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The first one cleared her path, racing toward the street as its owner called its name, but the second one — the retriever — cut it closer. Nick opened his mouth to issue a warning, then hesitated.
What was he supposed to shout? Stop? Be careful? Dog?
He saw the exact moment the woman saw the dog, saw her slow her pace, the retriever clearing her by inches. He thought she would keep going, would resume her previous pace as she headed out of the park, maybe even stop to yell at the dogs’ owners, running after their animals in a panic.
Instead she faltered, wobbling before she went down on the concrete, slamming onto the ground with a force that made him wince.
The park was nearly empty as he’d raced over, held out a hand, and asked if she was okay. It wasn’t until she’d looked up at him that he realized it was Alexa Nash.
“I… I think so,” she said.
“Let me help you up.”
She looked at his outstretched hand like it might bite, then took it. She was more solid than she looked, and he braced his feet on the slippery ground as he helped her to her feet.
“That was quite a spill,” he said. “Can you move everything?”
She bent her knees, pulling them toward her chest one at a time. “I think so.”
He looked at her right knee, a cut bleeding through a tear in her running tights. “Think that needs stitches?”
She glanced down and noted the cut with detachment. “It’ll be fine.”
He thought about her accident, about everything he’d read online, the two years of recovery to walk again, the close call with losing her leg. But of course, he couldn’t say anything unless he wanted her to think he was a stalker.
“At least let me buy you coffee while you catch your breath,” he said.
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Alexa Nash was an Assistant AG, and no matter how he tried to sugarcoat it, he was a criminal.
She studied him with her icy eyes, her cheeks flushed with cold. He’d thought she was hot when she’d appeared in their office two months earlier, but now he saw that she was beautiful.
“You’re Nick Murphy,” she said.
Her workout clothes couldn’t hide the elegant jut of her collarbone, the swell of her hips. Her dark hair shone even in its ponytail, and her skin was as smooth as porcelain.
“Guilty,” he said. “Of being Nick Murphy, that is.”
He was surprised to see a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “Alexa Nash.”
“I know who you are,” he said.
She nodded. “Coffee isn’t a good idea.”
“Probably not,” he said. “But you should probably get off that leg for a bit, and I feel obligated to make sure you’re okay.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.
“Agreed. I picked your ass up off the pavement. Technically you owe me.”
“Acceptance of your offer doesn’t imply agreement,” she said.
“So you’re agreeing then? To coffee?” He hated the excitement leaping through his veins at the idea of sitting across from her.
“On one condition.”
“Which is?” he asked.
“I get to ask you questions,” she said. “Anything I want.”
