“I’ll be fine after I log five or six more hours of sleep.”

“Take a few days off too. That’s an order. I also called to let you know we have Noah Evans in custody, along with all his electronics.”

“Okay.” She sniffed. Was that coffee?

“I’ll let you get back to sleep. Take it easy. And good work.”

“Thanks. But I’m done with undercover. We agreed on that, remember?”

“You have my word.”

They said their goodbyes, and she inhaled again.

Definitely coffee.

An aroma too hard to resist.

Phone in hand, she stood and examined her attire. Since she had no recollection of changing her clothes last night after arriving home, it wasn’t surprising she was still wearing her leggings and the sweater she’d donned for her excursion with Kayla.

A shower and fresh duds jumped to the top of her priority list.

After coffee.

But who was brewing java in her kitchen?

She shoved back her hair and padded in her stockinged feet down the short hall.

Zeke was sitting at her table, mug in one hand, cell pressed to his ear.

The instant he saw her he cut the call short, set his coffee down, and erased the distance between them in three long strides. “Why are you up?”

“The office called.”

He blew out a breath. “Couldn’t they have waited a few hours?”

“Sarge wanted to let me know they picked up Evans. Why did you come back?”

“I didn’t.”

“Huh?” Fatigue must be numbing her brain.

“I never left.”

“You mean . . . you stayed all night?”

“What was left of it. I racked out on your couch.”

“It’s a love seat, not a couch. Much too short for you.”

“I made do. We have a lot to talk about, and I didn’t want to waste a minute commuting back here after you woke up—which I expected to be hours from now. This can wait if you want to grab a few more z’s.”

The intensity in his eyes suggested otherwise—and much as she needed more sleep, knowing that he was waiting nearby wouldn’t be conducive to slumber. Better to talk first—after she had a huge infusion of caffeine.

“Any coffee left?” She peeked past him.

“I finished the first pot an hour ago, before I ran out to get us breakfast.” He motioned toward a carton of eggs and a box of bagels on the counter. “I just brewed a fresh one.”

“You must be wired.”

“Not from caffeine.”

Electricity arced between them.

“Um . . . let me get a cup and—”

The cell in her hand began to vibrate again, and she skimmed the screen.

“Do you have to take that?”

“I think I should. It’s Eve. I’m guessing she heard about last night’s excitement at the radio station while she did her drive-time program and suspects I may be in the thick of it.”