He was so different from the men with whom she’d grown up. Besides his being from California—and where she came from, that counted as another planet—besides his being a cop, which took her exactly five minutes to discover, besides his being Lily’s oldest and best-loved brother—besides all that, he had secrets.

She’d recognized them instantly. They hung just behind the darkest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. And she could tell that the secrets weren’t all good. There was a world of sadness behind his laugh. It reeked of too many lonely hours and too many ugly sights. Yes, in the space of five minutes, Deborah Jean Randall had seen all that and fallen in love.

Now here she was, half a country away, after being whomped by a creep who made a habit of preying on helpless women and nearly being eaten alive by a moving, metal staircase, she was next door to the man of her dreams, and he wouldn’t let her sleep.

Debbie rolled over, winced as she mashed a sore spot, and stretched, trying to find a comfortable place to settle. Soon, she’d drifted back to sleep to the tune of the floorboard creaking in the room across the hall.

*  *  *

It was halfway to morning. Midnight had come and gone like a bandit, stealing away whatever rest Cole had been trying to find. He cursed the moonlight shining through his window. Cursed fate for what had happened to Debbie. Cursed the creep who was still out there unapprehended. Cursed everything and everyone except what mattered.

He was not where he belonged. His heart had been telling him that for hours. Finally, in sleepless desperation, he rolled off his bed. Moonbeams danced across his bare body, shadowing the hard curves and flat planes of his well-toned torso. He pulled on a pair of red jogging shorts and started across the hall. Just for one more look. Just to make sure she was still alive…and breathing.

Debbie heard the floorboard creek. She groaned as it woke her and tried to burrow back down into the covers. He was up again. If she could just locate that comfortable spot…but it was gone. And Cole was here.

He leaned over, peering through the shadows, trying to see her face—listening to her breathing—just to assure himself that it was gentle and regular.

“For the love of God, Cole Brownfield,” Debbie muttered. “You won’t let either of us rest. If you can’t calm down and let me sleep and trust the fact that my next breath won’t be my last, then you have my permission to crawl in beside me and listen to me breathe.”