Kathy glared at the bold-lettered sign over the storefront office where she had wasted the last two hours—Legal Aide Clinic. She didn’t need a lawyer to tell her it would take money to track down her lousy ex-husband. Money was what she had come to them to get. All they had been able to do was run the name Anthony Alvarez and his social security number through the system then confirm the trail went cold six years ago. There was no evidence of his death. He simply went off the grid.

She already knew that much. Her instincts told her he was still alive, probably hiding under a rock somewhere like the snake he was.

For a long time she had hoped Anthony would never show up again. But she was tired of scrambling for nickels to feed and clothe her nine-year-old daughter. She wanted more. She wanted what the child support agreement had promised, but no legal entity could make Anthony pay if they couldn’t find him.

The lawyer suggested she apply to the state for aid, but up until now, she had been too proud to live on charity. That was not the example of independence she wanted to set for Toni.

Her only other option was to accept her sister’s offer. Nancy had called it a business deal. Kathy called it a step backward.

Chapter 1

Jake Slaughter drew his gun and rapidly banged his fist on the door. Pressing his back against the wall of the house next to the door, he shouted, “Metro Police!”

“C’mon in,” a man’s voice called from inside.

“No sir. You open the door.”

Jake could hear the man grumbling as he came closer. The door swung inward and footsteps retreated against a terrazzo floor. Carefully, Jake eased his head around the door frame to check out the front room before entering. His heart rate picked up speed and sweat trickled down his chest beneath his bullet-proof vest. The more domestic calls he handled, the more cautious he became. As his partner, Injun, headed around back, Jake silently wished he believed in the same restraint.

The man sat at the kitchen table, calmly eating a meal. The house reeked of cooked onions and human filth. A woman’s body was sprawled in the middle of the floor with sightless eyes and a dark, bloody hole in her forehead.

A Saturday night special rested on the woman’s broad stomach. Jake automatically calculated the seconds needed to get a shot off if the man was inclined to go for the weapon.

Careful not to disturb the crime scene, Jake gingerly made his way across the slippery floor and opened the back door. Injun entered and kept his shotgun leveled on the suspect while Jake questioned him.

Murder being such a popular sport that Wednesday night in Miami, it took over an hour for a homicide detective to arrive. Then, Jake and Injun had to transport the subject downtown themselves. It was 4:00 a.m. by the time the paperwork was finished and they hauled their prisoner to the jail. Jake could not believe their bad luck when, just as they were leaving, a fight broke out and a lockdown went into effect lasting two more hours.

Sheer exhaustion kept him from arguing with Injun about stopping at the Police Benevolent Association Hall for breakfast and a beer. They had worked a double shift to begin with but taking a homicide call in the sixteenth hour had been downright masochistic. This kind of duty was making him feel like an old man at thirty-two.

At the other extreme was Injun, whose energy never seemed to wane. As usual, he was loudly entertaining the troops with details of the case. “So, here’s this guy, stuffin’ his face with his wife dead on the kitchen floor. He was bein’ cool, said he’d come quietly if we just let him finish eatin’, so we did. He eats every bit of food on the table, except he doesn’t touch the mashed potatoes. Finally, I just come right out and ask him why he killed his wife. He says, I warned her. I told her I’d kill her the next time she put so much damn salt in the mashed potatoes!”

Injun let out the shriek he insisted was his tribal war cry and leapt onto the table where Jake was eating. Several liberal splashes from his beer bottle anointed everyone within reach, including his stoic partner.

The group of officers gathered around the table immediately countered with stories they considered more bizarre, most of which they had all heard many times before.

When Jake first began dealing with the dregs of humanity, he tried to harden his heart to the atrocities he witnessed. Soon he discovered, as these men had, that the horror was minimized if he joked about it. There were times, however, when he still had trouble pretending he didn’t care. He knew for a fact some of these men no longer felt anything at all.

Injun was his best friend in the group, in spite of the fact they were practically direct opposites. They had been riding partners for most of the eleven years he’d been with the department…partly because no one except Jake could keep a leash on the unpredictable man. Injun was out of control half the time and drank to excess, but Jake had trusted him with his life more than once and come out in one piece. The rest was unimportant in Jake’s chosen line of work.

Another major difference between them was the amount of alcohol each consumed. Alcoholism was commonplace on his squad, though Jake rarely even had a beer. That set him apart automatically. Also, a number of the men, whether married or not, fooled around with any female who crossed their paths. Jake could count on one hand how many women he had known intimately in the last ten years.

He was one of them…and yet he was not.

