She dials his number half a dozen times before she finally presses the call button, going over her little speech one last time in her head. This is far from the first time she's had to blow off a date, but this is the first time in a long time that she's been worried about hurting the guy's feelings. Or worse, she thinks with a frown, making him think she's not interested.

To be honest, she's interested to the point of being more than a little freaked out.

He answers on the fourth ring, sounding distracted, and she wonders if he's writing. "Hi, it's Emma."

"Swan! Give me one moment, would you?" She hears the clattering of a keyboard in the background, then the muffled sound of the phone being picked up once more. "Sorry, I was in the middle of a crucial sentence about the increasing risks of piracy in overcrowded shipping channels, and if I didn't commit it to paper, it may have been lost forever."

She can picture him now, dark hair all over the place as though he's been running his hands through it, trying to pull the words out of his head and onto the computer screen. For the umpteenth time, she thinks of how he'd kissed her last Friday night, and she really, really doesn't want to say what she's about to say, but there's no point in dancing around the subject. "Hey, I have to work on Saturday night, I'm sorry."

There's a small silence. "Ah."

That one word seems to speak volumes, and she rushes to explain, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. "I know, right? My boss is going out of town for a family emergency and I have to pick up the slack."

"Nothing too dangerous, I hope?"

She feels her eyebrows lift at that. If this thing between them goes anywhere, she'll be having a chat with him about how her career is just that, hers, but for now, she lets it go. "Just some surveillance on this guy we've been trying to run to ground for the last month. Nothing I can't handle."

"Want some company?"

She blinks. Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, it hadn't been that."Listen, I'll be sitting in my car and drinking cold coffee for a couple of hours to stop myself from falling asleep." God, when was the last time she'd cleaned out her car, anyway? "You don't want to do that."

"I'll pass on the cold coffee, but hanging out with you for a few hours?" She can hear the smile in his voice, and feels her own mouth tilt upwards at the corners for the first time since she learned she had to cancel. "That's definitely on my to-do list."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

God, who was this guy? She thinks of her last couple of romantic entanglements (short on the romance, heavy on the entangling) and can't imagine any of them volunteering to do the same. There's no reason Killian can't tag along, and she's been doing this job long enough to not let herself by distracted by a pretty face while she's on the job. "In that case, give me your address and I'll swing past and pick you up on the way."

"Sounds like a plan." He rattles off an address not far from where they'd had dinner last Friday night, and she scribbles it down.

"Okay, pick you up at nine?"

"Excellent." He sounds energised by their new plans, she realises. Maybe the prospect of skulking in the shadows appeals to the writer in him. "Should I practice my stuntman skills before then, love, or will you actually be stopping the car?"

She grins. "I'll probably pull over long enough for you to get in." She underlines his address on her dog-eared notepad, then remembers two important details. "Just keep an eye out for a yellow Volkswagen."

"Nice." He draws the word out just long enough to make her face grow warm, and she does her best to shake it off. So much for not letting herself get distracted, she thinks.

"Oh, one more thing."

"I'm all ears."

"Wear black, okay?"

There's a muffled chuckle on the other end of the phone, and she thinks of the dark clothing he'd been wearing last Friday. "Consider it done, love."

Heaven and Hell can exist in the same small place, it seems.

For the last two hours, he's sitting in a confined place with the woman who has had a starring role in his dreams every night for the last week, her perfume teasing his nose, and all the energy drinks and cold coffee in the world can't make him forget that there is a perfectly serviceable backseat in this tiny car that would be admittedly cramped but more than adequate for bringing his dreams to life.

Alas, she is on duty, and he made a vow to himself that he wouldn't make her regret allowing him to accompany her, but dear God, that one kiss they'd shared a week ago has set him aflame to the point of affecting both his sleeping pattern and his writing schedule. Perhaps he can be forgiven for indulging in erotic thoughts when she's sitting less than a foot away from him and she's just as breathtakingly beautiful as he remembered. Like himself, she's dressed in black from head to toe, her bright hair pulled back and covered by a woollen cap. Against the darkness of her clothing, her skin is glowing, her green eyes disconcertingly vivid, and he wants her so much he can scarcely form a coherent sentence.

However, in the interests of being a gentleman, he will certainly give it his best shot.

He places his now empty can of energy drink (God, the sugar content will have him bouncing off the walls in an hour's time) on the floor at his feet, then wipes his palms on his knees. "What exactly did this fellow do that has him in such hot water with the law?"

She darts him an amused glance, as if she's been waiting for him to ask this exact question. "Defrauded four elderly women out of their lifesavings, ripped off a man he met on a personal dating site to the tune for fifteen thousand bucks, then almost convinced some poor twenty-year old foreign college student to marry someone - who didn't exist, mind you - for a Green Card for the tidy sum of twenty thousand."

Killian feels his nose wrinkle in distaste. He's got nothing against youthful hijinks (the less said about his own teenage years the better) but there are lines that shouldn't be crossed. "He sounds like quite the charmer."

