Bulletproof Hearts. Brenda Harlen

were there?”

      “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not a state secret or anything.” But her flippant response didn’t stop the questions that swirled through her mind. How had he known? Could he have followed her after work one night? She wouldn’t have realized if he had—she’d never set eyes on him before last night. But if he had, why?

      “But it’s not common knowledge, is it?” he persisted.

      “No,” she agreed hesitantly.

      He stood abruptly. “I’m going to check into this.”

      She just nodded and watched silently as he moved to the door Hawkins had slammed shut a short while before.

      It was late when Dylan finally left the police station that night. Glancing toward the D.A.’s office, he noticed there was a light on in one of the main-floor offices. Natalie’s office.

      He paused, car keys in hand. He should go home, cook some dinner, put his feet up on the coffee table, watch a ball game. But his house would be dark, empty.

      He glanced toward her office again—watched her silhouette through the window as she pulled her chair away from the desk and sat down. Her hair fell forward to curtain her face as she studied the papers on her desk.

      He imagined brushing the hair away from her face, the silky strands sliding through his fingers. He could practically smell the lemony fragrance of her shampoo, the same scent that had brought her image to mind as he’d walked through the produce section of the grocery store earlier.

      He turned away from his car and toward the D.A.’s office. If the door was locked, he would go home. He had no reason to interrupt her work.

      No reason except that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her all day. Even as he reviewed surveillance reports and witness statements, she was there—lingering in the back of his mind, haunting him. There were secrets buried in the stormy depths of her eyes. And scars. He recognized both—not just because he was a cop, but because he had plenty of his own.

      He pulled on the handle of the heavy glass door, and it opened.

      He thought again of Beth—of everything they’d once shared, everything they’d lost. Because of him. It was his job to serve and protect, yet he’d failed to protect the woman he loved.

      His life had changed with her death. He still went through the motions of working and living, but it was as if he existed in an emotional vacuum. Nothing got past the wall he’d erected around his heart—no one had even come close.

      Until now.

      Which was just one more reason he should stay far away from Natalie Vaughn. He had no interest in opening up his heart again. And he was terrified by the possibility that he might fail someone else.

      As he expected, the outer office was deserted, silent. He heard Natalie’s voice in the distance, followed the sound toward her office. He could see her through the narrow opening of the door, the receiver of the phone tucked beneath her chin as she typed away at the keyboard of her computer.

      “I just have too much work to do.” There was an edge of frustration in her voice, as if she’d already made this explanation numerous times. “Please try to understand.”

      There was a pause as she listened to the response of whoever was on the other end of the phone. She stopped typing and the corners of her mouth curved upward slightly. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Me, too. And I’ll see you on Friday, Jack. I promise.”

      Dylan stepped back from the door, trying to interpret what he’d overheard of the conversation. Who was Jack? A friend? A lover? Definitely someone she still had ties to. But if she was involved with someone in Chicago, why would she have moved seven hundred miles away?

      And why did the possibility that Natalie was involved with someone else fail to diminish the attraction he felt?

      He shook his head, annoyed by the irrationality of his own thoughts. He turned away, determined to walk out the door, away from her. But as he turned, he felt something crunch beneath the heel of his shoe. He winced and glanced down at the offensive instrument—a now broken No. 2 pencil.

      “Hello?”

      He stepped forward, through the door of her office. “It’s just me.”

      “Oh.” Natalie frowned, obviously surprised to see him.

      “I was leaving the station and saw your light on,” he explained. “What are you still doing here?”

      She smiled wryly. “I haven’t been fired yet.”

      He chuckled. “I meant, why are you still in your office at seven o’clock on a Tuesday night?”

      “Because I have a ton of work to do.” She gestured to the stack of files on her desk, sighed. “Since John Beckett has decided not to fire me—at least, not yet—and since I no longer have the Merrick trial at the end of the month, he’s given me several more cases to deal with.”

      “Probably so he could go home early.”

      “That’s the whole point in having subordinates, I guess.”

      Dylan shook his head. “You know what they say about ‘all work and no play’.”

      “Sure. All work and no play means I’ll keep my job another day.”

      He smiled. “I really don’t think Beckett will fire you. Other than your ill-fated decision to visit Merrick’s apartment, your work has been exemplary.”

      “How would you know?”

      “It’s a small town,” he reminded her. “Word travels.”

      “Thank you, I think.”

      “Besides, that position was vacant for quite a while,” he told her. “If Beckett gets rid of you, he’ll just have to advertise and interview for the position again. I can’t imagine that’s something he’d look forward to.”

      “I’d like to think that he’ll keep me on because of my work, not because it would require too much effort to replace me.” She pushed away from the desk and moved to the bookcase to retrieve another text.

      She rolled her right shoulder, clearly trying to alleviate the tension. He stepped behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened at the contact, slowly relaxing when his fingers started kneading the tense muscles.

      It had been an instinctive gesture, not unlike what he’d have done for one of his sisters. Except that, as soon as he touched her, he realized his mistake. Natalie Vaughn wasn’t his sister, and the way his body was responding to hers wasn’t remotely brotherly.

      She moaned softly, almost inaudibly, but the sensual sound tortured his imagination. Would she moan like that while making love? Would she scream with the pleasure of her release? He focused his gaze on the textbooks, concentrated on reading the titles rather than fantasizing about what he couldn’t allow to happen. Objectivity, he reminded himself again.

      “I didn’t see Richardson in his office,” Dylan said, referring to the other A.D.A. Conversation, he decided, would stop her from making those sexy little sounds that were driving him insane.

      “Greg’s been here longer than I have,” she said. “Besides, he has a wife and family to go home to. There’s nothing waiting for me in my hotel room except the television.”

      And a big, wide bed. Which was definitely not something he should be thinking about right now.

      “If you’re going to work late, you should lock the door,” he advised. “You never know who could walk in.” And if she’d locked the door, he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be touching her, wanting her and torn between longing and guilt.

      “I’m waiting for a delivery,” she told him.

      “Dinner?”

      She nodded, evoking