Savor the Danger. Lori Foster

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      Trace moved to stand over her. “It’s also possible someone knew you would be at his place, and that’s why Jackson got drugged in the first place.”

      Dear God. She hadn’t even considered that. Had he been drugged so that someone could get to her? Had she inadvertently put Jackson in danger? Thinking aloud, she said, “I called him from my cell—”

      Trace asked, “Not your office phone?”

      “No.”

      Dare stood. “Where is it?”

      “My purse.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “In there.”

      Dare left the room to get it.

      Jackson had been too quiet. She glanced at him, and got caught in his intent stare.

      Overly gentle, he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to worry, Alani. No one is going to hurt you.”

      Because people had already hurt her, an invisible fist squeezed her lungs. It took so little to alarm her.

      Nothing really new in that. Since escaping Tijuana, she hadn’t really stopped being afraid. Sometimes she hid it well, and sometimes…sometimes it woke her in the middle of the night, a scream burning her throat, her face wet with tears.

      Swallowing down the shame of cowardice, she nodded. “I know.” And then, hopefully with more strength, “So what now?”

      Trace and Jackson shared a look. Jackson took her hand. “For about a dozen or more reasons, I’m hoping you’ll let me hang around. If Trace wasn’t leg-shackled—”

      “Leg-shackled?” Sidetracked, Alani gave a laugh that sounded far too forced. “Priss would get you for that.”

      Jackson showed his teeth in a wicked grin. “Yeah, she’d probably try.” He quickly held up a hand toward her brother. “Don’t hit me, Trace. I’m not a hundred percent, so it wouldn’t be fair. Besides, you know Priss is always on the fence about whether or not she likes me.”

      Trace sawed his teeth together. “Shut up about it.”

      Under most situations, her brother was the personification of icy calm.

      When it came to his wife, Priscilla…not so much.

      But then, given that Jackson, in the course of a rescue from intruders, had taken Priss naked from the shower, Alani understood why it nettled Trace.

      After a tense silence, her brother reined in his anger to address her. “Do you have any appointments you need to cancel?”

      Avoiding a direct answer, she said, “I usually work every day.” She couldn’t help but resist the idea of having her life turned upside down again.

      Jackson turned her toward him. “You can still keep your appointments, but how about I tag along? Just as an extra precaution.”

      “But…” Okay, she got the need for vigilance. But would it never end?

      Dare strode back in, still holding Alani’s phone. “Do you need to jot down any of your saved numbers before I turn it off?”

      “Why would you—”

      “Cells can be traced. For now, Jackson can set you up with a prepay. Use it if you have to make a call. Otherwise, just use your landline.”

      “For now,” Trace reiterated. “Just till we rule out a few things.”

      Alani wilted. Surely they were overreacting. But the last thing she wanted was for any of them to know how cowardly she felt about it all. “I know the numbers I call often, and customer numbers are in my files.”

      Trace walked over to stand in front of her, then held out a hand. “My turn.”

      Ripe with mistrust, Jackson caught her arm to detain her. “Your turn for what?”

      Good Lord, Jackson sounded confrontational. He might not worry about Trace’s temper, and she trusted that he could fend for himself, but a physical confrontation between the two of them would be too ugly to contemplate.

      She slipped away from Jackson and stood by her brother. “Be right back,” she started to say, but Trace was already tugging her away.

      He urged her all the way across the floor and out the back door to the patio. Through the kitchen window she could see Jackson craning his neck to look after them, his expression dark, dangerous.

      Did he think Trace would steal her away? From her own home? He was every bit as protective as her brother, and, unsure how she felt about that, she sighed.

      “I think I’m going to puke,” Trace said.

      Alani slugged Trace in the shoulder—and probably hurt her hand a lot more than she hurt him. “You like Jackson, so stop it.”

      “I like his work. I don’t like this situation, and I sure as hell don’t like seeing you so lovesick.”

      Her knees locked. “Lovesick?”

      Trace stared at her, then turned away to grouse before facing her again. “You are in love with him, aren’t you?”

      Well, shoot. She dampened dry lips. “I never said—”

      “You don’t have to. I know you, Alani. I can see it.” His expression softened. “Dare probably sees it, too.”

      That thought horrified her. “Do you think—”

      “That Jackson knows?” He shook his head. “Not unless you told him. Women always screw up a guy’s intuition. You’ve got him spinning on his ass right now. If he hadn’t been drugged, I might actually find it funny.”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jackson seemed as in control as ever.

      “Trust me, figuring out women is more of a challenge than facing off with a lunatic murderer.”

      Lovely. With false sweetness, Alani asked, “I suppose sisters are excluded from that analogy?”

      “It’s not at all the same.” He cupped a hand over her shoulder and only hesitated a second before getting serious. “It’s not going to be easy, you know.”

      She gave another long sigh. “I know.”

      “Jackson is…”

      “Too much like you?” At his surprise, Alani shook her head. “And Dare, too. But I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

      He gave a fleeting smile before tousling her hair. “Brat.” He quickly sobered. “Our line of work complicates relationships in a big way.”

      “There is that.”

      “He could be gone long stretches of time when he’s on a case.”

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