Emalee found herself sitting next to Victor in the silence of Natalie Banton’s office. The woman had not joined them as quickly as the bartender made them believe, which added to the tension growing between them. She felt like a child about to be punished for back-talking and opened her mouth to apologize when the door opened.

Natalie walked in with a stack of receipts in her hand, a frown on her face, and wore a dirty pair of kacky pants. It was obvious she had been working on something that contained grease, but for the life of her, Emalee couldn’t imagine anything in that place that ran off gears. All she had seen up until that point, was half-naked dancers and leering men, eager to hand out their hard-earned money for a cheap thrill.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Natalie said with a heavy sigh. “Of all nights for us to be shorthanded and now the ice maker quits. I’ve been trying to keep it running long enough to make it through the weekend until the repairman can get here on Monday.”

She sat down behind her desk and pulled out a metal box from the top drawer, slipping the small slips of paper into it before closing it back in the desk.

“So, detectives, what can I do for you this time? Hopefully, you have news on Gotum’s killer.”

“Not yet, but we’re not giving up,” Victor said with a half-smile. “Another victim was found in the same area Gotum’s body was discovered. We found something we’d like to ask you about.”

He pulled out the plastic bag with the burned matchbook in it and handed it to the woman. They watched as she wiped her hands on her pants and took the bag, frowning as she inspected its contents.

“It’s one of mine, so? I have a lot of members who smoke. What’s this have to do with the bodies?”

“It was found with the second victim,” Victor continued, watching the correlation connect in Natalie’s eyes.

“You think one of my members is the killer?” she asked with a deep frown.

“Or one of your dancers,” Emalee said softly, causing both Victor and Natalie to turn toward her.

“That’s impossible,” the club owner barked. “I do an extensive background check on all my employees. They have to be clear of any criminal activities, even so much as a speeding ticket will keep them from working here. I would know if any of my dancers were killers.”

“We aren’t trying to accuse anyone at this point in the investigation, Ms. Banton,” Victor clarified, though Emalee was certain his comment was directed more to her than the woman in front of them. “We just have to remain open to all possibilities. We’re hoping to get some information from the second victim when he comes to.”

“You mean he’s not dead?” Natalie asked with wide eyes, a tone of hope in her voice.

“Not yet, but he’s in pretty bad shape. He has the same markings on his body that Gotum Sevati had and we think there may be a connection. What can you tell us about Derek Anderson?”

“Derek?” Natalie gasped. “He’s one of my dancers. He and Gotum are the best I have…had,” she corrected herself with a soft shake in her voice. “You’re telling me Derek is involved in this?”

“He’s the second victim,” Victor replied. “He’s in the hospital, but it doesn’t look very promising. We’re in hopes of finding out as much as possible about these two men before it’s too late, and the killer tries again.”

“You’re making it sound like there’s a serial killer on the loose,” Natalie said with wide eyes.

“It’s very possible, though right now we don’t have much to go on.”

“What can I do to help?” Natalie asked with determination shining in her eyes.

“What can you tell us about Derek and Gotum? Were they friends? Did they hang out together? Anything that might help us find the person behind all this.”

“Well, they were friends as far as coworkers can be, I suppose. They really didn’t seem to disagree with each other and they worked together extremely well. I don’t recall there ever being a time when they were overly friendly, and I don’t think either one of them was the type to hang out socially. They were both very different men.”

“How so?” Victor asked, taking the familiar little book out of his pocket again.

“Gotum was shy and quiet, and spent most of his time studying, while he was off stage, and Derek had just gone through a really nasty divorce, that left him a single dad. He worked construction during the day and to help make ends meet, he worked here Friday and Saturday. He moved back in with his parents after his divorce, about a year ago, and was trying to give his son a normal, stable life. He told me once that his parents didn’t know he was an exotic dancer, he only told them that he had a part-time job and kept his finances private. He was strapped for money. His divorce cost a fortune and getting his ex-wife’s rights taken away, was difficult. He hired the best attorneys in their field and struggled to pay for their services, but he won. He would do anything he had to in order to keep his little boy safe.”

