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  “I live for subterfuge,” she scoffed.

  “Stop,” he said quietly but firmly. The sarcasm was a defense mechanism that she obviously used to keep people from probing too deeply. A way of maintaining distance. “It wouldn’t kill you to accept my help.”

  “No, but it might compromise my case. Plus…”

  When she stopped, he prompted, “Plus?”

  “I don’t understand your motives. Why are you going to all this trouble? Why do you want to get involved in this investigation? What’s in it for you?”

  She didn’t trust him. Not surprising, since he didn’t trust himself. The bribery attempt, a remnant of his old ways, had been a huge misstep. But he’d wanted to know what kind of agent he was dealing with, despite Sam’s assurances that Malina was fiercely ethical.

  “It’s my duty,” he said finally.

  “As what?”

  “A citizen of the United States.”

  She shook her head. “Nobody’s that committed and idealistic.”

  “But they should be.” And he was fighting every day to be sure he could count himself among those who were. “This is my island.” When she raised her eyebrows, he added, “Not all of it, though I do own a fair collection of properties. I mean, this is my birthplace, my home. It’s lovely and peaceful, the place where I intend to raise my children and live until I’m ancient and dotty. I care what happens here, and I won’t let smuggling or drugs or anything else ruin my community.”

  Saying nothing, she held his gaze. “You’re—”

  “Agent Blair?” a gruff voice interrupted.

  Malina rose and held out her hand to harbormaster Albert Duffy. “Mr. Duffy, thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

  Though he shook her hand briefly, his thick gray brows drew together, and the wrinkles on his darkly tanned and lined face seemed to deepen. “I don’t like working with women.”

  “I don’t like working with anybody. Why don’t we take that table in the back corner?” she suggested.

  Al scowled briefly, but must have been somewhat satisfied with Malina’s direct answer, because he shrugged and wandered toward the booth.

  Malina turned back to Carr and spoke in a low tone only he could hear. “That was a pretty impassioned speech earlier. I can see why you were a prize to juries. I still have to ask you to keep your distance from this case.” When he started to interrupt, she held up her hand to stall him. “I’d be interested in calling you for an occasional consultation, but that’s where your involvement ends. Understand?”

  “Since you’re articulate, and I’m fairly intelligent, yes, I understand.”

  She narrowed her eyes briefly, as if trying to figure out if there was a loophole. Which, of course, there was.

  “Your offer to help is admirable,” she said after a moment. “In fact, it’s—” She stopped and shook her head ruefully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard sentiment like that.” She brushed her hand across his arm. “Thanks.”

  Now she thought he was being noble.

  He almost wished he could call back his words. His nobility was tainted. He didn’t deserve her admiration. But he wanted her.

  When she reached into her pocket and pulled out a clip of cash, he held up his hand. “I’ll pay for the drinks.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but you can’t.” She took out a twenty-dollar bill and laid it on the bar. “Generous.”

  She turned toward the booth Al had settled into. “My compensation to the cute bartender whose flirting I’d never consider returning.”

  “Why not?”

  She flicked him a glance. “I’m attracted to men, not boys.”

  “WOULD YOU LIKE a drink, Mr. Duffy?” Malina asked as she scooted into the booth and faced the cranky harbormaster.

  He pointed a knobby finger toward the bar area. “It’s comin’.”

  Malina looked over to see Carr Hamilton headed toward them, a glass of whiskey in each hand.

  He slid onto the seat beside Duffy, then lifted his drink in a toast and his lips in smirk. “I figured you’d want to abstain. On duty and all.”

  “Very considerate, Mr. Hamilton,” she said, certain the sharp attorney caught her sarcasm. “However, I don’t need your assistance.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. However, I’m Mr. Duffy’s lawyer.”

  “He called you?”

  “No, but isn’t it fortunate I was here? I’ll stay on his behalf.”

  “I don’t want to be here at all,” Duffy said, glaring at her.

  “Me either,” she muttered. The man she had the reluctant hots for was currently sitting across from her, meddling in her case, distracting her from nearly everything. “But I have a job to do.”

  Duffy sipped his drink. “You should be home, cookin’ for your man.”

  Though her muscles tensed like a coiled snake, she managed to let the anger roll off. “I’m better with a pistol than a spatula.”

  “Not natural,” Duffy insisted.

  Malina drilled her gaze into his. “Frankly, Mr. Duffy, I’d rather be anywhere else, talking to anyone else than you. And yet…” She lifted her hands and leaned back. “Here I am, striving to protect the law-abiding citizens of Palmer’s Island from the criminal element. If I can make the sacrifice, so can you.”

  Duffy continued to glare silently at her, as if sure he’d never seen a self-possessed woman in his life.

  “Al,” Hamilton said quietly, “let her do this.”

  Duffy sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

  “I’d like to record the interview, if that’s okay with you.” She cast Hamilton a glance. “And your attorney, of course.” With their verbal agreements secured, she asked Duffy, “Do you know Jack Rafton?”

  Duffy looked wary. “Yeah. Slip number nine.”

  “Owner of a twenty-six-foot cabin cruiser called American Dream?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How would you characterize your relationship?”

