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  He took her elbow and for a moment he thought she was going to jerk away from him, but instead, he felt her relax into his grip.

  “Okay,” she said. “Fine. If you get your jollies over being a gentleman, I’m not opposed to being walked to my front door.”

  “Good.” He guided her up the cement walkway lined with long-stemmed red flowers that swayed in the breeze.

  Their sneakers made muted sounds that echoed softly throughout the courtyard. A few people were in the pool, laughing and talking, but no one was near the staircase leading up to Poppy’s apartment. She inserted her key, opened the door, and then stepped over the threshold. She turned around and paused.

  Abel had an irresistible urge to kiss her, but he would not. He had to draw the line somewhere. He had to—

  Before he could even finish the thought, Poppy leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Abel, you odd duck.”

  Then she shut the door.

  A hundred different feelings, none of which he could rationalize or fully identify, rushed over him. Chagrin, longing, desire, foolishness, disappointment, relief.

  He turned and hurried down the stairs. Strangely, it seemed wings were attached to his shoes and he didn’t even register the journey from her door to his. Her lip print was branded on his cheek, his skin tingling from where she’d touched him. He hadn’t been this befuddled since high school.

  What the hell was going on? He was a Texas Ranger. He wasn’t some nerdy geek infatuated with the prom queen. He had to get control of himself. This had to stop.

  Fully expecting to be taunted and teased by Rogers—he knew his coworker had been watching Poppy’s place and had seen him walk her to her door—he turned his key in the lock, his mind already spinning excuses for his behavior, only to pull up short at what he saw in the living area.

  It wasn’t Tim Rogers seated on the stool beside the telescope; it was his boss, Captain Higgins.

  Chapter Seven

  After she closed the door behind Abel, Poppy floated into the kitchen. She kicked off her shoes and opened the refrigerator door, then took out a bottle of orange juice, twisted off the top, and took a long drink. Her lips still throbbed from where she’d kissed Abel’s cheek that had been faintly shadowed with beard stubble.

  Why had she kissed him? Resisting the man was difficult enough. She was playing with fire, asking for trouble, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Poppy put the cap back on the orange juice and headed for the shower. She tried not to think about Abel, but she could still smell him on her skin, masculine and clean. She could still feel the grip of his hand around her elbow, strong and protective.

  She gulped. She was moving too fast, reading too much into the dangerous pull between them. Having naughty sexual fantasies about him.

  Calm down. Take a deep breath. Stabilize yourself. You don’t even know this man.

  Okay, all right. Snap out of it. She was snapping out of it.

  She shed her clothes, dropping them in a trail as she made her way to the bathroom. She wondered what had motivated him to come to yoga class. Was he interested in her? Or was he serious about yoga? Maybe it was both. On the walk he did say he’d moved out to South Padre from Austin to make a fresh start. Try new things in his life. Maybe she was one of those new things.

  You don’t have to be one of his new things. Just because you’re both interested doesn’t mean it has to lead anywhere. You could just be friends.

  What a novel concept. She’d never been just friends with a guy. She wasn’t sure how to go about it.

  She took a shower and then went to the living room to pick up her clothes and stuff them into the laundry basket. She made herself a snack of Wasa crackers and peanut butter and perched on the couch to watch television. Her eyes kept straying to the open window.

  From her peripheral vision, she could see the window of Abel’s apartment. What was he doing? Was he thinking of her as she was thinking of him?

  Why was she thinking of him? Sure, he was good-looking with a body to die for, but come on. A lot of guys were good-looking with killer abs.

  What was it about this guy that seemed to have so wholly captured her imagination? She knew nothing about him, but maybe that was part of the appeal. Once she learned more about him, she’d probably grow bored. That’s how it usually happened for her. When a guy no longer held her interest, she dropped him.

  Except for Keith, who’d dropped her before she’d had a chance to drop him. It was the first time that had ever happened.

  Then again, he’d done her a favor. She’d been honestly able to say that they'd broken up when the Texas Rangers had shown up at her studio, flashing their badges.

  Remembering, Poppy gulped. She’d dodged a bullet with Keith.

  She was in the bathroom toweling her hair dry when she heard her cell phone ringing. She padded to the bedroom where she’d left it on her bureau. Leaning over, wet hair slapping the back of her neck, she took a peek at the caller ID.

  Unknown Caller flashed on the screen and she didn’t recognize the phone number, so she didn’t pick up. She waited a minute and then checked for voicemail. The automated recording told her she had one new message.

  She punched Play but all she heard was a moment of male breathing, followed by a click as he hung up.

  #

  “Ca-Captain Higgins,” Abel stammered, immediately snapping to attention. “What are you doing here?”

  This was it. He was about to receive disciplinarian action for going against his orders and making contact with Poppy. He’d never blatantly disobeyed orders before and he didn’t know why he’d done it this time.

  Poppy was a wild compulsion he couldn’t seem to control. If he were smart, he’d ask to be taken off the case. Clearly, when it came to Poppy St. John, he could not be trusted.

