He grimaced. Bulky Kevlar and a long-sleeved shirt. In August. Freaking fantastic. I’m going to roast to death before any bullet has a chance to do me in, he thought sourly as he pulled his T-shirt off over his head.

The sharp rap of knuckles was the only warning he had before his door cracked open. ‘Marcus?’ Gayle said, sounding tense.

He spun, putting his back to the wall behind him. All he needed was for Gayle to see the bruise on his back, which was huge and dark if his current level of discomfort was any indication. ‘Not—’

The door pushed all the way open, leaving Gayle holding the outer doorknob and glaring at Scarlett Bishop, who shoved past her and stopped cold.

‘She wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ Gayle said furiously. ‘She is the rudest woman I have ever met. Stone isn’t here. Should I call 911 and have her removed?’

Scarlett hadn’t said a word in her own defense, because she was staring at Marcus. Specifically she was staring at his bare chest, making him want to preen.

But he didn’t, of course, keeping his dignity intact – at least on the outside. ‘It’s okay, Gayle. Leave her alone. And please close the door.’

With a dark glare, Gayle complied, slamming the door with more force than necessary. The sound jerked Scarlett out of her deer-in-the-headlights trance. She turned around quickly, but not before he saw her cheeks turn tomato red.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest. ‘I . . .’ She blew out a breath. ‘Are you decent yet?’

‘Of course,’ he said, grinning when she turned to find him still shirtless. He spread his arms wide, letting her look her fill. ‘I am far from indecent. I show a lot more at the beach. Besides, you barged into my office. Again. Would have served you right to find me buck naked.’

The red in her cheeks spread to cover her entire face. ‘Do you plan to get dressed anytime soon?’ she asked stiffly, making him want to chuckle. ‘Because I need your help.’

Instantly he was sober. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, shoving his arm into the sleeve of the vest. The other sleeve eluded him, though. His back was so sore that reaching behind him had become a problem.

‘Nothing bad.’ She approached briskly, taking over the task of putting him into the vest. Gently she gripped his forearm and slid it into the sleeve, then pulled the vest snugly around him and snapped all the fasteners in place. ‘That bruise on your back has to hurt. Did you ice it?’

‘No,’ he said tightly, his heart ricocheting inside his chest cavity. Her hands were capable and quick, but they’d been her hands and they’d been all over his torso.

She picked up the T-shirt he’d discarded. ‘Were you going to wear this?’

He needed a moment to rein his pulse back to safe levels. ‘No. I’ve got a long-sleeved shirt in my closet. It’s in the bathroom. In there.’ He pointed vaguely in the right direction.

She’d disappeared into the bathroom when he heard her exclaim, ‘Holy shit! This bathroom is bigger than both of mine at home, put together.’ She emerged, a dark blue shirt in her hand. ‘This one okay?’

‘Yeah.’ He probably could have dressed himself, but let her do it, breathing in the scent of her hair as she buttoned him up.

‘Did you have that bathroom put in or did you inherit it?’

‘Inherited. My grandfather liked his creature comforts.’

‘I can see that.’ She stepped back, all business again. ‘I have a task for you, one that I think would be a better use of your time than knocking on doors. You wanna hear it?’

If it allowed him more time with her? Hell, yeah. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘I got a text from a friend who used to have a grooming business.’

‘The one who has poodle mug shots for me to ID?’

She blinked, looking startled and a little embarrassed. He wanted to preen even more because he’d thrown the logical, just-the-facts Scarlett Bishop off balance. ‘Oh right,’ she said. ‘I did tell you about her.’ She let out a slow breath regaining her composure. ‘Anyway, she just texted me to say that she found some old videos she took of standard poodles at a local dog show. She says the picture quality isn’t too bad. Since you’re the only one who’s seen the dog in person, will you go with me to take a look?’

‘Of course,’ he said, sliding one arm into the shoulder harness, fighting to focus when she reached around him to help with the other side. ‘What about meeting Deacon in the park?’

‘He hasn’t found anything yet and agreed this was a better lead. He’s starting to see more people walking their dogs now and he wants to interview them.’

‘It’s almost lunchtime. The park gets busy then.’

‘He’s going to show Tala’s photo around, see if any of those people remember her, but that’s something he can do alone. Talking to the groomer is a better use of my time too. So? Can you spare an hour or so?’

He gestured to the door. ‘After you, Detective.’

She shook her head, pointing to the shoulder holster with an arched brow. ‘Are you planning to wear that out in public without a jacket? Because if you don’t cover it up, you can’t come with me. I don’t want to look like I’m on a case with Dirty Harry.’

‘Shit,’ he muttered. ‘What’s the outside temp?’

‘Already in the low nineties, eighty-five percent humidity. Air quality is like pea soup. You wear a jacket over the Kevlar and the shirt and you won’t have a chance to shoot any bad guys. You’ll be in the ER with heat stroke. Why don’t you use the pocket holster you used this morning?’

He narrowed his eyes, studying her. ‘Pocket holster?’

‘I assumed you wouldn’t walk into an alley frequented by drug dealers with a gun holstered at your hip. Not unless you wanted to provoke them. Is that Glock the one you were carrying this morning?’

Hell, he’d known she was observant. He was going to have to be a whole lot more alert. ‘If you knew about the other gun, why didn’t you confiscate it, like you did my knife? Which I still want back, by the way.’

‘I didn’t know. I guessed. Didn’t seem prudent to run after a shooter with your primary weapon at your ankle. You didn’t have any gunshot residue on your hands, so I didn’t ask. And you’ll get your knife back when CSU is finished with it. They’ve got more important things to worry about right now.’

Without a word, he changed the holsters and shoved the extra ammo into his shirt pocket. ‘My car or yours?’

‘Mine,’ she said flatly. ‘This is an official call, Marcus. Not a date.’

He wanted to grin, but knew better. Opening his office door with a flourish, he waved her through. ‘Then after you, Detective.’

Cincinnati, Ohio

Tuesday 4 August, 12.00 P.M.

Scarlett glanced over at the passenger seat, where Marcus slouched, a baseball cap pulled down over his face, snoring softly. He’d fallen asleep about five minutes into the ride.

He’d looked utterly exhausted even as he’d armed himself the first time, planning to go looking for the couple who’d owned Tala. She had no doubt that he would have done just as he’d said, knocking on doors until he found that one narcissist who wanted to be in the news.

And she might still ask him to do that if this lead petered out.

‘Marcus.’ She nudged his arm gently. ‘Marcus, wake up. We’re almost there.’

He woke with a jerk, going stiff before he got his bearings and relaxed. He pushed the cap back and turned to look out the window. ‘How long was I out?’

‘Only about twenty-five minutes. I wanted to prepare you before we descended on Delores.’

He shifted in his seat so that he was staring at her profile. ‘Prepare me how?’

‘I met Delores nine months ago. She was in the same hospital as you were.’ She glanced over to briefly meet his eyes. ‘Put there by the same person.’

‘Sonofabitch,’ he murmured. ‘She’s the woman who lived.’