“Watch that someone doesn’t knock seven kinds of lightning out of you,” she said.

“And why would they do that?”

“Because a’ you standing there as naked as a miley goat, telling me you’re leaving to go to work, work, work.”

I laughed, and Colleen finally came into my arms, put her small hands on my ass. I wanted to try and go with it.

“I’m going to bar the door,” she said, giving my cheeks a squeeze. “Seriously, Jack.”

She’d gotten to me already. How did she do that? Zero to rock hard in five seconds.

“You’re a witch,” I said, pulling her robe down from her shoulders. I hoisted her into my arms so that her legs wrapped around my waist, and I pressed her back against the refrigerator door. She squealed at the touch of the cold metal.

Colleen had once told me a joke: “What’s Irish foreplay?”

I gave her the punch line now. “Brace yourself, darlin’.”

She sucked in her breath, the two of us panting as the limited contents of the refrigerator rattled and danced to our beat.

“Sorry I made you late,” she said when we were done. Her sweet, toothy grin said she wasn’t sorry at all.

I smacked her bottom. “As long as I didn’t make you late.”

I left her standing under a hot shower, rosy cheeked and humming an old rock song she loved, “Come on, Eileen.”

I set her burglar alarm, locked the door behind me, and ran down the stairs. Getting seven kinds of lightning knocked out of me hadn’t felt too bad, actually. But now I needed to work, work, work.

Chapter 11

I STOPPED AT police headquarters on my way to Private. So far, there were no charges against Andy Cushman. I was already behind schedule, so I hurried to the office.

The “war room” at Private is octagonal in shape and features a round ink-black lacquered table, the only item there that once belonged to my father and the old Private. Padded swivel chairs are clustered around the table and jumbo flat-screens are mounted wall to wall.