Page 34 of Capture My Heart

He chuckled and his hand wobbled. Wine sloshed. He made an attempt to save it. Too late. So much for this shirt, red streaks flowed down the front. But the grin on his sister’s face made it all worth it.

Amy read the daily nutrients on the side of the cereal box as she scooped the last spoonful of sugary goodness into her mouth. Not bad. She’d fully intended on a salad for dinner, but Coco Puffs went better with whiskey. Besides, this way, she didn’t have to wash and chop all the veggies. Win, win.

She rinsed her cereal bowl then set it into the sink. Snagging a pop from the fridge, she rolled the cold can over her neck to combat the summer heat. The icy metal left drips of cool condensation as she rolled it down her chest to the top of her tank top.

Ah, relief. She already had her air conditioning set as low as her budget could afford but with only one window unit in the bedroom and one in the living room, it couldn’t keep up on these ninety-degree days.

She dropped to the cream-colored couch with her new laptop. Time to dig a little deeper into her hunky neighbor. The ceiling fan blew a light breeze across her shoulders as she opened her computer. The blue light reflected off her reading glasses as she waited for it to load her browser. Her gaze locked on the screen and she tapped her fingers. Waiting.

Between the speeder on Enders Avenue and the domestic disturbance on Tenth Street today, she didn’t have time for a thorough search of her sneaky neighbor. In her five minutes of breathing time, she confirmed what she already knew—he didn’t have any social media. That made sense, a lot of police don’t have social media accounts or use another name.

Then, she’d done a quick check of the local department rosters, working the edge of her nail as she searched each site.

Nothing. He wasn’t in a Twin Cities department. Okay, time to broaden her perimeters. She got a hit. His name popped up on the page. Bureau of Criminal Apprehension Agent Trey Fenley.

“Holy shit.” She’d slammed her laptop shut and paced her cubicle. Her sexy as hell landlord was BCA. How had she missed this? Then again, she didn’t have a reason to look him up. He was just her hot neighbor.

All the way home, questions filled her mind. With each one, anger at his secrecy ratcheted up. Heat rolled off her. Had he mentioned he was law enforcement, she wouldn’t have thought much about it… but now?

Well now, she had a reason to dig. She grabbed her computer and plopped on the couch.

The curser blinked in the address line, and she cracked her fingers. “Okay, Agent Fenley, let’s see what you’re hiding. Time to consult the Almighty Google.”

Headlines from the Tribune filled the screen. Her breath backed up in her lungs—BCA Agent shot by partner.

The puckered scar on his chest flared in her mind. She chewed on her lip as she read the article and processed the information. His partner was a dirty cop. She set the computer on the coffee table and paced.

Questions swirled in her mind. Did he know? No. Is he still on active duty? And what happened? He had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t know about the suspected corruption in Ashwood.

She rescanned the article, but it didn’t have the details.

Taking a swig of her pop, she leaned on the counter. Only one way to find answers. The can clinked on the counter and she started for the door.

An image of bouncing red hair stopped her. College Barbie.

“Crap, I can’t storm in when he has company.” Brie and he were probably having dessert, a.k.a. sex on the table. Her eye twitched and bile rolled in her stomach, but then the image changed and the red hair turned blonde. Heat flooded her system. She grabbed her can of pop and chugged the rest of it.

“Get it together, Larson.” She tossed the can in the recycling and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then headed back to her laptop.

Just as the soft couch cushions pulled her in, she heard a knock on her door. She moved to answer, fisting her firearm off the entry table. It fit like an old friend in her hand. Her fingers flexed and tightened as she looked through the peephole.

She blinked then relaxed her grip on the gun and opened the door. Trey.

“What are you doing here? I’d think you’d be... busy.” Her eyes tracked to his door then back to him.

“She has a test tomorrow. Summer classes. May I come in or are you planning to shoot me?” He nodded at the gun in her hand.

“I haven't decided yet.” Her brow twitched before she slid the gun back in its holster on the table.

“Nice piece. Sig Sauer P320?”

She nodded.

Trey pointed to himself. “1911.”

She stepped back. “You might as well come in.”

All the questions in her head battled to come out of her mouth, but she bit them back.