She poured three very large glasses. “Claire, you can stay the night, too.”

  “It’s okay. I told Max we’d probably be drinking. He’ll pick me up whenever I call him.”

  “Why can’t I have a man like that?” Serena demanded. “A man who says, ‘Call me whenever, I’ll come and get you,’ not a man who stalks me.” Then she drank deeply of her wine. Like, chugged half the glass.

  “Are we talking stalking stalking? Or more of that texting?”

  “Ha.” Serena pulled an object out of her pocket and slapped it on the table.

  “What is it?” Cassie asked, though she was very much afraid she knew.

  “It’s a tracking device,” Claire answered, looking concerned.

  “Exactly. The bastard’s been tracking my every move. When I told him to stop having cops tail me and I stopped answering every text, suddenly he plants a GPS on me. Two, in fact. One in my car, one in my purse.”

  “He did the same thing when that crazed killer was after you,” Cassie had to remind her. “It saved your life.”

  “But I don’t have a crazed killer after me anymore. Just a crazed boyfriend.”

  She noted Serena didn’t call him her fiancé. Oh, boy.

  “I’m guessing you confronted him?”

  “Oh, yeah. This is the one I didn’t throw at him.”

  Cassie rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I wish I could give advice like you do. If I were in your place, and you were in mine, you’d know exactly what to say.”

  “I’d say dump his crazed ass,” Serena said, sucking back more wine.

  “I’m not sure you would,” Cassie said slowly. She’d been thinking about Adam’s odd behavior ever since the brunch and she had the inkling of an idea. “The thing is, he nearly got killed, too, didn’t he? I think you both suffered a terrible trauma. Everybody worried about you, and how you’d cope, and you healed amazingly well. But nobody ever worried about Adam. I mean, he’s a cop, he risks his life all the time. But it’s not his own life he’s worried about. It’s yours.”

  Serena put down her glass. She settled back and gazed at Cassie. “I was having such a good mad. Did you have to turn into a brilliant analyst quite so soon?”

  Cassie was honored by the compliment. “I imagined I was you giving someone in your place advice, and that’s what channeled.”

  Slowly, Serena sat back and no one spoke. It was obvious she was thinking, analyzing. Finally, she shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’re right. He’s got some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, probably.”

  “Which at least makes some sense of his crazy behavior.”

  “But he still has to get some help. Nobody can live with a man who’s tracking her every move.”

  “No. They can’t.” But she thought it would be nice to have one who was a little more committed than one-day-at-a-time Dylan.

  * * *

  ADAM STARED MOODILY into his glass of draft as though the amber liquid had magic answers to all life’s problems floating around in it. And wouldn’t that be nice, Dylan reflected.

  The clack of pool balls sounded from one of the tables behind them. He and Adam had been lowering the level of the pitcher pretty steadily, while Max was nursing his pint. He’d designated himself the driver for tonight’s festivities, which was decent of him.

  Adam had yet to explain why he’d called, except to say that Serena had dumped his ass.

  Max stared at Adam for another minute then leaned forward and said, “If you cheated on her, I’m going to have to invite you out back to the alley.” Max looked like a Latin playboy, and had been for a few years. But he wasn’t soft. He might be shorter than the other two, but he was solid, all muscle, and he wasn’t afraid to wade into the fray. He wouldn’t be a bit intimidated by Adam’s size, and if he had the moral high ground, well, Dylan didn’t relish picking Adam up off the gravel. But Adam only shook his head sharply. “Of course I didn’t cheat on her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “We’re agreed on that,” Max said, relaxing somewhat but still hanging onto the pensive frown.

  Finally, Dylan said, “Look, dude, we didn’t come here to watch you stare at a pitcher of beer. We’re your team. You tell us what’s up, and we’ll try and fix it.”

  He wasn’t very good at pep talks—that was usually Adam’s role—but the man was acting really strange.

  At last Adam glanced up from his beer. He looked like he had after his first murder investigation: as though he wanted to puke and cry but he was holding it together because he was a tough guy and tough guys didn’t puke and cry at gory murder.

  “I put a GPS in her car and one in her purse. She found them and flipped out. Threw one of the transmitters in my face. Then she threw the ring at me.”

  “She threw your engagement ring back at you?” Dylan asked in amazement. This was more serious than he’d thought. As he was speaking, he heard Max say at the same time, “You were tracking her by GPS?”

  Adam nodded yes to both questions. Then went back to staring at the beer pitcher.

  Max spoke again. “Don’t you trust her?”

  “Of course I trust her. I’d trust Serena with my life. She’s the most honest, decent person I’ve ever known. All she does is preach about the positive, bringing out the best in people. It’s not only her job, it’s who she is.”

  Max had a genius brain but even he looked confused. “What am I not getting? You trust her but you’re tracking her movements?”

  “It’s not her I don’t trust!” Adam all but exploded. “It’s all the perps and pervs out there, the guys who’d want to hurt her. She’s dealing with the public all the time. Traveling a lot on her own for business. I—I have to know she’s safe.” He sounded a bit out there, and Dylan glanced at Max to find him looking concerned.

