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to talk to his coworkers and neighbors. I need leverage with him. Maybe he’s in a custody battle and wants to see his kid. I can use that.”
    Gavin tried the phone again.
    Come on, Joe, pick up. Which someone did, but yelling from the other end echoed through the phone line—whoa—and Gavin straightened up. “Joe? It’s Gavin. Everything all right?”
    The line went dead.
    Gavin tried again, but no answer. “Dammit. What the hell happened?”
    “There’s nothing on the monitor. Whatever it is, it’s happening inside. Should we have the team take a look?”
    He tried the phone again. “No. I need to get them calm again and they’ll go nuts if they see a tactical team approach.”
    Someone picked up the other end. No yelling, but people were yapping at each other. “Joe? Talk to me. What do you need over there?”
    “Nothing,” Joe said. “Our prisoner just tried to run out the back door.”
    From the corner of his eye, he saw Janet look at him, her mouth partway open. Don’t look at her. Focus.
    “Well, Joe, you know, she’s probably terrified. Let’s get everyone to resume cool heads here, okay? Nobody is hurt, right?”
    Agree with me, asshole. Agree with me.
    “Nobody is hurt, but she won’t be trying that again. Stupid bitch.”
    Something in the way he said bitch struck Gavin as wrong. Like maybe Joe Smith wasn’t used to using colorful language. He made a note and stared at his notepad until the lines blurred. “What do you mean she won’t try that again?”
    “We were forced to restrain her. We were trying to go easy, but now she’s chained to the bed. No more talking.”
    He hung up.
    Gavin ripped his headset off, dumped it on the table and lowered himself to the folding chair. Next to him, Janet slowly peeled her headset away from her ear. “Well, just hell.”
    “Give her credit for trying, but we now have agitated hostage takers who chained a pregnant woman to a bed.” He put his head down, ran two fingers over his forehead. “If one of them tries something, she may not even be able to defend herself. Goddammit. ”
    Janet reached over, touched his arm. “Take a break. A couple of minutes to regroup. That’s all.”
    “If I regroup, they regroup.”
    She stuck her hand out, where his iPod sat nestled in her palm. “Do it. Just a couple of minutes.”
    Most negotiators had a thing they did to decompress. Some exercised, some did puzzles, he listened to classical music. And she’d figured that out about him. He reached for the miniscule device, closed his hand over hers and squeezed. Their eyes met for a few brief seconds and he smiled.
    She set her other hand over his and rubbed it slowly across the top. The motion settled his tortured mind. Or maybe it made it worse because now he was conjuring other uses for those lovely little hands.
    What are you doing, Sheppard? Roxann Taylor is tied to a bed and this one is support staff. Problems everywhere and he was thinking about sex.
    But— yeah, it’s getting hot in here —that heat drilling right through him, teasing him, begging him to make a move.
    “This is tough stuff,” she said. “You’re used to dealing with people you don’t know. You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself. It’s not fair that you need to do this, but I love watching you work. It’s a noble thing and not many people could do it.”
    Make a move.
    Janet beat him to it. Sure did. When she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, he didn’t necessarily fight it. He, in fact, threw himself into the fray. Specifically, his tongue threw them into the fray. Not that it could be considered bad. Women like her, who understood his crazy life and the stress he faced during a negotiation, yet still managed to make him smile, hadn’t been in abundant supply for him.
    She stirred something inside him and—weak-willed pig that he was—he wanted more. And then maybe more after that. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.
    Like every other good