“Go to hell, Mack. This is my home. My bedroom, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Still, she slipped her arms into the jacket and inhaled, rubbing her cheek along the material without thinking, and then stalked across the room to yank open a drawer.

“You’re a long way from home.” Jaimie made the observation as she donned a pair of charcoal sweatpants. “Not to mention you’re a little overdressed for these parts.”

He noticed her hands were trembling as she pulled the edges of his jacket together. Her voice was exactly as he remembered. Soft, husky, beautiful. Like clear running water. It hurt him to look at her. Her chin was in the air-the same defiant Jaimie he’d known forever. But she wasn’t looking at him, not directly, and that wasn’t like Jaimie.

“The next time you want to drop in, local custom demands that you do me the courtesy of knocking.” She paced away from him, back again, unable to rid her body of the adrenaline. “What are you doing here, Mack?”

“We followed a shipment of weapons.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “To San Francisco? To my home?”

“Right to your front door, baby.”

She winced. “I’m not your baby, Mack. That was a long time ago. What are you really doing here?”

“Our information…”

“Mack, come on.” She crossed to the window and looked out over the pounding waves. “You and I both know this is too big of a coincidence. If you weren’t the one to arrange it, then your informer wanted you here. Wanted us together.”

He wanted them together, so whoever had done this, deliberately or not, Mack owed them. Jaimie had disappeared out of all of their lives some time ago. She’d been a big part of their street family and now here she was-practically in his lap. He crossed to stand behind her, gently taking hold of her shoulders and moving her back away from the window.