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“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we’re stuck with one another. Let’s just make it work, okay? Preferably without you killing us a second time around.”
    Lucas swiped the moisture from his cheeks, and nodded. “Thanks,” he muttered.
    “Mike,” the monk said. “The name is Mike.”

Chapter 7
    S cott couldn’t believe he’d escaped from a hospital just a few hours before and now here he was, riding in the back of an ambulance. He was pretty sure it wasn’t SOP to transport a canine, even if it was extenuating circumstances. But the moment the paramedics had shown up, his companion had run roughshod over their objections. It was sort of sexy.
    Tracy York.
    He had a difficult time equating her as a medical examiner. She seemed too… young. Naïve. Cute.
    That is until a person got close enough to read the deep green pools of her gaze. They spoke of suffering, those eyes. They made him ache inside. He wanted to hold her. Offer to help, even though his world was a screwed up mess.
    Her thigh rubbed against his every time the ambulance changed lanes and was slowly driving him crazy. Every nerve strained closer, waiting for the next teasing friction of silk and jean meshing together and then apart.
    The vehicle took a corner and she lost balance, threw out a hand to steady herself, and came dangerously close to finding out exactly what she was doing to him.
    Scott grasped her forearm in his good hand and stopped her forward momentum. He froze, their lips a hairsbreadth apart. Her eyes grew large and he felt like the wolf at Red Riding Hood’s door. His heart skidded along his windpipe like it was an Olympic medal winning luge run. How had he thought her merely cute? She was gorgeous, with hair like the finest brandy and skin that rivalled any fairy tale heroine he’d ever read about. He leaned toward her, solely focused on tasting that lush, honey-sweet mouth.
    And she frowned at him.
    Just like that the noise came rushing back in, the creak of the van, the beep of machines, and the stifled snort of the paramedic who suddenly pretended to act busy. Tracy pulled her arm free. She ignored him to reach out and pet the mutt’s gnarled coat, and move a careful few inches down the bench.
    Scott glared at the grinning paramedic and sat back, his head resting against the cool metal wall behind him. He couldn’t honestly remember the last time a woman turned him down. He was disappointed, but there was no denying the fact that the doc intrigued him. If she were anyone else he’d be tempted to pursue the matter. But she held his and Lucas’ reputation in her dainty little hands. He couldn’t afford to alienate her.
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    T racy worked toslow her chaotic breathing, but her pulse was ping-ponging around her chest as though involved in a championship match. She threaded her fingers through the sleeping dog’s thick coat and massaged, as much for her benefit as his, and tried to ignore Jenny smirking from her spot on the opposite seat. But then she’d seen Tracy shut down men’s pick up lines before. The two women were part of an eclectic group who had first met at a book club and carried it over to Friday night bar hops. Not that any of them were drinkers—well, most of them weren’t drinkers—they just enjoyed each other’s company.
    Tracy had the childish urge to stick her tongue out at her friend. She satisfied herself with a crinkled nose before lowering her gaze to the injured dog. She hoped Ken, the only male in their crowd, would be able to help the poor guy.
    He’d almost kissed her.
    Scott Anderson had almost laid those sexy movie star lips on her mouth. She was crazy to have turned him away. How many people could say they’d been kissed by Scott-freaking-Anderson?
    Too many, and that was the problem. Tracy had no interest in seeing her name in the next gossip magazine— Anderson’s bro-mance ends in affair with M.E. -wonder what she’s been inspecting? After her sister’s death,