“You know,” she said, taking a chance that this was the problem, “I’m not into John. I’m only going out with him because I promised to. You know that, right?”

  His neck snapped up, and he looked at her, his eyes stormier than they’d been a moment before, his voice terse and low. “You should be into him. He’d be a good choice for someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?” She recoiled as though slapped, then straightened her spine and demanded, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s stable and settled and…and…and sensible,” he bit out. “Perfect for you.”

  “Well, maybe I don’t want stable and settled and sensible,” she snapped, her fingers curling around the newel post at the foot of the stairs. “Maybe I want unstable, and—and unsettled, and…wild!”

  He blew out an exasperated breath, like she was being ridiculous.

  “Don’t patronize me,” she warned him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Then stop acting like a child.”

  “Says the person who’s been avoiding me all day.”

  “I haven’t been avoiding you, Tierney.”

  “Yes, you have. Why?”

  “Because I’m bad for you!” he growled. As soon as the words left his mouth, she saw that tic in his jaw again, like he was grinding his teeth together to keep from saying anything else. After a moment, his face relaxed and he delivered a speech: “I’m sorry if I sent you mixed signals yesterday. It won’t happen again. You don’t need someone like me. You need someone like John. And I need to stay focused on your safety…and nothing else.”

  She blinked at him, trying to decide if she was hurt or insulted. Or both.

  Both, she decided. There was nothing she liked about what he was saying, but her humiliation was sharp enough that she didn’t want to discuss it further.

  “I see,” she said. “Then I’ll stay out of your fucking way.”

  “Come on,” he muttered. “Tierney, wait…”

  His voice trailed off as she hurried up the stairs, her eyes burning with stupid, useless tears. Why should she care what this man thought of her? Why should she care if he thought she deserved someone like pasty, wheedling John Stuart? It didn’t matter. Not one bit. Not at all.

  Slamming her door shut, she locked it for good measure, then sat down on the edge of her bed, looking at herself in the mirror over her bureau. Her dark hair was back in a severe bun, she wore no makeup, and the dim light in her room bounced off the lenses of her glasses, obscuring her eyes. She took them off, folding them carefully and placing them on her bedside table, then took her hair from its bun and shook out the long straight, dark mane. It fell around her shoulders in black curtains, making her pixie-like face appear smaller and slimmer.

  I’m not bad-looking, she thought, tilting her head to the side. Am I?

  Tierney had never put much effort into her appearance.

  Makeup felt heavy on her sensitive skin and made her break out. And fashionable clothes made her feel conspicuous when all she really wanted was to hide or blend in. She kept herself neat and clean, but she didn’t try to make herself more or less attractive than she was naturally.

  But now? Now she considered herself in the mirror, wondering what feminine wiles she might use if she wanted to stand out, if she wanted to be noticed. Feeling bold, she pulled her plain black T-shirt over her head, then cupped her breasts and pushed them together to make a swell of cleavage. Then she tossed half of her long hair over her shoulder, so the dark, blunt ends hovered just over her nipple. Hmm. Some lipstick. A little black dress.

  Ignore me then, she dared the universe, lifting her chin.

  Knock knock. “Tierney?” Knock knock. “Can we talk?”

  She dropped her hands and frowned at the door.

  She remembered having the “let’s be friends” conversation at college more than once, and she could already hear it in his voice. She knew what was coming. He wanted to soften the blow of his rejection by offering her his friendship as a consolation prize.

  Well, forget it. I’m not interested.

  Which begged the question: What do I want?

  She gulped, trying to form a quick and snappy answer, but her thoughts were cloudy and disjointed. There was only one thing she knew for certain: though Burr had only swept into her life a few days ago, she already knew that friendship wasn’t what she wanted from him.

  With some people, when they walked into your life, you knew—you just knew—that there were some roles they could play and some they couldn’t. And Burr O’Leary could only be her friend if he was a friend she could also touch and kiss and reach for, a friend who wanted her with the same burgeoning intensity that she wanted him.

