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  "You must be studying my work and wondering how one man can do such a thorough investigation," Burton said from behind me.

  "I'm just looking for the leads you dropped," I said, not turning around. It was easier to talk with Burton when I wasn't facing that tall, dark, and handsome wall of sin, as Miranda described him. He was beautiful, no doubt. And he could charm a smile out of the most hostile interview subject. But I had to work with him, and as much fun as scaling that wall of sin might be, I was going to resist.

  He came around me and perched on the table next to the open file. I was surprised the table could handle the weight. Burton was tall, at least six-foot-three, and had the broad shoulders of a former football player. He had smooth brown skin that begged to be touched, and I tried to act like I didn't notice that he was only a few inches away from me.

  Burton crossed his well-muscled arms and looked me over with a smile. "What's this, casual Monday?"

  I glanced down at my board shorts and tank top, thrown hastily over my swimsuit. "When you get your work done early, you get to play. Which I guess explains why you're still at work."

  He raised an eyebrow at my jab. "Does that mean you managed to get that subpoena into the hand of Eddie Lucas?"

  Damn. I'd totally set myself up for that. "Not yet. It's only a matter of time."

  Burton laughed. "Want some help?"

  I shrugged. I hated to ask him for help. Really hated it. But the clock was ticking, and Leo's future took priority over my pride. Before I could answer though, Burton stood up from the table and studied me closely.

  "How tall are you?"

  I stepped back, startled by the change of topic. "Five foot four. Why?"

  "Got any heels? I mean, like really high ones."

  I squinted at him. "Yeah, probably. Why?"

  "I tell you what. I need a favor. You need a favor. You do something for me, and I'll get your subpoena served on Eddie Lucas."

  I crossed my arms in front of me. "What sort of favor do you need?"

  He grinned. "It'll be easy, I promise."

  I frowned.

  "Trust me."

  I found myself staring into his warm brown eyes that crinkled up at the edges and felt my resistance give a little.

  "Sure. I guess that would be okay."

  Burton nodded and gave me a wicked wink. "Great. I'll pick you up at your place at seven. Wear something sexy."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I stared into my closet and looked up and down the shelves of folded clothes. Burton would be here in five minutes and I was still in my underwear and bra, undecided about whether to follow his instructions about what to wear.

  By nature, my brain rebelled against those types of instructions. If Burton wanted me to wear something "sexy," I'd reach for the yoga pants or an old pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

  But other parts of my body were seriously considering a swingy mini dress that looked great with the high heels he requested. I was conflicted. I could do sexy. Do it well, even. He wouldn't know what hit him.

  I heard the knock before I had made up my mind and threw on the dress, so I wouldn't have to answer the door mostly naked. Burton filled the doorway of my condo, a tight T-shirt showing off his muscular chest and arms and a pair of gray pants that emphasized his long legs. When he stepped into the foyer, the tiled alcove seemed even smaller than normal.

  "Where are your shoes?"

  "Nice to see you too, Burton. Won't you come in?"

  He smiled, and his eyes crinkled up. Damn. The man was beautiful, pure and simple. From top of that smooth, bald head, down the entire length of his chiseled body. He was sporting a goatee lately, and it was a good look on him. In the three or four years since he'd rented an office from Rob, I'd yet to see a bad look on him. He could go from university professor to strong-arm muscleman with a quick wardrobe change and an adjustment to his body language. It made him a damn good investigator. And entirely too dangerous to my willpower.

  "You look nice, Sarah," he said, looking down at me. I'd never felt so short, standing next to him barefoot and wearing only a loose-fitting dress.

  "I'll get some shoes," I said, walking toward my bedroom. "Would you like something to drink?"

  "No, thanks," he said, walking around my living room, taking it in.

  I picked up a pair of heels, gave my hair a quick brush, and dug into the bottom of my workbag for my favorite lipstick. When I returned to the living room, Burton was relaxed on my couch, an arm stretched out along the back.

  "Will these do?" I asked, holding the shoes up.

