, massaging. He moved closer, and I couldn’t help but take hold of the jacket he was wearing. For stability purposes.

“Don’t go,” he said again, only this time it sounded more like an order.

“I’ll take it under consideration.”

“It’s not a suggestion.”

What was it with men and their belief they could order me around? I pushed back the towel and leveled a hard stare his way, trying to decide if I should clock him. I did owe him one, though I rarely had a steel pipe or an eighteen-wheeler on me when I needed one. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I poked his chest with an index finger to emphasize my point.

He paused, his jaw tensing visibly, but to his credit, he didn’t say anything else. He probably knew payback was a cold hard bitch and ever so slightly overdue.

“You look tired,” I said, grabbing the towel, “and you need a shower.” I turned and left him standing in the bathroom, the disappointment in my loins palpable. Five minutes later, the shower came on.

I dressed in a pair of nice jeans, a caramel button-down, and a killer pair of wraparound Dolce & Gabbana pumps with a low heel that looked part boarding school rebel and part naughty librarian. It tickled me to know that Cookie salivated every time she saw them. I had a wicked cruel streak.

Reyes emerged from the bathroom in wrinkled yet clean clothes and a smooth jaw. His hair hung in wet clumps around his face.

“Better?” he asked, stuffing his dirty clothes in a knapsack.

“Yes, but you still look tired.”

His brows rose playfully. “Have you looked in the mirror?”

He was right. I looked horrid. Self-induced insomnia was hardly attractive.

He laughed and surveyed every inch of me. After dropping the knapsack, he stood straight, his long arms at his side as he watched me unblinkingly. “You should come here,” he said, his voice velvety smooth, beckoning.

It was an invitation that I felt deep in the pit of my stomach. He stood there, all noble and godlike and otherworldly, and before I could say no, I took a minuscule step toward him.