Jake glanced at his watch—8:30 a.m.—almost thirty hours since he’d last slept. Any second now, he would pass out where he sat. Wordlessly he headed for the exit.

“Hey, where ya goin’, man?” Injun called after him.

“I have a hot date waiting for me at home.”

“In your dreams! I remember the last hot date you had. It was on your twenty-first birthday, right?”

Jake waved a crude, one-fingered salute and left the hall.

Driving north on I-95, Jake was so bleary-eyed, he almost missed the exit for Hollywood. He chose to live in Broward County mainly because it was well away from the streets he patrolled. Riding in his meticulously restored, black 1985 Corvette with the convertible top down should have helped. Instead, the scorching sun added to his discomfort. He counted the minutes until he could get out of his hot polyester uniform and into the shower.

The sight of the four-bedroom house and neatly manicured lawn always picked up his spirits. Owning and caring for his home was a source of great pride to Jake.

As soon as he got his baby inside the garage and lowered the door, he stripped down to his skin and left his clothes by the washing machine, as he always did. It was another small way of keeping the stink of the streets out of his living space. Besides, no one lived in his house to object to his nudity. Gunbelt in hand, he padded toward the shower.

At his bedroom door, Jake suddenly froze. Someone was in the master bathroom. He could hear a scratching noise and what sounded like labored breathing. Damn! Some kid probably broke in and was scrounging around in the medicine cabinet looking for drugs. In his own home.

Quietly, he lowered the gunbelt to the thick carpet and removed his gun. Moving swiftly but silently, Jake edged along the wall until he could glimpse a reflection in the bathroom mirror. The noise was coming from a figure inside the shower stall but the cloudy glass doors blurred the image.

Jake had not thought his body could replenish all the adrenalin he had used during the night. But there it was, pumping madly into his bloodstream. He prepared himself to confront the intruder.

In one motion, he pivoted into the bathroom, shoved open the glass door and pointed his weapon at his trapped quarry.

The girl’s body jackknifed abruptly from a squat to an upright position but her bare feet lost traction in a soapy mess on the shower floor. Arms flailing, she desperately groped for something to maintain her balance but her fingers slipped helplessly down the wet tile. The next second, she landed on her backside.

Kathy stared up at the nude man looming over her. From where she sat, his male organ looked almost as threatening as the huge gun just above it.

Rape! her mind screamed as she registered the meaning of what her eyes absorbed. Scooting quickly to the corner of the stall, she wielded the only weapon at hand—the toothbrush she had been using to scrub the tile grout. The man’s gaze darted over her face and body to the toothbrush and he smirked in such a nasty way her fear lurched up another notch.

She remembered reading an article that said a rapist might be discouraged if his victim can make him see her as a real person. Good heavens, she had to try. She only hoped he couldn’t see how hard her heart was pounding under her t-shirt. In a soft, sing-song voice, she spoke to her would-be attacker.

“There’s no reason for that gun. I’ll do whatever you want. Just, please don’t hurt me.” Though he was clearly listening to her, he did not lower the gun. She continued to talk to him in the tone she used with Toni when she wanted to hold her attention without scaring her. “My name is Kathy. This isn’t my house. I only clean it once a week. The man who lives here would be very angry if he came home and it wasn’t clean. He’s a real mean police officer and I don’t think you’d want to get him angry with you.”

The dangerous-looking man blinked and squinted at her as though he was having a difficult time understanding what she was saying. It occurred to her that he might not speak English. “Um, habla espanol?”

That only got her one raised eyebrow. What the heck was he waiting for? Her fear of being raped was reduced by a flush of impatience. “I’m serious. The cop will be home any minute. And he really is very, very mean. And very, very big. You need to get out of here. Now.” She slowly got to her feet only to realize he still towered over her, but at least she was no longer staring at it. She pressed herself against the back of the shower and waved the toothbrush at him.

The man remained blocking the shower opening. When he finally decided to talk to her, his voice was low and gritty. “I am the very mean, very big cop that owns this house and you are not the woman who cleans it. Now, Kathy, what the hell are you doing in my shower and how the hell did you get in my house?”

Kathy gulped as her gaze traveled from his dark, narrowed eyes over an incredibly well-muscled physique to his toes then slid back up, momentarily lingering on the very masculine flesh in between. This was Jake Slaughter? Good grief. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified. “Umm…how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

He arched one brow at her again. “I don’t have to prove anything. I’m holding a gun and you’re cornered.”

Twice, before today, she had cleaned his home, laundered his clothes and neatly arranged his cotton briefs in his dresser drawer. Her imagination had invented a man to fill the soft t-shirts and threadbare jeans. She had guessed he was about six feet tall and solidly built, with a rugged, pockmarked face and bushy mustache to match his macho-sounding name.