  He grimaced at the stiletto heels. "Are those the same height as this?"

  He reached into his soft leather messenger bag and pulled out a black and silver pump.

  "Whoa. That's some shoe," I said, taking the gaudy platform slingback from him and comparing it to my heel. "Yeah, I've got something this height. Give me a second."

  I walked back down the short hall to my bedroom and went directly to my walk-in closet, my mind trying to piece together why Burton was hauling around one high-heeled shoe. I was, apparently, being told things on a need-to-know basis. I'd be patient, for now.

  In the closet, I picked out two pairs and turned to leave, running smack into Burton's chest. I hadn't even heard him follow me.

  He was staring at my bedroom with his eyes wide.

  "It's so girly," he said, his eyes scanning everything, taking it all in.

  "That's because I'm a girl."

  "Oh, I know," he said, giving me a crooked grin. "I just didn't think you were a purple-bedroom kind of girl."

  "Only the bedspread is purple. The walls are pale lavender frost."

  "Looks purple to me."

  "You're wrong. Here are the shoes. What do you think?"

  Burton kept scanning the room, and his eyes lingered on the Danish modern desk near the window.

  "Uh, hello? You wanted just the shoes, remember?" I asked, getting increasingly nervous having Burton in my bedroom. Near my bed. Unchaperoned.

  "Yeah, whatever ones are the right height," he said, then reached down and picked up a framed picture. "Nice picture of you. Who is this?"

  I didn't have to look at the photo in his hand. "My brother, Evan."

  "Oh, sure, I see the resemblance. You have the same eyes."

  "Mine are prettier," I said, slipping on a pair of nude pumps with a four-inch heel. It probably wasn't even true. Evan was ridiculously beautiful. It got him into a lot of trouble.

  "You'll get no argument from me," Burton said, setting the frame back down on the desk. "When was this taken?"

  "About five years ago. Family vacation in Paris," I said.

  It was one of my favorite photos. Evan and I were having coffee in a cafe in Paris, waiting for my mom to finish shopping. My dad had snapped the photo while we were in mid-laugh and every time I looked at the image, I could hear my little brother's infectious laugh and remembered that trip to visit my father's family.

  I tossed a pair of ballet flats into my bag. The heels would be coming off as soon as they served their purpose. Whatever that was. Then I transferred the folded subpoena, which was looking a little worse for wear, into the bag. I'd gotten in the habit of keeping it with me at all times, just in case I ran into Eddie Lucas.

  "Are you ready to go?" I asked.

  "Just waiting on you," Burton said, holding the door open for me. "Your dad's French, right?"

  "That's right."

  "Do you speak French?"

  My father was born in Paris and lived there until he met my mother, who was attending university there, and followed her back to California. He was also a linguistics professor.

  "Oui, bien sûr je parle français."

  Burton's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, and his lips parted. As I passed by him, I heard the quick release of his breath. My skin tingled as I realized that the words that flowed naturally from my lips had an unexpected reaction—Burton liked hearing me speak French. A lot.

  I
wasn't sure how I felt about that. It was nice to have some power over him, even though it was a small amount. But using that power might result in consequences. Ones that I wasn't sure I was willing to tackle. Yet.

  After I settled into the buttery-soft leather passenger seat of Burton's car, he handed me a folder. He'd return to being all business. I opened the folder and scanned the pages eagerly, my curiosity about our plans making me fidgety.

  "Is this what we're doing tonight?"

  "Well, it's related to this case," he said, easing the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. "You remember Sugar?"

  I grinned. It was hard to forget Sugar Lee—a former client of Rob's who we all adored. "I thought she was out of the business. She's not facing charges again, is she?"

  Sugar, a short and stout woman, always maintained that her multiple arrests for solicitation were misunderstandings. She just preferred men with money to spend on her, and those men often hung out on the same corners where she would pass by. But after her last "last chance" from the judge, she promised to go legit. Rob had raised an eyebrow when she had told us that she was getting a masseuse license, but she hadn't been arrested in at least two years, so we'd all assumed that she had finally gotten on the straight and narrow.

