Author: Jill Shalvis

“Might isn’t good enough,” Luke said. “And how about the fact that she’s innocent?”

“Of course she’s innocent,” Zach said simply. “It’s Ali.”

Ali smiled at him, sent Luke a hard look, and brought Zach to the kitchen table, where they discussed the case at length. Zach asked questions that might have had her head spinning, except he had a way about him. Sweet. Calm. It allowed her to concentrate on the task at hand, telling him all they’d learned about the comings and goings the night of the auction.

Zach looked over his notes. “So you took your pencil pot back without looking inside it.”

“Yes, except it wasn’t exactly mine. It was his, a little bit.”

“How little?”

“One hundred percent.”

Zach looked up from the iPad, expression wry. “You mean you stole it.”

“Well, if you want to get technical, yeah. I stole it. I guess I shouldn’t admit that to my attorney, right?”

Zach smiled gently at her. “You can tell me anything, Al. I’m not a cop.” He slid a silent Luke a long look. “And the only cop in the room is off duty.”

So Zach had done his own background search.

Whatever Luke thought about being baited by Zach, he kept it to himself. He was good at that.

It was a lesson Ali would be well served to learn herself.

The next morning, Luke was woken just before dawn by a text from his commander.

Need you back for internal review on Reyes case. There’s prep work the size of the California debt. Stop with the small town PI shit and get your ass back here.

Luke thumbed his way to the browser and searched for the latest reports. It wasn’t pretty. The first article he pulled up called the SFPD a complete failure. Luke tossed the phone aside and tried to tell himself he didn’t give a damn. But he did. Only a week ago, his job had been everything to him, his entire being wrapped up in the reputation and ego of it. That had been who he was.

Now, far from San Francisco, he didn’t feel like that same guy.

He’d lived the fast-paced, adrenaline-rushed job for years, and he’d thrived on it. But he wasn’t thriving anymore. It wasn’t the danger he faced on the force, or the darkness of the things he saw, or the slogging knee-deep through shit on a daily basis.

He missed life here.

He’d left Lucky Harbor, exiled himself really, and not looked back. And in doing so, he’d cut himself off from the happiest times of his life. In coming back, he underestimated the pull that the wild, hauntingly beautiful, resilient Pacific Northwest had always had on him.

Now there was something else pulling at him as well—the equally wild, hauntingly beautiful, resilient Ali Winters.

Rolling out of bed, he pulled on swim trunks. Out back, he balanced his board on his head and took the steep stairs down to the water.

The harbor was quiet. By the time he’d set the board in the water, the sky had lightened from black to purple. The water was icy cold and would clear his head.

Or kill him.

He pushed off and began paddling. And then there was nothing but the sound of his board skimming through the water, the occasional splash of a zealous fish, and the chirping birds that were waking with the dawn.

Alone.

Quiet.

It was the closest to heaven that he could imagine. He paddled out past the pier and harbor and into the open water. He pushed himself hard, until his heart pounded and he couldn’t catch his breath. It felt good. Here, in the zone, he couldn’t think, couldn’t obsess, couldn’t regret.

An hour later, muscles quivering, he stopped, panting as the sun beat down on him. He cooled down by making his way back slowly, enjoying the early morning. As he entered the harbor again, he passed the pier and the Ferris wheel, and saw a female jogging along the water’s edge. She was built like a Victoria’s Secret model, and her long blonde hair flowed behind her.

Melissa Mann.

Shading her eyes with her hand, she took him in, a wide smile crossing her lips. “Well, look who the tide dragged in,” she purred as he slid up on the beach and got off his board. “Heard you were back,” she said, “and looking for trouble.” She waggled a brow and gestured to herself. “Meet trouble with a capital T.”

He had to laugh. She was right. She was trouble with a capital T. The very best kind of trouble. “How’s the salon going?” he asked.

“Running it now,” she said proudly. “Come by sometime. I’ll give you a buff and shine.” She smiled. “On the house.”

He smiled too, knowing that they both understood he wouldn’t. “Heard you were at the auction the other night.”

“I was. Everyone was.” She cocked her head and studied him a moment. “You’ve got quite a cop face on, Luke. Why don’t you just ask me what you want to know?”