She felt her cheeks flame from the realization that she was gaping at the real thing. The height and build were about right. But she had never imagined seeing him in the nude so she could not have conjured up the hard, sculpted muscles and flat stomach, or the dark swirls of hair splayed across his chest and arrowing down to—

Her gaze flew back to his face. Chiseled. Classical. Handsome certainly wasn’t strong enough to describe dreamy eyes, a Roman nose, sensuous lips…and no mustache, just dark stubble, as if he hadn’t shaved for a day or two. His sable-brown hair was moderately short and thoroughly mussed.

While she was dumbly gawking at him, Officer Slaughter must have come to some sort of decision about her because he lowered his gun and took a step back. “Look, I’m not usually here when my house gets cleaned but I know you aren’t my regular lady. She knows how I feel about my privacy, so I don’t believe she’d give my key out to a stranger. I’ll ask you again. How did you get in here?”

Kathy took a deep breath. If it didn’t bother him to stand there displaying himself, surely she could pretend it meant nothing to her either. With considerable effort, she forced her voice to sound normal. “Your regular cleaning lady, Nancy Perez, is my sister. She’s had a bad flare-up of arthritis for a couple weeks now. I’ve been covering the maid service for her. I know she left you a message about the switch. When she didn’t hear from you, she assumed you didn’t mind.”

Jake’s scowl deepened. “I’ve been working a lot of overtime. If I don’t recognize a number…I might have missed it. Okay, okay. Look, I haven’t had any sleep since…I don’t even know what today is. Can you do this another time?”

Kathy’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Another time? You’ve got to be kidding. I’m booked solid every day. I wouldn’t be able to get back here until next Thursday.”

“Fine. Come back next Thursday.” Jake turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Their outrageous introduction was apparently over. Kathy grabbed the handheld showerhead and rinsed away the cleanser from the tile and her feet. Not much she could do about her shorts but brush off the soapy grit with a wet rag. She put on her shoes and gathered up her supplies. Before leaving the bathroom she caught sight of herself in the mirror and gasped.

Smears of cleanser covered her face and at some point, the stubby ponytail on top of her head had gone off-kilter. It was an efficient way to keep her shoulder-length, brown hair out of the way while she cleaned but at the moment it just made her look like a clown. And it didn’t help that her dark eyes looked unusually large, probably from leftover fear. No wonder it took him so long to lower his gun. Quickly she washed her face and untied and smoothed her hair with her fingers.

A soft snore drew her attention to the bed just beyond the bathroom. Jake Slaughter was stretched out on his stomach. He had not even bothered to pull down the spread or move the pillows she had just arranged so perfectly. Obviously, he wasn’t lying about being tired.

Did he understand that he still had to pay her for the day? It didn’t seem right to just take the money and go, but she would have to wake him up to tell him. Without being aware of it, she had moved next to him. He was not quite so frightening with his face relaxed by sleep. If anything, he was that much more devastating. The muscles of his back and legs were clearly defined even at rest. She bet she could bounce a quarter off his butt.

Suddenly Kathy realized that, in the aftermath of his scaring her out of her wits, he had never actually offered an apology. He at least owed her that…and sixty dollars. Before she lost her nerve, she reached out and poked his shoulder.

He groaned. “Go away, kid,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

“I intend to do just that, Mr. Slaughter. But you being such a quick draw with your gun and your conclusions, I wanted to get one thing cleared up before I go.”

He groaned again.

“Since I had already started cleaning and it’s your idea to send me away, you still owe me for the day. I didn’t want you to accuse me of stealing the money.” She paused for him to respond but he didn’t. “And I want an apology.”

His response was an animalistic growl. He rolled off the bed and yanked open a dresser drawer. Slipping on a pair of gray gym shorts, he snarled at her. “Never mind. Clean the damn house. And make sure you get all the laundry done. I’m almost out of socks. I’m going to jump in the pool and try to get some sleep on a lounge out back. Do not wake me up when you leave.”

“Mr. Slaughter?” Kathy’s sing-song voice stopped him at the bedroom door. “Isn’t there something else you’d like to say to me?”

Jake turned his scowl on her again, exhaled heavily then mumbled, “I’m sorry.” As he strode out of the room, he added, “And stop calling me Mr. Slaughter! My name’s Jake.”

* * * *

Jake swam two fast laps in the sun-warmed pool. It wasn’t as good as a soapy, hot shower would have been but at least he felt somewhat cleaner. He pulled a patio lounge into the shade of the house and dropped down on it.

