“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.

“Holy shit!”

We both turned to Cookie. She’d stopped short just inside the door.

Amber ran into her backside. “Mom,” she complained, stepping around her only to be brought up short as well. She eyed Reyes as if he were a rock star. “Wow.”

I concurred, but these were not the best circumstances for them to meet the escaped convict hiding out in my apartment. “Cookie, can we go back to your place a minute?”

She fought visibly to tear her gaze off Reyes. She lost. It stayed locked on to him like a laser-guided tracking system.

“Cookie?” I said, walking up to her and nudging her out the door.

She blinked and, realizing what she’d been doing, blushed prettily. “I’m so sorry,” she said, nodding to Reyes and hurrying back to her apartment with Amber in tow.

“Mom, wait,” Amber said, not ready to abandon the local attraction.

“Get your backpack, honey. I’ll drive you to school.”

“Can’t I just stay?” she asked, craning her neck to see more.

Once we were back inside their apartment, Cookie sent Amber after her backpack, then rested a look of astonishment on me. “Holy shit, Charley,” she said, her voice a quivering whisper, “that was Reyes Farrow.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. He just sort of showed up.”

“I think I had an orgasm.”

A hiccup of laughter escaped before I could stop it. “You just looked at him.”

“I know. Have you seen that man’s shoulders?” she asked, and I chuckled again.

“Yes, I have. Don’t worry, you’ll get the feeling in your legs back soon.”

“And his forearms. For the love of god, who knew forearms could be that sexy?”

“It happens to the best of us.”

“He’s just so—”

“I know.”

“And, so—”

“I know that, too. It might be a ‘son of Satan’ thing.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

I helped her to a sitting position on her sofa.

Amber rushed back in. “Can I snap a picture of him on my phone before I go to school?”

“School.” Cookie glanced up at me, a worried expression lining her face. “I’ll talk to her on the way.”

I felt so bad. This wasn’t their fault, but I just couldn’t have Amber talking about Reyes with her friends. Who knew who might be listening, who might make the connection? “I’m so sorry about this.”

“No.” Cookie stood up. “It’s not your fault. I’ll take care of this.”