  Captain Higgins got to his feet, his expression stern but unreadable. The man possessed caterpillar eyebrows that rested low on his forehead. “Sit down, Black.”

  Abel sat, keeping his back tall and erect, his chin jutted forward, prepared to take whatever punishment was coming his way. “Yes, sir.”

  “Relax. You’re too uptight.” Captain Higgins took off his Stetson and settled it onto the table.

  Abel took a deep breath and remembered the yoga breathing Poppy had taught him. To his surprise he felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate. Maybe there was something to this yoga stuff.

  Captain Higgins paced the small area in front of where Abel was seated, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s come to my attention that you’ve made contact with the target.”

  “Rogers.”

  The Captain shrugged. “He thought it was important to let me know.”

  “Yes, sir.” He hated hearing Poppy referred to as “the target,” even though that’s what she was. The term was dehumanizing, which was the point, but now that he’d gotten to know her, he couldn’t put her in that box any longer. Yet another reason he should ask to be taken off the case. He was losing his objectivity.

  “There’s been a change of plans.”

  Abel swallowed. Higgins wasn’t lowering the boom on him.

  Yet.

  Higgins had a reputation for taking his time meting out punishment. He seemed to enjoy torturing his subordinates. Although for the most part, Abel stayed on Higgins’ good side. Until the whole Barksdale fiasco, that is. He’d been in charge of the project, so he’d shouldered the blame with a stiff upper lip. And he did feel guilty. Somehow, he felt as if he should have prevented the theft.

  “Rogers has been reassigned.”

  “He’s off the case?”

  “No, he’s with Kilgore.”

  “Doing what?”

  “They’re in Amarillo. Barksdale’s grandmother has been murdered.”

  Fear took a sprint up his spine. He forced his voice to stay flat, emotionless. “What?”

  “They thought at first it was natural causes. She’s been languishing i
n a nursing home for years. But upon closer examination, it was discovered the old lady had been smothered with a pillow.”

  “I thought we had a team watching Granny.”

  Higgins winced. “That assignment seemed a dead end, so I pulled our men out.”

  Abel said nothing. He knew Higgins was kicking himself over the decision.

  “Kilgore and Rogers are putting the squeeze on the contact. We’re almost certain he’s the one who hired Barksdale to steal the documents. We’ll get him soon. In the meantime, I want all your attention focused on Poppy St. John.”

  “It is, sir.” That was the understatement of the year. All he could think about was Poppy.

  “You weren’t at your post this evening.” Higgins indicated the telescope with a nod of his head.

  “No, sir,” Abel admitted.

  “You made direct contact with the target even though you’d been expressly ordered not to do so.”

  “I did.” No point lying about it. He was caught and prepared for the imminent dressing-down.

  The Captain nodded. “Good.”

  He must have heard wrong. “Good?”

  “I approve.”

  “Sir?”

  “Sometimes orders are just a suggestion.”

  “Sir?” he repeated, wondering if he needed a hearing aid.

  “When you’re on a stakeout you have to play it by ear. I know that’s not the Rangers’ bottom line, but I’ve been in the field. I understand how fluid things can get. I think it’s wise that you decided to make the acquaintance of Ms. St. John.”

  “You do?” He couldn’t believe it. Not only was he not in trouble, but Captain Higgins was praising him for taking matters into his own hands.

  “I admire your initiative, Black. You’re growing as an officer. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “What? To disobey orders?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “It goes against my training.”

  “And yet, you were able to make a judgment call.”

  “I don’t fully understand, sir.”

  “If I had listened to my gut instead of budgetary pressures from above, I wouldn’t have pulled the team off Barksdale’s grandmother. She died because I didn’t make the right call. So now I’m developing a new strategy because I don’t want the same thing happening to Ms. St. John.”

  “You think her life is in danger?”

  Higgins nodded. “Maybe.”

  “This is my fault, sir. He stole those files right out from under my nose.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Black. Barksdale is a genius when it comes to computer hacking and you followed every protocol. You’re not to blame for what happened.”

  Barksdale had bested him and that’s all there was to it. Abel clenched his fists at his sides. Even if Higgins did let him off the hook, he couldn’t exonerate himself. There must have been some way he could have been more diligent.

  “But because you picked up on it so quickly, Barksdale barely had time to get out of Austin before we were onto him. I’m certain he downloaded the data to a microchip for his own protection. If he’d sent the file directly via computer, he had no insurance that the buyers would pay him, and they wouldn’t pay him without knowing he had the real deal. He needed a backup.” Higgins shook his head. “No honor among thieves.”

  “And he probably used a microchip as opposed to downloading it to a flash drive because it’s much easier to hide.”

  “Exactly. When we arrested him, we went over his person with a fine-tooth comb and we tore his apartment apart. Nothing. We had to let him go.” Higgins sounded bitter. “He could have hidden it anywhere, but if he’d put it somewhere easily accessible and he’d already made the switch—info for money—the buyer wouldn’t still be in the country.”

  “Following that line of thinking, he hid it somewhere he now can’t get at it because we’ve got the noose tied too tightly around his neck.”

