“Well now, I guess not everyone jumps when Special Agent Laurel Snow gives an order,” he drawled, his facial expression showing anger. “You’re not the lead here, either. Many cops use reporters as sources, but that is not what I did today. Not even close.”

“No. You just made it more difficult for me to do my job. Period.” Why was she so jumbled when it came to him? Or was it this case? It just wasn’t making sense to her, and that was driving her crazy.

“That was not my intention,” he said, watching her carefully, intense emotion rolling off him.

She threw up her hands, adrenaline shooting through her body. “Your intention is irrelevant. You meant to speak with her, and it backfired.” She had to calm down, so she took a deep breath.

He tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “Has your boss called?”

“Yes, but I was at the hospital and haven’t returned his call yet. It can wait until tomorrow.” She sucked in another breath and forced her hands to unclench. “I can repair this with the FBI, and if anything, the killer may relax if he sees the podcast and thinks we’re running in circles.”

“We are running in circles.”

She looked over at the sleeping dog. “The case will be okay. We’ll fix it.”

“I was more concerned about you,” Huck said.

Simple words. True words. She felt them instead of intellectualizing them, and her temper began to calm, even though energy still ripped through her with a frightening intensity. “Huck,” she whispered.

He studied her for one beat. “Yeah.” Then his hands were at her waist, lifting her, planting her against the side wall. His mouth was hot and desperate, his body rock hard against her.

She kissed him back, closing her eyes, allowing herself a rare moment to just feel. No thought. No analyzing. No anything but him. Her legs lifted on their own, her thighs pressing against his flanks. He tangled one hand in her hair, drawing her head to the side, deepening the kiss. Flames lashed through her in electric arcs, endorphins and oxytocin flooding her system to create a wild need she’d never experienced before.

He slid a hand beneath her sweater, his body holding her in place. She gyrated against him, her hands gripping the tops of his trapezoid muscles, her nails digging into his T-shirt. His fingers tangled in her bra and he swore, pulling his mouth away.

She gasped in protest.

He had her shirt up to her neck before he paused, his eyes a darker brown than she’d ever seen. “You sure?”