“I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I understand. Still, you do need to be the one to do something with it.”

She contemplated tearing the entire envelope in half, check included. But she suddenly hesitated, realizing that while she didn’t want any money from the Dalton family, others might.

“Wait.” Grabbing a pen from a table by the door, she yanked the envelope from him, tore it open, and scribbled on the back of the check, not even glancing at the numbers on the front. “There. Will you make sure the Red Cross gets it?”

A small, admiring smile widened his mouth and he nodded once. “Yes, I will.” He took the check from her and tucked it back in the envelope. Then, his voice lowering a little, he murmured, “Are you doing well?”

“Fine,” she replied, steeling herself for what she knew was coming next. God, she didn’t want to come right out and tell the man why she wasn’t interested.

“I was wondering, now that it’s been a year, if perhaps we might-”

Suddenly her phone rang, and she was literally saved by the bell. Sam eyed it, then offered him an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I’m expecting an important call. Thanks so much for stopping by-I hope that money does some good for people who need it.” Meaning it, she added, “It’s nice to have it over with once and for all.”

“Mrs. Dalton… Samantha,” he said, glancing back and forth between her and the phone, speaking quickly and obviously uncomfortable at being rushed, “would you like to go to dinner with me?”

There was no easy way out of this. No simple explanation. So she had to provide a simple answer without even trying to explain. Her tone as gentle as her expression, she murmured, “I don’t think so. But thank you very much.”

Rick stared, and she hoped he saw the finality in her face. Eventually he replied, “You’re welcome.”

Without giving him a chance to say more, Sam reached for the phone. She waved good-bye to Young as she picked it up without even glancing at the caller ID.

Noting the lawyer’s broad shoulders were perhaps a bit slumped as he walked away, she felt her heart twist. Maybe she’d been a little abrupt, but getting the message across that she wasn’t interested was like pulling off a bandage: best done quickly.

The phone tucked into the curve of her neck, she shut and locked the door as she mumbled, “Hello?”

“Mrs. Dalton? This is Martin Connolly.”

She hesitated, not placing the name.

He cleared his throat, then, with a note of irritation in his voice, added, “I’m the warden at the Maryland House of Corrections. You visited here?”

“Of course,” she said, suddenly remembering the warden, whom she had met when she’d gone to interview Jimmy Flynt for her book. The older man had been a bit pompous, a bureaucrat through and through. Flynt’s defense attorney, Dale Carter, had told her Connolly had completely turned the previously troubled facility around during his tenure.

“I’m calling about your package.”

She sank into a chair, realizing he meant Jimmy’s letters. “Yes?”

“I assume you intentionally returned them? That they weren’t delivered to an incorrect address?”

“That’s right. I’m sorry, I should have written to explain. Frankly, I wanted them out of here.”

“Very well. Before I destroy them, though, I wished to assure you that no mail ever leaves this facility without thorough screening. If you were concerned you might read something inappropriate, you needn’t have been.”

“That wasn’t it. I just needed to cut the connection. I don’t want to encourage Mr. Flynt into thinking we have any sort of personal relationship.”

“Wise,” he said. “He’s not the kind of man you want for your friend or your enemy. I think you’re right in ending any contact.” He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to continue, then added, “Mr. Flynt may seem harmless, friendly, and cooperative now that he’s safely locked away. But I fear he does still have substantial reach. The man has contacts, friends on the outside who might do favors for him.”

She tensed. “Favors? Should I be concerned?”

Another hesitation, as if he wanted to warn her but didn’t quite know what he was warning her against; then he said, “No, no. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to reiterate that I think you’ve done the right thing. I’ll destroy the letters and make sure no more are forwarded.” Another brief delay; then he mumbled, “Though perhaps it’s wise not to let Jimmy know that.”

His audible concern did little to make her feel better.

Sam thanked him, hung up, then sat down to absorb all that had happened in one short morning.

She’d had a terse final conversation with an FBI agent she couldn’t stop thinking about.

She’d refused the attention of a successful, handsome attorney.

She’d given away a small fortune.

She’d been warned that a convicted felon who seemed to have a thing for her might be keeping tabs on her from his prison cell.

All before one o’clock.

Well, there was one silver lining. All those little issues had now been dealt with, and she shouldn’t have to worry about a single one of them ever again. Which was fine by her.

Mostly fine.

Because, if she was completely honest with herself, knowing she had shared her final conversation with Special Agent Alec Lambert wasn’t fine with Sam at all.

As Lily Fletcher walked through the parking garage Wednesday evening, finally having let Brandon convince her to go home after another long day, she saw a large form lurking in the shadows. She instinctively tightened her hand around her key ring, then laughed at herself. She was at the FBI headquarters building, for God’s sake, and she was armed. Why on earth was she reacting like a woman leaving a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart, who needed to defend herself with a sharp jab of a key?

She hesitated when she realized the person standing by her car was Special Agent Tom Anspaugh. Something big must have happened for him to stake out her vehicle.

“Hello, Anspaugh,” she said as she reached him.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling.”

“I know.” Anspaugh had tried to reach her in her office hours ago. She’d been away from her desk. He’d also tried her on her cell. Seeing his name on the caller ID, she’d ignored it.

She had promised Wyatt she would not allow her real job to come second to any side investigations. She meant to keep her word. Besides, there was no way she would bring Brandon any further into the situation. His knowledge that she was proceeding without technically having their boss’s permission was bad enough.

Anspaugh, on the other hand, didn’t seem to give a damn whether Wyatt approved of what she was up to or not. In fact, she suspected he’d like nothing better than to think Lily was less than loyal, or that her work on the other CAT could inconvenience Blackstone’s team.

“I’ve been very busy; we’re working on a case,” she explained out of courtesy, not about to let him put her on the defensive. “That came first.”

“Oh, right, hunting up phantom killers who attack through the Internet. Is Dr. Horrible sending electric shocks via DSL to strike down anyone who touches his keyboard?”

Jerk. “What is it you want?” she asked. “Has something happened?”

“Yeah. And I want you… in on it.”

She had the feeling the hesitation between his words had been intentional. Anspaugh had never made a move on her, but she’d seen the way his stare sometimes lingered, noticed how frequently he found an excuse to touch her. Like now, as he moved a bit closer.

She intentionally stepped around him. Even if she weren’t a block of solid ice beneath her warm skin, with no interest in being close to anyone ever again, she would have recoiled from that particular touch. Anspaugh might be good-looking in a big-jock-football-player way, but she truly couldn’t stand his type.