  “Exactly.” Higgins snapped his fingers.

  “You think he hid it at Poppy’s place?”

  Higgins met his stare. “I believe so. But unfortunately, I can’t convince a judge to give me a warrant without more evidence that Barksdale involved Ms. St. John in this scheme. He won’t even give me a wiretap for her phone.”

  “You want me to get close to her so I can search her apartment?”

  “Not just that, but you’d be protecting her, as well. Someone did kill Barksdale’s grandmother. Whether it was Ms. St. John’s student and his cohorts who were putting pressure on Barksdale to fork over that microchip, or the goons who Barksdale owes serious money to, is up in the air. Either way, your target could be in serious danger. Barksdale is desperate. He’s got to make a move and soon.”

  “Just to be clear,” Abel said, anxious to make certain there was no misunderstanding here. “My new orders are to befriend Ms. St. John, discover whatever I can about her intimate relationship with Barksdale while at the same time looking around her place for the microchip and acting as her bodyguard?”

  “That is correct. Are you up for the challenge?”

  He thought about how little control he had over himself around Poppy. If he wanted out of this assignment, now was the time to voice his doubts.

  Yeah, and never redeem yourself?

  “Yes, sir,” Abel said. “I can handle it.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, as he sat spying on Poppy’s apartment, Abel saw her clamber down the stairs wearing a blue string bikini top with denim shorts and carrying a surfboard. He’d been trying to think of a subtle way to get close to her and the surfboard gave him the perfect excuse. He hurried toward the door, hoping to catch her before she left the courtyard.

  “Poppy!” he called out from the landing.

  She stopped, turned, set down the surfboard, and pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead. She wriggled her fingers. “Good morning, Abel.”

  “You going surfing?” What an idiotic thing to say.

  She was wearing a bikini and carrying a surfboard. Where else would she be going? For a ride on the space shuttle?

  “Yes,” Poppy said, politely ignoring his stupid question.

  He rushed down the stairs, his eyes drinking her in. The woman was gorgeous. Long, tan legs, toenails painted cherry-red today. It made him want to buy whipped cream and snack on her. Her hair was caught up in a high ponytail.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She smiled. “Hey.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “Listen,” he said. “Last night I got your message loud and clear; you’re not interested in dating.”

  “Nothing personal.” She raked a lingering gaze over his body and her pink tongue flicked out to moisten her upper lip. “It’s not you per se. In fact, another time, another place, another life...”

  “You’ve got this moratorium on dating.”

  “Right.”

  “I understand and respect that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you’re the only person I know in South Padre.”

  “You’ve only been here a week. You’ll meet other people.”

  He inclined his head toward her surfboard. “I’ve always wanted to surf.”

  “They have surfing lessons at the beach.”

  “I know, but I was hoping you could give me a few pointers.”

  She looked as though she was about to say no, but then she let out her breath through straight pearly-white teeth. Teeth he’d love to run his tongue over.

  “You’ll need a wet suit.”

  “Okay, could we go buy one?”

  She laughed. There was that soft sound again that uncoiled something dangerous inside him. “You want surfing lessons today?”

  “You are going to the beach.”

  “You’re serious about this? You really want to surf? It’s not just an excuse to hit on me?”

  “Just surfing, nothing else.” He held up a palm as if he was taking an oath. “I p
romise.”

  She canted her head and studied him for a long moment, and he just knew she was going to say no, and he’d be back at square one. But she surprised him. “Follow me.”

  He followed her out to the parking lot where she tossed her surfboard into the back of a canary-yellow Jeep. Bright and cheery, just like its owner. She seemed supremely confident, swinging up into the driver’s seat of the doorless Jeep.

  Feeling a bit out of his element, Abel got in beside her and fished around for the seat belt.

  Poppy started up the engine before he was strapped in and that made him anxious. He wasn’t a rule breaker despite the fact he’d pushed the envelope on this assignment. They were out on the street and he still wasn’t buckled in.

  “What’s wrong?” Poppy asked, her ponytail bouncing as she bobbed her head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re scowling like you just got bawled out by your boss.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “No worries. You can scowl at this gorgeous day if you want to. It’s your prerogative.”

  “I don’t want to scowl,” he said, finally snapping his seat belt into place and his mood immediately buoyed.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t; you just smile an inordinate amount. You’re like sunshine, smiling all the time.”

  “Sunshine doesn’t smile.”

  “But it’s sunny. You’re sunny.”

  “You scowl a lot, don’t you?”

  “No,” he denied.

  “Liar. You’ve got a little furrow right there.” She reached over and planted the pad of her thumb between his eyebrows.

  The sizzle of her touch alarmed him. And so did the fact that she weaved the Jeep onto the shoulder a bit.

  “Hey! Watch the road, woman,” he growled. Maybe he was a chauvinist, but he liked being behind the wheel of a vehicle. It bothered him to leave the driving to her. That control thing again.

  “Why? Did it move?”

  “Huh?”

  “Sometimes the roads will just move on you.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Sense of humor not your strong suit, huh?” She winked.

  “You’re an unusual woman, you know that?”