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often did in the late afternoons. Was he following her? The notion hit her out of the blue. Why would such a wealthy and respected lawyer want to do such a thing? Dismayed, she answered her own question with ease. Her father had somehow set him up to it. That’s why Charles had appeared while she had been on her bike and at the diner, and that was what “L.A. was more than I’d bargained for” meant.
    Yet, was there the possibility that she was wrong? That Charles Vernon had an agenda of his own that had nothing to do with her? When he’d arrived in the diner, he hadn’t shown any signs of recognition when she waited on him. And if he was carrying out her father’s orders, although that did sound farfetched, why hadn’t he said anything to her and dragged her onto the first plane back to Maine? None of this fit together. Maybe she had the wrong puzzle.
    Roxie finished her Coke and glanced at her wristwatch. She still had some time left before she had to return to work. And it was really hot outside. Her own body temperature skyrocketed as she thought about the hard-packed muscles under Charles’ shirt and shorts. Oh yummy!
    She could take him a cold drink to slake his thirst. His throat had to be parched with the summer sun beating down on him. It wouldn’t take long.
    Her mind made up, she rose, paid for an ice cold Coke and rushed toward Charles. The can began to sweat, although it felt good in her hand. She wondered if she should ask what he was doing sitting in the direct sun. Was that how he got his work done? Not likely.
    She jaywalked across three of the four lanes, dodging several speeding vehicles. Why was everyone in such a hurry? Couldn’t they respect the fact there was no crosswalk for over two blocks?
    Had Charles spotted her? His head was turned away from her, and she couldn’t tell if he could see her with his sunglasses darkening his eyes. As she began to cross the lane nearest the bus stop, a sharp, insistent blaring drew her attention. She froze in mid-motion.
    A huge semi roared right toward her.
    * * * *
    Sweat trickled down Charlie’s spine, and he swore his shirt was wetter than if he’d showered in it. He turned his head to glance at a passing sedan with tinted windows and wondered if the occupants were cool inside. Private eyes did surveillance all the time in such inhospitable environments.
    He backhanded beads of perspiration from his forehead but to no avail. He had to admire the several PIs he knew and worked with who hung out in such awful conditions. He’d done the protection racket for a few years when he’d been putting himself through law school. But that had been a while back.
    His shaded gaze returned to the diner, and his heart leaped into his throat. Roxie, with a bright red Coke can, was making her way through the rush hour traffic in his direction. He remained seated, his thighs tense and his neck muscles tightening with dread. Where was she going and why across four lanes of filled crazy drivers?
    He caught her taking a quick look at him from lowered lashes. Was she headed toward him? A bright blue eighteen-wheeler in his peripheral drew his scrutiny for a brief second. Then the world segued into slow motion. The semi bore down on Roxie who had frozen in her tracks, a look of pure terror on her lovely face. Charlie had mere seconds. He sprang to his feet, hurtled across the truck’s path and barely pushed the waitress out of the way in time.
    A strong wind current whipped them both. The Coke can lay crushed on the hot pavement. Dark brown liquid poured out as if it were blood. The sweat on his body chilled in the abruptly cool air as he held Roxie against his chest, his arms around her slender waist. Miraculously, they were standing rather than lying on the ground. Vehicles in their lane and one beside it came to a standstill while, in the other two, cars crawled by.
    “Are you okay?” he asked into Roxie’s hair, afraid to look into her face or onto her trembling