“What about the ex-wife?” Victor asked. “Why did he want custody taken from her?”

“She was a crack whore,” Natalie said bitterly. “She would sell her soul for a fix and her body was of little consequence to her. He found out accidentally what she was up to, one day when he got off work early and walked in on her and another guy. They had locked his two-year-old son in his room, with a jug of chocolate milk and a bag of corn chips, then held their own little party in the living room. Derek was furious. He beat the hell out of the jerk that was with her then took his son and left.”

“You sound like you’ve known him for a while?” Emalee said, trying to fight the urge to yawn.

It had been a long day and it was nowhere close to being over.

“I’ve known Derek about ten years,” Natalie answered. “He was part of the construction crew that enlarged this place after I bought it. He was very meticulous and detail-oriented. After the job was done, he’d come around to watch the dancers and we just got to know each other. He came in, after he left that witch he was married to, and told me he was struggling to pay the attorneys. That’s when I suggested he come to work for me. At first, he was just bartending, but the women liked his looks so much they kept hounding him to go on stage. One night he got up the courage and did it. He was one of the main attractions. When Gotum started working here, Derek helped him understand the routine and the dance steps. I suppose, thinking back on it now, Derek was sort of a big brother for Gotum.”

“Do you know if they were involved with anything that might have led them to the wrong crowd?” Emalee asked, knowing she had already answered the question, but certain Natalie knew something she wasn’t telling.

Natalie drew a deep breath and leaned back in her chair, focusing on the two in front of her.

“They spent a couple of nights a week at a private club refining their routine,” she admitted as the door opened and her half-naked husband walked in.

He nodded to his wife’s two visitors and stepped behind the bar to fix a drink.

“What kind of club?” Victor asked, watching Natalie look up to Brad.

“It’s a specialty club that teaches a person how to refine their sexual techniques. They were given the chance to learn more about sex and thought it might be fun to add it into their routines. Gotum’s sister, Jaheel, got them involved in the club and was able to get them a job there. She’d been going for a number of months and had incorporated a lot of the role-play into her own routine. Gotum liked it a lot and was interested in trying out some of the moves in the private rooms. We agreed to let him try the bondage, but only on women who agreed with it. He was making a huge profit with women who were begging him to tie them up. He didn’t have sex with them, we made sure of that, but he did manage to make them have an orgasm, which in turn gave him great tips.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Victor asked with a stern, angry glint in his eyes.

“Because I was afraid you’d think Gotum caused his own death,” Natalie insisted. “He wasn’t that kind of a kid and neither is Derek. They liked to make the women feel special and the women loved it. For a very short time, they felt appreciated and loved. You have to understand Detective, most of our women come from the best homes in New York, with the best husbands and the best of what life can give them. The only thing their husbands’ money can’t buy them is love. Gotum and Derek were able to give them that feeling of being wanted for a short time. For that reason alone, they were willing to pay handsomely for it.”

“How handsomely?” Emalee asked.

“Upwards of five or ten thousand dollars,” Natalie answered. “They would keep half and the club would keep the other half. It wasn’t uncommon for them to take home thirty thousand in a weekend, just for dancing and making a lonely debutant feel needed.”

“What about the women’s husbands?” Victor asked. “How did they feel about their wives spending that much money for an orgasm and a quick thrill?”

“Most don’t know or don’t care. It’s pocket change for many. Others come in here as well and put down a nice chunk of money to see the women dance. Jaheel and some of the other girls will allow the men to tie them up or spank them, in order to feel superior. I’m sure their mistresses appreciate it when they go back to them hot and bothered, and ready to give them the once over.”

“Where is this club they were going to?” Emalee asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“It’s a very exclusive club called Miles High. It costs a pretty penny, but it’s worth the lessons. I’ll admit, Brad and I used to go there. That’s where we met, he was a trainer and I was his very willing student.”

Natalie looked up at the man who winked back at her, causing her to blush slightly.

“We have two men who were beaten and tortured, one is dead and the other is fighting for his life, and you sit here and condone these acts of perversion?” Emalee snapped.

