Thirty minutes later, Sam stormed up the stairs to Nick’s brick-front townhouse.

He waited just inside the door and held it open for her. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure.” She stole a quick glance around a combined living room/dining room where it appeared nothing was out of place. In fact, the space seemed better suited to a furniture showroom rather than someone’s home. “How can you—”

He grabbed her hand. “Come.”

Startled, she let him lead her into his office, which was as neat as the other rooms but more lived in than what she had seen so far.

“See that?”

Following the direction of his pointed finger, she studied a small stack of books on the desk. “What about it?”

“It’s at an angle.”

“So?”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

“Seriously? You called me over here at eleven o’clock at night because your stack of books isn’t anally aligned?”

With a furious scowl, he grabbed her hand again and all but dragged her upstairs to his bedroom. Now we’re talking! Relax, Sam, he’s not dragging you off to bed as much as you wish he were. Reminding herself that she was investigating a break-in at the home of a player in a homicide investigation, she pushed aside her salacious thoughts and tuned in to what he was showing her.

Pointing to the dresser, he said, “I didn’t leave it like that.”

A tiny scrap of white fabric poked out through the closed drawers. Deciding to humor him, Sam leaned in to inspect the cloth. “It’s not possible your tighty whities got caught in the drawer and you didn’t notice?”

“No, it’s not possible,” he said through gritted teeth.

She stood up and studied him like she had never seen him before, as if she hadn’t once seen him naked. “Have you always been so anal?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean? Hmm? Aren’t you going to call someone?”

“To do what?”

“To figure out who’s been in my house!”

“Nick, come on.”

“Forget it. Go home. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

His eyes, she noticed, were rimmed with red. She ached at the thought of him alone and heartbroken over his murdered friend. “Fine. If you really think someone’s been in here—”

“I do.”

“I left my phone in the car. May I use yours?”

He handed her his cell phone.

“This is Detective Sergeant Sam Holland, MPD. I need a crime scene unit,” she said, giving the address.

When she hung up, she turned to find him watching her intently.

“Thank you.”

She nodded, unsettled by the heat coming from his hazel eyes. Had she caused that or was it the fault of the person who had supposedly invaded his private space?

An hour later, Sam sat with Nick on the sofa, out of the way of the Arlington cops who were dusting for prints.