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didn’t require her protection. He was so squeaky clean, so untouchable. She’d figured that nothing she did could hurt him. She’d hoped his apartment would be a place where she could rest and recuperate while she searched for the person who’d burned down her house.
    She’d even thought Jack might help with that. Cops had connections. Resources. Jack’s badge could open doors.
    And it was probably lying right at her feet.
    Honey bent down to pick up the coat from where he’d left it on the floor. Double-checking what she already knew. Inside left pocket. A shiny metal shield in a worn leather carrying case. Tall letters squeezed awkwardly into the small space: detective.
    “Damn.”
    Jack wasn’t going to help her. Even if he’d agree, she couldn’t ask. Not after Jessica’s soap opera confrontation. Oh, you’re the Honey who broke Jack’s heart? Imagine that!
    Followed by Jack’s fumbling attempt to introduce her as his “friend.”
    He would have walked over broken glass for her, and she’d acted like a jilted lover. A little girl with an unrequited crush. She didn’t deserve the way he’d looked at her this morning. Not after how she’d treated him.
    He’d been her first love. What she’d felt was pure and true, but she’d shot it through the heart, and she wasn’t that girl anymore. Spending more time in Jack’s company would mean leading him on. She might be able to do that to another man, but she couldn’t do it to him.
    She had to get out of there before Jack got back. Or his sister.
    The badge felt heavy in her hand. The full weight of his authority. Her fingers curled inward, squeezing so tight she could feel its sharp edges eating into her palm. Her adrenaline kicked up a notch, making her breath come faster and her heart hum.
    Her grandfather had always said that running to a cop for help was a fool’s mission. “Baby girl,” he would announce, “the only protection you’ll ever have is your wits.”
    It had been years since she’d done anything bad. Years since she’d stolen a car or acted on the slightest impure thought.
    But Jack was right.
    Nothing had changed. Not really. He was still an upstanding member of society, and she was still a wild child with a smile on her lips and a song in her black heart.
    She grabbed the badge and headed for the door. Halfway there, she backtracked long enough to pick up Jack’s gun and handcuffs off the kitchen table.
    He already thought she was a criminal. She might as well prove him right.

Chapter Four
     
    Honey ignored the phone the first time it rang. Answering a cell phone while driving was dangerous. Especially when it belonged to someone else. Namely, Jack.
    She ignored it the second time, too. The third time, she took half a second to think before picking it up. “Jack Ogden’s phone. Jack’s not available at the moment—”
    “Damn right, I’m not available.” A familiar angry growl. “You stole my car!”
    “Borrowed. I borrowed your car.”
    Honey let out a satisfied murmur as she shifted Jack’s black 1969 Dodge Super Bee into gear. Classic American muscle with a coupe body and a ramcharger hood. Most Super Bees had been cheap toys, stripped-down versions of better cars. Jack’s was different.
    Revving the car’s engine, Honey could hear the 426 Hemi purr. There had only been 166 of them made. A few years ago she’d tried to track one down for herself, but most of them had vanished into the violence of stock car races. The few surviving cars were locked up in fancy collections. She couldn’t buy one if she saved every penny she came across for the next ten years. Worse, she couldn’t even steal one.
    Not that she stole cars anymore.
    Stealing cars was childish, dangerous. It could get people hurt. Changing her ways hadn’t been easy, though she’d never been a career criminal like some of the other people in her family. The only thing she really missed was the cars.
    “It’s a beautiful machine,” she said.