Denny.

He’d already said goodbye to Michael in the morgue-face-to-face. He closed his eyes and saw his brother’s cold, lifeless body in the steel drawer.

But he would go. He had to. For Tess. For Michael.

A faint movement from Rowan’s room caught his eye and he silently slid from his bed, gun in hand.

“It’s me,” Rowan said as she stepped through the doorway. Her long white hair fell down her back and shimmered in the shadows. She wore a long T-shirt that barely touched the top of her thighs, and her long, shapely legs were bare.

He relaxed, put his gun by his side. “Is everything okay?”

She nodded. “I just-Can I sleep with you tonight?”

The words were like a child’s, but her voice was husky, sexy. His body instantly responded. “Are you sure?”

She walked over to him, laid a hand on his chest. Her lips were inches from his. “Yes, John. I’m sure.”

Rowan hadn’t been sure of a lot in her life, especially since she quit the FBI, but right here, right now, she was confident that she needed John. More than a need. A desire deeper than anything she’d felt for a man before.

How could something that felt so powerful, so right, happen so fast?

“Rowan.” His voice was dark and shaded with desire. He stood still, trembling slightly beneath her hands spread across his wide, muscular chest.

She couldn’t imagine being anywhere but here. With John.

She kissed his chest, his heat radiating through her lips, down her throat, to the center of her soul. Her breath hitched as she realized her feelings for John went deeper than she’d thought. She wanted to scream with the injustice of it all-that she very well could die. Or that John could.

Dear God, no. Not John. She’d never be able to live with herself if he died protecting her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as she feathered kisses on his chest, up his shoulder.

He was too perceptive for his own good. She didn’t say a word, just continued to kiss him. She didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to feel.

He stepped back, tilted her chin up with his finger. “Talk to me.”

But she couldn’t talk about it. Not her fears, not what her heart was clamoring for her to say.

She couldn’t say it. Everyone she loved died.

“Make love to me,” she said and touched her lips to his.

“Row-”

“Shh,” she murmured into his lips, gently pushing him back onto the bed.

He hesitated only a moment before deepening the embrace. Like a switch, he went from soft caresses to hard passion. Her hands roamed the long, firm length of his body. Rowan couldn’t touch him enough. As if it were the last time, she needed to touch all of him, from his cropped hair to his broad shoulders to the jagged scar that ran from mid-thigh to his knee.

Her mouth trailed down his chest to his stomach. He quivered, his hands wound tightly in her hair. She kissed his navel, licked him from his hard stomach down to his pelvis, her hands reaching for his long hardness, and taking it into her mouth. He moaned and she drew him in deeper.

Sweat and raw masculine need wafted through her senses. Never had she felt so passionate, so desirable.

“Row-an.” He pulled her up and off him, rolled over on top of her. “You’re driving me crazy.”

He sank into her. His lips onto hers, his tongue dueling. Chest against chest, pelvis against pelvis. He slid comfortably into her, drawing out a long groan from deep in her body.

They quickly found their rhythm. Fast, hard, intense. She couldn’t get close enough to him; he pulled her closer, plunging deeper, until they pushed each other into orgasms, clinging and almost frantic. As if it were the last time.

No. It couldn’t be the last time. She couldn’t lose him now that she’d found someone who fit so well into her tainted and troubled life.

Unless-

She didn’t want to think about John’s feelings, but she had to. He was comforting her, caring for her, loving her-for tonight. Tonight they had. Tomorrow-maybe. But forever?

She couldn’t even imagine forever. There had never been a forever in her life, and it was foolish to think of one with this complex and tough man with the tender soul.

She breathed deeply and tried to roll away from him.

“Not so fast.” John cleared his throat. If Rowan thought she was going back to her bed she had another thing coming.

He scrambled to the center of the bed, bringing Rowan with him, covering their naked, sweat-coated bodies with the sheet. He didn’t remember ditching his sweats or pulling her nightshirt off. Maybe she had.

He relished the closeness they’d shared, but felt her pull away shortly after, as if closing herself off from the warm afterglow. As if it were just about sex.

It wasn’t just about sex. And it hadn’t been since the first night they made love. Was it only three days ago?

He kissed her forehead, felt her tense up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, much too quickly. She kissed his throat. Already he knew her M.O. She was trying to distract him to avoid talking. Avoid his questions.

Not this time. “Tell me.”

She didn’t say anything for a long minute. Then, with a voice as soft and quiet as a spring breeze, she whispered, “Everyone I care about dies.”

His heart clenched. He wanted desperately to reassure her, but she wouldn’t buy it. Not after what she’d been through in her life.

He would have to prove it to her. “Bobby will be caught.”

She shrugged into his body, but her skin grew cold to the touch. He’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, Rowan, I-”

“No, you’re right. He will be caught. It’s just a matter of time. And death.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. You know that.”

She didn’t say anything and he forced her to look at him. The tears swimming in her eyes threw him.

He’d never let anything happen to her. He’d die first.

That was the crux of the problem. She knew it.

“You have to let me do my job, Rowan.”

She nodded, then turned away. When he pulled her close, spooning her body into his, she didn’t resist. Her compliance wasn’t a reassurance. If anything, it worried him even more.

The morning of Michael’s funeral was overcast, perfect for the mood but unusual for southern California. One of those odd coincidences that made Rowan think there might be a God and that sometimes He did care.

Then she remembered that God had been absent when Michael was murdered.

She stayed in the back of the church during the funeral. Quinn and Colleen flanked her, and several security teams were positioned both within and outside the church and in Tess’s apartment, where the mourners would gather after.

John sat with his sister in the front pew, his arm around her small shoulders, his head bent close to hers.

Rowan didn’t think Bobby would try anything here. Not only were there Feds all over, Michael had been a cop and dozens of uniformed officers were in attendance to pay their respects.

It was all Rowan could do to keep her emotions under control. She felt such an outsider.

John gave the eulogy.

“Michael is my brother,” he began. “And I love him.”

Tears silently streamed down Rowan’s face.

“Michael was born a cop. He was a damn good one. When he left the force to open shop with me, the L.A.P.D. lost a good man. Honorable and steadfast. Michael believed in justice and the firm line between right and wrong.

“But the Michael you might not have known was a man I called Mickey, my brother and best friend. He loved to fish and could sit still for hours waiting for a bite. When I’d fidget and break a line in my haste, Mickey would shake his head and say, ‘Patience.’ He’d laugh because he always caught the biggest fish.”

Rowan stayed for John, but didn’t hear any more of his stories about Michael. She hated funerals, hated saying goodbye to good people. John’s bravery shone through. Standing and speaking about his dead brother must have split his heart.