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impact?
    “Or what?” Ian asked, his mouth dry. “You’ll kill me?”
    He met her eyes, and caught a flicker of something more than fear.
    Anger. “I’ll admit, the temptation is there,” she muttered, then took a deep breath and shook her head. “But I wouldn’t do that. Unlike some people, I actually care about how my actions impact others.”
    Touché. He couldn’t argue with logic—especially logic that pointed out all too well the role he’d played in Fiona’s life.
    She breathed deep. “As much as it pains me to admit it, Ian, I need your help. There’s a man back there who might be trying to kill me. And pathetic as it sounds, you’re the closest thing to a friend I have right now. Please.”
    And there it was. She hit his Achilles heel—transmuted herself into a giant piece of green Kryptonite. A woman needed his help. A fugitive on the run asked him to be her friend.
    He’d once made the mistake of inaction where this woman was concerned. Heck, some people might say that inaction was a scientist’s life way of life.
    Ian Jones wasn’t some people .
    So when Fiona pulled her foot away, he didn’t let up. He took a sharp turn at full speed and headed right.

Chapter Six
    “There’s something I should tell you before you come in.”
    Fiona took in the nice landscaping, the white picket fence, the kids’ toys in the neighbor’s yard. “Are you about to tell me that you still live with your parents?”
    Ian dropped his keys. As he bent to retrieve them, Fiona drank in the sight of his ass, a perfect combination of muscle and whatever it was about Irish bloodlines that gave a man’s glutes such delicious perkiness.
    This was what she’d been reduced to—a woman fleeing for her life, with no more common sense than to ogle her rescuer. A rescuer who, thank you very much, had once tossed her aside like she meant nothing. He was the last man she should turn to in her time of need.
    Yet here she was. Needy.
    “It’s my parents’ house, yes.” He stabbed his key into the lock. “But they don’t live here. They’re in Arizona now.”
    “Touchy subject?” Fiona asked.
    “Look, you’re the one who vowed to shoot me if I didn’t bring you here.” He held the door open and ushered her in. The blinds were drawn, and particles of dust clouded the air. Chintz floral furniture and childhood pictures filled the space. It was like a museum of his childhood, untouched except by time.
    “I love what you’ve done with the place,” she murmured, trailing her fingers along the dusty photo of a scowling, sixteen-year-old Ian looking down from the entryway. “Very authentic retro.”
    “I don’t really do much up here.” His curt voice prevented further discussion. “My lab is in the basement.”
    “And you’ll let me see it?” Despite everything, she was oddly excited to gain access to his lair. It was like catching a glimpse of the real Ian Jones, the soft underbelly of the scientist. The man.
    But he paused.
    There was mistrust in his eyes, a murky darkness that got her temperature going all over again. His respect for her was so infinitesimal, he actually believed her capable of all those acts of villainy. And still she’d begged.
    Being forced to ask him for help had knotted her stomach, but there was no other way around it. As promised, Patrick’s car had been waiting below, flanked by a pair of burly men who were probably hired to protect his life and livelihood as General Eagle, public safety extremist. She’d watched them through the melted slats of her blinds for a full thirty minutes before finally catching sight of Ian’s rusty old truck pulling in at the end of the block.
    He’d been watching her apartment. With binoculars pressed to his eyes.
    She’d had no idea what his intentions were, but in that moment, he was the least of three evils. Going with Patrick wasn’t an option. And if everything in the manila folder was true, neither were the authorities.
    So she’d fired