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wary but underlaid by a note of concern she couldn’t help feeling.
    He raised his other arm, wiped his shirt sleeve across his face. “Got shot.” He gave her a hard look that she felt even across the distance between the two vehicles. “It wasn’t fun, don’t want to do it again. So I’d appreciate it if you’d put away that weapon.”
    He couldn’t see the pistol in her hand, but he must have seen her lean over and accurately guessed she was getting a weapon from the glove compartment. Mindful of their isolation, she wasn’t scared but that didn’t mean she had to abandon caution. With a touch of irony she said, “I’m sure you would, but I’ll hold on to it for now. What are you doing here?”
    â€œI told you. I was sent.”
    â€œFor what reason?” Not that she didn’t have an idea, simply because she knew how Axel’s perverted brain worked.
    â€œRecuperation, and under the radar.”
    Beside her, Tricks had evidently decided she’d been patient long enough. She butted Bo’s arm and woofed again; her ears perked up and her dark eyes locked on the stranger she hadn’t yet been able to greet properly. The man gave her a brief look and then dismissed her as no threat. Well, Tricks wasn’t a threat—except to clean clothing—but Bo didn’t trust people who didn’t like animals, so her misgivings swelled higher again.
    â€œI don’t think so. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you, and I sure as hell don’t want you as a roommate.”
    â€œ Paid roommate,” he qualified. Slowly he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “Here, call Axel. He’ll explain.”
    â€œI don’t want to talk to the asshole.”
    â€œI don’t expect he wants to talk to you, either, but he does what needs to be done.”
    Meaning she didn’t? Bo gave him a hostile, distrustful look. It was wasted because he chose that moment to close his eyes and swallow, as if he were fighting to stay conscious.
    He might be a good actor, but even an Oscar winner couldn’t make his face go gray. She had the alarming conviction that he was about to face-plant right there in the gravel driveway.
    Shit!
    Swearing under her breath, she put the Jeep in park and shoved the door open. Tricks bounced as much as she was able, wanting to get out. “Stay,” Bo said firmly as she got out and slammed the door shut. Her boots crunched on the gravel and a chilly breeze blew in her face, bringing with it the sharp, clean scent of impending rain or snow. Tricks began barking, keeping up the doggy litany of displeasure at being left behind as Bo rounded the Tahoe SUV, the pistol still in her hand and a sharp eye on her unwanted visitor.
    She might as well have saved the effort. She doubted he’d be able to hit anything other than the ground. He was literally clinging to the vehicle, his right knee braced against the frame, right arm across the roof, left hand clamped on the door.
    â€œSit down,” she said sharply. “ Sit .” It was the same tone she used on Tricks when Tricks decided—as she did on a regular basis—to test whether Bo was still boss.
    The tone worked on men as well as it did on dogs—either that, or he didn’t have any choice. He let out a shaky breath and all but collapsed into the driver’s seat, half-sprawling before he gathered himself and managed to sit upright.
    In the Jeep, Tricks gave the bark that signaled she was really running out of patience, that she was deeply unhappy about being kept harnessed now that she was home, where she normally had the run of the place.
    Bo ignored the bark. “Let me see your ID,” she commanded and stood at a safe distance while he placed the cell phone on the dash andlaboriously fished his wallet out of his back pocket. Taking it in his left hand, he extended his arm back toward her, evidently