Chapter 1: Sam

Deliver to abandoned warehouse

4 miles E of city

5 pm sharp

Bring shovel.

It was the last line of Hill's text that'd made sweat drip down to my balls, not the roasting D.C. heat made worse by asphalt and rush-hour car exhaust. My Chevy Impala had barely crawled forward six inches in the last ten minutes. A glance at the dashboard clock showed 4:53. Yeah, I wasn't going to make it.

But none of that mattered as much as his weird request. Why the hell would he need a shovel? Unless the shovel wasn't meant for him, but for me to dig my own grave. But I already did that when I was "recruited" to work for him.

Recruited, blackmailed - same difference.

The light ahead finally turned green. Maybe, just maybe, I might be able to creep along a whole seven inches this time.

4:54.

Shit. I cranked the dial on the radio, the speakers blaring a before-my-time Metallica song, and glanced in the rearview mirror. A crowbar and Hill's small, brown-paper-wrapped package sat on the backseat. A crowbar, not a shovel, because my day job didn't have one.

Probably should've put everything in a slightly less obvious spot. But since I was such a dutiful blackmail-ee, I'd really tried to be on time. In my rush to get out of work early, I hadn't exactly thought things through. If Hill had a problem with it, maybe he should've sent me the text this morning instead of late afternoon.

The car ahead pulled forward. As I touched the gas, a perky ass to my right made me do a double take. It stuck up in the air like some kind of supernaturally rounded homing beacon. The woman the ass belonged to stood in the middle of a crowded sidewalk with three bags of luggage surrounding her. She bent over each one, fiddling with the zippers, while her white shorts rode higher on tan, shapely legs.

Damn.

There was no chance I was the only guy checking her out. Or female. Hell, the shrubbery probably wanted to bang her. She clearly had no idea she was putting on a show for the length of Virginia Avenue since her hands moved in a panicked rush. She must've been looking for something. Hopefully not a longer pair of shorts.

She straightened, ran a quick hand through her long, dark hair, and turned slightly to gather all her luggage. Brown eyes crashed into mine for an instant, but it was long enough to wreck me from the inside out.

I knew her, had known her since I was a kid. Paige Sullivan. Paige fucking Sullivan, the star of my childhood fantasies, the girl who'd given me my first boner just by hugging me when I was eleven. The girl. I would know those intelligent eyes, those pouty lips, and that half-Latina honey gold skin anywhere.

So was she coming or going? My mind took a wicked left turn. I imagined myself standing behind her, her ass in the air while I screwed her thoroughly, minus the soccer moms pushing baby strollers past and all the other spectators. She was definitely coming.

The thought made my cock twitch. I winced on a groan. Not only did my dick hurt, but putting any kind of expression on my face did, too. Before I'd left work, Barnaby, or Barn for short because he's built like one, decided to smash his fist into my eye because he thought it would be a good way to warn me against checking out his girlfriend. The girl had more five o'clock shadow than I did, but because hitting on the opposite sex felt more natural than faking sick to get out of work early, I'd flirted and Barn had attacked with both arms swinging. Not my best idea ever, but my boss had sent us both home early from the car shop.

Paige leaned one bag against the bars of her rolling luggage, shouldered the other, and with a frustrated swing of her hair, she stomped down the sidewalk toward the front door of the public library.

I suddenly had the urge to read a book.

4:56.

Two minutes just to talk to her. That was all I needed. Besides, what if this was my only chance to see her? I could show up to the warehouse two minutes later and use traffic as an excuse since it was the truth. Mostly. But knowing Hill, he would probably string me up by my balls even if I did make it by five. And if I didn't...well, I was dead either way. Might as well have some fun beforehand.

But should I go after her? I tapped the steering wheel, my car still moving at a crawl, and stared in the direction Paige had disappeared. The light ahead turned yellow. I wasn't even close to the intersection.

Fuck it.

I swerved into the right turning lane to the tune of several honking horns and pulled into the library's parking lot. After a quick check of the bruises and cuts on my face in the rearview mirror, I decided to hide most of the damage behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses so I wouldn't freak Paige out.

I left the crowbar where it was, but deposited Hill's package in the glove compartment before heading toward the large building. Hill would probably make me regret this whole thinking with my dick thing, but it wouldn't be the first time it had gotten me in trouble.

The library's air conditioner blasted over my skin. I breathed in the slightly musty smell of paper and sweat. Several yards ahead, Paige rounded the corner past the security officer who eyed me warily. I gave the guy a tip of my chin in acknowledgement, then followed Paige past the busy front desk. She acted like she knew exactly where she was headed, and knowing Paige, it was probably some book-related emergency.

When she wasn't starring in my childhood wet dreams or palling around with my older brother, all she did was read. Constantly. That's how I'd first found her, sitting on our front porch steps, her full lips tilted into a frown, a book glued to her hand. I'd been speechless then, a total goner. When she was sixteen, she moved out of D.C. to Kansas, of all places, and my favorite sexy book girl was gone for good. Until now, seven years later. And I had no idea what to say to her.

Hi. Remember me? I'm Sam Cleary.

Hey, it's SamRam Cleary from back in the day. Thank you for never calling me by that annoying nickname, by the way.

Hey, baby. I've got your hardcover right here.

No, no, and hell no.

The wheels of her luggage rolled silently behind a shelf of books near the back wall, but I kept my stroll at a leisurely pace. And then there she was, standing in the middle of the aisle in front of a section of battered paperbacks, her mouth slanting into that same adorable frown while she scanned them.

I jerked to a stop and pretended fascination with the books at the end of the aisle, suddenly feeling like a creeper sneaking after her like this. Anything that fell out of my mouth would sound too wannabe-stalker, but if I acted like just some guy in the library, a stranger with a book fetish, then maybe our "mutual interest" would put her at ease. I'd share my real identity like some kind of superhero when I was sure I wouldn't send her screaming out of the...

Wait a second. I tipped several books out of their spaces. An awful lot of these books had half-naked men on their covers. Fuck, was I in the romance section?