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that.”
    “Is that gun loaded?”
    Silently, she emptied the bullets on the desktop, each one thudding against her desk calendar.
    Images of her alone with that kid sent his biceps twitching. “Cokeheads have a strength even bullets can’t always stop. What if he’d taken the gun away from you?”
    “He didn’t, and if he’d inched even one step toward me, I would have shot him in the kneecap. Everyone around here knows I don’t back down. He wouldn’t have come in at all if he knew I was still around.”
    “Part of me applauds your bravado, and another part wonders if you still have a death wish.”
    Her head jerked up. Her face paled so white, her freckles stood out in darker contrast.
    Why the surprise? Everyone had known how reckless she was back in the day.
    Only for her father would he put himself through the mind game torture of dealing with this woman.

    Don Bassett rammed his Beemer into fourth gear, plowing down side streets, still a couple of miles away from the Cleveland Community Center. Vince’s text message had come through just as he was checking out Shay’s empty apartment.
    He’d been annoyed that she wouldn’t pick up her cell phone, but she frequently ignored it when the suicide hotline was busy. Or if she was indulging in one of her two-hour-long hydro soaks in a bubble bath.
    And just that fast, the past backhanded him.
    The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Only a memory, but one seared in his brain until it blocked out the soothing smell of well-oiled leather seats. He’d bitten a chunk out of the side of his tongue when he’d found teenage Shay in the bath, arm draped over the side, slashed wrist bleeding all over the floor. A horror they’d kept from everyone except Shay’s doctors.
    He steadied his breathing until the cool blasts from the air conditioner snaked through. God, he preferred staying busy and numb. He refused to believe his daughter was involved with terrorists. Even so, somehow she’d still landed in their crosshairs.
    Changing from lane to lane around slower drivers cruising a club strip, he thumbed the four on his cell phone, speed dialing to . . .
    “Special Agent Wilson.” Her voice clipped through the airwaves.
    “Bassett here,” he answered even though she had to know it was him from the caller ID.
    Rustling sounded in the background, like sheets tangled around legs. “I’m assuming you have a good reason for waking me up.”
    “My daughter didn’t show for dinner and wasn’t answering her cell. Given current circumstances, we got worried.” He blew through a red light. “Deluca just found her at the clinic.”
    “She works there, so that’s no surprise,” she answered, her voice still raspy from sleep.
    “Shay was in the middle of a break-in.” He roared past a string of half-crumbling old factories. “It appeared to be a drug-seeking teen.”
    “Appeared?” Her voice cleared, all business.
    “I don’t have much in the way of details. I’m on my way over, but the police will probably get there first.”
    “I’ll look into it.”
    She’d damn well better. “The sooner the better.”
    “I should have answers by the time you return to D.C. You’re taking the red-eye flight back, right?”
    “That’s the plan.” His jaw unclenched as he felt more in control of his world again, enough so he could allow himself the pleasure of envisioning Special Agent Wilson with her auburn hair flowing unbound to her naked waist. “I appreciate this, Paulina. Will you be at the airport, or should I take a cab?”
    “Oh, I’ll be there, all right.” Her voice went from professional to husky as fast as his pants throbbed. “Pink will be the color of the day.”
    Nothing turned him on more than plucking free the pins from her severe bun and watching her hair tumble over her breasts plumped upward in a merry widow.
    A beep sounded. Call waiting. “Sorry, babe, but I’ve got someone on the other line. See you tomorrow.”
    He checked the LCD