about going to his.
Suffused with heat again, Sara nodded.
“I’m a bounty hunter.”
Sara jerked upright. “I’m not wanted for anything!”
“I know that.”
She nodded again. What was it with this guy? No one threw her off-kilter so easily.
She was worried sick about Nicole. She’d done her job. But sometimes the job just wasn’t enough. She’d never been face-to-face with the radicalness of Nicole’s situation. It was like something out of the movies.
Sara knew that the only way they were going to be able to have a breakthrough with Nicole—who’d been living her life in an invisible cage—was to give her a safe place to spread her wings. Safe being the operative word.
That safe place had been the Lemonade Stand.
But how did you help a woman like Nicole feel safe?
The desperately determined woman had needed a good night’s rest far more than Sara had.
But the truth was, Nicole wasn’t ever going to rest while Toby was in the hands of a man who’d kill another man based solely on the color of his skin. And then hold his son at a family barbecue and teach him to pray.
There was no actual proof that Trevor had actually committed murder. Not yet. The LAPD was working on that. Based on testimony Nicole had given them the day before.
Neither could the other woman save her son if she was dead. That was the key point that Sara had thought she and Nicole understood together. Nicole hadn’t been able to save her son on her own. She needed their help.
Had their help.
So why had she run?
“I’m after a runner.” As he had at the pool earlier that day, Michael paused for long moments between speaking. And then gave her short sentences.
Because he was choosing his words carefully. She understood that now.
“And you think I know him? Why not just say so?”
“I didn’t know who you were, what you did or how you might be associated.” He was meeting her gaze head-on still.
Sara dissected his words anyway. His actions were driven by a motivation known only to him. The man had a goal. And he’d admitted he’d lied to reach that goal.
“I’m guessing that since you’re back, I didn’t lead you to him.” Had to be one of their victim’s abusers. Nothing else made sense. Outside those she knew through the Lemonade Stand, and her family, Sara didn’t “associate” much.
Clearly. As evidenced by this little disaster.
“Yes and no.”
She sat up again. Protective radar on alert. “I did lead you to him?” She couldn’t fathom how, but... “Is one of my clients in danger?”
No matter, at the moment, how he knew any of her clients were her clients...
She might have made a fool of herself this day, but she absolutely had not led this man to the Lemonade Stand.
Unless he’d hung around all afternoon...followed her to work...
Climbing over the edge of the hot tub rather than wasting time on the stairs, Sara grabbed her towel and wrap, putting the latter on without drying first. “I need you to tell me who’s in danger.”
“Hold on.” One hand up, Michael stepped out of the pool as well, dripping in his wet trunks. “No one’s in immediate danger. I hope. At least not one of your clients. Not from anything I’m involved in. You can rest assured about that. If you’ll just give me a few minutes of your time, I’ll explain everything. You have my word on that.”
His look was direct, as always.
“Forgive me if your word doesn’t carry a whole lot of weight with me at the moment.” She said the words, even though she wasn’t sure they were completely true. They should be true. She wanted them to be true. Nothing else made sense.
He acknowledged her statement with a nod.
“You’re sure none of my clients are in immediate danger?” She spoke carefully now, ensuring that she didn’t give him anything that might inadvertently tell him something he’d come back to find.
“I’m sure.”
She’d hear him out, because not to do so would be stupid. She didn’t even know who they were talking about. Or what, if anything, he really knew.
And then she would call Sanchez. And Tammy. And Lila, too, just because she always kept the managing director informed. The members of the High Risk Team were there for anyone who might be in danger. This was their job. It was what they did.
“Let me see your bounty hunter’s license.”
“It’s in my car. In my wallet. In the back pocket of my jeans.”
“Go get it. And get dressed while you’re at it. I’m going to do the same and I’ll meet you back here.”
“How long do you need?”
“Five minutes.”
She wasn’t giving him any more time than it took for him to tell her who he was after. And then she wanted him gone.
Before she did something stupid like start remembering that, for a few short hours, she’d had a bit of a crush.
HE’D LOST HER TRUST. Her good regard. He’d lost any hope of making love with the beautiful counselor. Michael’s goal was in sight.
And he felt like shit.
Worse than shit.
He could sleep with shit.
He couldn’t sleep if he knew a desperate runner was on the loose in his hometown.
Sara was already at the pool when he made it back. She was sitting by a security light at a table looking all business in a short-sleeved white button-up shirt and dark-colored jeans. Her honey-colored hair was pulled up in some kind of bun.
If she’d hoped to make herself appear less sexy with that stern expression, no makeup and sloppy hair, she’d failed miserably.
Her smartphone lay on the table less than an inch from her fingers. She held her back straight, her shoulders stiff.
Pushing back the inappropriate urge to bend down and kiss her exposed neck, to take in a healing whiff of her scent, Michael dropped his license in front of her.
She picked it up. Studied it. And set it back on the table as opposed to handing it to him. Michael returned
