Sinfully Sweet. Carrie Alexander

The two men pressed closer, their faces leering. The older one reached for his gun. She let out a squeak and slammed the door shut.

      They pounded on it, shouting at her. “Lady—open up!”

      “Put the gun away first,” she demanded. “I don’t believe in guns.”

      Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Devlin crack a small smile.

      The cops made complaining noises, but they conceded, stepping back from her door with their hands hanging at their sides. She stared through the peephole for several seconds, then reopened the door. “What’s this about?”

      The older one spoke. He had a deep voice, a craggy face and a big gold watch on his wrist. “A violent criminal is on the loose in the neighborhood. Have you been home all evening, ma’am? Have you seen or heard anything suspicious?”

      “I—” She pressed her tender lips together, wincing at the pain. Devlin crowded her, guarding the door, but keeping just out of sight. “I was sleeping.”

      The cop ran his eyes over the narrow slice of her that was visible through the gap in the door. “In your clothes?”

      She gave a shamefaced shrug. “It was a long day, Officer…?” She squinted. “Can I see those badges again?”

      “So you haven’t seen a man? About six foot, brown hair, leather jacket and, uh, black jeans? He’s got a scar, here—” The gray-haired cop drew a finger above his upper lip and something in his eyes made her wary of him. The gesture seemed gloating, even depraved. She struggled not to glance at Devlin for reassurance.

      Reassurance? Well. That settled it. She hesitated for only a second before answering. “No. Absolutely not. I haven’t seen him.”

      “Can we come in and look?” the second guy said. He smiled. He was handsome, but the smile was oiled, as if he practiced it so frequently it slid across his face with no effort or sincerity. “A woman like you, alone in a ground-floor apartment…” He tried to peer past her into the hallway. The smile flickered, then went out. “Could be dangerous.”

      “I’m fine,” she said. “Completely alone. But thank you for the concern.”

      “All right, ma’am,” said the other one. “You be sure to keep a lookout.”

      “I’ll call the local precinct if I see him,” she said. “This, uh, criminal you’re after.”

      A worried expression passed over the face of the taller cop.

      The other simply nodded. “We’ll be in the neighborhood for a while, if you need us.” He swung around to leave, then turned back, drawing a filmy square from his pants pocket. “By the way, is this yours?”

      She looked at her scarf. “Why, yes. Where did you find it?”

      “Here in the lobby. By the door.”

      “I must have dropped it on my way home from work,” she said.

      “It’s damp.”

      She reached a hand through the crack in the door. “Yes. The rain, you know. I’m surprised one of my neighbors didn’t pick it up.”

      He gave her the scarf. His face was closed, but suspicious, she believed. “Be careful, ma’am. You’re a nice lady, I can see.” He glowered. “You don’t want any trouble.”

      Her pulse stuttered. Was it a warning? A threat?

      Devlin pressed against her so close she swore she could feel his heartbeat. She narrowed the door another inch.

      “I will be careful, thank you, Officer. I hope you catch the, um—” She stopped, swallowing nervously. “What’s he done, anyway?”

      “Just about everything,” the older cop said, looking at her with lidded eyes that were as flat and expressionless as a lizard’s. “Murder, theft, assault…you name it. The guy we’re after is no lightweight criminal. He’s an ex-con. Rotten to the core. You don’t want anything to do with him.”

      2

      DEVLIN EXPECTED Mackenzie to scream, fight, run. Instead she calmly said goodbye to the “officer,” then closed and secured the door, turning locks and sliding bolts with a certain steady resolution. Snick, chunk, chunk.

      She turned to face him. Her eyes were huge and glistening. Her lips were puffy, deepened in color to the bright pink of arousal. She kept touching the raw red spot at the corner of her mouth with her tongue.

      Guilt over hurting her threaded through him, but he ignored it. She was a big girl. She could take it.

      Her expression had become mulish. She was finally getting ticked by his high-handedness. “All right, now, Devlin. No more lies. I want to know why you kissed me.”

      What? He almost laughed. That was what she asked? “Not who I killed?”

      “Did you? Kill someone?”

      “No.”

      “And the other charges?”

      He dropped his chin a notch, ran a hand through his wet hair. His entire body ached, but he was trying to seem unworried, as if he had no concerns over trusting her with his life when he was beginning to realize that Mackenzie Bliss had changed. She wasn’t as reliable as she used to be. Nor as meek.

      “Guilty,” he said.

      She sucked in a gasp. “You’ve been in prison.”

      “Yes.”

      “And you’re in trouble again.”

      “Yes.”

      “And you—” her tongue flicked over her lip “—you came to me.”

      “Only because I knew you lived in this area.” And I was running for my life.

      “So I’m a convenience.”

      “One night,” he said. “That’s all I need.”

      “What happens in the morning?”

      “Not your concern.”

      “Argh.” Making an irritated sound at his stonewalling, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the door. He wanted to stay there and keep looking at her—keep an eye on her, that was—but Sloss and Bonaventure might still be lurking outside. If he was lucky, they hadn’t seen which building he’d entered and were going door-to-door up and down the entire block, as Mackenzie had suggested.

      Devlin went into the living room and checked out the front window, parting the moss-colored velvet drapes the smallest sliver. Sloss and Bonny were standing on the street, arguing. Sloss would win, but Bonny wouldn’t know it until tomorrow. He was more concerned with dabbing at the watermarks on his hundred-dollar silk tie.

      Sloss took out a cell phone and had a brief conversation. Devlin knew what the command from their greedy boss, Boris Cheney aka Fat Man, would be: get the ruby back from Devlin by any means necessary. Sloss was the man for the job. Even the most drastic method wouldn’t cost him a wink of sleep, though he didn’t look happy about the long night ahead as he flipped up his phone. He and Bonny waited for a delivery van to go by, spraying rainwater from its wheels, before stepping off the curb. Sloss stopped to fish something out of the gutter, but Devlin couldn’t see what had interested him. Bonny had already sprinted across the street and was buzzing apartments on the other side, trying to get into another building. That was good. They hadn’t pinpointed his location.

      Devlin watched until they disappeared inside. There was always some idiot occupant who’d let a stranger in just to stop the buzzer noise from disturbing their TV program.

      He turned. Mackenzie was there, waiting, curled up in a big, plush armchair. She’d wrapped her arms around herself to contain her shivering. Cursing the unexpected tenderness she made him feel even