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  She was small. Maybe five-four to his six-one. Wavy black hair that fell well past her shoulders. Slender to the point of being too skinny. Mid-twenties.

  Gorgeous.

  Steve forced his eyes away, although his body stayed attuned to her.

  She didn’t belong here—he had already summed that up in just a few moments. Not here in a tiki bar where the patrons were either on vacation or trying to just relax on a Sunday evening.

  She wasn’t wearing some flirty skirt or shorts and tank top or any of the modes of dress that bespoke enjoying herself on a Florida beach in mid-May. Not that there was anything wrong with how she was dressed: khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt. No flip-flops for this black-haired beauty, or any other type of sandals. Instead she wore athletic shoes. Plain. White.

  Her bag was also too large for a casual outing or catching a couple of beers for an hour or two. And clutched too tightly to her.

  This woman looked ready to run. From what or to what, Steve had no idea.

  Steve had been out of active agent duty for the last ten years. His job now was behind a desk on most days. A big desk, an important one. But a desk nonetheless. He didn’t need to be an agent in the field to know the most important thing about the woman who’d just walked into the bar: she was trouble.

  Since trouble was the very thing he was trying to get away from here in flip-flop Florida, Steve turned back to his beer and wings. Back to the game.

  But as he finished his food, he found his eyes floating back to her.

  She was obviously over twenty-one, so it was legal for her to be here. If she wanted to take off in a hurry—with her oversize tote-type bag—as long as she wasn’t doing anything illegal, it was her own business.

  She didn’t want to buy a drink—he noticed that first. But as the storm lingered, then grew worse, she obviously knew she’d have to or else go back out in it. She ordered a soda.

  She sat with her back to the wall.

  She tried not to draw attention to herself in any way.

  She was scared.

  Steve finished one beer and started another. He flexed his flip-flop-enclosed toes.

  Not his monkeys. Not his circus.

  This woman was not his problem, but he still couldn’t stop glancing her way every once in a while. She barely moved. Unfortunately, Steve wasn’t the only one whose attention she had caught. Just about every guy in the place was aware of her presence.

  At first men waited and watched. Was she meeting someone? A husband? Boyfriend? When it became obvious she wasn’t, they slowly began circling. Maybe not literally but definitely in their minds.

  Then some began circling literally.

  A couple of local boys who had been here since before Steve arrived—and had been tossing beers back the whole time—worked their nerve up to go sit next to the woman. She didn’t give much indication that she was interested, but that didn’t deter them.

  Since the baseball game was over, someone turned on the jukebox and a few couples were dancing to some Jimmy Buffett song. One of the guys stood and asked the woman to dance but she shook her head no. He reached down and grabbed her hands and tried to pull her to a standing position, obviously thinking she was playing hard to get.

  Steve could read her tension from all the way across the bar, but the guys talking to her obviously couldn’t.

  He should leave now. He knew he should just walk away. The boys weren’t going to get too out of hand. As soon as the woman put them down hard, they would leave her alone.

  She was trouble. He knew it. He should go.

  He sighed as he put money on the bar for his meal and began to walk toward the woman and the two men who were now both trying to get her to dance. He hadn’t become the director of one of the most elite law enforcement groups in the country by walking away from trouble.

  He stepped close to the first local guy, deliberately invading his space. The way the guy was invading the woman’s.

  “Excuse me, fellas. The lady doesn’t want to dance.”

  “How do you know?” The other guy snickered. “Are you her dad?”

  The woman’s eyes—a beautiful shade of blue that stood out in sharp juxtaposition against her dark hair—flew to Steve’s. She winced in apology at the crack about his age.

  Steve was probably fifteen years older than the woman. Not quite old enough to be her father, but probably too old to be anything else to her.

  “No, not her father. Just someone old enough and sober enough to realize when a woman is uncomfortable.”

  “She’s not—” The guy stopped and really looked at the woman then—the way she was clutching her bag, discomfiture clear on her face.

  “The lady doesn’t want to dance,” Steve said again.

  The local guy and his buddy released the woman, murmuring apologies. Steve stepped back relieved he wasn’t going to have to make some show of strength. He could’ve. Could’ve had both men unconscious on the ground before they were even aware what sort of trouble they were facing. But the guys hadn’t meant any harm.

  Steve nodded at the woman as the locals walked away. He didn’t step any closer or try to talk to her. His flirting skills were rusty at best and this lady obviously wasn’t here to scope out men. Steve turned to make his way back to his seat only to find someone had already taken his place.

  Looked like it was time to go.

  That was fine. It wasn’t like Steve had any grand plans for his evening here in the tiki bar. He began walking toward the door.

  “Thank you.”

  He heard her soft voice as the black-haired beauty’s hand touched his arm. Steve stopped and turned toward her.

  He smiled. It felt a little unpracticed. “I don’t think they meant any harm, but it was no problem.”

