Tall.

Dark.

Handsome.

What more could a woman want?

~*~

Blonde, petite, pretty. Single. Twenty-seven.

A man's fantasy?

This time it's genuine.

I'm looking for a man able to handle a real woman. Is that man you? Contact me and we can find out.

Chapter One

No, it was a good ad, a good response to his.

He'd turn up.

And what's more, he'd be the right one. He'd have to be. All the rest had been complete duds. She was counting on this one.

Billie Hagan tapped her short, blunt nails against her glass of cola with growing impatience. Where was he?

She looked around the crowded, smoke-filled singles bar, trying to ignore the churning of her stomach.

How the hell did everyone here do it without falling apart? She was a wreck. And she wasn't even doing this to actually meet a prospective mate. If she had to do that, she'd probably end up an old, withered maid, cackling away in some tower. With a thousand cats all named Fred.

Focus, she told herself, focus on the job at hand.

Billie closed her eyes and mentally regrouped. She was here on business, simply on business. And this man she was about to meet, ol' tall, dark and handsome, was simply just another in a line of prospective suspects.

He had to be guilty of something, she knew that much after his short but very telling ad. What more could a woman want? Indeed.

She swallowed a snort of laughter. Sincerity would be nice. An egoectomy maybe. Still, she wasn't about to date the man, just investigate him. This one sounded like a regular to Hot Connectionz, just what she wanted.

She'd researched carefully and narrowed her suspect hunt down to a regular. And after meeting a few shy, retiring types, she'd realized not all the women she'd interviewed had dated that type. In fact, after those men's painfully honest attempts at romancing her, she'd gone back to the notes she'd made from the interviews, and discovered while the women had all gone out at some time with regulars, there was one type of regular who'd consistently shown up.

He claimed to be handsome. He claimed to be charming. He got the woman in by his confidence.

She'd received sixty replies to her new ad in the Hot Connectionz personal pages, and after rifling through them, she'd discarded the self-confessed warm, caring, married men looking for a fun time, along with the newcomers and kinky sex freaks.

In the end, she'd given up on the available men left over and simply sent her ad to TDH. She'd seen the ad, read it and decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Perhaps she was on the wrong track, but as a private investigator who stood in square one on an investigation, she had to follow every avenue she could.

Where was he? She was at the right date table, number thirty-six. She'd arrived ten minutes early so she wouldn't miss him. Calm down, girl.

Billie sipped her Sprite, looking around the bar. How her sister, Fiona, had ever thought she'd find a man interested in a relationship in this place was beyond her. Most of the people crammed into this singles joint all looked like 'relationship' was the last thing on their minds. Of course, she might simply be letting her emotions color her view. It had been two years since her injury, a year-and-a-half since she'd quit the force, a year since she'd had her heart trodden all over by her ex-fiancé, but she still remembered. Everything.

Couples chatted and flirted away at most of the date tables surrounding her. She shuddered. What if her life eventually came down to this? Oh, God, if it did, she'd join a nunnery.

Concentrate on your job and don't screw up your first case. Billie sighed, checking her watch. Ten minutes late and counting. Waiting sucked, she decided, scanning the crowded room again, wondering if any here were in on the scam. That was an idea she'd been toying with. More than one culprit. Maybe she could--

"Blonde, petite, pretty?" a deep, husky voice said.

Billie didn't look up right away. She had to gather herself. No one should be allowed to have a voice like that. It wasn't fair. It was the type of voice that evoked sultry nights and tangled sheets.

And sex.

Hot sex.

She hurriedly kicked the whole subject of sex out of her head. She was in this sleazy bar to work. Slowly she looked up and almost wished she hadn't. He was tall and dark and most definitely handsome.

Beyond handsome, really. Sexy...with more than his fair share of masculinity thrown in. Billie sucked in a deep breath as she met his gaze. His golden eyes seemed to look into her very soul. Oh Lord, this man screamed trouble with those eyes and that sensuous, chiseled mouth. He had a strong, straight nose, cheekbones to die for and a square chin. His dark hair, swept carelessly back from his face, looked in desperate need of a cut. It should have detracted from his looks, but it didn't. Everything came together much too well for her liking.

She didn't trust men who looked like this.

She took in his clothes. Casual. Dressed to impress without going over the top. 501s, white shirt, green cashmere jacket. Nice.

Billie offered him a smile. "Tall, dark and handsome?"