  “We ain’t got a relationship, lady. We’re men.”

  And not homophobic at all. Malina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She liked her job, she really did. Or, rather, she used to. “Are you friends?” she asked.

  Duffy shrugged. “We have a drink together sometimes.”

  “Have you ever been to his house?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have his cell phone number?”

  “No.”

  “What do you talk about when you’re together?”

  “Fishing. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “She’s trying to determine if you’re close friends with Jack,” Hamilton put in.

  “Are you?” Malina pressed the harbormaster.

  “I guess not.”

  The man could give clams pointers. “But you see Mr. Rafton frequently.”

  “He has a boat. I run the harbor.”

  “Does Mr. Rafton seem under an unusual amount of stress lately?”

  “How the hell do I know?”

  “Have you seen him at the docks at unusual times over the last few weeks?”

  Duffy’s gaze darted to Hamilton. “What does she mean unusual?”

  Hamilton’s lips twitched. “Out of the ordinary.”

  “I know that. I don’t know what that has to do with—”

  “You run the harbor,” Malina interrupted. “You know when people come and go. When does Rafton usually come and go?”

  “Early morning, sometimes after dinner.”

  “When has he been taking his boat out lately?”

  Duffy sipped his whiskey before answering. “Later.”

  “How much later?”

  “Eleven, maybe twelve at night.”

  “So would you characterize that as unusual?”

  Annoyance lined Duffy’s face. “I guess so.”

  His statement fell in line with what others had said with less reluctance and certainly more grace. Was Albert Duffy simply ornery, or did he have some connection with Rafton that he didn’t wa
nt known? With this man, directness seemed to be the only course. “Are you engaging in or helping to cover up illegal activity perpetrated by Jack Rafton?”

  Duffy sputtered so heavily he couldn’t speak.

  “Agent Blair,” Hamilton said, his gaze locking on hers, “that’s inappropriate.”

  But it confirmed her instincts—Duffy was an insulting curmudgeon and likely not a would-be felon.

  “I thought we might get to our goal more quickly with more specific questions,” she said to the men across from her. “And I’m sure Mr. Duffy doesn’t think the FBI engages in random questioning. I wanted to let him know that he’s being watched and any attempt by him to warn Mr. Rafton of the questions I’ve asked would be perceived by me as the act of an accomplice.” She smiled. “Everybody clear now?”

  “What a man does on his own time isn’t any of my bother,” Duffy mumbled.

  Her smile broadened. “Exactly. That’s my job. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Duffy,” she added, rising and turning off the microrecorder. “I’ll forward copies of the interview transcript to your office, Mr. Hamilton. Good night to you both.”

  “You’d do better to learn to cook, honey,” Duffy said as she turned away.

  Facing him, her fingers twitched as she skimmed her hand across the butt of her gun. “Would I?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze defiant, Duffy leaned back in the booth. “Carr here needs a girlfriend. He’s rich, so he could probably even get you lessons.”

  “If only I’d known those options were open to me, I’d have skipped training in Quantico and raced right over to the Julia Child Institute.” Her temper finally breaking, she braced her palm on the table and leaned toward Duffy, meeting his startled gaze with her own furious, narrowed one. “As it happens, I’m a pretty good ass-kicker, so I think I’ll stick with what I know.” She paused briefly, renewing her smile, even though it was significantly cooler. “As long as that’s okay with you.”

  Stalking away, she didn’t dare look at Hamilton, who’d no doubt find a way to warm her icy demeanor.

  Chauvinistic, patronizing men who were threatened by women in general, not just the ones carrying firearms, didn’t warrant any room in her thoughts. And yet, here she was, striding to her car and dwelling on the interview as if she cared whether or not she could boil water.

  If Duffy owned a gun, it was doubtful he’d be able to hit the broad side of a barn with it, even with a sniper’s scope and a GPS. And yet nobody was questioning his ability to be harbormaster. Though what his job had to do with weapons, she couldn’t say. She just—

  She ground to a halt next to her dark blue sedan. Those two didn’t seriously think the investigation of this case would be reduced to gender, did they? Suspected smuggling was serious business that had nothing to do with chromosomes.

  Frankly, she’d expected better from Carr Hamilton.

  He caught up to her in the parking lot, bracing his arm on the hood of her car and standing way too close. “Why did you come here tonight?”

  Again, she was conscious of feeling small. As an agent, the sensation bothered her. As a woman, she couldn’t help inhaling his cologne’s spicy scent and spending a few seconds reveling in the head-spinning that followed.

  She told herself it was important that she stand her ground and resist his advances. If she let him inside, she wasn’t sure how she could stay objective. Stepping back, she rolled her shoulders. “I’m here because this is where Duffy wanted to meet. He’s a complete ass, by the way.”

  “I did advise you to show some leg.”

  Briefly, she closed her eyes to get a better handle on her temper. Was he really just like everybody else? “You don’t honestly believe I’d resort to low-cut dresses or high heels to solve my case,” she said, her gaze boring into his.

  “Sure I do.” He closed the distance she’d created between them. “If it solved your case, you’d do just about anything.”

  His assured tone angered her—or so she tried to convince herself. The fact that his statement was true was irrelevant.