  “There was a time I would’ve let them both have it, but I just don’t seem to have it in me lately.” She looked a little surprised that she was even talking to him.

  She was skittish, scared. She’d been that way since the moment she’d walked in. It made him want to wrap an arm around her, pull her close and tell her to take a breath. He’d protect her from whatever demons she was trying to fight.

  It surprised him a little that he felt that way. His entire life had been spent helping people, first as an FBI agent, then as he was recruited into Omega Sector. But usually he was more at a distance, less personal.

  He already felt personal with this woman and he didn’t even know her name.

  “I’m sure you could’ve handled them. I just was doing my fatherly duty.”

  She snorted and humor lit her blue eyes. “Father, my ass. You’re what? Thirty-nine? Forty?”

  “Forty-one.”

  “Oh. Well, he should’ve said grandfather, then.”

  Her smile was breathtaking. Steve couldn’t stop himself from taking a step toward her. “I’m Steve Drackett.”

  She shook his outstretched hand. He knew the thought that a flash of heat hit them both as their skin touched was both melodramatic and sentimental. Steve was neither of those things.

  But he still felt the heat.

  “I’m Rosalyn.”

  No last name. He didn’t press. It was just another sign she was trouble, but Steve somehow couldn’t bring himself to care.

  “Can an old man buy you a drink or something?”

  She studied him hard as they finally released hands. They were halfway between the bar and the door. He honestly wasn’t sure which way she’d choose. To stay with him or to leave.

  She ended up choosing both.

  “May I ask you something?” She slid her tote more fully onto her shoulder. She had to step a little closer so they could hear each other over the noise in the bar. He found himself thankful for the chaos around them.

 
“Sure.”

  “Are you some sort of psycho? A killer or deranged stalker or both?”

  She asked the question so seriously Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Nope. Scout’s honor.” He held up his hand in what he was sure was an incorrect Scout salute. “I’m an upstanding member of society. Although you know if I was a crazy killer, I probably wouldn’t answer that question honestly.”

  She shrugged, her eyes back to being haunted. “I know. I guess I just wanted you to tell me so I could see if I would believe you.”

  “Do you?”

  She smiled so sadly it damn near broke his heart. “I think so. Or maybe I just don’t care anymore. And to answer your question, yes, you can buy me a drink. But let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Three

  Rosalyn knew her actions bordered on reckless. Even if she hadn’t known she had a deranged stalker following her every move, leaving a bar with a man she’d just met would still have been pretty stupid.

  He’d laughed—in a kind way, but still obviously thinking she was joking—when she’d asked if he was a killer or crazy. But like he’d said, no true villain would give her an honest answer about that.

  Actually, she believed the Watcher would. If she ever met him face-to-face and asked him outright if he was her stalker, she believed he might actually tell her.

  Steve Drackett wasn’t the Watcher. He might be an ordinary garden-variety psycho, but he wasn’t the psycho she was desperately attempting to escape right now.

  And in that case, she was willing to take her chances with him.

  She looked up at him as he led her to the door. He had joked about being a grandpa but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. His brown hair might be graying just the slightest bit at the temples, but that was the only sign whatsoever that he wasn’t a man fifteen years younger. His green eyes seemed kind, at least to her, but the rest of his face was hard and unforgiving. Stark cheekbones, strong chin. Definitely not a pretty face but very much a handsome one.

  His body was well honed—the black T-shirt Steve wore left no doubt he was in excellent physical shape. His khaki shorts were quite appropriate for a bar in Florida on a May evening, but she doubted it was what he normally wore. She was positive the flip-flops weren’t.

  “If you’re not a psychopath, what do you do, Steve?” she asked as they walked out the door. Humid air from the coast blasted them. The storm had moved out to sea, but dampness still hovered everywhere, a sure sign another storm would be coming.

  “Present occupation is beach bum. I’m here on vacation from Colorado.”

  They walked down the steps. “Mountains. Nice. I’ve never been there. Are you a bum there, too?”

  He hesitated slightly before he smiled. “Worse. Management.”

  He didn’t want to tell her what he did for a living. Okay, fair enough. She hadn’t told him her last name.

  Of course, she was doing it for his own safety.

  “Are you from around here?” Steve asked. “Do you have a bar you’d suggest?”

  She didn’t want to go to a bar. Not somewhere the Watcher could hear them, see them.

  “How about a six-pack and walk on the beach?”

  He smiled down at her. “That might break some open-beverage-container laws, but I’m willing to risk it.”

  Rosalyn didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting when she’d left the bar with Steve, but the next few hours were not it.

  They bought their beers and sat alone, where no one—not even the Watcher—could possibly hear them.

  And they talked. About everything and nothing.

  He told her about his wife—his high school sweetheart—who had died in a car accident twelve years ago. About places he’d traveled. Even a little bit about his job, that he was a manager in some sort of division office and how he sometimes felt more like he was babysitting than anything else.

