He pulled into a ’70s-style office building in the middle of nowhere, parking near the door and away from the one flickering streetlight. “We’re not finished with this discussion.”

She faltered. “I can stay in the truck.”

He turned again, his dark eyebrows rising. “That’s silly. Why wouldn’t you come inside?”

She rubbed both hands down her jeans. “I’m a freelance reporter, and your team works for the government. Nobody wants me there.” They were good people on his team, but most feds didn’t want a journalist snooping around their offices.

For answer, Wolfe jumped out, shut his door, and appeared at her door in a second. “You’re part of the team, Dana.” He helped her out, strong and sure, and butterflies once again zinged through her lower body. Not noticing, he ushered her through the darkness to the old door, which opened easily to reveal a dingy hallway with a couple of closed wooden doors down the way. “You’ve helped on cases.”

Yeah, but she wasn’t part of the team. The smell of pizza caught her attention, and she perked up, heading for the rickety elevator that accessed the basement. “Well, I could eat.” Her stomach growled. If she’d known there was food, she wouldn’t have tried to stay in the vehicle outside.

“Me, too.” Once inside, Wolfe leaned against the elevator wall as if he could hold the entire contraption together, and his sigh of relief as the doors opened below was heartfelt. “Someday we’re gonna get stuck in this thing.”

“Nah. It’ll just drop and land hard.” She stepped out into the vestibule of the depressing basement space, her gaze immediately caught by the German shepherd bounding her way. “Roscoe.” She dropped to hug his furry neck, discreetly wiping marinara sauce off his coat, since he’d obviously snuck a piece of pizza somehow. Then she stood and moved forward, smiling at the two men in the main room, illuminated by old yellow buzzing lights in the ceiling. “Hi.”

Angus Force, the leader of the ragtag unit, and Malcolm West, their best undercover operative, sat at the four-desk pod in the center of the room with two pizza boxes in front of them. It looked like they’d both healed after the last assignment several weeks ago, in which everyone, including her, had been injured. Neither answered, their gazes squarely on the man behind her.

Force spoke first, his chiseled jaw going slack. “Are you wearing leather pants?”

Malcolm snorted, chuckled, and then shook his head. “Please tell us you were at a costume party.”

Force’s gaze then turned to Dana. “Or is there something kinky going on?” He nudged the pizza box toward her.