His easy, answering grin made her tremble. "Yeah." He slid onto the seat opposite her.

Damn. Why couldn't the man look like Quasimodo, or something? Instead he looked dangerous. And far too good-looking for comfort.

"I'm Billie H-Hammil." She cursed inwardly as she slipped over the false last name. Well, she decided, holding out her hand, no doubt Mr. Man here would think her nervousness was over meeting such a catch and not the embarkment of the first case of her new career.

He took her hand in a firm, engulfing grip. His fingers felt warm around hers, and they weren't rough. This is a man who doesn't do manual labor for a living. His fingers were long and elegant, perfect for breaking and entering....

"Devlin Stuart," he said, giving her another smile. "You come here often?"

Billie groaned inwardly. "Ohh, you bad man." She forced a moronic giggle. "Not too often, I'm fairly new."

"Your letter sounded very...confident." He leaned back in his chair. "Not at all like a novice."

He reminded her of someone with his overflowing charm and self-confidence. A certain ex-fiancé named Anthony. Maybe she was projecting, but personally she didn't think so.

"That's me -- confident," she said brightly, pouring on the charm. "But it feels like my first with you."

He made a strange sound that could have been muffled laughter. "The rest were duds, huh?"

Billie smiled and nodded, knowing she had to stay in character for this to work. She smoothed down the hem of her ridiculously short dress. Devlin made her nervous and she had no idea why. He was just a man. Nothing to get all worked up over.

"What do you do?" She had to get as much information on him as possible -- to either rule him out or in as a suspect.

Devlin's lean fingers played with the complimentary matchbook. "I travel a lot. I'm in sales."

"Really? How fascinating. What kind of sales?" He looked nothing like any salesman she'd seen.

"Pharmaceuticals. It takes me across the country -- nothing very exciting--"

"Oh," she breathed, trying to be the ultimate ditzy blonde, "it sounds exciting!"

Devlin barely hid a condescending look. But Billie caught it and wanted to kick him under the table. She was getting the desired results so it shouldn't have mattered.

Neil Diamond started up in the noisy background. Someone had found the jukebox. Over Cherry, Cherry, Devlin spoke. "It's a living, honey."

Honey? Did she look like honey? Did he actually think he'd get something out of this evening? Billie took a quick gulp of her Sprite. Well, yes, she reminded herself, he did.

"A very good living, actually," he added with a wink. "I've got a small house in Prahran, not far from here, and one in Darlinghurst...." At her blank look, he added, "That's in Sydney. They're my two bases, but I'm never in Sydney or Melbourne long enough to call either home. I go from town to town, free and easy and loving it. It gives life a bit of oomph, you know what I mean?"

Billie nodded tightly. She knew exactly what he meant. It was almost the same thing Anthony had meant when he'd broken the engagement. I'm in it for the fun, but no commitments, thanks very much. She steered clear of men like that.

Like Devlin.

Stop projecting and start concentrating. Right, so far, he fit the profile she'd formulated. Flirty and big-noting himself. All she had to do was remain focused until she got what she wanted.

Though why no woman could remember this man down to the finest detail was beyond her. She'd remember his beautiful face when she was living in the nunnery with all those cats named Fred.

Since she didn't have a description of this man, did that mean he wasn't her man? No, she couldn't think that until she'd eliminated him completely. He was the closest she had.

"It sounds wonderful," she simpered. "Tell me more!"

He laughed easily and shook his head. He leaned forward on the tiny, grimy round plastic table and focused that golden gaze on her. "Tell me about you, Billie."

She shrugged. "My life's terribly boring. I'm recently divorced." The lie skipped off her tongue with alarming ease.

"I see. Billie...." He said her name like he was tasting it, like she was the most special thing in his life. "Billie...such a pretty name. Your parents weren't fans of Billie Holiday by any chance?"

Bingo. She forced herself to giggle. "Who?"

"She's-- never mind."

"Oh. Okay." Billie twirled her glass in her fingers and gave him a coy look. "I-- I hate to ask this, with us getting along so well and all...." Her voice trailed off suggestively. "You don't have a significant other around, do you?"

He looked at her like she'd just said a dirty word. "Nope. Just me."

"Good." She pulled her wallet out of her bag and extracted a ten-dollar note, "I'd really love another drink. Vodka and tonic."

"I'll get it."

She fluttered her eyelashes. "What a gentleman. While you're getting it, I'll go freshen up."