  Rosalyn was vague without being dishonest. She told him she had a mother and sister but wasn’t close to either—an understatement. She told him a little about her college years and her job as an accountant. When he made a joke about the size of her bag, she told him she never went anywhere without it. Told him she was taking some time off, traveling around a little bit, trying to “find herself.”

  She somehow managed not to laugh hysterically as she said it.

  Steve was a good listener, a friendly talker. He never made a move on her or made her feel uncomfortable. He seemed to be both completely at ease but at the same time completely surprised at their continued, comfortable conversation.

  He obviously didn’t spend a lot of time picking up strangers at a bar.

  At some point deep in the night—it had to have been nearly four o’clock but Rosalyn wasn’t sure—it began to rain again, gently, but enough that they couldn’t stay here on the beach any longer.

  It looked like her reprieve was over. She needed to make her way back to her car. Maybe she’d catch a couple hours of sleep in it—the thought of being out in the open like that made her skin crawl, but what choice did she have? She was out of money. A hotel, even a cheap one, was no longer an option.

  She stood and Steve got up beside her, helping her. She smiled at him. “Thanks for hanging with me. It was nice to have a peaceful night.”

  “Been a long time since you had one?”

  She was tempted to tell him about the Watcher. To share while they had complete privacy. But knew she couldn’t. Some middle-management guy from some business in Colorado couldn’t remedy this situation.

  “Seems like it,” she said instead.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  She looked up at him. He was a nice guy. A nice, hot, utterly delectable guy. For the hundredth time that evening she wished she had met Steve under different circumstances.

  “I’m fine. But thank you for asking.” She smiled, trying to make it as authentic as possible. Trying not to think about the darkness that hovered all around them that she would have to face alone in just a few minutes.

  As if the weather could hear her thoughts, it started raining a little harder.

  He touched her gently near her elbow. “I need to tell you something I probably should’ve mentioned earlier but couldn’t figure out how to do it without coming across like a jerk.”

  She braced herself for bad news. “Okay.”

  “My beach bungalow is about two hundred yards that way.” He pointed up the beach. “It’s a ridiculous room. Some sort of romance package. My colleagues at work chipped in and got it for me.”

  She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. “Oh.”

  “You’re welcome to come in. Get out of the rain. No expectations or anything like that.” He shrugged, the awkwardness on his tense face adorable. He obviously didn’t want her to feel pressured. “The peaceful night doesn’t have to end right now.”

  Rosalyn looked out at the darkness again. She knew what waited for her there. Fear. Isolation. Panic.

  Steve reached up and tucked a damp strand of her hair behind her ear. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to talk her into it or put pressure on her in any way. Just stood silently, letting her know he was there if she wanted to go with him but he was fine if she didn’t.

  The lack of pressure, more than anything, helped her make the decision.

  “Okay, just for tonight.”

  She couldn’t take a chance and let the Watcher find her again. Find Steve.

  He smiled and took her hand. They began to run through the sand toward his room. Like he’d said, it wasn’t far.

  The oceanside bungalow was nice inside: sort of what one would expect for the romance package on the beach. A king-size bed with a teal bedspread and canopy roof. A couch and chair over in the reading-nook section.

/>   And a huge heart-shaped Jacuzzi tub in the far corner.

  Rosalyn looked over at Steve, who grinned sheepishly.

  “You failed to mention the giant heart-shaped Jacuzzi in the middle of your room.”

  Steve laughed. “I wasn’t sure if it would work in my favor or against me.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t supposed to be on your honeymoon here or something?”

  Steve laughed again, crossing to the bathroom to grab them both a towel to dry off from the rain. Rosalyn set her tote bag down on the chair in the sitting area.

  “Honestly, I just booked a normal room in the hotel section. When I got here, I found out I had gotten an upgrade—thanks to my colleagues chipping in. I’m sure they scoped out pictures and knew exactly what they were getting for me. Including the huge roll of condoms.” He rolled his eyes, gesturing to the sparkling box on the nightstand. Rosalyn couldn’t help but laugh.

  “It’s nice that they like you so much.”

  Steve shrugged. “They like to get rid of me for a week, that’s for sure. And a not-so-subtle hint to come back more relaxed.”

  She had no doubt Steve was well respected, a good man. Guilt over the danger she was putting him in washed over her.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” He saw her face and walked over so he was standing in front of her. He put his thumb under her chin when she wouldn’t look at him. “Do you regret coming here? Feel uncomfortable? If so, I can give you a ride wherever you need to go.”

  She didn’t regret coming. She wanted to stay. Wanted more than just the safe haven Steve was offering.

  She wanted him.

  He looked so big standing in front of her. So able to take care of himself. Not someone who could be taken by surprise by someone else.

  But she knew the Watcher didn’t play fair. He’d taught her that.

  “No, I’m not uncomfortable with you. The opposite, in fact. I just—” She stopped, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t explain. Couldn’t take the chance.

  “What?” he asked gently.