  "No, not quite. It's a personal injury case. A car accident."

  "Is she okay?"

  "Sore neck, and her face is slightly puffy where the airbag hit her. The other driver ran a red light and is accepting liability for the crash," Burton said, navigating the tail end of rush hour traffic. "The problem is that Sugar says a man was driving the car that hit her. But a woman is claiming that she was the only person in the car."

  "If it's clear the other driver ran the light, why does she care? The other party is at fault, so Sugar won't be out any money," I said.

  "The police reports are conflicting, so it's starting to look like the claim may not get settled right away," Burton said.

  "So why do you need me to help you?"

  We turned down a boulevard crammed with commuters and inched our way south. "The police don't believe Sugar. Probably because they know her, and her credibility isn't of the highest caliber."

  "Sure, makes sense. But why would she lie about something like that?"

  "She wouldn't. But the other driver was a young, blonde woman who works at the state Capitol. For some reason, they tend to give her story more weight," Burton said. "I told Sugar I'd do what I could to verify her account."

  "How?" I read the accident reports and looked at the pictures in the file. In the middle of the intersection sat a red, four-door economy sedan with its front end shortened into an accordion by Sugar's hulking black SUV. The photos were taken just before the last bit of daylight faded away. The streetlights were already on.

  "The cops say Sugar couldn't have seen two people in the car—it was too dark, the accident happened too fast, and she wasn't at the right angle to see someone get out of the other car. I need you to tell me what you can see when you get out of a similar SUV," Burton said.

  I raised an eyebrow. "Sort of like an accident reenactment."

  "A preliminary investigation to determine if that is going to be a necessary expense," Burton said. "I don't want to waste her money on this."

  "Is Sugar going to meet us there?"

  Burton frowned. "No. She was detained after the accident. Seems there was an old warrant in the system. Rob was trying to get it cleared today, but last I checked, she was still downtown at the jail."

  "Oh, poor Sugar," I said, knowing the conditions at our local jail.

  "I saw her this morning. She's fine. She said she's catching up with some old friends," he said.

  I flipped the page and saw Sugar's mug shot. "Holy hell! I thought she was out of the business."

  Sugar was wearing a smile worthy of a Hollywood headshot and a French maid's uniform that indicated news of her retirement may have been premature.

  "She says she's out of the game," Burton said.

  "Then what is this?" I took the photo out and held it up. "I've never had a massage from a French maid."

  Burton gave a shrug. "She said she earns more with her housekeeping business than as a masseuse."

  I sighed. No wonder the police were skeptical of Sugar's story. "Okay, fine. So all you need me to do is get out of an SUV and tell you what I can see?"

  Burton nodded and eased the luxury sports sedan onto a less-trafficked street. "Pretty much. Think you can handle that?"

  I gave a very unladylike snort. "And how does this relate to me wearing something sexy?"

  Burton looked over with a sly grin and winked. "Thought we could grab a bite to eat after this."

  My pulse pounded, and my stomach flipped over. Damn, the man had some nerve.

  On the other hand, I wasn't one to turn down a meal, and the scenery would be good, I thought, eyeing him—tight black T-shirt stretched to its limits across a lean but muscled chest.

  "Any place but Nom," I said.

  Burton laughed and turned off the car. "I have a friend who is going to meet me here with a couple of similar vehicles."

  "Nice friends." I looked out the passenger-side window at the neighborhood. It was on the border of the gentrification, but still on the wrong side of that line. The streetlights were blinking on in the dusky light. The traffic was lighter here because it was away from the wide, four-lane boulevard that led to the freeway. A few people walked along the sidewalk away from the bus stop.

  "He works at a car lot and has a coworker who is going to help us out," he said, then pointed at two cars parked across the street. "There they are."

  I looked at the traffic, which, while not as congested, wasn't such that we could set up a fake accident in the middle of the intersection without causing problems.