  The problem with accepting his friendship was that it would eventually break her, because her attraction to him was already too great; she wanted things from him—the dark flash of his eyes, a reprisal of his lips upon hers, his strong arms encircling her body. She wanted to have a right to those things, and if she compromised her own desires by settling for friendship, she’d be subjugating them. If she agreed to a friendship with Burr, she’d be ignoring the whisperings of her heart and the fierce longing that had already taken root in her body.

  So no. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

  She didn’t want to have to nod and smile when he told her that a friendship between them would be for the best. Mostly because one, she didn’t believe it, and two, she simply didn’t want it.

  “Not now,” she said.

  “Tierney, please…”

  “No.” I can’t buy what you want to sell me.

  She heard a deep breath and sigh, followed by the muffled thump of something hitting the door. His palm? His forehead?

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  Me too, she thought, disappointment engulfing her.

  “Good night, Burr,” she said firmly, reaching for the light on her bedside table and turning it off. A moment later, she heard his retreating footsteps and the slamming of the guest room door.

  Lying back on the bed still partially clothed, she watched as the branches outside her window made shadows on her ceiling. If he wasn’t interested in her, that was his right. But not accepting a friendship with him when she longed for the possibility of something more was hers.

  Tierney was tired of being—how had Brittany put it?—good and quiet, strong and sweet, shy and solitary. Part of her would always be those things, she supposed, but she’d felt herself growing and changing this summer, readying herself for passion, for love, for something more than all she’d known so far. And frankly, she’d rather take two steps forward with someone else than three steps backward with Burr.

  Which led her to thoughts of John.

  Hmm. She sighed, rolling to her side, her whole body slumping apathetically against her comforter.

  He wasn’t her type physically, she didn’t exactly love the way he’d coerced her into tomorrow night’s date, and the way he sometimes waxed on about the intestinal problems of his livestock patients, didn’t exactly scream romance. But he’d shown some initiative in blackmailing her into a date, which—strangely enough—showed a bit of spirit she could admire. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe she needed to put her best foot forward tomorrow night and do her part to find what she wanted with someone who actually wanted her back.

  And as for Burr?

  Well, Burr O’Leary could keep his offer of bloody friendship or take it to the devil.

  ***

  Up for the second morning at the crack of dawn, Burr walked the entire perimeter of Moonstone Manor before Tierney left for work, taking care not to return to the cottage until after she’d left for the visitor’s center.

  It took willpower not to meet her downstairs for breakfast or “coincidentally” end up at the cottage for lunch at one when he knew she took a break from work at that time. But he didn’t need feelings for her clouding his purpose. Was he attracted to her? Fuck, yes. Did he like her? Yes, again. A lot more than he should. It didn’t change the fact, however, that indulging those feelings, on any level, was a recipe for disaster.

  Maybe one day, once Sean Shanahan and his associates were in jail, Burr could reach out to Tierney again. He’d ask her out on a proper date and bring her a bouquet of roses when he picked her up. He’d hold her hand and kiss her sweet lips as much as she’d let him, and he’d wait as long as she needed to invite him into her bed. And once he was there, he’d show her all the ways he’d dreamed of having her. But there was simply no space for such feelings right now.

  He didn’t want to hurt her by backing away. Seeing the look on her face last night when he told her that he was “bad for her” had squeezed his heart. He’d gone upstairs hoping to offer her a friendship—something instead of nothing—even though it would have been a pretense since his attraction to her was growing daily.

  But she’d turned him down—the conversation and, he suspected, the friendship too. The chemistry between them, however new, was palpable. It was just like that with some people. It didn’t matter how short a time you knew them; they were sorted into the “something more” category practically upon meeting, and anything else—including some sham, bullshit platonic friendship—wouldn’t work out anyway. It would just destroy the potential for something else later.

  But after what happened with Suzanne, Burr refused to be distracted.

  Refused, no matter how much it sucked.