He could not remember ever being so embarrassed in his life. When he had finally realized what a fool he was being, he had seen no option but to brave it out.

If the girl was Nancy Perez’s sister, she couldn’t possibly be as young as she looked…could she? Nancy had to be at least forty. Kathy looked about twelve. Well, maybe not twelve. As tired as he was, he reluctantly recalled the sight of a very grown-up figure inside the too-short, cut-off denims and thin cotton shirt. Her breasts were clearly matured enough to require a bra.

Jake felt a reactive tightening in his groin and promptly scolded himself. This was no time to indulge in a fantasy. He had to get some sleep.

As a child, he had daydreamed constantly. After a considerable number of reprimands for not paying attention at home and in school, Jake learned to keep his daydreaming more secretive. He was invariably the superhero overpowering the evil villains in those days.

He remembered reading a story in school about Don Quixote and completely identified with the imaginative character.

Gradually, his fantasies grew up as he did and, when his childish dreams became his real-life career, he discovered he could train his mind to drift off only when it was safe not to be alert. Spotting a chauffeur-driven limousine with blacked-out windows could conjure up a fantasy of being a celebrity or the leader of his own third-world country.

Daydreaming was no longer just fun. It became his private way of dealing with the insanity of his job. He found that he could handle the stress just fine, as long as he could take a mental vacation every so often.

He tried to drift off into a pleasant scene that might help him relax enough to fall asleep but he could hear the maid, Kathy, moving around in the kitchen.

Damn. He could hardly believe he’d pulled his gun on her, all because he hadn’t bothered to check his messages. She was right. He owed her a real apology, not just the words. Good, trustworthy housekeepers were too hard to find to offend one. What would he do if she quit? He’d have to do his own laundry, that’s what. Giving his body and hair a brisk towel-drying, he set his mind to do the gentlemanly thing.

But the sight that awaited him as he slid open the sliding glass door to the kitchen banished all his good intentions. Backing toward him on her hands and knees, Kathy wiggled her enticing bottom with every swipe of her rag against the tiles. The pose made her shorts crawl up higher, leaving very little to Jake’s imagination. Even her bare feet seemed unusually sexy to him.

The buds in her ears clearly prevented her from hearing his entry over whatever music she was listening to. Just as he was about to step around her and a pail of water, she applied her efforts more vigorously to a stubborn spot and the bouncing movements of her hips were like that of an energetic lover.

Before Jake’s eyes, her bright yellow cleaning gloves transformed into a prim, white, wrist-length version. His mind instantly replaced her casual clothes with an immodest little French maid’s outfit. In that position, the short, black, flared skirt failed to cover the lacy white garters that held up her dark silk stockings. How did she manage to keep those seams so very straight up the back of her slender legs?

“Mamselle Kathleen, those spike heels you’re wearing must be hurting your feet after you’ve worked so hard all day. If you’d like, I could take them off and rub your pretty little toes for you.’’

Without taking her attention off her scrubbing, she murmured, “Oh monsieur, that is tempting, but then you would see my bare toes and that would certainly not be proper.’’

“Ah, my sweet Kathleen. How can such a thing be improper? Only this morning you saw much more of me than my toes. And, if I’m not mistaken, you liked what you saw. Fair’s fair, you know. No, no. Don’t stop your scrubbing. Just let me come a little closer to watch you work. Your little fanny moves so delightfully I don’t know if I can fight the urge to squeeze those rounded cheeks in my hands.”

She turned her head and batted her lashes at him. “Perhaps I would not mind so much if you lost that battle.”

He felt his sex strongly respond to her flirtation. “You know, Kathleen, in that position, all a man would have to do is lift your skirt a mere inch to— Why, you sly little minx, you’re not wearing any panties!’’

Kathy did not have to turn around to know Jake was behind her. She simply chose to ignore him. It took her another moment, however, to realize he was sneaking up on her. What in heaven’s name was he doing? She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. Good grief. He was staring at her rear!

She quickly lowered her head then took another peek to make sure she knew what she was dealing with. Yep, no doubt about it. There was a definite protrusion in his damp shorts. Well, if he thought for one minute that his sixty dollars bought that service too, he had another think coming.

He was right behind her now. As provocatively as possible, Kathy rose, bringing her bucket of pine-scented water up in her hands. Abruptly, she swiveled around, slammed into Jake and tipped the entire contents down the front of him.

“Oops.” Kathy glanced down at the dripping material clinging to his rapidly shriveling flesh. “I believe, Mr. Slaughter, that in the future, you should not be so quick to raise your weapon.”