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who gets caught, serves his time, and then starts a security firm helping businesses protect themselves from people like them.”
    Hunter leaned back against the graffiti-plastered alley wall, crossing his arms. He seemed entertained by the question. Truthfully, he seemed entertained by the entire situation. And he appeared intent on driving her crazy by not answering, along with goading her every chance he got.
    “What does your gut say?” he said.
    “My
gut
says there is more to you than meets the eye.” Carly crossed the pavement and turned to lean a shoulder against the metal wall beside him, close enough to get his attention. Hopefully his
full
attention, without compromising her own.
    She had to hike her chin to meet his gaze. Flirting with aman your own height was so much easier. Flirting with a guy when you weren’t sure which side of the law he fell on …?
    She lifted a brow. “Are you going to answer my question?” Not one of those beautifully wrought muscles moved. His ready-for-anything aura was undeniably fascinating. “For all I know you’re a threat I should run screaming in the other direction to avoid.”
    Her statement finally triggered his response. “I’m not a threat,” he said.
    “Then why are you packing a—?”
    “I used to work for the FBI.”
    She bunched her brow, disturbed that her interest hadn’t been quelled. And neither had his electrifying effect on her. She’d hoped that learning the truth would put the kibosh on it. Help her focus again. She should have known better.
    “And why is an ex-FBI agent chasing me down?” she said.
    He shifted to face her, his imposing presence no less intimidating after the truth. Just like love and hate, lawmen and criminals were just the flipside of the same dangerous coin. He said, “To ask how long you plan to use your family connections to harass me.”
    Stunned, she tried not to gape as a flush washed through her body. Use her family connections? Apparently he was under the mistaken impression her father was an asset to her. And any discussions regarding her dad were bound to get intensely uncomfortable.
    She hiked her chin, glad her excuse was real. “Unfortunately I don’t have time for a discussion. I have another interview to get to.”
    His previously amused expression had crossed into decidedly
un
-amused territory, making him more intimidating than before. Apparently he had no intention of letting her go so easily, and her heart sank as her attempt at escape was nixed.
    “In that case,” he said, “I’ll tag along.”

CHAPTER THREE
    H UNTER sat in the back row of the old theater, empty save Carly, sitting beside him, the crew, and the three naked men on stage, dancing and singing Shakespeare to an electric guitar.
“Hamlet, The Musical!”
was unique enough, and he supposed nudity added that extra edge needed in a town as jaded as Miami. But if there was a god, and s/he was benevolent, this would end soon and he could get back to his regularly scheduled confrontation.
    He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and whispered, “When are you supposed to interview Hamlet?”
    Carly whispered back, “As soon as the dress rehearsal is over.”
    He stared at the three actors, bereft of clothing. “They still call it that?”
    “They have to do a run-through in costume. Or, in this case, in the nude.”
    Hunter flinched as one of the male actors twirled across the stage, his male parts a victim to centrifugal forces. “This goes beyond nudity,” he muttered.
    Her voice held more than a hint of humor. “Wednesday I’m interviewing a participant in the Pink Flamingo’s annual drag queen pageant, if you want to accompany me there as well.”
    He shot her a skeptical look. “What kind of reporter are you, anyway?”
    “A lifestyle journalist. I do arts and entertainment pieces.”
    On stage, the actors formed a brief chorus line, and the image of the three naked gentlemen doing a cancan almost caused Hunter to throw in the towel