As the train pulled out over the tracks, she got a clear shot of the front of the station, where the van was still parked against the curb.  With shaky hands she pulled her phone from her purse and took several pictures of the van as it started to move in the same direction as the train.  As the distance between them began to lengthen, Izzy stopped taking pictures relieved to know that unless the van had an underwater package, she couldn’t be followed into San Francisco.  As she reassured herself that it was just some weirdo, her phone rang to the tune of Bad Boys.  Her gut did a whole different anxiety roll this time.

It was Flynn.

“Answer the damn phone, Isadora!” Flynn cursed, when he got her voice mail for the sixth time.

Angrily, he tossed the phone onto the passenger seat of his car.  Giving the car more gas, he roared through the streets of Oakland until he pulled up in front of the little bungalow on 34^th Street.  The same silver Honda Civic that was parked in the driveway when he’d dropped Pink off last night hadn’t moved.  He surmised it belonged to the roommate, since there wasn’t a car in the driveway when he’d been there with Pink.  Surely she had a car.  He glanced at the empty street.  Last night, cars had been lined up, but today everyone was at work.

He pulled the key from the ignition and opened the car door. He sat there for a long moment with one foot on the asphalt, the other in the car. Nervous energy rumbled through his belly.  He knew that the minute he laid eyes on her, smelled her, he was going to want to touch her.  If he touched her, he’d lose it. He couldn’t lose it.  He was there for one reason: To deliver a message.

“Fuck it all to hell,” he cursed.  He slid out of the car and slammed the door shut, then strode toward the front door.  He knocked loudly.  A minute later, the door opened slowly.

Instead of Pink, the same lanky man who had told him off last night stood wrapped in a red silk kimono-style robe. The roommate, Charlie, he presumed.

Setting his hand on his hip, Charlie cocked it, and with a raised brow and a bored voice said, “Can I help you, cherry thief?”

Flynn coughed and looked past him.  Blocking his view, the guy closed the door almost shut, just the right half of his body visible.

“Would you tell Miss Fuentes that Flynn would like to speak to her?”  It took every ounce of restraint he had not to push the slight man aside, stride into the house, and find her.

“Oh, would he now?”  Charlie said flippantly.

“Yes.  It’s an urgent matter, so if you could tell her now, I’d appreciate it.”

“Urgent as in you’re going to apologize?”

The question caught Flynn off guard. “Apologize?” For what?

“Yes, simpleton, for popping her cherry, then breaking her heart!” Charlie opened the door and moved to the threshold.  He was angry.  “Who does that to my sweet girl?”

“I—she wanted me to,” Flynn said lamely.  He had no defense.  They had both wanted it.  He had no regrets either.  And despite how things had shaken out between them, he knew Pink didn’t regret the night they’d spent in her little bed or what happened on the terrace in Half Moon Bay.

“But you took it knowing what she does for a living and then turned around and treated her like something you wiped off your shoe!” Charlie poked a finger in Flynn’s chest.  Flynn allowed it only because the guy was defending Pink.  “She’s pure, asshole.  As the fucking driven snow, and you ruined her.  Fuck, she didn’t need that from a guy like you.”

“A guy like me?  What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  He wasn’t some slob off the streets.

“An asshole like her absentee father. Loaded, arrogant, thinks he can do anyone or anything because he’s connected and has a gigantic ego.” Charlie drew in a breath and expounded.  “Your kind has no conscience, because you don’t feel anything.  Like a cyborg, cool to look at, but no heart inside.”

Now Flynn was angry.  He was none of those things. He was sure Pink had omitted the drugging-him-part of their night and day together when she talked to Charlie.  He wasn’t going to out her, but damn it, he wasn’t the guy Charlie was making him out to be. It was supposed to be one night. One night for a lot of reasons, one being that he didn’t date and if he did, he sure as hell wasn’t going to date a strip club cocktail server who flashed her tits at his coworkers, regardless of the reasons. “She knew the score when she brought me here.  I never promised her anything except what I gave her.  So, back the fuck up and let me in.”

Charlie’s arm shot out across the doorway, blocking Flynn when he made to walk into the house.

“She’s not here.  And even if she was, I highly doubt I’d tell her you were at the door. You have zero right to act like you have a right to be here.”

Flynn fisted and unfisted his hands.  “I don’t believe you.”

Charlie smirked and stood back, opening the door.  “See for yourself, Special Agent Dick.”

Flynn strode past him into the little house, heading straight for Pink’s bedroom.  As he pushed open the door, the subtle scent of bubble gum hit him with the force of a cinder block to the face.  For a minute he fought to breathe. His dick jerked against his pants.  Visions of them sweaty and naked rolling around on the now neatly made bed flared in his mind’s eye.

When he’d first seen her face minus the heavy makeup and false eyelashes, he’d thought he’d never seen such a natural beauty.  That still held true. Since that moment, he’d discovered there was so much more to her than the hot surface.

Jamming his hand through his hair, Flynn cursed under his breath.

“You see, Special Agent, as I said, she’s not here.  I’d tell her you came looking for her, but I don’t want her to think you’re not still a dick when you are.”

Flynn turned furiously and moved into the opinionated roommate’s personal space. Ddamn if the guy didn’t stand his ground.  A begrudging respect sprang up for Charlie.  He didn’t blame him for being so protective of Pink; Flynn felt the same way.  The pain in his left hand was a reminder. The irony struck Flynn. He’d busted his hand protecting Pink from an asshole and here this guy Charlie was willing to get his ass kicked protecting Pink from a different asshole.

“I never meant to hurt her,” Flynn said. “It was supposed to be just one night.  It got out of hand.”

“She’s worth ten thousand nights, you moron.  If you’d given  her half a chance, you’d know that by now.”

Flynn got it.  But he wasn’t a ten-thousand-nights kind of guy.  “Look, she’s over her head at Surf’s Up. I need to talk to her about what’s going on there and hopefully talk some sense into her.”

“Just because you can’t handle her working there?”

“What she does is her business, but she’s in danger, and that’s my business.”

Flynn saw indecision flicker in Charlie’s eyes.  “You’re telling the truth?”

“Yes, damn it. She won’t answer my calls.  Where is she?”

“On her way to the club.  Something about getting her tips and talking to a guy named Boris.”

“Shit.  Call her on your cell, she’ll answer for you.”

Charlie turned and ran into the kitchen. He snatched his cell off his charger and called her.  He held it up immediately.  “It went directly to voice mail.  Either she’s in the tunnel or she turned off her phone.”

“In the tunnel?”

“BART. She doesn’t have a car.”

Flynn nodded. “She probably turned it off so she wouldn’t have to listen to me calling her.”  Flynn moved past the insolent roommate. He needed to get to the tiny dancer before Boris did. “I’m heading over there. Keep trying and if you get her, tell her under no circumstances to go into that club.”