Dropping the money in her bag, Billie pushed back her chair and headed for the ladies room, deliberately leaving her wallet on the table.

Devlin Steele watched the gorgeous Billie walk away. Not a difficult thing to do, she was easy on the eyes. Easy on the eyes maybe, but she held no interest whatsoever for him, except in the work field.

She wasn't his type. He liked curves and soft, warm flesh. This one had a small, lithe, finely toned body. No doubt she worked out everyday. He'd bet anything there were killer abs under that dress. Probably put his to shame.

She had the prettiest blue eyes he'd ever seen, though, blue as a summer sky. Long blonde hair that hung down in a straight curtain almost to her waist. And a great butt. Of course, he had noticed other things about her. Things which had nothing to do with her anatomy.

She'd been lying to him. He wasn't sure what about, but he knew it as surely as he knew her sparkly dress should be classed illegal. It hadn't covered much, just the essentials with a little bit left over.

Devlin gazed casually around the room and at the bathroom door. Billie was still safely inside. He grinned and reached across the table, picking up her wallet. He got up and made his way to the busy bar, leafing through the wallet lazily.

Almost totally empty. No form of identification except for a lay-by receipt for a jewelers, with her name and address on it. He memorized her address and kept looking. He found a picture of a soppy-looking, fluffy black cat, and a disdainful fluffy black tortoiseshell tucked into one compartment. And two twenties, one two dollar coin and two twenty cent pieces. Nothing else.

No credit cards. Nothing. The wallet was clean, too clean. No woman had a wallet this clean, it wasn't natural. He wanted to know more about her, if she was hiding something, which, with a wallet like that, she would have to be. He wanted to find out.

And fast. Before this hell-hole really got to him.

Billie stared at her reflection in the public toilet's mirror. Long blonde hair swept tidily back, make-up perfectly in place. Nothing to do except stand around and give him time to look through her wallet.

What did she have so far? Everyone she'd spoken to who'd been robbed had used this place and the Hot Connectionz personal pages regularly.

No longer though, as they now flocked to the only other club/paper like it in town, over in Windsor, Close and Personal.

A few did come back to Hot Connectionz, but they were robbed repeatedly. Different things, different times, and once they stopped coming here, and went to Close and Personal, the robberies stopped.

She had theories but she hadn't been able to meet the owners of either Close and Personal or Hot Connectionz. So for now she was here, offering herself as sacrificial lamb...or was that bimbo?

And this Devlin, he really did fit the description she'd compiled. Good looking, arrogant, some said charming, but she was willing to forget that, tall and dark and they dated him only once. She had heaps of different names, and the sketchiest details.

She'd asked her sister and the others if they'd come along to see if they could ID the man, but all had refused. They were done with Hot Connectionz, not wanting to make themselves a target again. So.... She had to work it out on her own.

And dating the patrons in the confines of the club seemed the best way, since she didn't have anyone to conduct surveillance on. Not yet.

She'd researched the club, both on the Internet, Microfiche and through public record. She knew about the owner, a woman named Susanna Lee, single and in her early forties. She ran a tight ship and had been linked to various well-known and unknown men at different times since opening the club.

Susanna Lee made a huge profit and until recently had made personal appearances at the club, gaining herself a strange kind of celebrity status within the singles scene. Not any more and Billie had so far been unable to find out why. She would dig deeper. She hadn't secured an audience with Ms Lee, but she would. She wanted to know if Susanna's sudden absence had any connection to the robberies or not.

The robberies were interesting. Nothing expensive had been taken, which told her there was a motive behind them that had to do with the club itself. Somehow.

She looked at her watch. Give him a few more minutes.

Devlin had every instinct in her body on red-alert. She trusted her instincts and this man had looked at her as though she was a tasty morsel to be used. It wasn't really sexual, more predatorial.

He'd just met his match.

She was no innocent little thing who knew nothing of city ways. She was an ex-cop, who knew the deal. Well, she was an ex-uniform cop who'd barely made it past the traffic direction detail outside Flinders Street Station in the city, but still....

That wasn't the point. She had a job to do. A new career as a PI.

So, she thought, straightening her dress. Go do it.

Billie sipped her drink and barely withheld a shudder. What had he done? Ordered her a triple vodka with a splash of tonic to get her legless in the hopes of getting her into his bed? She hated men. She really did.

