She tightened her grip on her pen, focused on the sheet in front of her, and willed her pulse to behave as he started up her aisle from the rear.

Zeke Sloan was history.

This intersection of their lives was nothing more than a piece of bad luck—for both of them.

He may have been alerted to her presence in advance of this class, but he couldn’t be any happier than she was about the freaky combination of circumstances that had put them in the same orbit.

She kept writing on the paper in front of her, but she knew the instant he stopped behind her. The sense of his nearness was so acute she had to forcibly regulate her respiration to keep from hyperventilating.

“You may want to rethink that word, Ms. Sheppard.” His long, lean finger entered her field of vision as he pointed to one of her scribbles.

And when he leaned down to offer a few suggestions in Spanish, the warmth of his breath caressed her cheek.

Or was that wishful thinking?

Cate clamped her teeth together and banished that errant thought.

She did not wish to be close to Zeke ever again.

They were over.

Done.

Even if the man’s close proximity was awakening unruly, traitorous hormones.

He moved on, but she kept her head down. Until she regrouped and got her emotions under control, focusing on his broad shoulders, muscled torso, and those impressive biceps straining against the fabric of his dress shirt could be dangerous.

Somehow she made it through the interminable class—but the minute it was over she sped toward the door.

Someone in the department needed to research this new development ASAP.

Hefting her book-filled backpack into a more comfortable position, she half jogged toward the cafeteria, detouring toward the door that led to the courtyard where students congregated in warm weather. It ought to be deserted in January—the perfect place to call her handler . . . aka father.

Even if someone did venture out, there was no rule against calling family—and the cell number was registered in his name. In fact, if anyone happened to check her phone log, all the calls would appear legit.

She dropped her backpack beside the door . . . waited until the hall cleared . . . and exited.

A shiver rolled through her.

Mercy, it was cold out here!

She tucked herself into a small alcove that offered a modicum of protection from the biting wind and leaned against the frigid stone wall.

Her handler answered on the second ring, and she gave him a quick briefing.

“I remember Zeke from his County days, before the DEA recruited him. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll text you once I have information, and you can call me back.”

“Thanks.” She ended the call, slipped back inside, and picked up her backpack.