  The doorbell of the cottage ringing at seven o’clock sharp was, in fact, a fairly brutal reminder of that very suckage.

  Burr opened the door, staring at John without welcoming him inside.

  “Brian? Huh. Hello. Are you still here?” asked John, straightening his glasses with a nervous twitch.

  “Yeah.”

  John craned his neck, trying to look around Burr’s muscular body, which took up most of the doorway. “Um. Can I come in, please? I’m here for Tierney.”

  When Burr had returned to the house after his sixth perimeter walk today, he heard her upstairs. First the shower, then a hair dryer, then some soft music while she put herself together. For another fucking man. A weasel-man. And Burr got a front row seat to the whole torturous thing.

  “She’s upstairs,” he grunted, opening the door a crack more.

  John sidestepped into the living room, then turned to look at Burr, and Burr was reminded of how physically small the veterinarian was. Almost as short as Tierney, but not half as good looking, he wore pressed khaki pants, a short-sleeve light-blue dress shirt, and loafers. He looked like a do-gooder come to sell bibles and salvation.

  “How long are you staying?” asked John.

  “A few weeks,” said Burr, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “That long?” John’s eyebrows rose. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Yeah. I’m working here now.”

  “Working here?”

  “Security,” said Burr.

  “Oh.” The sound was sour. “And where are you living?”

  “Here.”

  John’s chin dropped in surprise, though his eyes held Burr’s. “Here. With Tierney?”

  Burr sighed. As much as he didn’t like this guy, he wasn’t going to let him think poorly of Tierney. “In the spare room.”

  John’s features relaxed just a touch. “I see.”

  “So, Doc,” said Burr, “where are you taking her?”

  For a split second he thought John was going to say “None of your business,” but at the last moment, he must have decided that sharing details of their impending date would be a better form of torture. “There’s a great restaurant in Meredith called the Lakehouse Grille. Nicest place for miles around. Great views of Winnipesaukee. Fireplaces. Candlelight. Live music. Great food. It’s pretty romantic.”

  “Is that right?” growled Burr, clenching his arms tighter to purposely pop his biceps.

  “Y-Yes, it is,” said John, adjusting his glasses higher up on his nose. His expression was veering into nervousness, like he realized he’d overplayed his hand, when his eyes suddenly slid to something—or someone—over Burr’s shoulder. His lips parted, his face overtaken by a look of such stunned admiration, Burr couldn’t help but follow his rival’s gaze.

  Standing on the stairs behind him was a woman who looked vaguely like Tierney Haven—but an entirely different version of the woman he’d gotten to know. She stole his breath. Just standing there, she fucking sucker-punched every ounce of oxygen out of his lungs. His lips parted. His eyes widened. And he ogled her like he’d never seen a woman before in his whole bloody life.

  And maybe he hadn’t.

  Certainly not one who looked half as beautiful as she.

  Burr already knew that she was pretty, but beneath her frumpy work clothes, severe hair, and thick glasses, Tierney Haven was a fucking stunner.

  Dressed in a short black cocktail dress that fit her body like a glove and ended just above her knees, her surprisingly long legs were on full display in high heels. Sliding his gaze back up, he felt his jaw tighten at the plunging V neckline of her dress. His eyes stuttered at her throat for a moment where he paused to check out the gold and emerald Celtic cross she wore between the plump cleavage of her full breasts. Finally, he lifted his eyes to her face and felt his nostrils flare with Neanderthal lust. Her porcelain skin was white, but her lips were cherry red and her eyes had been darkened. Long, black lashes framed her glasses-free emerald eyes, and her dark hair—parted in the center, with two sections swept over her shoulders—made his fingers twitch with longing.

  Her lips tilted up in a slight, triumphant smile as she caught his eyes.

  “Don’t you have a sweater?” he demanded, his voice gritty and irritated.

  Her smile vanished. “It’s seventy-five degrees out.”

  “That’s—that’s fucking chilly,” he growled.

