Then he froze, feeling the doorknob go slick under his hand. This had to be about last night. She would have been there, right? She must have recognized him.

But wouldn’t she be here with cops or something?

A little frown creased her mouth. “I’m Hannah. Hannah Faulkner.”

“Yeah.” His breath rattled around in his chest.

“Are you all right?”

He peered past her. No cop cars in the driveway, nothing other than a late-model Jeep Cherokee that was beat to hell, like she’d driven through the outback to get here. “What are you doing here?”

She looked a bit taken aback. “I hoped to talk to you about the other night. The fire in the woods.”

God, it was like he couldn’t breathe. “Yeah, and?”

Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her jacket. “I probably shouldn’t have stopped by without calling, but I was in the neighborhood, and I thought maybe I could say hi to your brother, too.” She shrugged a little, a touch of pink on her cheeks. “You know. If he’s around.”

Wait. A. Minute.

“Sure,” said Gabriel, feeling his heartbeat settle. He stood back and held the door open. “Come on in the kitchen. Mike’s in the shower. You want a soda or something?”

He practically shoved her into a chair with a can of Pepsi, then left her there with the reasoning that he should warn Michael a girl was in the house, before he came down the stairs in his boxers or something.

That would really make her blush.

Gabriel took the steps two at a time, just as Michael was coming out of his bedroom. His hair was wet and trailed over his shoulders, and he was wearing a pair of faded sweatpants and an ancient T-shirt that looked like he might have stolen it off a homeless guy.

Gabriel shoved him in the shoulder. “Go hit your face with a razor or something. God, would it kill you to shave more than once a week?”

Michael pushed past him. “I’m not sure the pizza guy will give a crap—”

“No, idiot,” Gabriel hissed. “That Hannah chick is here. Put some decent clothes on. Here”—he stepped around Michael, into his bedroom—“I’ll help you.”

He started yanking open drawers to Michael’s dresser. Worn jeans, old T-shirts, faded sweatshirts.

“This is pathetic,” he said.

Michael hadn’t moved from the doorway, his expression bemused. “You know what I do for a living.”

“And why aren’t you shaving yet? Don’t you care that a girl is here to see you?”

His brother hesitated. “Look. Gabriel. I’m not—”

“Forget it. You can wear one of my shirts.”

Now Michael gave him a look. “Like your shirt will fit me.”

Gabriel stopped in the doorway. “First, jackass, don’t flatter yourself. And second, don’t you know anything about girls?”

Michael just stared at him.