Devlin was drinking a beer. A light beer. Low alcohol. She was drinking an alcoholic's dream. She took a tiny sip and smiled through the tears. "Yummy."

"Glad you like it."

Billie bit down on a caustic retort. "So, Devlin." She gave him the most alluring look she could muster under the circumstances. It probably wasn't that seductive. It was hard to be seductive when it felt like your throat was being stripped free of flesh by the paint-thinner-and-rocket-fuel concoction in your glass. But she tried. She really did. "How long are you staying here in Melbourne?"

He shrugged casually and sipped his beer. "As long as it takes."

What did that mean? Until he got bored? Until he'd robbed all the places he felt like for his own devious reasons? Billie forced her mind to stop manufacturing all those dark suspicions. It wasn't healthy, besides, she needed to keep an open mind. He might be innocent.

Right, and she was the tooth fairy. This man hadn't been innocent a day in his life. He looked dangerous. And way too sexy. Anyone that sexy wasn't innocent, they never had been. "Why?"

He looked momentarily nonplussed and she realized he'd been staring at her cleavage. "I've got a lot of appointments around town and suburb," he said, playing with his beer, his long legs brushing against hers under the table as he stretched.

Her legs burned with the contact. An electric, sweet tingling that made her breathless and unbelievably aware of him.

Billie blinked. She was drunk. She'd hardly touched the stuff but she had to be inebriated, it was the only explanation. She held up her glass. "This stuff is strong."

"That stuff's expensive."

Was methylated spirits expensive? She looked into the glass, then up at him. "Do you want some money for it?"

"No. I'm swimming in cash." He winked.

He watched her closely. Such a beautiful woman. Pity about the brain, it didn't look like she had one. No, something told him the bimbo routine was just an act. Intelligence shone in her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

He watched her not drink the beverage from hell he'd ordered especially for her. She did a good job of looking like she was drinking when she did nothing of the sort. Another place, another time, another situation and he might just have admired her.

"That's fascinating," she said.

He studied her. The sad excuse for clothing she'd poured herself into showed her body off perfectly. It--

Devlin stopped looking at her dress. It wasn't good for his health and it wasn't helping him do his job. It kept making him forget why, exactly, he was here. He looked at a crowded section of the bar just over her left shoulder.

"Devlin...." Her soft, anxious tone drew his gaze to her face. Her blue eyes widened as she leaned forward. "Are you worried about the rumors?"

He hooked an arm over the back of his chair, keeping his expression neutral. "Rumors?"

She nodded. "About the robberies." Billie giggled nervously, her fingers playing with a strand of her silk-fine blonde hair. Blunt nailed, he noted. Not exactly fitting in with her bimbo routine. His instincts started a stampede.

"Rumors, sweetie, they're probably circulated by some of the dateless nightmares that hang here...." He scanned the crowded room, then let his gaze settle once more over her shoulder. "Either that or they're coincidences. You've got nothing to worry about."

"That makes me feel better. I'd hate to be the next victim. I've heard people aren't coming here as much."

"Apparently the other place is good."

"You...you think I'd be better off there?"

Amused golden eyes settled on hers. "Darling, don't worry that very pretty head, nothing's going to happen."

She nodded, barely repressing the shudder at her own behavior. If she didn't win best impersonation of a Bimbo, she'd be very surprised. Maybe it was time to leave. If he was her guy, then she didn't want to make him suspicious and if not.... She didn't want to waste any more time.

"Thanks again," said Billie, very, very sweetly.

"No problem." As he lounged, he looked the picture of a smug, self-confident man. But something about him told her there was more to his act. Much more. Another time, another place, she just might have respected Devlin. He raised an eyebrow, his smile easier now, lazier as he watched her, and that smile melted her bones. "So, tell me all about your likes, Billie...."

Devlin swallowed. Good God, surely her throat was bleeding by now. She'd been talking non-stop for what felt like hours. Still...he had a job to do...no matter how unpleasant this part was. The end result would be more than worth it. He managed to dig up a smile. "Collecting all those...."

"Teddy bears, she supplied.

"Yes...." He tried not to yawn. "Teddy bears. Very... interesting. You must have quite an imagination to come up with all those varied names."

Actually, she must not have a life. She'd told him every single blasted name. At least he'd thought so. He'd tuned out after Petunia, bear number forty. It had felt like ten, long excruciating hours. The kind of situation where ripping your finger nails out slowly held definite appeal over listening to her diatribe. Time to end this torture session. He had everything he needed from her and this place tonight.

