Page 7 of Trap ’N’ Trace

“Is she going to be okay?” Emily wrung her hands. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No,” she mumbled. “No ambulance.” This was embarrassing enough.

Agent Andrews nodded to Emily. “Do you have something sweet to drink, like orange juice?”

“I’ll get some.” Emily rushed to the kitchen, returning quickly with a glass of juice.

Kat struggled to sit up.

“Wait.” Agent Andrews slid his arm beneath her back, lifting her upper body then wedging himself between her and the sofa. His very hard, very muscular chest pressed against her back. He held out his hand, and Emily handed him the glass. “Think you can drink some of this?” He held the glass to her lips. Her hands automatically came around his. “I’ve got this. Just drink.”

She did as ordered, and the tangy-sweet juice hit her taste buds then trickled down her throat, gradually reawakening her senses.

“What happened?” She looked at Emily’s concerned hazel eyes. The woman was not only Kat’s assistant but one of her few trusted friends.

“You fainted,” Agent Andrews said matter-of-factly.

“Fainted?” When she twisted her neck to look at him, her cheek grazed his chin. A very chiseled chin with a fine bristle of dark hair. “I never faint.”

“You did today.” He chuckled against the side of her face.

The sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Despite the blanket and the warmth provided by his broad chest pressing so intimately against her body, she shivered.

Emily sat in the Chippendale armchair facing the sofa. Worry lines creased her forehead. “Can I get you anything else?”

She shook her head, feeling better already. “No. Thank you. But I don’t think we’ll be doing any kickboxing today.”

“Probably a wise decision,” Emily agreed.

“You kickbox?” Agent Andrews asked.

She turned to find his dark brows raised. “What? Only men are allowed to work out and get sweaty?” Yet again, he’d made a snap judgment about her. Most people did, and she hated being a foregone conclusion. “I’ve got a great gym in the basement. Emily and I work out together almost every day. Keeps us in shape, and it’s a great way to vent frustration.” Why am I telling him this? The man could care less about her physical fitness, let alone her personal issues.

Angus whimpered and tried hopping up beside her, but his front paws barely made it to the top cushion. Remy dipped her head and gave the puppy a shove with her snout, launching him onto Kat’s lap where he promptly curled up with his toy. “Remy seems to know just what Angus needs.”

In an unexpectedly tender gesture, Agent Andrews stroked the top of his dog’s head. “There are three things she loves most in the world. Me, catching bad guys, and puppies.”

She rubbed the shepherd’s soft ears and was rewarded with a contented groan. “I don’t understand why I fainted.”

“Part of your problem is low blood sugar. Think you can hold this by yourself?” She nodded, and he eased his hands from beneath hers on the glass.

“What’s the other part?” she asked between sips.

“Shock and stress.” Warm breath feathered her ear, sending tingles down her neck and back. “Finding a dead body is enough to yank the rug out from under anyone.”

“What dead body?” Emily straightened, glaring at Kat. “You didn’t say anything about a dead body.”

“I was taking Angus back to his owner,” Kat began, only now realizing Emily still had no idea what was going on. “Unfortunately, she was…dead.”

Emily’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”

“There was so much blood. All those cuts on her body… What kind of animal would do such a thing?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.” His jaw tightened, reemphasizing the rugged masculinity of his face.

“Does the FBI investigate all murders?” Most of what she knew about the FBI from the news concerned things like terrorism and bank robberies.

“No.” A long moment of dead silence followed before he added, “The Orangetown PD has primary jurisdiction, but Rebecca Garman was an FBI agent before she became a private investigator. I’m assisting in case it turns out she was killed because of something she did for the FBI.”