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were pictures. Snapshots of her leaving the office, of her getting into her car, and of her entering her apartment building.
    What is this ? She continued to leaf through the stack until she came to the last one.
    A sticky red substance that looked like... blood was smeared over it. Scribbled on the photo of her standing outside DNS were the words ‘You’re dead’ in big, red letters.
    Shiloh inhaled and stared at her red-tipped fingers. Who would send her something like this?
    She swallowed hard, then carried the photos to the desk and threw them on top.
    Shiloh rubbed her fingers together, noting how sticky the substance was. She walked to her adjoining bathroom and quickly turned on the faucet. As red swirled around in the sink, her anger ignited. Whoever was trying to scare her was not going to get away with it––she didn’t frighten easily.
    It was probably some disgruntled agent attempting to drive her out of the agency.
    Could Nicholas be behind this?
    No, he was in the hospital. One of the photos had obviously been taken yesterday and Trent was hardly up for traipsing around Washington DC with a camera. But if it wasn’t him, then who? And why had they done this?
    Shiloh shook her head. A strand of her hair pulled loose from its tight constraint. She dried her shaky hands and tucked it back behind her ear.
    Whoever sent those shots was going to find that she didn’t give in to threats, or to stupid jokes orchestrated by these testosterone-happy Neanderthals. When she discovered who sent the photos, he’d be terminated immediately.
    A quick glance in the mirror showed dark circles under her eyes. She was aghast at how tired she looked. Tired and frustrated. Would she ever get a handle on this job and manage to have reasonable time for her father? Both were demanding, although if she had to make a choice, her father would come first.
    She stifled a yawn. Her father was most important right now, then maybe a few hours of sleep.
     
    Nicholas walked to the agency’s revolving doors with a spring in his step. He’d recuperated for two weeks now and he was finally getting back to work.
    Two weeks of hanging out at his apartment watching reality TV, had just about driven him over the edge. Who thought up this crap anyway ? A guy. A room full of women… and the man only got to choose one .
    Nick snorted. He’d never had a serious relationship in his life. Look where love had gotten his mother––alone and heartbroken. Who wanted that? The one and only time he even entertained the idea of caring for someone, he’d gotten shot down. Never again.
    He rode up in the elevator with a pretty blonde from payroll, who smiled instantly when she saw him.
    “Hi, Nick. I’m really glad to see you back. We all missed you around here.”
    He returned her grin. “I’m not sure if our director would agree with that.”
    The elevator stopped and the doors opened again. This time the director stood outside, in person, holding an armful of files. When she saw him, she visibly cringed.
    “Are you going up?” Nick’s words were issued as a challenge.
    She stepped into the elevator, though he could tell by her stiff demeanor, she didn’t want to.
    “Here, let me take those.” He grabbed for the files, but she refused to release them.
    They stood facing each other, neither giving an inch.
    “I’ve got it,” she said, her gaze connecting with his lips.
    A strange fluttering sensation hit Nick’s gut, and he abruptly let go. The files landed in a disorganized heap on the elevator floor. She moaned.
    Silence filled the car until the payroll clerk knelt down. “I’ll get them.”
    The walls closed in on Nick. The green light above him flashed in slow motion as each floor was passed.
    Finally, when the elevator door opened on Nick’s floor, he leaped over the pile of papers and got off. "Sorry," he said right before the doors closed again.
    Shit, first day back and he’d already done something to piss off the director.