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it.”
    “Okay, well, maybe it is what it looks like. But it’s not something I, ah, broadcast. To the rest of the guys in the office.”
    “You mean when you and Court are watching the football games on Sunday afternoon, you don’t discuss your latest volunteer efforts?” Her tone was saccharine. She sounded as if she was biting back laughter.
    “No,” he said shortly. He was not amused. She must have sensed it, because she quickly sobered. He placed the box in the corner where he’d stored the rest of the boxes he’d pulled from the delivery truck.
    “I won’t tell anyone.”
    He couldn’t help it; he blew out a relieved breath. “Good. Now get your ass in gear and help me unload the rest of this truck so I can get the hell out of here.”
    • • •
    Kyra glanced up and down the street and then looked at her phone. Her new partner was already twenty minutes late. Even knowing as little as she did about Quinn Daniels, she probably shouldn’t be surprised, but still, it irked her. This was her case, damn it, and she wanted it managed, handled, and closed properly. By her standards and by the book. No more screw-ups. Whether she chose to return to Dallas or not, she needed everyone in that office to know she was finally able to close this damn case.
    Her reputation was at risk.
    Actually, her reputation was already in tatters, so closing the case would simply be the first step toward fixing it. The process after that, she knew, would be a long and arduous one.
    That was one of the reasons she’d visited Raquel Smith just the evening before. She had cuddled Raquel’s three-week-old baby girl, Aimee, and lamented the fact that she had to do this undercover assignment with Quinn Daniels, of all people.
    Raquel’s husband, Jorge, had asked his wife at that point, “Did you sleep with him?”
    She had rolled her eyes. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, dear, I did not sleep with every single guy I worked with. It’s the FBI, for God’s sake. It’s ninety percent male. That would be a hell of a lot of notches on my bedpost.”
    “He was drunk at the bar on Friday night and hit on me,” Kyra commented. She chose not to mention her most recent interaction with Quinn. She had made a promise, after all.
    Raquel made a face. “Don’t do it,” she advised. “He’s plenty hot enough”—she had to pause to reassure her husband no one was hotter than him—“but he has a lot of baggage and long term is the very last thing he’s looking for.”
    “What kind of baggage?” Kyra asked. It was best to know up front what she was getting into. She and Quinn would be living as man and wife until they were able to solve this case, after all.
    But Raquel shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell you, and besides, I don’t really know the whole story anyway,” she added quickly when Kyra opened her mouth to protest.
    The baby stirred at that point, blinking her wide green eyes for a moment before she squeezed them shut again and let out a blood-curdling scream. Raquel plucked her from Kyra’s arms, and the baby immediately stopped screaming as she focused on nuzzling her mother’s chest, clearly seeking something to eat.
    “Don’t worry,” Raquel had said as she settled the baby against her breast. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure Quinn hit on you because he was drunk. He’ll be a perfect gentleman while you’re working together. He may be an ass otherwise, but he has a work ethic unlike anyone else I’ve ever seen.”
    So, did that work ethic only carry over to Quinn’s own cases? Being now twenty-four minutes late on the first day of their joint assignment did not strike her as terribly ethical.
    She heard the sound of a gunning dual exhaust and turned her head to watch a sleek blue and chrome full-sized truck motor down the road. Slowing down at the last moment, the truck careened into the driveway and came to a lurching halt just inches from Kyra’s feet. She was too stunned to jump out of