  Hamilton cocked his head. “As far as your personal life, though, I think you’d make a man’s journey just about as difficult as you could.”

  Also true. Though not out of any deliberate issue with men in general—except the chauvinistic, homophobic or idiotic ones. She simply hadn’t met many men worth giving her time to lately. And if she was lonely, she had her job to focus on. The SAC respected her. For now, that would have to be enough to keep the home fires burning.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did they teach you how to be an egomaniac at Yale?”

  Ignoring her defensive stance, he leaned into her. “No, I think that particular quality is inborn.”

  The challenge in his dark eyes hadn’t wavered once since the moment she met him.

  She liked that.

  Truth told, she liked him. But he was intimately involved in her case, and she knew an attraction to him wasn’t wise.

  “Are you sure you didn’t come here to see me?” he asked.

  “I came to interrogate a person of interest in my case.” If she figured the owner of the bar, who she’d learned spent many of his nights in that bar, showed up, well, that was simply a side benefit to a job that had sold her short on positive points so far.

  His gaze roved her face. “And I’m irrelevant?”

  “You’re…distracting,” she admitted, her heart racing with the crazy need that she sensed would always mark any encounter with Carr Hamilton.

  “Then I’m doing my job.”

  She angled her head. “Is that why you followed me out here—to do your job?”

  His tongue moistened his lower lip, and she barely repressed a groan. “No.” He wrapped one arm around her waist. “I have other things on my mind right now.”

  As he lowered his head, she knew she could stop him. Should stop him.

  But there were times when her instincts took over, and while those interludes didn’t always end the way she’d anticipated or desired, she couldn’t deny they always made things interesting.

  She doubted touching Carr Hamilton would be any different.

  His hand cupped her jaw as he laid his mouth over hers. As his fingers gripped the back of her head, his tongue slid between her lips, sending sparks of desire and need shooting through her body. The lustful feelings smoldering inside exploded.

  Their chests met; her nipples tightened.

  Her body wanted him, even if her brain warned of the danger. With a moan of longing, she ignored her conscience. She clutched the front of his shirt as he continued to devour her mouth, seeming determined to absorb every part of her into him, and she was willing to let him.

  Willing? Hell, she wanted more.

  Much more.

  He pressed her back against her car. “I’ve thought of nothing but you since yesterday,” he rasped in her ear.

  Her pulse hammered. Her body throbbed.

  Different didn’t even begin to describe the hunger pulsing through her. She’d anticipated a spark and gotten an inferno.

  She pressed her lips to his throat and buried her hand in the inky locks of his hair that indeed felt like silk. “You’re part of my case. I shouldn’t—”

  He silenced her with another kiss. Her protests died in the wake of the raw emotions consuming her. Her belly tightened, craving more of his touch, knowing instinctively he could drive away the loneliness and satisfy both her body and her mind.

  She wanted his skin pressed against hers. She wanted to let loose the fire behind his dark eyes.

  His hand slid up her stomach, and her breasts tingled in anticipation. But before he could reach his goal, his thumb brushed her shoulder holster.

  She shoved him back instantly.

  In the dimly lit parking lot, white sand beneath her shoes, ocean breeze brushing against her skin, she gasped for air and watched him. He looked as dazed as she felt.

  “You touched—” She broke off and slid her hands into he
r pants pockets. Her fingers quivered with the need to brush an errant lock of his silky hair off his forehead. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Sorry. My weapon holster. It’s an instinctive thing for a cop to protect.”

  Still breathing heavily, his mouth lifted on one side. “Remind me to disarm you next time.”

  She shook her head. There shouldn’t be a next time.

  And yet could she really imagine resisting the beautiful man standing before her for long? If he wanted her—and by the evidence presented in the past few minutes she could only assume he did—was there any way she wouldn’t be his?

  She shivered at the thought.

  “Cold?” he asked, stepping forward and bracing his palms beneath her elbows.

  “No.” She shook her head. “That’s the last thing I am.”

  His hands gripped her waist, and she noted he was careful to keep them away from her holster. “Come home with me.”

  She turned away. “I can’t. I need to think.” She’d never been a coward in her life, but she wasn’t sure whether she should run toward or away from this man.

  “Think about me?” he asked, his lips against her ear.

  “Among other things. I need to go to the gun club.”

  “The…what?”

  She glanced over her shoulder into his confused eyes. “Gun club. They have an indoor shooting range that’s open twenty-four hours.” Then she remembered the whiskey she’d indulged in earlier. The club would have to wait for morning. “I like to shoot to relax.”

  “I like to walk on the beach.”

  Just another way they were opposites and completely wrong for each other.

  When she opened her car door, he let go of her and stepped back. “You want a ride home?” she asked him.

  He started off. “I’ll walk. Thanks.”

  “Oh, Hamilton? By—”

  “Do you think you could call me by my first name?”

  “No, I really don’t think I can now.”

  He scowled. “Then when?”

  She shrugged. “When it’s the right time. And, by the way…” She let her gaze track down his body, long, lean and illuminated by the streetlight. “The Bureau couldn’t care less whether you wear boxers, briefs or nothing at all.”