For a moment, Erin froze, drawn in by possibilities. By an imagination that had never been given full flight. But only for a moment. She flicked a disdainful gaze at the hand that now covered her own, and then stood. “I choose who touches me.”

The haughty sneer pulled at him, stiffened his spine. Whenever she chose that lady-of-the-manor tone, he was hard-pressed not to snarl. Gabriel wondered what it was about the determinedly isolated professor that compelled him to antagonize her. “Touché. But I didn’t imagine this, Erin.”

“No, you didn’t. But my answer is the same. Thanks for your help today, but I’ve got it from here.” Erin stood, studiously avoiding further contact. She opened the door and shot him a pointed look.

Duty completed, Gabriel walked to the door, where he paused. “I’m going to figure you out.”

The words, intended as a declaration, sounded like a promise even to his ears.

“PETER, GET ME everything you can find on a Dr. Erin Abbott!” Gabriel shouted as he stormed into the Bayou Ledger thirty minutes later.

She was the key to everything. The murders weren’t about the victims, she’d told him. They were about the audience. Which meant he needed to know more about Erin. The curiosity was more than professional, he knew.

Since the moment he heard her laugh, a connection had linked them. One that she refused to acknowledge and that he couldn’t ignore.

Just as he couldn’t ignore the way he behaved around her. He had never been a bully. Or a lecher. If a woman said no, then the answer was no and he was on his way. Despite the fact that no was a word he rarely heard, he respected the right of a woman to use it.

Erin deserved her space, and he was doing his damnedest to observe her boundaries. However, the mysteries called to him—the ones about serial killers and the ones about the enigmatic professor. Certainly she was stunning, but he knew women who were more beautiful. Striking, gorgeous women who understood the value of a good hairdresser and the subtle uses of makeup.

Yes, she had eyes the color of dark brandy, but he’d seen prettier eyes. Eyes that didn’t flash distrust at him, alternating with fear. Eyes that didn’t accuse him of treachery simply for being alive.

Perhaps she had the legs of a goddess, but he’d been in closer contact with perfect legs before. Legs that had never been draped in worsted wool and protective hose.

What drew him, he thought, what made him refuse to walk away, were the secrets. He’d always been compelled to find the answers. And Erin Abbott’s lovely eyes and smart brain hid dozens of secrets.