If he hadn’t gone for the shaved head look some time ago, Stefan Roberts figured he’d be tearing his hair out about now.

      “I won’t go! I don’t like it here. I don’t like you!”

      He stared at the five-year-old who was his son, standing there glaring at him with his arms crossed firmly across his small chest. He weighed his options. He could spend some more time trying to talk the child into going to school without a fuss. Except he was already running late for work. He could leave it for Mrs. Crane, the sitter he’d hired, to handle. But that seemed…cowardly somehow. He could pick the kid up and carry him out to the car. And maybe stuff him in the trunk? That’d go over well.

      He sucked in a deep breath and fought for calm. Blowing up at his son would do no good at all, he was sure. He’d snapped at him a few times when he’d hit the end of his patience, and the boy had just closed off further.

      “Look, Samuel, I know this wasn’t your idea. You didn’t want this. But we’re here—we’re stuck with each other. Can’t you make the best of it?”

      The glare only intensified. So once more, he’d apparently said the wrong thing. And his already frayed temper lost another thread. When he spoke it was with the rigidness of an anger barely held at bay.

      “That’s enough. You’re going to school, Samuel. How you go is up to you.”

      Something shifted in the boy’s dark eyes, so like his mother’s. Something that was there and gone so quickly it was hard to pin a name on it. Had he been at work, he would have immediately registered it as fear, but he didn’t want to believe his son was afraid of him. The massive changes in his life, sure. But him? He didn’t like that idea at all.

      But right now, he just had to get the boy out the door and to school. Mrs. Crane would see to him when school was out. He would have to talk to her, see if she had any ideas on how to deal with the rotten attitude Samuel seemed to have arrived with. But he didn’t have time now. He had to get to work. Daria would be wondering where the hell he was. And he didn’t want Daria Bloom mad at him.

       Might be safer if she was.

      He barely acknowledged the wayward thought. He was used to them by now. That day three months ago when he’d first walked into the sheriff’s office and seen the deputy assigned to the case, he’d known this wasn’t going to be routine. Working every day, in close proximity, to that? He’d known the first moment she turned those wide, beautiful, golden-brown eyes on him assessingly that this woman could be trouble. There wasn’t a damned thing about her he didn’t like, from the way that short, sleek haircut of hers bared the nape of her neck when she bent her head, to the way she moved, like a dancer he’d seen once back in Chicago.

      Then again, he’d learned his lesson well; he’d been hot for Leah, too, and look how that had turned out. She hadn’t had whatever it took to be married to an FBI agent, if that even existed. She’d been excited at first, but then the reality of long hours away and the stringent dedication that the job necessitated had settled in. When she’d gotten pregnant with Samuel, things had improved a little, but it hadn’t lasted. By then she had bigger, grander plans for her future than being married to him.

      And then it had fallen apart, and the son he loved so much had become a part-time presence in his life. He hated the fact, but between his work hours, Leah’s lack of cooperation, and then his transfer, that’s what had happened.

      He shook off the thoughts; he needed to focus on the immediate issue, which was getting Samuel to school. In the end it took bribery—the promise of an extra bit of video-game time—but Stefan counted it as a win. At least the kid’s favorite game was a fantasy instead of just blowing stuff up or shooting people. And as he finally headed off to work, he found himself smiling wryly that that was the most optimistic thing he could think of just now.

      He called the field office to check in. It was a formality, since he’d been allocated to this case full-time until it was resolved. When he got to the sheriff’s office and found Daria had not yet arrived, he felt a tiny bit of annoyance mixed with relief.

      “She’s at the range,” the perky secretary they’d been assigned told him. Then, in a tone of confidentiality, she added, “She’s the best shot in the department, you know. Some of the guys won’t admit that, but she’s outscored all of them at one time or another.”

      “Good to know,” Stefan said drolly. “I’ll try not to make her shooting mad at me.” He was only half kidding. There was something about Daria Bloom that made him think she was not a woman to be crossed.

      “Oh, she’d never shoot at you. That’d be like shooting at one of the local scenic wonders.”

      Stefan blinked. Was she flirting with him? She was, what, maybe twenty? He suddenly felt old.

      “Now you’re a scenic wonder?”

      He nearly groaned aloud as the voice came from behind him. A voice he recognized too well, since the husky timbre of it sent the craziest tingle over his skin. But he put on his best unaffected grin as he turned to see the woman in question approaching.

      “So’s Denver International,” he said, referring to the jaw-dropping airport structure voted the ugliest building in the state by half the population, the most beautiful by the other half. And to his inward delight, she laughed. It was rare enough with all the pressure on her right now that she even smiled, so he counted this as a win.

      “Sorry I’m late. I needed to clean both weapons, so it took longer.”

      “Gotta keep the tools clean,” he agreed. “I was running behind myself.”

      “Problem?”

      “Only personal,” he said with a slight grimace. She let it go without asking, and he appreciated that. He appreciated a lot about Daria.

      She confirmed with the secretary, who was watching them with a little too much interest, that there were no messages she hadn’t already gotten. They were turning to go to the office assigned solely to this case when the door behind them opened and Sheriff Trey Colton stepped through.

      Trey was about Stefan’s own height and had a no-nonsense air about him that Stefan liked. He was also, as far as Stefan could see, a fine sheriff. By the book and honorable and, up until this Avalanche Killer mess, nothing had happened to mar his stellar record. As the first African American to be elected sheriff, not to mention one of the youngest people ever to hold the office, he was clearly determined to keep it that way. And Stefan was glad to help. He’d had his own dragons to slay on his way to where he was now, so he could relate.

      They gave him an update, not that there was much to report. Trey restated his complete faith in them, which made Stefan even more determined, and with a barely concealed grimace the sheriff went off to deal with today’s round of media chaos.

       Better him than me.

      “He’s actually much happier lately,” Daria murmured as they said goodbye and headed down the hall.

      “No