  “But you didn’t tell her about the tracking device.”

  “She’d already flipped out when she found out I had a couple of buddies doing the odd drive-by to make sure she was okay.”

  Adam sipped his beer.

  Max said, “You almost lost her once.”

  “You don’t know how close it was. It was the GPS that told me where she was. He’d have killed her.”

  “He almost killed you,” Dylan said, remembering what a close call it had been, a psycho kidnapping Serena, promising to teach her about fear, and her and Adam defeating the guy together, barely making it.

  “I can’t lose her,” Adam said, his voice hoarse.

  It looked to Dylan as though he already had lost her, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Max didn’t, though. “You will lose her, Adam, if you don’t figure this out.”

  They all drank from their heavy glass mugs. Seemed the appropriate thing to do. This was one of their favorite bars. Dark, a little beat-up around the edges, where you could drink beer and play pool and hang out.

  The music changed and suddenly Dylan heard Beyoncé singing about all the single ladies. It took him back to that foolish striptease he’d done for Cassie. He’d never forget the rapt expression on her face as she’d sat there, buck naked in bed, watching him. He’d been so excited he could hardly drag his grinding and bumping routine out long enough. He’d wanted to throw himself on top of her so badly, but then the longer he made them both wait, the more fun it would be when he finally tasted that hot woman and plunged deep into her responsive body. He shifted, getting hard only thinking about her. Wishing he was going back there tonight and not to his own lonely bed.

  “It’s not like I want to drive her away, but I know a world she has no idea about. I have to protect her.”

  In that moment Dylan had a rare epiphany. He saw himself running into that burning house after his captain had told him to stand down, ignoring an order, driven by an instinct stronger than discipline. “It’s like you’re compelled. Like you know better what’s the right thing to do.”

  Adam stared at him, nodding. “Exactly. I can see a world she can’t. Why can’t she trust me?”

  “Remember when I ran into the burning house to save that two-bit drug dealer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought I knew best, too. Almost got myself and another couple of firefighters killed.” His brain felt clear and yet foggy at the same time. Even as he knew what he was saying was true, a part of him understood the instinctive need to protect, to rush in at any cost.

  That recklessness had almost cost him his life, and his job was still up in the air.

  A similar urge to protect was going to cost Adam his future wife if he wasn’t very careful.

  The waitress, a sexy blonde wearing a low-cut top, came up to their table. She also had a big smile and a friendly disposition. His favorite kind of waitress. “How you guys doing? Need another pitcher?”

  “Sure.”

  She nodded. “Those ladies over at the table behind me were wondering if you guys are single.”

  He glanced over to find a giggling group who’d probably had more beer than was good for them. Seemed like a fun group of girls. He caught the eye of one, a redhead wearing tight jeans and killer boots.

  “I’m engaged,” Adam said, even though it wasn’t technically true.

  “I’m also engaged,” Max said. But he pointed to Dylan. “He’s the only single one.”

  “No,” he said, almost without thinking. “I’m not single.”

  “Too bad,” the waitress said, and he thought she wasn’t only sorry for the table of giggling women.

  Okay, so they were here because Adam had a monumental problem, but as the waitress moved away he found the two guys staring at him. “What?”

  “Since when aren’t you single?”

  “I’m sort of seeing Cassie. It’s no big deal.”

  “Define sort of seeing?”

  He really wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “I’ve been spending some nights over at her place. She’s terrific.”

  “I know she’s terrific,” Adam said, using the same tone he probably used when he told some perp to put his hands on his head and spread ’em. “She’s not one of your playthings.”

  Dylan felt a rare spurt of anger. “Okay, I know you’re hurting, but that is way out of line.”

  Max broke in smoothly, as though his two best buddies weren’t leaning toward each other, snarling. “How many nights?”

  Dylan narrowed his gaze another notch at Adam before turning to answer the question. “Pretty much every night.”

  “What are your intentions?” Max asked in that same smooth tone.

  “What are you, her dad?” Sometimes Max was more Catholic than the pope.

  “She’s a nice woman. She’s bought that house. She’s going to want to settle down one day, maybe have kids. She deserves better than you.”

  “No, honestly, say what you really think.”

  “Two things,” Adam said after a moment.

  They both looked at him. And Dylan seriously hoped he was going to go back to how he was messing up his own life. But no.

  “One,” Adam said, tapping an index finger with the other, “he’s been sleeping with her for a week and he never said a word to me. Did he to you?” He glanced at Max and got a headshake.

  “Two,” Adam hit his middle finger, “he just told a table of hot women he’s not interested.”

  “Oh, come on, I’m not an ass—”

  “You think he’s changing?” Max interrupted, turning to Adam.

  Adam nodded. Grinned for the first time all evening. “I think our boy might finally be growing up.”

  16

  CASSIE GOT A text from Dylan around eleven the next morning. It read, Is the coast clear?

  She texted back, Yes.

  Five minutes later he knocked on her door holding take-out lattes.

