Relentless. Jan Hambright

      “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She sat stiffly in the seat next to him.

      “Give me the papers.” He pulled them from her hand and opened the envelope. She directed the beam of light onto the document.

      Mick studied the paperwork, giving the bank in Dallas authority to reclaim its property by any means necessary. As much as he hated to admit it, she was telling the truth, but he’d check to see if she had a record.

      “I’d like a copy of these.” He folded the papers and shoved them back into the envelope.

      “Can do.” She flipped the switch on the flashlight, plunging the interior of the car into darkness.

      Mick waited for his eyes to adjust in the weak light from the porch bulb.

      “Why do you have it in for me Officer Jacoby?” Her voice was soft and low, matter-of-fact.

      His nerves twisted around his hatred. “I have it in for anyone who’s broken the law.” He’d forced the words out. Did she know how much he wanted her to be guilty? Only her court order was going to protect her tonight. “Looks like you’re in luck.” The CSI team van made the corner with its lights flashing.

      She was out of the car before he could finish his sentence. Mick climbed out from behind the wheel and closed the door. They met in front of the Bronco. “I’ll be on your doorstep tomorrow morning. You better be there.” He wanted to slap the cuffs on her right now and chain her to the nearest tree, but he hesitated.

      “You can plan on it, Officer.” He searched her angelic face for a glimmer of deceitfulness, but it was his heart that told him she would be there in the morning, waiting.

      The CSI van slowed and stopped, followed by a string of other vehicles.

      He waved her off, stepped aside and watched her climb in behind the wheel.

      “Jacoby, you responsible for this mess?”

      Mick turned around as Callahan climbed out of the van and walked toward him. “You know me. If there’s a crime, I’m there.”

      Callahan slapped his shoulder and smiled. “I like your attitude. Sure you won’t come back to homicide? We could use you.”

      “No. I had all of that I could take.”

      “I understand. Let’s have a look.”

      Mick took him up the stairs and pointed out the pool of blood at the back of the hallway. “I’d say there’s a body somewhere.”

      Callahan shined the beam of his mag light onto the large red stain. “Good-size volume. I’d have to agree. I’ll get the team in here. We’ll let you know.”

      Mick felt his body sag and sat down on the top step. His head throbbed and he tried to fight off the shakes.

      “You okay?”

      “No.” He watched Kate’s taillights disappear around the corner. Five years’ worth of mental compensation had just been spent in forty-five minutes. Five long years of a search that never ended, a search for the car thief who’d killed his wife and daughter during a boost, and never looked back. The rumor was it had been a Robear behind the wheel that night. Was it her? Was she the one?

      “Call me a ride out of here, Callahan. I need a gurney.”

      “You’ve got it, buddy.”

      KATE STEPPED OUT of the shower, coiled her hair in a towel and slipped on her bathrobe. She’d let the water needle her skin for twenty minutes, but she still felt like a zombie. Even a couple hours of REM sleep hadn’t been enough to erase last night’s confrontation with Mick Jacoby. Maybe the attraction she’d felt toward him was only imagined.

      The buzz of the doorbell, followed by a couple of loud knocks, pushed into her brain. Tiptoeing to the door, she looked through the peephole. The focus of her thoughts stood on her front porch. She jerked back. He was even more sexy in daylight. She’d known he’d come around to talk to her, but 7:00 a.m.?

      She took a deep breath, undid the dead bolt and swung the door wide. “Good morning, Officer.” Her cheerful attitude didn’t bring an iota of change to his solemn features, grayed by lack of sleep and blood loss, she guessed, but he was still the best-looking male she’d seen in too long. His formidable self couldn’t change that.

      “It could be.” He moved past her into the house and stopped in the middle of the living room with his back to her.

      Kate closed the door and watched him size up the place. His silence and lack of visual contact annoyed her, but the full-on backside view of Officer Jacoby made her heart beat faster.

      “Shall I lift the cushions so you can check for stolen cars?” Scurrying to the couch, she lifted the center cushion. “Nothing here. Maybe I keep them under the rug.” She stomped her bare foot a couple of times and pulled in a breath as he turned toward her and leveled a stare on her with eyes she guessed never missed a thing.

      “Look, Ms. Robear. I didn’t come here to search the place…um, your…”

      Heat radiated into her cheeks and she felt her face redden as his all-seeing gaze slid down the front of her robe. Reality along with the feel of air on exposed skin made her draw a sharp breath. She squeezed the gaping lapels together. “I’ll throw something on.”

      She hurried from the room, alarmed by the tingle his stare had provoked. She certainly wasn’t a prude, but neither was she ready to provide a peep show for a cop.

      Closing her bedroom door, she leaned against it. Why was it he always seemed to be judging her? She had the impression he’d dealt with her car-stealing family. Every cop in New Orleans had. He probably thought all Robears were created alike. Born to boost cars and chop them up for fun and profit.

      Well, she took cars legally these days, and if it took every ounce of her persuasive power to convince Officer Jacoby of that, then so be it.

      Moving away from the door, she picked out a pair of jean shorts and a plain white blouse and put them on. There was no denying Mick Jacoby was a looker, but he was also a man on a mission—something she’d be wise to never forget. But she had a mission, too. Keeping the Beamer and the five-thousand-dollar bonus that went with it. She composed herself and went back into the living room.

      He stood in the same spot where she’d left him. She took a second to appreciate the thigh-hugging black jeans molding the outline of his quadriceps. His maroon T-shirt was pulled tight over washboard abs and bulging biceps hooked to shoulders as broad as the liberties she mentally took with his physique. She’d bet he could tell her how many tiles there were on the ceiling of the local gym.

      Looking away, she swallowed and tried to put distance between her thoughts and the situation. Cop. Cop. Cop. Drilled in her mind.

      “How did you do at the hospital last night?” She tossed the question over her shoulder while she moved into the kitchen and scooped coffee into the filter, filled the reservoir and turned it on.

      “A single piece of buckshot. I’ll live.”

      Unsatisfied with his answer, she turned around. “How bad?”

      “A fraction lower and you’d have hauled me to Dallas.”

      Nibbling her lower lip, she studied him. He was tense, as if standing in her living room made him uncomfortable. She couldn’t have that. “Why don’t we sit down?” She’d be doing herself a favor if she was on her best behavior. “I’ll pour us a cup of coffee and we can talk.”

      She hoped he’d position himself on the sofa and relax a bit, but he pulled out a chair at the dining-room table. All business. Her business.

      Mick settled into the wooden ladder-back chair, complete with a blue checked seat cushion. If Kate Robear was a car thief, she had to be the best disguised one he’d met. Her small house had a homey feel to it. From the floral sofa to the pictures on the walls, the place held her sultry