“You’re sleeping with Ted Marshall.”

Melissa laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s jealousy I hear.” She was still smiling. “You’ve been gone a long time. There’s a new dog in town. He’s a thoroughbred, but a dog is still a dog.”

“And by dog you mean…”

“Just what you think. Ted’s single and enjoying the life. Maybe our…enjoyment was mutual a few times.”

“He had a girlfriend.”

“Ali Winters? He always said that they were just roommates.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“What, that he’s really only exclusive with his own dick?” She smiled again and shrugged. “He’s actually pretty careful. He’s got political ambitions. He likes it that everyone likes him. Plus, it’s not like I’m looking for a relationship. He’s a good guy, not to mention hot. And he always springs for dinner first.”

“On the night of the auction, did you see anyone else with him?”

Melissa gave him another smile. “I don’t kiss and tell, Luke. You know that.”

He ignored the reference to the one and only night the two of them had shared, back when they’d been nineteen and drunk as skunks on the pier behind the Ferris wheel. “Did you even see the money?” he asked.

“Nope. He did put a big briefcase in the bottom drawer of his desk though. I saw that.”

“He lock it?”

“The police asked the same thing. I don’t remember either way.”

“After,” he said. “What happened after?”

“Aubrey came in, and she got all pissed off, asking Ted what he’d have done if someone had seen us.” She rolled her eyes. “Like he’s running for president or something.”

“Then what happened?”

“We left separately. He insisted on that. He really does like to keep his private life private.”

Which was tough shit, because “Teddy’s” life, private or otherwise, was about to be blown wide open. “Thanks, Mel.”

She smiled. “Was I helpful?”

“Yes.”

She looked him over for a long beat, taking in his wet gear. “If you need anything else, Luke, you look me up.”

He smiled at her, but he wasn’t going there. He had a different woman on his mind.

Back at home, he got out of the water, carried the paddleboard up the stairs, and leaned it against the deck. He looked up at the house. Today was day two of Ali’s enforced leave, thanks to Russell’s taking off to Vegas, and Luke had no idea what she might be doing. Not that it mattered, of course. It didn’t. Not in the slightest.

Shit. It mattered. It mattered a whole hell of a lot.

He grabbed the towel he’d left for himself on the deck. He was rubbing it over his wet head when he realized he could hear voices coming through the kitchen window. Glancing in, he saw Ali at the island cooking something that smelled amazing and had his mouth instantly watering. On the other side of the island, cozied up on one of Luke’s barstools, sat Zach. Ali was listing off characteristics of Leah Sullivan, and why Zach should ask her out.

“She’s funny,” Ali said, “and has a great personality—”

Zach groaned. “Great personality? That’s the kiss of death right there.”

Ali’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?” she asked in a tone that would have had Luke changing course pronto.

But Zach apparently wasn’t versed in the Don’t Go There Department. “You know,” he said. “When you say someone has a great personality, it means that they’re…not hot.”

“Wow.” Ali shook her head. “And here I thought you were better than the rest of your gender.” She shrugged. “Your loss, because Leah’s totally hot.”

“Yeah? How hot?”

“Forget it, you’ve ruined it.”

“Aw, man.” Zach wasn’t in a suit today. Instead he wore skinny-cut, black jeans, an equally tight-to-his-scrawny-chest black button down, and a bright pink tie that matched a few pink streaks in his dark, spiked hair. He still looked twelve. He eyed the omelet Ali was cooking, licking his lips like he was starving.

Ali flipped it onto a plate, pushed it to Zach, and then turned to the door as Luke let himself in.

“Hey,” she said. “Yours is next.”

Zach stuffed a big bite into his mouth as he eyed Luke. “You don’t knock, you just walk in?”

Luke looked at Ali, letting her field this one.

Ali sighed, and she flipped the next omelet. “Luke’s living here too, Zach.”

“Your mom didn’t mention that. She just said he’d given you a place to stay.”

“It’s not what you think,” Ali said.

“No?” Zach asked. “Because what I think is that you’re too kind for your own good, and someone”—he glanced at Luke so as to leave no doubt who the “someone” was—“could take advantage of you.”

“First of all, I’m not all that kind,” Ali corrected. “And second, Luke is the kind one, letting me stay.”