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the missed call flashing on the screen. Carson Scott. Shit, why was the lieutenant calling him? Did they have plans he’d forgotten about?
    He was just punching in the code for his voice mail when the phone vibrated in his hand. Text message coming in. From…Carson Scott.
    Frowning, Cash opened the message. Wariness crept up his spine as he skimmed the terse note.
    NEED TO TALK. IMPORTANT. MY PLACE—NOW.
    Well, okay then. That didn’t sound good. And all caps? Definitely important.
    He shot back a quick text saying he was on his way, then cast a rueful look in the direction of the couch, where Vanessa now lay on her back, legs spread wide. Kneeling on the floor, Dylan had his head buried between her thighs, and from the throaty purring noises she kept making, she was clearly enjoying everything Dylan was doing.
    So much for round two.
    “Actually, I gotta go,” Cash announced.
    Dylan lifted his head long enough to mumble, “See you later,” then resumed feasting.
    Lucky bastard.
    Stifling a sigh, Cash got dressed, grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

Chapter Three
    “Hey, man, thanks for coming over.” Carson gestured for Cash to enter the apartment.
    As Cash stepped inside, he experienced a sense of disorientation. He’d been to Carson’s place a dozen times, for poker games and whatnot, but something felt off tonight. It took him a moment to realize that it was the smell. Or lack thereof. Every time he’d been here, Carson’s wife had been cooking up a storm, thrilled to use her husband’s teammates as guinea pigs for whatever recipe she happened to be experimenting with.
    “Where’s Holly?” he asked, shooting his commanding officer a quizzical look.
    Carson’s jaw tensed. “She’s crashing at her sister’s tonight.”
    He didn’t elaborate, and Cash didn’t push. But damn, he hoped there wasn’t trouble in paradise. Carson and Holly were the most rock-solid couple he’d ever met, and so well suited for one another it was almost disgusting. They’d been together for five years, married for two, and every time Cash saw them, he experienced a raw pang of envy. They were so at ease with each other, on the same wavelength in every conceivable way, something Cash had never experienced with a woman.
    The girls he’d dated accused him of being too blunt, too detached, too selfish. It grated, because he truly didn’t see himself as any of those things. Sure, maybe he didn’t always know the right thing to say, maybe he didn’t understand all those mind games females liked to play, but that didn’t make him a shitty person, did it?
    Pushing aside his troubling thoughts, he followed Carson into the living room and settled on the couch, while Carson disappeared into the kitchen to grab them some beers. He returned a minute later, handed Cash a bottle of Bud Light and sank into the leather recliner opposite the couch.
    “So listen, I need a favor,” Carson began, his blue eyes crinkling with discomfort.
    Cash furrowed his brows. “Sounds ominous.”
    “Not really. It’s just… Fuck, my sister drives me crazy sometimes. You won’t believe the trouble she winds up in.”
    “Your sister? The favor has to do with her?”
    “Yeah. See, she’s got this psycho ex-boyfriend.” Carson’s mouth flattened. “Well, more like a stalker.”
    “Your sister has a stalker.”
    “I know, right? Sounds really fucking dumb when you say it out loud. But it’s not a joke. This guy is a total creep. She broke up with him about a month ago, but he refuses to leave her alone. I actually went to the police station with her this morning to file a restraining order.”
    Shit. That sounded bad.
    “What’d he do?” Cash narrowed his eyes. “Did the asshole get physical?”
    Carson’s cheeks hollowed, as if he were grinding his teeth together. “Son of a bitch manhandled her outside a club. She managed to get in a cab and hightail it home, but the next day, Psycho McGee shows up at her store with flowers.