Pebbles crunched under Sam’s pounding feet as he jogged on the track behind the Reunion Square Inn.  It was a clear moonlit night, the air crisp.  His breath puffed out in white plumes, then rushed in, sharp and cold.  Small lights on wrought-iron posts cast the narrow oval track in an aged yellow tint. 

            He’d run a couple of miles but hadn’t pushed his pace, so his breathing was only slightly labored.  There was a time he had forced himself to the limit, hammering his way through his daily ten mile run in an attempt to exorcize demons.  Having given up on those unsuccessful attempts at ridding himself of old ghosts, he now ran because the alternative -- thinking about the past -- did him no good.  He couldn’t change things.  Couldn’t go back and erase the starring role he’d played in his wife’s death.

            Couldn’t rid himself of the guilt that burned inside him.

            He’d just reached the side of the track farthest from the cozy brick inn when his mind flashed a warning he was no longer alone. 

            But this warning didn’t put his cop-senses instantly on alert for it was accompanied by a thickening of his blood and a primal lust that shot through his belly.  With it came the sudden awareness of who had triggered the warning.  Somehow, someway he felt her.

            And smelled her dark, tempting scent.

            Halting abruptly, Sam turned.  And Liz was there, standing on the opposite side of the track as if he’d conjured her up out of the night air.  Beneath the lights her braided hair was a column of shimmering fire.

            Watching her, Sam swiped at his brow with the forearm of his sweatshirt.  The fact he’d known someone was watching didn’t surprise him -- like most cops, he had an ingrained radar honed by years on the job.  What he couldn’t explain was how he’d instinctively known the watcher was Liz Scott. 

            “Christ,” Sam muttered when he felt himself stir.  His response to her was dangerous and, as the past with Tanya had taught him, potentially deadly.  Which was why he forced himself to balance the tight throb of lust in his gut with caution.  He wasn’t going to repeat the mistakes he’d made that had been driven by blatant physical desire. 

            Desire that paled in comparison to what he felt when he paused a few feet from Liz and her scent seemed to pour over him until his belly ached and his head felt light.  Not good, he thought.  Not at all good.

            “Evening, Liz.”

            “Sam.” 

            Up close, he could see that her face was tight with strain.  “Something wrong?”

            “No.  It’s just that...”  She glanced across her shoulder at the inn. 

            “It’s just what?”

            She re-met his gaze.  “I knew you were back here.”

            “Because the desk clerk told you where to find me?”

            “No.”  She skimmed a thumb over the inside of her right wrist in a gesture that he now knew was habit.  “I got to the inn’s front porch when all of a sudden something told me you’d be back here.  I had no idea you jogged, but somehow I knew I’d find you on this track.”  She shook her head. “How the hell would I know that?”

            He remembered the jolt that had passed between them when they first shook hands.  And the feeling of familiarity that had washed over him, a sensation that made him think their paths had crossed sometime in the past.

            Then there were his childhood dreams of the redheaded girl.  Dreams he’d forgotten all about until he met Liz Scott.

            “If you figure it out, let me know,” he said levelly.  “Then maybe you can tell me how I knew you were here before I even spotted you.”

            “You sensed you were no longer alone?”

            “That, but I also knew you were the reason I was no longer alone.” 

            Her forehead furrowed.  “How the hell would you know that?”

            “I guess maybe the same way you knew where to find me.”

            He saw her shoulders lift beneath her jade blazer.  “Maybe this is some sixth sense-type deal?  Sort of like when we don’t have proof some scuzzball is lying, but we automatically know.”

            Sam thought of the list of things he had no explanation for that was as long as the rap sheet of a career criminal. 

            “Could be,” he agreed while using his forearm to take another swipe at his damp forehead.  “All I know for sure is that I don’t want my Grandmother Broussard to get wind of this.”

            “Why?  Think she’d round up your aunt and cousins and head to the churchyard to gather more nettles?”

            “Only if one of us is suffering from dropsy,” he said dryly.  “In this instance, she’d put together an herb bag for each of us with instructions that we sleep with it under our pillow.”

            “An herb bag,” Liz repeated, giving him an uncertain look. “Your grandmother sounds like an interesting woman.”

            “One of a kind,” Sam replied. 

            Overhead, the moon was full.  Pure white.  Cool and full and promising.  His gaze swept across Liz’s alabaster skin, her wide-set emerald eyes and silky lashes. 

            Possessiveness coiled deep within him, a fierce, primitive thing that shocked him with its strength.  He felt the air leave his lungs in a rush, as if he’d just run a marathon.

            “So, Liz,” he said after a moment.  “Is this visit business or pleasure?”

            “Business,” she replied instantly.  “I was at Allie’s shop when my captain called.  Since the inn is on my way home, I decided to stop by and let you know you’re approved to consult on the Windsor investigation.”

            Relief swept through Sam.  Now, he had a chance to find out what it was about this particular case -- and the woman in charge of it -- that had grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let go.

            “Glad to hear it,” he said.  “Did you make any progress on the case after you dropped me off here this afternoon?”

            “Some.  I found out J.D. Temple told us the truth about his brother getting killed in a drive-by shooting.  Hope you don’t mind grunt work, Broussard, because tomorrow we’re going to dig through the archives and try to find the reports on the one-hundred burglaries Temple pled guilty to thirty years ago.  Then we’ll know if he lied when he claimed he never stole a gun.”

            “Grunt work doesn’t bother me.  And if it turns out Temple didn’t take guns, that’ll add credence to his claim about not lifting the Colt from York’s house.” 

            “If that’s the case, we’ll have to go back to the judge.  Ask him to try to find some receipts so we’ll know what company he hired to do renovation at his house a few weeks before the burglary.”

            Her mention of York reminded Sam of the almost atavistic dislike he’d felt for the man, which had been followed by the instinctive need to defend the woman who was now his partner for the foreseeable future.  “I need to get up to speed on the Windsor case, so I’d like to go through the file as soon as possible.”  His gaze went to her bulging tote bag.  “Do you have it with you?”

            She nodded.  “I’m going through it again tonight, see if I can find any leads I’ve overlooked.  I also need to track down a family member of the now-deceased Oklahoma City fence.  The one Temple claimed he sold the bracelet with the weird red stone to.”

            “How about you leave the file with me tonight?” Sam suggested.  “That way, I’ll be current on all the details by morning.” 

            “Sorry,” Liz said and Sam noted the imperceptible tightening of her arm against her bag.  “I don’t let my work files out of my sight.” 

            “Don’t trust your new partner?”

            “Temporary partner,” she corrected.  “And it’s nothing personal.” 

            Just then, the clock in the tower in the center of Reunion Square bonged.  For reasons he couldn’t explain, Sam felt a growing sense of urgency to find out all the details of Geneviève Windsor’s murder.

            “How about a compromise?” he suggested.  “I’ll come to your place for a couple of hours.  That way we can both go through the file.” 

            When he saw the hesitation in her eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.  “I promise to wipe my feet and mind my manners.”

            The breath she blew out as she laughed plumed into a gray cloud on the cold air.  “All right.”  She glanced at her own watch.  “But it’s been a long day, so when I say it’s time to shut things down, we shut them down.  Deal?”

            For Sam, the night suddenly seemed to close in, encasing them in darkness.  Together.  As her scent filled his lungs, he felt himself starting to reach out just as she stepped back, as if she may have felt it, too--that strange magnetic pull.

            He clenched his hand into a fist.  “It’s a deal I can’t turn down,” he said quietly.