in a stray dog—a dog she now adored. So what? He was polite, mannerly, dressed well and had his own proper persona. It meant nothing, and she should realize that.
Yet from what he’d seen so far she had great instincts.
The type of instincts usually honed in the field.
When she’d agreed to let him sleep on her couch, he’d thought to use the time alone with her in her apartment to do some in-depth talking. His curiosity about her was extreme, almost as sharp as his attraction.
But once she’d made up the couch for him, he’d sat down and exhaustion had all but pulled him under. Their talk had stalled.
Then.
Now he had all the time in the world. Or at least for the rest of the day. “Alice—”
“I should take Cash out. Again.” She smiled at the dog with consuming love. “We both know he’ll only hold it for so long.”
She had the prettiest, sweetest smile—when she smiled. Not that she seemed to know it. Hell, if it wasn’t for his dog, or the carnage in his apartment...
Remembering the carnage, the very reason for being on Alice’s too-small couch instead of his own spacious bed, Reese groaned.
Alice paused in her attentions to Cash. “Are you okay?” She inched closer. “Did you get hurt yesterday?”
“I’m fine.” But frustrated. Yesterday, in the culmination of a lengthy investigation, a damn parade had trooped through his apartment. Friends, suspects and heinous thugs. Murderous thugs. Thugs so ugly, their souls were surely black and decrepit.
Rowdy Yates, a “witness”—what a joke that had turned out to be—who should have been in protective custody, instead had gone to Reese’s apartment to snoop. Alice had recognized that Rowdy was up to no good and had called Reese. He’d gotten to his apartment only minutes before his lieutenant also showed up.
They’d all been taken unawares by the lowlifes, and while a gun stayed on Rowdy, Reese and the lieutenant had been handcuffed to the headboard of his bed. That he and the female lieutenant butted heads more often than not made it an especially unpropitious situation. Lieutenant Peterson hadn’t taken it well, and his efforts to shield her had been met with much resistance.
Instead of getting the protection afforded all witnesses, Rowdy had ended up a target for death. He had abilities, which included breaking into Reese’s apartment to snoop, but against two gunmen set on executing him? The odds had not been with him. If they’d killed Rowdy, they would have next turned those guns on Reese and the lieutenant.
Without Alice’s help, there would have been several dead bodies in his apartment, instead of just one.
And hell, one was bad enough. It wasn’t easy to get death out of the carpet, curtains and off the walls.
Fortunately, sensible Alice had assessed the situation and sent in Reese’s good friend Detective Logan Riske as backup. Because Logan possessed a lethal skill set unique to only a select few, he’d gotten the upper hand—but not before taking a bullet to the arm.
Chaos had reigned for a couple of minutes, all but destroying Reese’s bedroom. In the end, they’d apprehended one gunman and another man who’d played lookout at the front of the apartment building.
The worst villain Reese had ever known had died from a broken neck. Never again would he threaten anyone.
Reese eyed Alice with renewed interest. At the tail end of the bloody melee, not long after Reese had been freed from the cuffs, Alice had shown up in his apartment with a big gun held in her slender, delicate hand.
She was a good judge of character, but then, so was he. And in his gut, Reese knew his straitlaced, often silent, skittish, timid and sexy-as-hell neighbor would have used that gun with fatal precision.
It made his blood run cold and ramped up his interest in her and her past. So many unanswered questions. He knew Alice was good with his dog and that he liked her. He definitely knew he wanted to get her under him.
But so far their relationship had been so odd, he didn’t even know her last name yet. Alice...something or other.
Insane.
She inched closer still—just as she had in his dream.
“You have some dark bruising.”
Reese followed her concerned gaze to his wrist and saw the ugly marks there, testament to how he’d tried to free himself from the key-lock metal cuffs—his own friggin’ handcuffs—that had been used against him.
“It’s fine.” Never had he felt more helpless than when he’d been in those restraints, knowing that his own