She was exhausted and disgusted at everything they had learned that day, and all she wanted was to go back to her quiet little apartment, in the back of her tiny little studio, and watch reruns of Father Knows Best.

“I’m sorry if you think that’s what I’m doing, Detective,” Natalie stated with an embarrassed look on her face. “Gotum and Derek were not just my employees, they were my friends. I will do whatever it takes to help bring them justice.”

“I don’t think we have any more questions tonight,” Victor said quickly, putting a halt to Emalee’s verbal abuse on the woman who may provide useful. “We will be in touch. Thank you for your time.”

“I meant what I said,” Natalie assured them as they stood to leave. “I don’t want to see Derek’s little boy go through life, with only a memory of who his father was. He’s already lost his mother, he shouldn’t have to lose his daddy too.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Emalee said, then turned and left the room followed by Victor.

Outside, the cold of winter bit at her hands and face helping her release some of her pent-up anger. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but all this talk of perverted sex, like it was everyday life, was getting on her nerves. She wouldn't consider herself shy or naïve, but she also never would have imagined that there was so much moral degradation going on around her either.

“Why don’t we get something to eat before we go back to the office?” Victor suggested as he unlocked the door and held it open for her.

Emalee drew a deep breath, rubbing the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry about spouting off in there,” she told him. “I guess I’m not cut out for this job after all.”

“I take back what I said,” he admitted. “You have a great insight and nerves of steel. You are very good at this and you’ve been a huge help to me. I think you are more cut out for this job than either one of us thought. As for what you said in there, I applaud your forthrightness. I was getting a bit irritated with Banton’s nonchalant attitude as well.”

“Thank you,” she said with a blush. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on inside me lately. I mean, I feel so disoriented and so confused. I never imagined that there was such depravity in the world.”

Victor laughed as she sat in the seat, watching her pull her legs into the interior.

“Sex is big business,” he told her. “The weirder it is, the more money there is to be made.”

“I think there’s a lot to be said for being celibate,” she grunted as he shut the door, blocking out his amused chuckle.

Emalee and Victor sat in her office reviewing their notes and the file Miles Harrison gave them. The idea that they were all customers - or clients as Miles put it - of his club made Victor angry, that his old friend and former superior, had hidden information from him. He made a mental note to contact him tomorrow as well as Jaheel Sevati.

The background check on Derek Anderson was waiting for them when they arrived back at the station, providing them more information into the life of their most recent victim. Everything Natalie Banton had told them about his divorce, was correct as, well as his day job and his living arrangements. The one thing she hadn’t mentioned was his short stay in jail, for assault on the man his wife had been getting drugs from. Charges were dropped once blood samples of his wife were back, and child services rendered a report that his son had been placed in harm’s way, by the mother. His wife and her dealer were arrested and were currently serving fifteen years in the state penitentiary. The one thing this new information gave them, was one less suspect.

Dr. Patrick phoned to let them know Derek was stable enough to undergo surgery and they were planning on operating first thing in the morning. His family had been notified and was at the hospital offering constant vigil for his recovery. Victor ordered Woods to get a background on Kevin Freidman and Yvette Campbell, as soon as they arrived at the office, and was still waiting for the preliminary autopsy report, from the medical examiner.

“Friedman seems to have been a very steady client of Miles’,” Emalee said as she sorted through the stack of papers on her desk.

Victor was busy typing up his notes on her laptop and paused for a moment to look up at her.

“How steady?” he asked with a slight frown, reaching for his cup of cold coffee.

“He started out twice a week, and after four weeks, went up to three times. By the time Miles kicked him out of the club, he had been going in every night for nearly two months. His special request for lessons was for the bondage and applied instructions, which apparently consisted of clamps, whips, and hot wax.”

“Sounds like the first steps to a serial sex offender,” Victor commented.

“Vic,” a male voice sounded over the phone on the desk. “I have Yvette Campbell on the phone for you.”

Victor pushed a button on the phone, transferring the call to the speaker, as Emalee set the papers on the desk and leaned back in her seat.

