It was too bad she was a complete pain in the ass, terrible at choosing men, and stubborn to the point that it was a huge character flaw. Worse yet, she was a fucking shrink.

He hated shrinks.

Worst of all, he didn’t trust HDD operatives, and she worked for the agency, not for him. A fact he repeatedly forced himself to remember. If everything went to shit, and it always did, her loyalty wasn’t to him, or even to the team. She could pull the plug on his one and only mission, and he couldn’t let that happen.

Lassiter had to die this time. For certain.

She moved toward him, and the scent of cinnamon wafted his way. How in the world did she smell like cinnamon all the time? His mouth watered and his cock hardened.

“What do you mean, a body?” she asked, leaning over to study the notes scattered across the table.

He flipped open the nearest file folder to show a picture he’d shot with his phone earlier, banishing all thoughts of bending her over the table and taking what they both wanted. “New body, and I think Lassiter is the killer.” His voice was confident, not revealing any doubt.

She swung her gaze to him. “You’re not certain?”

He hated insightful shrinks. They always got too deep and screwed things up. “There are differences this time.”

She pulled out a chair and sat, reaching for the manila file folder. Her scent surrounded him, and as her gaze focused on the notes, intelligence shone in them that was as sexy as her tight body. “I’m surprised you didn’t call the whole team in.”

He shrugged. “I did, but then we decided to meet first thing in the morning. I wanted some time with this first.”

She stared at the picture of the victim. “Lassiter was obsessive and driven—he had his routine, never varied from it. He’s dead, Angus. Stop chasing ghosts.”

Angus sat straighter, his heart rate elevating. “That’s not what I’m doing.” Or was it? If Lassiter really was dead, he’d lose his team, and then he’d be alone again. After their recent successes, it was hard to believe the HDD would really shut them down.

She pushed the picture to the side to read his hastily scrawled notes. “Yes, it is, and we both know it.”

Angus inhaled quickly and then smoothed out his expression. “Wrong.”

“Right,” she murmured, reaching for the photograph. “In a whole year you have found no evidence that Lassiter is alive because he is not. Even the clue that had you rushing across the country a couple of weeks ago turned out to be nothing.” Her eyes softened as she studied the crime scene photo.

“I’m not wrong.”