Mountain Shelter. Cassie Miles

got her seated and followed her inside. The minute he closed the door, Mason drove away. Safe!

      “Seat belt,” he said to her. “Mason, do you know the door we’ll enter at the medical center?”

      “Northeast corner.”

      “That’s near my office.” She opened her purse and started digging. “I have a key card to use on that entrance.”

      “It’s handled,” he said. “We downloaded the hospital floor plan and figured out your routes to and from the OR and your office. Detective Cisneros arranged for key cards and necessary identifications since I’m carrying a concealed weapon and can’t go through scanners.”

      For the first time since he’d met her, Jayne seemed to be impressed. Usually, he didn’t care if the clients noticed that TST Security did a solid, professional job, but her opinion was important to him. He liked Jayne and wouldn’t mind getting closer to her. After this job was over, he’d like to get close enough to pick out her wild undies.

      “What are we going to tell people about you?” she asked. “If I introduce you as my bodyguard, I’ll have to explain a thousand times why I need guarding.”

      The thought had already occurred to him. He didn’t consider himself a master of disguise, but he was capable of fading into the woodwork as a computer nerd and—thanks to Mason and his bodybuilding workouts—Dylan could expand his narrow frame enough to look big and tough. Today, he was wearing a tweed sports coat, jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail at his nape.

      He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. “I think I can pass as a professor.”

      “Interesting thought,” she said as she studied his look. “You do have an academic look, but you’d need a whole background story. Somebody would catch on.”

      “I could be a boyfriend.”

      Her full lips drew into a circle. “No, no, no, no, no. I don’t want to start that rumor. Besides, we don’t let friends and family into the OR.”

      “Much as I’d like pretending to be a neurosurgeon...” He actually would enjoy playing that role. The brain fascinated him. “I don’t think your patient would appreciate that disguise.”

      “Or my insurance carrier.”

      “I’ve got it,” he said. “I’ll be a journalist doing an article on America’s hottest neurosurgeons.”

      “Oh, swell, and doesn’t it bother you to reduce the schooling and talent it takes to become a neurosurgeon to an article about physical attractiveness?”

      “I’ll be a regular old journalist. My catchphrase will be—don’t pay any attention to me. I’m here to observe.”

      “Perfect.” Glancing toward the driver’s seat, where Mason sat stoically behind the wheel, she lowered her voice. “Do you really think I’m hot?”

      “You sizzle, Doc.”

      At the medical center, a sprawling complex at the edge of Denver’s suburbs, he rushed her through the side door and up one flight of stairs. From studying the floor plan, he knew exactly where her second-floor office was located. It spoke well of her status that she had her own small office space with a door that closed. Not much larger than a walk-in closet, the room had one floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, a desk with a chair and two other chairs for guests.

      From his web research, Dylan recognized the man who had taken the swivel chair behind her desk.

      Jayne stopped short and glared. “Hello, Dad.”