“This is Detective Armstrong,” he said in a very authoritative tone.

“Detective, this is Yvette Campbell, we spoke earlier today.”

“Yes Miss Campbell, what can I do for you?”

“I was talking to my girlfriend and she remembered something about the girl who was doing the editing, for the films Kevin did. Her name is Dharma Strand and she’s a student at the community college. She’s studying graphic design, but her dad is in the music business, so she was able to use his equipment to edit the films.”

“Do you know where we can contact her?” he asked, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen.

“Tracy said you can find her at The Middleman Store, it’s a retro shop where they sell old furniture and clothes.”

“Thank you, Miss Campbell, I appreciate you calling us with this. If you hear from Friedman, I’d appreciate it if you let us know.”

“His father promised he’d never bother me again, so I doubt I will, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything about him.”

Victor hung up the phone and looked at the clock on the wall. It was already seven twenty-nine, chances of Dharma Strand being at her job were unlikely.

“If she’s a student at the community college, there’s a good chance she knew Gotum Sevati,” Emalee said as she folded her arms across her chest.

“Let’s see if they had any classes together,” he told her. “It would at least make a connection.”

“What about Carter? If he’s still working at the Western, he’ll most likely be dancing tomorrow.”

“Friday and Saturday are women’s nights, men aren’t welcome unless they work there.”

“Then maybe I’ll just have to go check up on things without you,” she said with a wicked grin, watching the shocked expression cross her partner’s face.

“You? At a strip club? That’s one for the books.”

“I’ve been to them before. I went once with my sister when I turned twenty-one.”

“I don’t want you going to a place like that alone. Take Woods with you.”

“Are you serious? I’m not sure she’s even a woman. I’ll see if my sister wants to go, she’s always up for an adventure.”

Victor shook his head as he pressed the print button and closed her computer.

“Just don’t tip your hand. Going undercover is the best course at the moment, but if anyone recognizes you, we could lose our upper hand,” he assured her as he leaned back in the seat.

“Don’t worry Daddy,” she teased as she batted her long lashes. “We’ll be back by curfew.”

“Smart-ass,” he growled, standing up from the seat. “Come on, I’ll take you home. Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she smiled as she gathered her own notes and the papers she had been reading, passing them off to Victor.

“Does the Boxcar sound alright, or do you want something fancier?”

Emalee smiled as they walked down the hall, noticing the deserted office where all the detectives worked. It was late enough for most normal people to be home with their families, that was unless they were investigating the seedy side of New York’s sex life.

“How about I make us dinner,” she suggested. “I made lasagna last night and there’s a ton leftover.”

“You can cook? Who would have guessed?” he teased as they headed out the door toward his waiting black sedan.

“I can cook and sew, and I even wash windows - sometimes.”

“Careful Peker, you’re starting to sound like a girl,” he teased as he unlocked the car for her.

“You mean you can’t tell what gender I am just by looking?” she laughed as she sat down in the car, then gasped as he shut the door, hearing his audible, “Oh I can tell.”

Victor smiled as Emalee pulled a plastic container from the fridge and popped it in the microwave. She looked as comfortable in the kitchen as she did behind the camera. She gathered the ingredients for a salad and sat them in front of him on the counter, smiling so sweetly he had to blink twice to make sure it was the same woman he’d been with the past few days.

“How are you with a paring knife?” she asked handing him a black-handled blade.

Victor narrowed his eyes slightly and removed his jacket, tossing it to the back of a barstool.

“I’m a natural-born slicer,” he teased taking the knife and slicing through the cucumber she pushed toward him.

Fifteen minutes later they were sitting on the sofa in front of a large flat-screen television, a sappy romantic comedy playing in front of them as they ate their supper of lasagna, salad, garlic toast, and red wine. It was a unique feeling sitting on the large leather sectional, talking and teasing with Emalee, and Victor fell into a state of relaxation that he had not felt in many long years. Thoughts of the day and the case that was perplexing them were lost in the back of their minds as they watched the movie and laughed about the everyday adventures, of the lovers playing out in front of them.