  “No,” she said, stepping down the rest of the stairs, “it’s not.”

  “You take my breath away, Tierney,” said Dr. Weasel, stepping forward and reaching for her hands.

  With his fingernails curling into his palm, Burr had to stand by and watch as John pulled her close and kissed her cheek. When she drew away, she smiled up at John, her eyes glimmering in the dim evening light, her whole body smelling lightly of flowers or some other girly shit that made his blood hot and his dick hard.

  Tierney turned to look at Burr, lifting her chin, and the warmth she offered John drained from her face. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Oh, I will,” he answered, giving John a hard look. “Out of respect for your brothers.”

  “My—? What a crock.” She rolled her eyes at him, snorting once before turning back to John with a warm-honey smile. “Ready?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, pulling open the door for her and pulling it shut behind.

  And Burr, who watched her go, could do nothing but smash his tight fist into his other hand and wish he was the one taking her out to dinner at a fancy candlelit place…the one who had a right to kiss her cheek or hold her hands. But he wasn’t. And the phone call he needed to make reminded him of just how much danger he’d brought into her quiet life.

  He pulled a burner phone from his back pocket and dialed the number Donnelley had given him on Wednesday.

  “O’Leary?”

  “Yes, sir. Any news?”

  “You were right about Ray. I’m so goddamned sorry.”

  “He confessed?”

  Donnelley cleared his throat. “Gunn had his own suspicions. They had his office phone tapped, and they overheard him talking to Fat Billy, giving him your whereabouts.”

  “Fuuuuck.” Why, Ray? Why? “Did he say why?”

  “Nah. They pulled him into an interrogation room and he folded as soon as Gunn mentioned the tap. According to a guy I know over there, he started crying at one point, saying how sorry he was about Suzy.”

  But not about the hit on me, thought Burr, rubbing his chest with his free hand.

  He didn’t want to waste his energy thinking about his rat-partner. “Now what?”

  “He agreed to wear a wire when he next meets with Shanahan, but the problem is that you were the conduit between Ray and the New Killeens. It might spook Sean if Ray asks for a meeting. We have to wait until Sean approaches Ray.”

  “Sean’s gotta know I’m still alive by now.”

  “Which could also make him suspicious that Ray’s been found out,” observed Donnelley. “But sooner or later, if Ray goes about his life like nothing’s changed, Sean’ll reach out. And then we’ll wire Ray and, hopefully, get a confession.”

  “Could take some time,” said Burr.

  “Yeah,” said Donnelley, “but it’s foolproof. A hit on a policeman? We need it, Burr. Gunn gave your reports to the DA, but unfortunately, because Ray was your partner, the reports aren’t admissible.”

  “Fuck!” All those years of working with the fucking Shanahans down the drain? Fuck you, Ray. I better not ever be face-to-face with you again.

  “Yeah,” sighed Donnelley. “I know. But wiring Ray and getting a confession would implicate Shanahan and Griffin. Your testimony on the stand will help too. And of course Gunn and the other GTU guys can testify as to what they’ve witnessed. It might be enough for a conviction. But we need the attempted-murder rap. That’s the coup de grace.”

  “Lean on Ray. You’ve got to get Sean’s confession.”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  Burr took a deep breath and sighed. “Any chance Sean tracked down the call my friend made to the hospital?”

  “No way to know,” said Donnelley. “But best stay put wherever you are. Look after your friend.”

  Burr nodded. He wasn’t going anywhere until he knew that Tierney was safe. “When should I call you again?”

  “Gimme a week, huh? Call me after the Labor Day weekend. Hopefully I’ll have some news by then about a possible indictment.”

  After telling him that Suzanne was set to be discharged in a few more days, they hung up. Burr scrubbed his hands over his bristly face, falling down onto Tierney’s couch with a groan. Dirty cops weren’t exactly a novelty in Boston, but Ray’s betrayal fucking hurt. It made Burr feel stupid too, like he should have seen the signs, like he should have known.