"So, do you have any interests?" she asked perkily.

Had she taken happy pills when he hadn't been paying attention? Desperation settled over him. That was it. He was trapped with her forever. No one deserved this kind of torture. Not even him. And, to top it off, the jukebox roared into life with a loathsome heavy metal song that jarred the air around them.

"Oh great!" they said in unison. "Satan's Kitchen!"

Billie sent him a startled look. He sent one right back. Don't tell me we actually have something in common! he thought.

"I hate them," she said darkly.

Devlin shook his head. "Can't stand the music." Then he grinned. "How about you give me your number and we call it an evening?"

She nodded gratefully. Far more gratefully then was called for. He hadn't bored anyone to death. He watched her pull a taxi business card from her bag.

"Can I give you a lift home?" he asked, not out of chivalry, but because he couldn't let the opportunity slide through his fingers.

She flicked a stray lock of golden hair over her shoulder. "I couldn't accept. I'll just get a taxi. It's not far to South Yarra from Richmond."

Devlin pushed back his chair. He wanted to see her house and check it out. "I live in Prahran, so it's no problem. I'll take you home."

Devlin switched off the engine and the silence that had plagued them the entire trip across the Yarra river into South Yarra consumed her. "Uh...thanks for the lift."

"My pleasure." His voice reminded her of summer night air. Dark and mysterious and laden with heat. She would have liked his intelligence, the humor she saw in those eyes, had he been a different man, had he not been a suspect.

But he was the best she had so far. The only one. So why not dangle the proverbial carrot?

Billie cleared her throat. "Would you like to come in for coffee?"

"A glass of water would be nice."

Once inside, Billie dumped her keys on the coffee table and marched off to the kitchen to get his glass of water.

She leaned one hip against the sink and ran the tap. She'd give him some time in the lounge. Not too much, but enough. She didn't actually like the idea of him in her house, but she needed to do this, to see if he was the man she was looking for.

She filled the glass. "Here you are," she sang out, carrying the glass back into the room. He lounged on her couch, looking all too relaxed for her comfort.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I leave?" he asked the moment he'd downed the contents of the glass.

There it was. "It's down the hall, the second door on the left."

She watched Devlin place the glass on the wooden coffee table then walk from the room. She tried not to notice what a nice butt he had...or his long lean legs...broad shoulders....

This man, she pointed out sternly, is a suspect. Stop checking him out like he's this week's prime beef special in the butcher shop window. Right, she could do that.

She looked away and down to the couch. His jacket. Quickly checking he'd definitely left the room, she lunged for the jacket and hurriedly searched the pockets, squashing the stirring guilt.

Yes!

She pulled out his black leather wallet and opened it, feeling like a thief. License... Devlin Nye Steele. He'd lied about his name.

Billie memorized the address, 19 Merlin court, Prahran, she'd need that information later. She found a condom tucked away in one pocket, two fifty dollar notes, three twenties, one five and an assortment of small change. And absolutely nothing else. Not even a receipt, credit card, or key-card. He was clean, too clean.

Her back twinged, reminding her she still wasn't one hundred percent fit and never would be. She slid out of her high-heeled shoes and breathed a sigh of relief. She'd come a long way since been told she might never walk again, so when her back spoke, she listened.

She closed the wallet and slid it back into place. This man was definitely hiding something.

The question was what.

Devlin walked slowly back to the lounge. He'd done a quick, thorough search through all the rooms down the hall. He'd found her license, proclaiming her to be Billie Hagan. But that meant nothing. He'd found nothing much else. Just knick-knacks and a few things like that. He did now know she had flimsy locks on her windows.

There'd been no teddy bear collection. That made him slightly awed. She was the only person he knew who'd go out of her way to try to bore someone to death over something made up.

Her bedroom, all cream and soft blues had been disgustingly neat, with nothing but a pair of cats curled up asleep on the queen-sized bed. She had to be guilty of something. No-one was that neat.

As he stepped into the lounge, he noted she still stood in the same position, near her dark stained wooden coffee table, right next to the treadmill that came as absolutely no surprise. She looked slightly guilty. No doubt she'd been through his jacket. Tough, she wouldn't have found a damned thing.

"You're back." Billie half-stepped forward, then stopped, as if she didn't know what to do.