“You make a very mean salad Detective Armstrong,” Emalee teased, setting her plate aside and reaching for the glass of wine from the coffee table.

“Why, thank you Officer Peker,” he answered with a slight bow to his head. “I could say the same about your lasagna. It’s been a long time since I had a decent homemade meal. The only thing missing is the chocolate mousse.”

Emalee smiled wickedly as she jumped off the sofa and hurried to the kitchen. She opened the fridge again and pulled out a square bakery box, then carried it carefully back to the living room.

“It’s not mousse, but it’s just as good,” she told him, opening the lid to the pink box and revealing six long slender éclairs hiding inside.

Victor chuckled as he set his plate aside and pulled out one of the chocolate covered pastries. Emalee watched as he took a large bite, then nearly dropped the box from her lap, laughing as the cream filling shot out of the backside.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped a few seconds later, handing him a box of tissues to wipe the front of his shirt. “But you have to admit, it was funny.”

“You wouldn’t think it was so funny if I was facing you when it shot out.”

His words were stern but the twinkle in his eyes assured her, he was nowhere close to being upset.

“Oh yes I would,” she told him, as she gathered the soiled tissues together, along with their empty plates, and carried them into the kitchen. “I’m the first person to laugh at my stupid mistakes. Now, unless you want to spend the rest of the night sticky, go upstairs and change and I’ll wash your shirt.”

Victor wasn’t sure if she understood what she had just said or not, but he was finding the idea of being sticky an intriguing thought.

“I wouldn’t want to put you out,” he answered with a tone, much deeper and much softer than he had intended.

He stood up and joined her in the kitchen, trying hard to ignore her bed sitting in the dark dining room, unmade and beckoning for company.

“It’s no trouble at all. I’ll toss it in the washer and have it done in no time.”

With a wicked thought, Victor unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and pulled it off his head, watching the expression of shock and intrigue cross her blue eyes. He knew things were heating up between them and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to let go of his restraint.

“I’ll just…I’ll be right back,” she stuttered as she took his shirt and walked to the small laundry room under the staircase.

Her fingers lingered over the fabric as she walked, it was warm and smelled of Victor’s masculine scent, and musky aftershave, and she fought the urge to put it to her nose and breathe deeply.

She set the washer and tossed his shirt in, then turned to find him sitting at the counter watching her. She felt suddenly embarrassed, thankful she didn’t caress her face with the cotton material as she was so tempted to do.

“Why did you join the force?” he asked her when she joined him again, busying herself with making a pot of coffee in order to avoid staring at the light brown hair that lay across his upper chest.

Her fingers began to itch while her libido begged her to touch it, eager to feel the softness of each strand.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I guess I just like mysteries and thought I could help change the world. It was either that or the Peace Corps and I wasn’t crazy about living in the jungle. I don’t like spiders or snakes.”

Victor smiled, imagining her living in a tent in the middle of the rain forest.

“What does your family think of what you do for a living?”

“My parents used to be hippies, so joining the Peace Corp was their idea. They have mellowed out a lot over the years, but they are still pretty much anti-socialism, and my being a cop doesn’t set very well with them. My mother would prefer it if I went home and found a nice young man and started having babies…after the huge outdoor wedding with birds, crickets, and wildflowers, of course. My dad has never really had an opinion of his own, he just does or thinks whatever my mom tells him to.”

“I know you have siblings, I remember meeting your brother once. How does he feel about his little sister being on the force?”

“Actually, Greg is my youngest sibling,” she smiled. “I’m the middle child, the wild one, the one who always had someone to blame but me, and all my brothers and sisters think it’s pretty cool that I’m doing what I want. My oldest brother Tristan and his wife Autumn, agree with my mother that I should be married with a family, carpool, and PTA meetings. Michelle is two years older than I am and owns a very successful advertising company. Jenna is three years younger than I am and she’s my biggest supporter. She doesn’t see why a woman needs to be married to enjoy life.”

“I think you should definitely do what you want to with your life, but I can see your mother’s side of the story. She’s worried about you living alone in the big city and she’s afraid she won’t ever see her grandchildren.”

