The neighborhood was quiet, making the sound of their footsteps seem even louder, and Molly resisted the urge to take John’s hand again. That was a growing addiction she needed to nip in the bud. As they approached the intersection, she let her attention stray toward him, noticing how the sweat dampening his hairline just made him look better.

Stop it, she told herself firmly. Not the time to be ogling, even if he is looking even hotter than his usual considerable hotness.

She swallowed a startled sound as he grabbed her arm and jerked her sideways, hauling her back. Before she could recover her balance, he was towing her with him as he dashed to the side of a small garden shed.

Detectives? she mouthed, following his lead and pressing her back against the tiny building. She hoped that the homeowners weren’t there to see them hiding next to their shed. That could lead to awkward questions—or a call to the cops.

John gave a short nod just as the front end of a squad car came into view as it slowly rolled past. This time, Molly was ready when he moved, staying right next to him as he slipped around to the back of the shed and then to the other side, staying hidden from the occupants of the passing car.

After interminable seconds ticked by, he caught her hand again and jogged through the yard. The squad car was out of sight, but Molly still felt exposed after leaving the concealment of the shed. They cut between two houses, and she gave silent but fervent thanks that neither homeowner had a fence that they would’ve had to climb.

For the rest of the run to the station, Molly didn’t let her attention waver, but stayed alert for any sign or sound of the detectives’ vehicle. When the law-enforcement building came into view, she swallowed a triumphant noise and didn’t let down her guard. They were so close, but they weren’t in the clear yet.

As they crossed the parking lot, they slowed to a walk. It was hard not to dash for the doors, but Molly knew that they’d just draw unwanted attention. As they were halfway across the lot, the rev of an engine caught her attention. A squad car barreled down the street toward the entrance to the lot, and Molly knew that the detectives were inside.

“Let’s go,” John said calmly, but she was already running full out for the door. She didn’t look at the squad car again, but she could hear the tires squealing as it made the turn into the lot. Dashing up the stairs, she and John barreled toward the door. He reached it first, pulling it open and holding it while she sprinted inside. Despite everything, she gave a breathless huff of laughter. Even while being chased down by grudge-holding detectives, John Carmondy remembered his manners.

Molly must not have been the only one Blake gave a heads-up to, since Sergeant Garcia was waiting for them, waving them through the lobby like he was their track coach. “Third room on the right,” he said, holding the security door open.