  "How is this going to work?" I asked.

  Before Burton could answer, a cop car pulled up even with the car. Burton rolled his window down, and I saw the cop do the same.

  "Hey, Curtis, how ya doing?" Burton asked with a smile.

  "It's all good, Burton. Oh, hey, Sarah," Officer Curtis McKay said, leaning forward when he saw me in the passenger seat.

  "Hey, lawman. What's up?" I asked. The young officer's face turned a shade of pink that I could see even in the early twilight. I knew it was wrong, but I did so love flirting with Curtis. Between his tendency to blush and his unremitting crush on me, it was a helluva ego boost. And he was a nice guy. For a cop.

  "I wouldn't be doing this for anyone but you guys, you know," he said, giving me a shy grin, then pulled the cop car forward, blocking one of the lanes of the intersection with his lights flashing.

  We got out of Burton's car and walked toward the intersection. Burton's strides were confident, but I was navigating the uneven pavement on four-inch heels with platforms. Burton slowed and offered his arm, which I took gratefully, and then I tried like hell to ignore the feel of his hard muscles and warm skin.

  With traffic blocked, Burton quickly gave directions to everyone about where the cars would be placed. Curtis stood in the middle of the intersection in an orange safety vest and put out a couple of cones with flashing lights on them.

  "You've got ten minutes, Burton—no more," he said.

  "You've got it, man," Burton said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I appreciate this."

  Burton turned to me, winked, and gave a barely perceptible nod toward Curtis. "We both appreciate it—right, Sarah?"

  I gave Curtis my brightest smile.

  "You're the best, Curtis," I said, then turned back to Burton and gave him the stink eye. Now I knew why he wanted me to wear something sexy.

  I climbed behind the wheel of the SUV, holding my dress so I didn't flash the blushing young officer. Burton's friend drove the small sedan to where the red car had sat smashed. According to the accident report, the smaller car had been traveling at a moderate rate of speed when it ran the red light and hit the slow-moving SUV. The sedan had spun through the intersection, comin
g to rest on the opposite corner from where Sugar's SUV stopped.

  "Can you see the driver?" Burton asked.

  The SUV was at an angle as well, but from the driver's seat, the car was out of view unless I craned my neck and leaned forward. Then I could see the car through one of the side windows in the backseat and cargo area.

  "Sort of."

  Burton frowned. "Sugar said she saw the man and the girl when she got out. Let's try that."

  I gave him a skeptical look but opened the driver's door and stepped out. Now two-tons of black metal and dark tinted windows blocked my view of the car entirely.

  "No, can't see a thing," I said. "Maybe if I walked around."

  Burton shook his head. "She didn't walk around to see him. She said she stepped out of the vehicle, saw the man get out of the car, and when she walked around the back, he was gone."

  "You guys, I don't know how much longer I can divert traffic," Curtis said. "Someone may call in to see why there's a traffic disturbance."

  "Sure, man. I think we got what we needed. Thanks," Burton said then turned back to me. "Mind driving this to the curb?"

  "Okay," I said and started to climb back into the driver's seat. As I did, a flash of light caught my eye from the other side of the cab—a headlight bouncing off the grill of the sedan, which still sat in the intersection. "Wait!"

  "What?" Burton asked.

  "From here I can see the car in the rearview mirror. I have a perfect view of it. Have the driver get out."

  Burton shouted directions to the other car's driver, and I watched him open the door and get out, illuminated by the yellow glow of the street lamp. I grinned, relieved that Sugar wasn't lying to us—at least about this. I mean, who knew what she was actually doing to make a living, but I did believe that she saw the man get out of the car.

  Burton leaned in close to me and looked through the cab of the SUV so he could see what I saw from my angle. He was close enough that I could detect a hint of cologne and feel the heat radiating off his skin. Even without direct contact, it was enough to make me shiver, even though the temperature was still in the 90s. I moved slightly away, so he could see what I saw. And because I was trying really hard to stay mad at him for duping me into flirting with Curtis.