“She has five already, she doesn’t need me getting pregnant to bring her the maternal gratification.”

“Why didn’t you go into journalism?” he asked a moment later after a large swallow of his hot coffee. “I know you have the degree. It would have been safer, and you would still get the mystery side of life.”

“At one time, in my teenage years, I thought I would like to live in Paris as a foreign correspondent. After I took the classes I decided it really wasn’t for me. I liked it well enough, but I wanted more action. As a journalist, you get to report once or maybe twice on a story, and then it fades into the background. Take this case, for instance, the bodies made a brief appearance on the local news, right between the government shut down and the weather. Once the killer is caught, it will be headlines for a day or two, and then there might be a mention about the outcome of the trial, but that’s it. I like to start the story and finish it. I want to know what happens from the beginning to the end and everything in between.”

“So why photography? I can’t imagine it’s a very exciting career either.”

“No, not really, but it is fun. Actually, I started taking pictures as a hobby when I was a kid. My grandfather gave me an old Polaroid camera, you know the kind, you take a picture and pull it out the back and after a few minutes, the picture appears right in front of you. I thought it was a blast, so I kept shooting. I ended up on the newspaper in high school, where I got the idea of going into journalism, and the rest is history. I took cinema in school, mainly because it was an easy grade. I already knew everything about it from my classes in high school and I really didn’t want to take geology or astronomy to get my credits. I don’t care what the stars are made of and a rock is a rock unless it’s in a ring on your hand.”

Victor laughed at the young woman’s expression and watched as she poured more coffee, then sat in a vacant seat at the kitchen counter.

“What about you? You never talk about your family. How do they feel about your line of business?”

“The truth is, I don’t have a family.”

Emalee frowned, thinking of the pictures he had on his desk at the office. There was one of him and a young girl, about ten years old, at his high school graduation, with his parents smiling proudly behind him, and another of his mom and dad on the deck of a cruise ship.

“My dad died from an industrial accident shortly after I graduated high school, and my mom died from breast cancer two years later.”

“What about your sister?” she asked watching his jaw clench momentarily. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding…”

“You’re not,” he answered with a deep sigh. “She’s the reason I joined the force. Miles told you I had a chip on my shoulder when I joined the academy. Well, I did. I was twenty-one and recently found myself alone in the world. My parents were gone, and my sister had just been murdered.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emalee said, laying a comforting hand on his arm.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, repeating the same phrase he had said over and over for the past twelve years. “She was just fourteen and I was her guardian after our mother died. I was working at a club downtown and had the chance to earn a bit of extra money that night, so I called and told her I was going to be late. I ordered her a pizza and told her to lock the house up and go to bed, I’d see her in the morning. When I got home around four o’clock, I found her dead.”

“How?” Emalee asked, feeling like an intruder, but feeling the need to know more about this man than she already did.

“The pizza delivery kid saw she was home alone, and after he got off work, he came back to see if she was still by herself. He watched from outside as she got undressed, and once he thought she was asleep, he broke the glass in the basement window and crawled through. He spent five hours raping her and beating her, until he had his fill, then suffocated her with her own pillow. It took six years before he was captured. By then, he had killed three more young girls in the same way.”

“Victor, I’m so sorry,” Emalee said.

Her throat closed around the words as she fought back the emotion threatening her composure. The man stared at his coffee, lost in the memories of the past.

“She was just fourteen,” he said sadly. “I should have been there, but I wanted to surprise her with a mountain bike, so I took the chance to make some extra cash.”

He paused for a moment then cleared his throat and looked up at her. The tear escaped her eye before she could stop it and he reached forward, brushing it away with his thumb.

“That’s why I joined the force,” he said softly. “I wanted to find the bastard and kill him myself, but I wasn’t willing to go to jail for scum like that. He was actually the first case I ever solved as a detective. As soon as I got my badge, I pulled out my sister’s file and started investigating it. Sweeny didn’t stop me once he found out what I was doing. Two years later I made Lieutenant and then I was offered, Captain.”

“I never knew you were a captain,” she said with a slight frown.

