The community hated her. She’d lost her job before she’d even started.

This was hardly the first case where she’d bucked popular opinion. Her whole family was devoted to serving justice. Her entire life she’d been raised to respect the law. Those who didn’t obey it deserved to suffer the consequences. She’d spent years doing her best to put criminals behind bars. This case was no different. The police had arrested the wrong man. A killer was still out there, and Nick was in intensive care, maybe dying, because of their mistake.

She thought of Nick playing chess with her grandfather or blowing bubbles for the girls on the front lawn and couldn’t reconcile those images with a boy on the brink of death.

Not fair. Not fair. Notfairnotfairnotfair.

Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. She tipped the glass and took another mouthful of whiskey. The taste mellowed on her tongue, and her thoughts grew fuzzy.

“I know you’re hurting tonight, but whiskey isn’t the answer,” Lance said. “I should know. I tried that route last winter. Made everything worse.”

Morgan sipped. Alcohol might not be the answer, but frankly, she was out of ideas. “Then what is the answer?”

Would Nick still be alive in the morning?

He hadn’t done anything to deserve what had happened to him. Morgan couldn’t believe he could intentionally hurt anyone. “Do you believe Nick is innocent?”

“I’m not convinced he’s guilty,” Lance said. “But I don’t think we’ve found the truth yet.”

“Is my judgment skewed? Do I just want him to be innocent so badly, I’ll do anything to prove it?”

Warmth bloomed on her skin. Setting her glass on the counter, she pulled away from Lance’s touch and took off her suit jacket.

“I don’t know.” Lance took her arms firmly in both hands. “But whatever happens, none of it was your fault. You’ve already given me serious doubts about the DA’s case. We’ll solve this case. We will find Tessa’s killer.”

“Even if Nick . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

But Lance understood her. “Yeah. Even then.”

Her palms landed on his shoulders. Though he wasn’t 100 percent convinced Nick was innocent, she should be glad to have him on the investigation. She needed someone close by who was objective. Someone to keep her in check.

Tomorrow. She’d think about the case tomorrow.

Right now, the last thing she wanted was to be in control. She wanted to blot out all her thoughts and simply feel. The whiskey helped. She leaned closer and inhaled the cedar scent of his skin. Rising onto her toes, she settled her mouth on his.

With all of the things that felt wrong in her life, this wasn’t one of them. His mouth tasted of mint. She delved deeper, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. She needed more. Skin. His skin. Up against hers.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt.

Her hands slipped under the fabric and up the hard muscles of his back. He was solid and so utterly, deliciously male. The more she touched, the more she tasted, the more she wanted. She opened her eyes. His had gone deep blue, the want in them stealing her breath as he returned her kiss with equal heat.

His fingers grasped her hips and pulled her against him. A groan slid from deep in his chest, and a hard length pressed against her belly.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind warned that she wanted this particular man far too much and that the heat building between them was spiraling out of control.

She silenced it by sliding her hands between their bodies to caress the hard ridges of his abdomen. He hissed, his entire body stiffening.

Lance eased back, his hands taking hers and pulling them out from under his shirt. “Let me make you some tea and maybe something to eat.”

“I don’t want a cup of tea.” She curled her fingers into his T-shirt. “I want you.”

Pure need flashed in his eyes. He wanted her back. He squeezed his eyes closed for a few seconds. When he opened them, the desire had cooled. “You don’t know what you want right now.”

“Don’t tell me what I want.” Frustration flared in Morgan’s belly, thick and hot, two years of grief and pain finally edging into anger. Why was the world so damned unfair? She’d had a man she’d loved with all her heart ripped away from the family who needed him. How did she let go of that?

There was another man in her life she could love, and he was standing right in front of her. And damn it, she did want him.

She closed her eyes, leaned forward, and pressed her forehead to Lance’s chest.

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I can’t explain your feelings, but I know mine. We both know what would happen tonight. This would become a way for you to exorcise your demons. We’re friends, and I care about you. You’re a beautiful, amazing woman. Making love to you would be a religious experience. Any man in his right mind would jump at the chance to share your bed. But I won’t have our friendship tainted by this. I won’t be something you get out of your system. I won’t be someone you regret.”

Sure, she’d felt some attraction from him, but never the depth of emotion she’d seen in his eyes tonight.

Tonight, everything had felt different, more intense. Was it just because of the stress of the day or were their feelings real? Lance was right. They shouldn’t make such an important decision under this much stress.

He was working hard to make the right decision, and she was being selfish.

“I’m sorry. You’ve done so much for me, and I just keep asking for more.” She leaned back, shame washing through her, wiping out the effects of the whiskey. “I’m just so tired of not letting myself feel anything.” She pulled out of his embrace.

“I know.” He pulled her close again. “And I’m sorry.”

Reluctantly, she stepped back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Only because he’d stopped her.

She rubbed her arms, missing the heat of his body. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Not at all. Do you want some clothes to put on?”

“That would be great.”

Lance led her into a guest bedroom. “There’s a shower in the hallway bathroom. Towels are under the sink. The sheets on the bed are clean. Call me if you need anything.”

I need you.

But the words died on her lips.

He brought her a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “These have a drawstring.”

She took the clothes and showered. No matter how hot she turned the tap, she barely felt the water on her skin. She felt numb from the inside out.

Whiskey was not her friend.

The shirt hung to mid-thigh and the drawstring barely kept the shorts on her hips. Dressed, she slipped into the guest bed, setting her gun on the nightstand. But sleep wouldn’t come. She stared at the ceiling until the first gray streaks of dawn brightened the sky. Then she slipped out of bed. She stuffed her gun into her purse, stepped into her shoes, and left the house.

The sky turned pink as the sun peered over the horizon. She encountered no other humans on the six-block walk to Sharp Investigations where her van was parked. She grabbed the change of clothes she’d started keeping in the back since the incident at the crime scene. Taking the key for the building Sharp had given her out of her purse, she approached the front door. She’d change before going home to see her girls. It would be hard to explain why she was wearing Lance’s clothes.