“That’s if this place is even the right place, and if the trucks you saw were carrying the cargo we’re looking for, and if that even matters because this is out of my hands now and on a different pay grade entirely.”

“You ever going to tell me about the deal?” Parker asked.

She was quiet so long he wasn’t sure she was still there. “Hello?” he asked.

“You always know what I know,” she finally said. “Or you’ve guessed.”

“He’s going to give up the militia,” Parker said.

“The big cheeses. All of them, and some of these guys have been wanted for years.”

“And in return?” he asked.

“He walks.”

Parker let that soak in a minute, but no matter how he looked at it, it sucked for him and his team. “Walks,” he repeated. “As in goes scot-free? Which agency is he doing this deal with?”

Nothing from Sharon.

Keeping his cool right then was just about the hardest thing he’d ever done. “What about Ned? Where’s the justice for his death? Jesus, Sharon, this isn’t fair to—”

“—Nothing about life is fair and you already know that. And there’s a lot about this deal that neither of us knows.”

He was shaking his head even though she couldn’t see him. “He can’t have died for nothing,” he said.

“He didn’t. But right now, you have no choice in this matter, Parker. If Carver catches wind of you in the area, you’ll spook him and we all lose.”

“No, the other agencies lose. Our agency is already up shit creek without a paddle since we had to give him up.”

“Don’t do anything without talking to me first,” she said. “I mean it, Parker. If you so much as—”

“Got it,” he said, and sensing the conversation was about to deteriorate even further, he disconnected.

And then he turned off his phone. She could kill him later. Much later. He tossed his phone down and realized he had three sets of eyes on him. Or more specifically on the peanut butter toast he hadn’t finished.

“Mew,” said the gray kitten.

“Mew,” said the tabby kitten.

“Woof,” said Oreo.

“Hey, I already fed all three of you beggars,” he said just as his laptop pinged an incoming e-mail from Amory:

Parker! Loved the pics, send more! And guess what? It’s next week now so what day will you be here? I want to put it on the calendar! I tried calling you but it went right to voicemail. You busy? OMG, maybe you’re already on your way here!!!!!!!!

Well, hell. Parker e-mailed her back, making sure to tell her that he was not on the way yet but that he’d let her know when. As he hit send, Zoe staggered into the kitchen in another skirt and blazer that made her look like a million bucks, heading directly for the coffeepot.

“Bless you,” she said when she found he’d already made the coffee.

He waited as she guzzled the caffeine, and in less than a minute the cobwebs had cleared from her pretty eyes. It was fascinating to watch. She was fascinating to watch. He’d heard her come in at three thirty in the morning and had gotten up to check on her. By the time he’d walked down the hall, she’d been facedown on her bed and out cold. He’d pulled off her shoes and covered her up.

She hadn’t budged.

Cradling the mug now, she leaned back against the counter and stared at him like he was a puzzle and she was missing a few of his pieces.

Or maybe that was just how he felt looking at her.

“I heard you on the phone,” she said.

“Did you?”

“Told you, thin walls.” She sipped more coffee. “Same woman?”

“Yes,” he said. “My boss.”

“And?” she asked with a false casualness.

He took a closer look at her. Was she . . . jealous? Interesting concept, and one he realized he enjoyed the thought of way too much. “And nothing,” he said. “She’s a pain in my ass and I return the favor. She’s currently pissed off about the Carver thing.”

“Carver?”

“That’s the guy I’m looking for,” he said. “Tripp Carver.”

She blinked.

“What?” he asked.

“That name sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve flown a Tripp Carver.”

He went still. If so, it was proof positive that Carver was really here, or at least proof he had been. “Recently?”

She shook her head. “I’d have to check the logs.”

He didn’t want to spook her, or ask her to do anything that would compromise her, but Christ. She’d flown the guy? He thought of everything that could’ve gone wrong and felt his gut clench tight.

“I didn’t have any problems,” she said. “Or I’d have remembered. The name just sounds familiar, is all.”

“Okay,” he said, not wanting to make a big deal of it and scare her. “But if you remember details, I’d be very interested in hearing them.”

She nodded and refilled her cup.

Not wanting to push, he changed the subject. “You’re not in your pj’s this morning,” he noted, vividly remembering yesterday morning. Hell, the remembering had gotten him through an entertaining shower just twenty minutes ago.

“Disappointed?” she asked.

“More than you know,” he said, and watched the flush cross her face. Good. Now she was remembering it, too, the feel of his hands and mouth on her. Her expression remained calm, but the pulse at the base of her throat began to race and gave her away.

In that moment he wanted more than anything to lay her back on the counter or the floor or whatever surface was closest and finish what they’d started.

“Are you going to get yourself in any trouble today?” she asked.

“No,” he said. He’d already gotten in as much trouble as he could. Not that he planned to bother her with that information.

She looked at him for a long beat and then shook her head.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She turned away from him and picked up the gray kitten at her feet, nuzzling her to her cheek.

Parker stood and moved toward her. He took the kitten and gently set her down. Did the same for her mug. Cupping Zoe’s face, he tilted it up to his. “What?” he said again.

She hesitated. “Listen, I know we’re living in the moment and all that, and I get it. We’re not really friends and you’re not really on vacay. A job is a job.”

“You think you’re a job to me?” he asked.

“No. You were a job to me. I flew you, you paid. Just like what I am to you is a convenient place to stay.”

Maybe that had been the case in the beginning, but things changed. “I’m more than a job,” he said, well aware of the irony of what he was saying.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then what do you call when I had my mouth on your—”

She reached out and put her fingers over his mouth, giving one slow, serious shake of her head, though her eyes looked like she was fighting a shocked laugh. “That was a . . .” She appeared to struggle to find the right words. “I’m not going to call it a mistake,” she finally said. “Because nothing that feels that good could be a mistake.”