  “How did you know how much I needed this?”

  “Please. You had the bride. I had the groom, remember?”

  “Yeah. Come in.”

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I’m a woman with no countertops. I went out for breakfast. I took Serena. I think she’s feeling a little calmer.” The cat, hearing her favorite person in the world—depending on who was pouring food into her bowl and playing with her—wrapped her body around his legs, purring violently. He scooped her up. “Hey, Twinkletoes.”

  “You shouldn’t name a cat you’re planning to take to the shelter,” she warned.

  Dylan gave her a look. “I’m not planning to take this cat anywhere, am I, Twinkle?” The cat butted his chin and then curled over his shoulder like a stole. He could carry the cat like that for hours. She seemed to enjoy being hoisted on high and carried by a guy who was usually covered in dust and had a habit of making loud noises and a lot of mess.

  “I’m surprised you’re up if you had a night out with the boys.”

  “We had hockey practice at five a.m.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. Not our finest showing.”

  He glanced into the completely unfinished house. “Let’s sit outside and ignore this for a while.”

  That sounded like a very good idea. Some days, it was all a bit overwhelming.

  They carried the coffee through and out the back door. As they sat in the Adirondack chairs, she pictured the garden as it would be one day. When she had time. And energy. And a new infusion of cash.

  “Okay,” he said, “let’s dish.”

  “What?” She couldn’t believe he’d said that. He sounded like somebody on The View.

  “Normally, I would not gossip about another man’s shit. But obviously you know what’s going on with Serena and I know what’s going on with Adam. I say we share notes and see what we can do to get them back together.”

  She stared at him.

  “What?”

  “I thought you’d be the kind of guy who’d never get involved in somebody else’s relationships, I guess.” She kept her thoughts about him being a commitmentphobe to herself this time.

  “Normally, I wouldn’t. I figure it’s their business. But Adam’s my best friend. And Serena’s the best thing that ever happened to him. I think he’ll never be the same if we don’t get them back together.” He sipped his coffee, then obviously thinking he’d been serious for far too long—as in almost a minute—said, “Besides, I’ve already rented my tux for the wedding.”

  And she had a sneaking suspicion he’d look amazing in it. Okay, on her list of the many reasons why she also thought Serena and Adam should get back together, the notion of seeing Dylan dressed in formal wear noted a mention.

  “A tux rental is a pretty big commitment,” she agreed. The cat rolled over in Dylan’s lap, presenting a white belly to be scratched. Dylan obliged without even seeming to notice he was doing it.

  She understood how the cat felt. There was something about Dylan that made a girl want to offer him all her most vulnerable parts for his attention.

  She sipped her own coffee. Brought her attention back to Adam and Serena.

  “I missed you last night,” he said in a low, sexy voice, almost as though he were thinking aloud.

  And there went her attention, skittering away from Serena and Adam once again. “I missed you, too,” she admitted.

  Not that she’d been in the mood for sex, with Serena’s broken heart in the guest bedroom and a few too many glasses of cabernet in her system, but she’d been aware of the wish for Dylan to be in her bed, simply for the warmth and comfort of his presence.

  She knew these were dangerous thoughts. Dylan wasn’t going to be permanent in her life any more than the stray cat. They were illusions of a life she might have someday.

  “But right now we need to talk about Serena and Adam,” she reminded them both.

  “Okay. What do you think?”

  “You know he’s been stalking her every move, right?”

  He winced at the term. “I know he’s been a little overprotective.”

  “Dylan, he planted a GPS in her car and in her purse. That woman couldn’t go to the bathroom without him knowing about it.”

  Dylan did a funny thing then. He reached for her hand. As he clasped hers she realized he’d never done that before. They’d had sex in every position in the Kama Sutra and a few more that they’d invented themselves. But they’d never held hands. She missed the first few words he said to her as she absorbed the feel of his skin, warm and dry against hers. His hands were, like the rest of him, strong, a little tough on the outside from hard work and firefighting, but also warm and resilient. She gazed at where their fingers joined. Her skin was so much paler and finer. Her hand so much smaller.

  Then she heard the word epiphany, not the sort of word she’d associate with the good-time Dylan, and suddenly she was listening as intently as she’d ever listened to anyone.

  His face was expressionless even as he scratched the purring creature in his lap and held her hand—he was far away in his own thoughts. “Maybe I have to go back. When we were kids, the three of us, we all had the ‘what are you going to be when you grow up’ stupid question thrust at us by well-meaning adults who thought it was adorable to laugh at a kid who wanted to drive the garbage truck or clean the pool or whatever fascinated our tiny brains.”

  He frowned. “But Max and Adam and I were different. We really knew, when we were little kids, what we wanted. I mean, who does that? Adam was going to be a cop because his dad was a cop and he idolized him. Max was going to be an astronaut, and believe me, he would have been if he didn’t have bum ears. Max, he was a scary genius even back then. When me and Adam were making paper airplanes or those ones out of Popsicle sticks and busting a gut when they crashed into trees, Max was building model airplanes that actually flew.”