“I turned it down. I’m more content tracking down the criminals then sitting behind a desk.”

“Why didn’t you want me on any cases?” Emalee asked in a sudden burst of courage.

Victor drew a deep breath and looked back to his coffee cup. For a moment she wasn’t sure if he would answer her or not, but when he looked back to her she could see a strange gleam in his eyes, that sent warm tingles traveling across her body.

“Because I have feelings for you that I shouldn’t have,” he admitted. “I’ve had a hell of a time staying away from you, Emalee, ever since the first time, I laid eyes on you. Because of that, I don’t want to see you get hurt, even by me. I knew if you were with me for any length of time, my strength to resist you would be tested and I’m not that strong.”

“Why would you hurt me?” she asked, her heart pounding so loudly she wasn’t sure if she would hear his answer, even if he shouted through a megaphone.

“You’re not the one-nighter type, like most of the women I know. You deserve more than what I could give you and no matter how much I would like to try and fool myself, I’m not the kind of guy that you would want to take home to mom. I’m a cop, pure and simple. My life is anything but ordinary and the future is a dark place that I’m not sure I want to visit sometimes. You’re far too trusting and far too innocent for the kind of life I could offer you.”

“What makes you think I want you to offer me anything?” she asked in another burst of courage. “I’m not a prize to be won at the local carnival, you know. And just for the record, Detective Armstrong, I happen to be very good at defending myself. If I chose to take you home to meet my mother, it would be on my terms, not yours. And if I wanted a one-nighter as you call it, then that’s exactly what I would have.”

The buzzer sounded on the washer, making Emalee stand quickly and pace a few steps away, then turn and confront him again.

“Who do you think you are, determining what’s good for me and what’s not? The last I looked, I didn’t make you my guardian or my protector, so back off before I hurt you.”

With that said she turned and continued on her course to the laundry room, where she jerked open the door to the washer and removed his shirt, throwing it into the dryer with such force she was certain she broke every button on the blasted thing.

“If you don’t like the shirt, you should have said something, and I wouldn’t have worn it,” he said from the doorway.

Emalee turned to see him leaning against the frame, his arms folded across his chest, and that half-grin, she loved to hate, twisting his lips.

“Unlike you, I would never assume to dictate to your private life,” she snapped, pushing her way out of the door.

“I’m confused,” he said with amusement. “Are you angry because I want you, or angry because I care?”

“I’m pissed off that you dare assume I can’t protect myself,” she growled, turning on him like a wild beast. “I’m not a fragile china doll that you can play with when it suits you and then place back on the shelf for protection. I’m a grown woman and I have the final say to everything that happens in my life, not you.”

“So, what would you do if I took you in my arms and carried you to that bed right now?” he asked, his eyes flashing with an emotion she had never seen in them before.

She drew a deep breath when he took a step closer to her, and out of instinct, she grabbed the arm that reached toward her and instantly flipped him to the cold floor.

Victor landed with such a hard thump, she thought he’d broken the wood planks beneath him. He laid there for several seconds before he rose up, his eyes locking with hers in a silent challenge that left her breathless. Again, he reached for her and again she caught him off guard, kicking him so hard in the abdomen that he fell to his knees with a breathless groan.

“I told you, I make the final decisions in my life,” she said panting for air as she stood in front of him. “That goes for who I allow in my bed as well.”

Victor held up a hand to her in defeat and struggled to stand erect. The perspiration beaded on his bare chest and he found himself physically forcing air back into his lungs. She was much stronger and quicker than he had anticipated, and he suddenly had the urge to test her to her fullest extent, but before he could draw enough air in his lungs to tempt fate, his phone began to ring.

Emalee stepped out of his way as he passed by and removed the slender black box from the breast pocket of his jacket.

“Armstrong,” he groaned, holding onto his stomach with one hand as he pressed his phone to his ear with the other.

Several seconds passed by before he straightened up and spoke again.

“Alright, we’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone and turned back to Emalee with a daring smile. “As much as I would love to stay and play with you, duty calls. There’s been another murder, this one at the Miles High club.”