“You going to be okay?” Lucky asks. He doesn’t look that concerned. More like amused.

“I guess.” I look around the room. Besides Ozzie, who still hasn’t shown his face since storming off, Lucky’s the only one left here with me, but he’s heading toward the exit now. “Aren’t you staying?” I can’t quite keep the neediness from my voice. This place is full of samurai swords. What if I trip over one in the middle of the night and cut off a limb? I absolutely need all my limbs, every single one of them.

“Nah. I’ve gotta go feed my goldfish. I’ll catch you tomorrow.” He walks to the door that leads into the ninja room.

“Is anyone staying here tonight, or will I be here alone?”

“Oz’ll be here. He never leaves except to go to work. His bedroom is just down that hall there.” He points to the place Ozzie stormed off to a half hour earlier. “If you need anything, just yell.”

I pick up the sleeping bag and hold it against me, sighing. “Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem. Welcome to the Bourbon Street Boys’ bed and breakfast.” He winks and leaves the room, flicking off the main light on his way out. I hear his chuckle and the digital beeps of the lock pad, followed by the sound of a heavy metal door closing.

“Bourbon Street Boys,” I mumble to myself as I try to spread the sleeping bag over the cot, using the light from over the stove to guide me. “What kind of name is that for a security company? We’re not even on Bourbon Street. It’s miles from here.”

I look at the entrance to the hallway where Ozzie sleeps. Felix hasn’t emerged yet, and I’m starting to worry. Should I worry? Yes, I should. Felix could wee at any moment. His bladder’s the size of a grape. I have to have him near me so I can read the signs of him needing to go out before it’s too late.

“Felix,” I whisper as loudly as I can.

No answer. Not a single clicking of a claw on tile comes to my ears.

“Felix!” I whisper more loudly, cocking my ear and focusing everything I have on the possible sounds of a Chihuahua on the move.

Nothing.

“Dammit, Felix! Get in here!” My voice is louder than I plan for it to be.

At first there’s no response, but then I hear some swearing.

“Oops.” I sit down on the edge of the cot and wait for the big bad Ozzie wolf to come out and scold me for waking him from his beauty sleep.

I snort out loud over that idea. Before, when he was sporting that horrible facial hair, I would have said he needed about six months of beauty sleep to get things right, but now I’d say he should probably stay awake for a few weeks. Months, maybe. He’s prettier than a man should be allowed to be with that body of his. His face, as harsh and angry as it looked tonight, is enough to have me thinking thoughts I shouldn’t be. I’ve always been a sucker for high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. Even the scar he has on his right cheek isn’t enough to make him anything less than ruggedly handsome. Damn. Just the memory of him is enough to heat up the room.

Never, ever would I have thought that the man-beast I met at Frankie’s could have revealed himself to be the real Ozzie that lay underneath. That was one hell of a cover. I can kind of see why he’s so pissed he had to get rid of it, because he really stands out now. Before he was just another big, hairy biker guy; today he’s a dream come to life. One of these days I’m going to ask him if it was a press-on beard or if he actually grew it that way and shaved it off.

Suddenly he’s in the entrance to the kitchen, scowling at me. “Are you calling me?”

“Not unless your name is Felix.”

“Who’s Felix?”

I shake my head. “For a security professional, you sure aren’t very observant. For the third time, Felix is my dog. You know . . . the Chihuahua mix that’s probably sleeping in your bed right now?”

He folds his arms across his chest. Not intimidating at all, by the way. Kids. I almost giggle.

“Dogs don’t sleep in my bed,” he says.

“Tell that to Felix. Trust me, he always finds a way.” I gave up on kicking him out of bed long ago. Besides, he’s awesome in the winter as a foot warmer, preferring to sleep under the covers at the bottom of the bed to being anywhere else. I have no idea how the little guy gets enough oxygen to survive, but he wakes up just fine every morning, no worse for the wear.

Ozzie leaves, and a few seconds later there’s yelling.

“Son of a bitch! Get out of my bed, you mutt!”

Then there’s a low, horrific growl that I know didn’t come from my little baby.

Ozzie’s clearly offended. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me . . . Hey! Lady! Get in here, would you?!”

I guess that would be me. Lady. May “the Lady” Wexler. I sigh.

“Little Bo Peep! Need you in here for a second!”

I think I prefer “Lady” to this nickname.

I get up and go down the hall, passing framed photographs of the people I had dinner with and some letters behind glass too. I stop near one to skim it. It’s a thank-you from the New Orleans chief of police, thanking Bourbon Street Boys for helping them catch a criminal.

Hmmmm. More evidence that I’m actually in the good-guys’ lair. Sweet. This is a total Batcave. I feel much better about closing my eyes and trying to catch some sleep tonight. Maybe I won’t have huge blue bags under them during my shoot tomorrow after all. A girl can dream.

I reach a room that has an open door and light spilling out of it. Two more steps has me in the entrance, where I can see the interior of Ozzie’s bedroom. It’s as one would expect of a guy like him—cold, sterile, lots of metal and a flat screen TV on the wall along with some big speakers, a computer on a glass desk, and a dock that holds a phone. The sheets on his bed are black. The fact that they’re satin has me going a little warm. I didn’t expect that at all. It makes me wonder how many women have enjoyed them with him. Then my face goes red as I realize the next scene in this fantasy film includes him being naked.

Whoa. Stop right there, brain. Don’t take another step.

“What’s up?” I ask, leaning on the doorframe pretending like I’m completely cool and not all flustered over the idea of being in his black satin–sheeted bedroom. Oy, those muscles . . . what they do to me!

Ozzie points to the mattress. “Your dog is in my bed.”

I shrug. Felix is so bold. I’m actually a little jealous of him right now. I want to be in those satin sheets, rolling around, sliding across the top of that bed . . .

Ack! Stop that, brain! Stop that right now!

“So?” I shrug my shoulders. So cool. So not affected by all that satin. “Get him out.”

“I tried.” He glares at me for a second before moving toward the bed.

A big orange head pops up from the floor next to the mattress. Sahara. She growls, and when she does that, she really does look like one of those hellhounds. Yikes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ozzie sounds shattered.

Poor Ozzie. I could only imagine what it would be like to have my little Felix turn on me. And it’s partially my fault this is happening. Or it’s Felix’s fault for being so adorable, so I’m his accomplice for bringing him here in the first place.

This will never do. I can’t be held responsible for coming between a man and his dog. Feelings of righteous indignation well up inside me and take over my good sense.

I shake my head and advance into the room. “Cut that out.” I use a firm tone, barely giving the big beastly dog the time of day. “Felix, get your furry butt out of that bed right this second.” Felix dips his head down and looks up at me with his tiny brown eyes, knowing he’s in the wrong and using his I’m-too-cute-to-discipline maneuver.

Sahara keeps growling.

“Shut it!” I yell at her.

She goes silent instantly and lowers her head. Wow. I’m going to have a hard time disciplining her too. She’s cute when she’s feeling guilty.