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drilled her with those startling blue eyes. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
    The sharp words, more command than request, pierced the fog of fear that lingered in her brain. “I...I’m not. I don’t think I am.”
    “Could have fooled me.” His gaze dropped briefly to the knife she still wielded, and she suddenly realized that with a gun and a guard dog and the sheer size and strength he had over her, she hadn’t stood much chance of defending herself, anyway. But he still didn’t make another move toward her. “Did you see something out there? That van? Was it the bugs? Trust me, they’ve scattered.”
    “They’re not especially pleasant, but—”
    “Is it me?”
    She was the target of Pike Taylor’s piercing blue eyes again. “Not exactly.”
    She couldn’t handle the intensity there—the suspicion? The anger? Hope blinked. She blinked again, trying to understand exactly what was happening here. Damn, he was big—more man than had ever been in her apartment before. He’d come by her shop nearly every day for months now—had always tipped his hat and said hello or winked as if they were some kind of friends. And now he was in her apartment, shrinking the wide-open space down to the few feet that separated them.
    Why had he touched her hair tonight? And why had she...? Her heart had never raced like that before—not with anything except fear. Why had his fingers tangling into her wayward hair felt like a caress? As if she had the experience to recognize a man’s gentle caress.
    Hope shook her head, dispelling the unfamiliar imprint of a man’s warm hand brushing across her cheek and ear. Blue eyes and distracting touches didn’t matter. She couldn’t afford to take her gaze off the black and tan dog. She could smell him now—the heat of his panting breath, the outdoor scents that clung to his thick fur. Hope finally lowered the knife, but only to slide her fingers beneath the sleeves on her right arm and rub at her wrist. The ridges and dots had softened and faded over the years, but she could feel the pain and itch of every scar as if they were new.
    “Is it Hans?” At this hushed volume, Pike’s deep voice danced along her fried nerves like a soothing balm.
    As embarrassing as her phobia might be to admit, her behavior put her past the point of lying or making a joke about it. Hope nodded. “I’m sorry. I guess I had a panic attack.”
    “You think?”
    “I haven’t had one for a long time. I usually can control it. But with the running and...and he was tracking so hard, so relentlessly. He’s so strong—all muscle, isn’t he?” She pushed her glasses into place at her temple, then found her fingers sliding beneath the collar of her blouse and loose hair to touch the scar there. She’d lost her big hair clip somewhere, and had probably left a trail of bobby pins on the stairs. Her hair was most likely sticking out in all directions, looking as wild as the pulse beat at the side of her neck felt. “I’m sure it seems irrational to you. I know he’s specially trained, he’s a member of the police force, and that he helps—”
    “He’s not going to hurt you.”
    “You don’t know that.” She blinked away flashback images of tearing flesh and searing pain. Of a gunshot that jerked through her even now. The final tragedy of two desperate children’s struggle for survival.
    “Stay with me, Hope.” Pike stepped forward and Hope retreated.
    “I am.” She managed to keep the knife pointed to the floor, although she couldn’t seem to ignore the phantom throb beneath the scars on her wrist. She pulled up a coat sleeve, a jacket sleeve and unbuttoned the cuff of her blouse to massage the skin there. “I will.”
    Tall, Blond and Rugged was moving closer again. Hope focused on the black button at the center of Pike’s shirt. She could still hear the dog panting, but she could no longer see him past the width of those shoulders and chest.
    “I trust Hans with my life. I trust he’ll