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a lawyer who takes on too many pro bono cases for my own good. What else do you think I am?”
    “I make it a habit never to trust anyone, counselor. Not even good little girls like you.”
    Don’t let them know you’re afraid . She couldn’t remember where she’d heard that, but it made perfect sense. She was so busy being pissed off at him that she didn’t realize he was already moving his fingers through her blood-matted hair, and then it was too late to do more than freeze.
    If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. “You’re a lucky girl, Parker. A fraction of an inch closer and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
    “That’s too high a price to pay no matter how obnoxious this conversation is. Ouch!” He’d managed to pull her hair, not by accident, she decided, and her desire to snarl at him increased.
    “I knew you’d think so,” he said, daubing at a tender place on her skull. She tried to think of him as a nameless, faceless EMT cleaning up her wound. She glanced down at her pale peach suit—the one she’d chosen as proper for church and lawyerly things, a well-tailored piece of armor against the bastard with his hips at her eye level, giving her a perfect view of the contours of . . .
    She jerked her head away, and Ryder swore. “Hold still or you’re going to end up a platinum blond.”
    Instinctively she reached up to touch her hair, coming in contact with his hand. He brushed hers away with clear annoyance. “What are you doing to me?” she demanded.
    “Cleaning your wound with hydrogen peroxide. It’s not bad enough to need anything more powerful.”
    “I don’t want . . .” She began in panic, thinking of her slightly drab but perfectly acceptable plain brown hair that was not, repeat not , russet or any other exotic color.
    “I don’t give a fuck what you want. You’ve bled all over the carpets and all over me, and right now I own your ass. We’ll do this my way, and if your hair gets screwed up we can play girls’ sleepover and do each other’s hair. I’m sure there’s plenty more peroxide around.”
    She looked up at his too-long hair dispassionately. “What do I do with you—give you a perm so you can look like Bradley Cooper in American Hustle ?”
    “Cancel that. You’re not touching me.”
    “Don’t trust me, Ryder?” she taunted. As long as she didn’t let him know how unnerved she was by him, she stood a chance.
    “No.” His voice was flat.
    She didn’t flinch. “Besides, a sleepover with you is the absolute last thing in my schedule. Ouch!” she added as he washed the wound. It burned, and she could probably blame his overzealous use of peroxide for that.
    “Think again, Parker.” There was something about the way he drawled her name that got on her last nerve—she’d already shattered all the other nerves in her body. “You’re not going anywhere. Not when someone wants to kill you or your little protégé.”
    “How do you know they weren’t shooting at you?” she countered. “This is your place, not mine, and I’m sure you’ve made a lot more enemies than I have.”
    “Is that so? I don’t know if I’d take your word for that.”
    She looked up at him from behind the strands of her wet, blood-soaked hair. “The only person who seems to consider me an enemy is you, Ryder.”
    Once more that grim mouth showed just the trace of a smile. “You have no idea what I think of you.”
    She couldn’t come up with an answer to that. “I’m not staying here,” she said firmly.
    “You wanted a place for Soledad to stay. This place is huge. Just stay out of the rooms that are off-limits and we should get along fine.”
    “Don’t . . . Ouch! Are you deliberately hurting me every time we have a disagreement?” She eyed him suspiciously. Her head had continued to throb, the beginnings of a pounding migraine, and she was looking forward to the ibuprofen.
    “Yes.” He leaned back and looked at her, and for a moment she stared up