"I am," he said, with as much charm as he could muster. Which wasn't a lot. He wasn't big on charm, he didn't believe in it. Women either took him as is or not at all. "I also have to go." Devlin winked. "Got a big day tomorrow."

"Good luck," she said, hurrying to the door.

He followed, enjoying the back view. She really was small, he noticed as he stopped by her side at the unopened front door. Petite, compact, dynamite. The top of her head reached his eye-level. Surely she hadn't been this short earlier on. What had been in that beer? He was working. He wasn't interested. His gaze slid down her body, all the way to her feet, her bare feet. Well, that was one mystery solved. And high time he got out of there and home.

"I'll call you," he said, touching her cheek, trying not to think of how soft her skin felt beneath his fingertips.

The beer again, he thought, opening the door and stepping out into the night. Nothing else but the beer.

Billie groaned and reached for the phone the next morning. She cracked open one bleary eye and glared at the red numbers on the bedside clock as her sister's voice squawked in her ear.

"Fi, do you have no compassion? It's seven a.m."

"The bird's are singing," Fiona said cheerily. Billie wanted to kill her. "The sun is up, it's beautiful and--"

"Did you have another reason for calling, other than torture?"

"I'm in love!" She sighed.

"Right now, I really don't care," Billie flung an arm over her eyes and contemplated hanging up but discarded the idea. Fiona would just call back and she didn't have the energy to pull the phone cord from the wall. "Other than the love thing...have you thought about returning to Hot Connectionz with me to see--"

"No! I'm not risking myself again. Anyway, his name's Bert and I met him at Close and Personal. Wow, that place rocks! It's like Hot used to be. Packed to the rafters, lining up to get in, members only. You know."

"No, I don't, actually." Billie frowned, her brain struggling to comprehend this information so early. "Bert? You're in love with someone called Bert?"

"It's Bertrand, but that's not the point. We got talking...everyone was saying how Hot's going downhill, because of the robberies, and Bert has been robbed, too."

Interesting. That made it two men she knew had been robbed. Did that mean a female was involved in the robberies? "Does the name Devlin mean anything to you? Drop dead gorgeous, arrogant, sexy. Dark hair a bit too long and--"

"Noooo, but he sounds good, why?"

"I--"

"Oops, Bert's arrived...." Fiona giggled. "We're having brunch. Talk to you soon and keep me updated."

Her sister hung up and Billie flung the receiver away from her. Obviously Fiona would be no help whatsoever, and her client, Emily, who'd come to her through Fiona's urging, was spending a month in Sydney for work. Emily only wanted her property back, no involvement, just the case solved. So she was on her own.

She had to find out if Devlin Steele was involved. But how? Slowly a plan formed in her mind. Half-baked, sagging in the middle and totally outrageous, maybe, but it was the best she had.

She only hoped she could pull it off.

Billie pulled her little red Subaru to a stop three houses down from Devlin's Prahran weatherboard house. She climbed quietly out of her car and locked the door, dropping her keys into the bum bag she wore.

Dressed simply in black leggings, black t-shirt and black sneakers, she shoved her plait through the band of her cap and pulled it down low over her eyes. Just pretend you're taking an innocent, leisurely stroll through the neighborhood at dusk.

It was harder than she thought. She used to be a cop, for crying out loud. Her Dad was a cop. Upholding the law was ingrained into her psyche. She took another step towards Devlin's house. Maybe he's home. If he's home, then I can go home, too. Forget this crazy scheme.

Another step. She needed to check out his house. It wasn't as if she was stealing. Yeah, just breaking in. Not a problem.

Billie sucked in a breath and trembled to a stop. His single-story, terrace house loomed in front of her. In darkness. No lights on. No sound from inside. No car in the driveway.

She made her way up the drive, to the front door. With her flashlight tucked safely in the waistband of her pants, and an expired credit card in one hand, she was ready.

No turning back.

With her stomach churning crazily, she boldly knocked on the door.

No answer.

She waited and knocked again. Still no answer.

He definitely wasn't home. She tried the doorknob. Unexpectedly it opened in her hand. Billie frowned, feeling stupidly angry as she slid the card into the bag around her waist. Didn't he know how to lock a door? There were thieves around, people who'd take the open door as an early Christmas present.

She ignored her roiling stomach as she moved further inside. Darkness consumed her. She reached down for her flashlight.

A soft sound filled her ears, flooded her body with dread, froze her to the spot.

The release of a safety. Someone else was in the room. And they had a gun.

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