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nice, sensitive guy, so he’d just more or less forced it on him.
    Bryan was damn proud of Bruce and what he did, even if he couldn’t always agree with it. He supported his brother’s efforts and he wouldn’t let himself get distracted by a woman with a nice ass and a bold manner, not when Bruce needed him to be on guard, to be the ruthless, calculating hard-ass that their father often called him.
    Someone was out to hurt Bruce, someone vicious. Verbal threats had expanded to physical ones. The last attack had put Bruce in the hospital, and that had Bryan pissed. Really pissed.
    No one hurt his brother and got away with it.
    Soon, another attack would come. But instead of finding Bruce, the bastard would run into Bryan. And that would be the end of that. Bryan just had to wait, then he’d have him.
    Which meant he’d have to ignore, or at least tolerate, Shay’s invitations. He almost laughed at the irony. Could there be a worse man for this particular job? Since the death of his wife, what he did with women was either apprehend or fuck them. He couldn’t do either of those things now. No, he’d have to do the impossible. He’d have to get involved.
    Neck deep involved.
    The clock on the small table beside Bruce’s one guest chair told him time was ticking away. He’d give her twenty minutes to get dried off and changed, then they’d get the rules straight. In the meantime, he could check out a few things.
    Because he was soaked, he went to the closet where Bruce kept spare clothes. Pulling out the first shirt he came across, Bryan shoved his arms into the sleeves and quickly did up the buttons, then rolled the sleeves above his elbows.
    He dropped into the easy chair, pulled out his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers. He had respect in his field, favors owed him, and connections everywhere. What Shay wanted to keep private, he’d find out on his own.
    But the day was rife with frustration. The detective he had called had run a check that came up empty. Far as he could tell, they didn’t have a record on any tall blond hookers named Shay. Shelly and Sherry, Scarlet and Selma. But not Shay or Shaina. He checked with other bounty hunters, but no one on the run fit her description.
    Maybe she’d worked a different area, even a different state. Whatever—he’d uncover her secrets somehow. Bruce was the trusting sort. Too bad he wasn’t Bruce.
    For now, he’d follow the mundane routine of registering a new resident to the safe house. He’d play his brother. He’d keep his hands to himself.
    And eventually the game would end.
    When enough time had passed, Bryan left the privacy of the office. The short hall leading to the kitchen was empty, but he found Shay’s sodden purse set on the dryer. It had been emptied so that a comb, lipstick, sunglasses and other female items were scattered about, along with the contents of her wallet spread out to dry.
    Bryan didn’t hesitate to snoop. Hell, snooping was what he did.
    She had a few bills, a handful of change, a post office receipt, and a grocery list. No credit cards, no driver’s license, nothing that could ID her. Not that he was surprised. She really didn’t strike him as being stupid. Just brazen. And sexy.
    He checked out the receipt, but the rain had faded the ink and he couldn’t even make out the total or the location. A dead end.
    He laid the receipt back where he’d found it and took two long steps to knock lightly on the wall outside the swinging door to the kitchen.
    He called out, “You decent?” then wanted to kick his own ass.
    She was a hooker, for God’s sake; nothing decent about that.
    Shay pushed the door aside and smiled at him. “I was just getting ready to make tea. Would you like some?”
    He eyed her fresh appearance. Her damp hair had been combed and slightly curling ends now brushed the tops of her breasts. Her makeup, which had been smeared from the rain, was washed away. She looked young and happy, her blue eyes