Emma snorts softly, then passes over a photograph she's slipped from the beige folder on her lap. "He's twenty-five now, and from his rap sheet, he's been using his face and his body to rip people off since he was fifteen." As Killian studies her target's face - brown hair, hazel eyes, chiselled features – she makes another sound of derision in the back of her throat. "I just don't get these people." She gently takes the photo from his hands, sliding it back into the folder. "From all accounts, his childhood was drama-free, with a stable middle-class family background."

Putting her elbow on the window of the car (the glass is rolled down, allowing the fresh night air inside) she rests her chin on her palm, staring ahead at her target's darkened residence. She'd told him that the guy had given her boss the slip on the past three occasions they'd tried to pin him down, but they'd had a tip off that he would back in town as of this afternoon, so sitting outside his place for hours it was. "It's not as though he would have needed the money."

He stretches his legs out in front of him as best he can, knowing the passenger seat is already as far back as it can go. "Ah, but it's not always about the money."

She gives him a curious glance. "The thrill of it, you mean?"

"Perhaps." He lets his gaze lock with hers, feeling the now familiar pull towards her as though she's true north and he's a bloody magnet. "We all have the capacity for darkness, love. Some people simply make the choice to embrace that side of themselves."

Her lips part softly, her eyes wide as she gazes at him. "You really do have a way with words, don't you?"

He shrugs, trying not to let her see just how much her comment has pleased him. "I hope so, or else my career prospects will be dim, to say the least."

"Speaking of which, did you bring your book?"

"Manuscript, and no, I didn't."

She pouts, actually pouts, and he wants to kiss it right off her luscious mouth. "We had a deal."

"I didn't want to be presumptuous," he points out softly, all too aware that his pulse is racing. "You are working tonight, after all."

Devilry flares in her eyes as she licks her lips, and the sight almost prompts him to shift in his seat. Bloody hell, she's gotten under his skin in more ways than one, and he wants to explore each and every one of them. "I'm on the clock until midnight or until I can take him down, whichever one comes first." One well-shaped eyebrow lifts, her expression mischievous. "After that, you can tell me all about your book. I promise I'll be a captive audience."

He thinks of the handcuffs he knows are tucked into the back pocket of her impossibly tight-fitting jeans, and swallows hard. "Roll on midnight, then."

The takedown is messy and bordering on slapstick, but it gets the job done. When it's over and her quarry is safely in the back of the patrol car (the attending officer tells her she can pick up her cuffs at the station tomorrow when she completes the necessary paperwork) and she can catch her breath, she allows the anger simmering inside her to finally burst free.

As the cop car pulls away, she puts her hands flat on Killian's chest, shoving him backwards. He stumbles on the grass, then rights himself, one hand on the top of her car to steady himself. "I told you to stay in the car!"

His protest comes swiftly. "I was worried!"

"This is my job," she shoots back, suddenly more furious with him than she's been with anyone in a long time. "I know what I'm doing!" He'd crash tackled the guy as if it had been a freaking football play, and the thought that he could have been hurt is eating away at her, burrowing into her heart until she feels as though she can't breathe.

"It worked out though, right?" He looks pleased with himself, the idiot, and that same panic rises up inside her, tightening her chest.

"What if he'd been armed?"

He holds up his hands, palms towards her, as though he's surrendering. "Ah, but he wasn't."

She shoves him again, and this time his back hits the side of her car. "You could have been seriously injured!"

His jaw clenches, his eyes dark with something that makes her heart race, his hands coming up to grip her wrists, hard. "Swan, that man was about to assault you." His fingers tighten around her wrists, biting into her skin like the cuffs she'd clapped on her target as he'd lain face down in his own driveway, Killian's boot firmly in the middle of his back. "Do you really think so little of me that you'd expect me to stand by and do nothing?"

It's been so long since anyone was worried about her that it takes her a few seconds to recognise the fear in his voice for what it is. "I told you to stay in the car," she says again, but the fire has gone out of her words. She's suddenly very aware of how close they're standing. His hands are still wrapped around her wrists, and her breasts brush his chest with every harsh breath she takes.

"Ah, well, love, I never was very good at following orders." The tip of his tongue touches his bottom lip, the sight sending a jolt of heat darting through her, his lilting voice washing over her skin like warm silk. "It seems we made quite the team, nevertheless."

She lifts her face to his in the same instant he releases her wrists, his arms coming around her as his mouth covers hers in a hot, urgent kiss. Leaning back against the side of her car, he takes the weight of her body, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, hauling her closer. He's already hard, and the feel of him pressed against her groin, where she's aching and thrumming and wanting, has her biting at his bottom lip, her tongue finding his again and again until they're clutching at each other, their kisses becoming deeper and fiercer until Emma tears her mouth away from his long enough to choke out a few words. "In the car. Now."

It's been a long time since she graced the backseat of her car with her naked ass, and she's never been more grateful that she'd parked the bug in the darkest position in the street she could find. Her hands are inside his t-shirt, exploring the hard planes of his chest and stomach, his are buried in her hair and cupping her breast through her bra, her nipple tight and throbbing as he pinches it gently, and she almost wants to cry, it feels so good. "I'm still angry at you," she whispers against his throat before sinking her teeth into the curve of his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin on her tongue. "You could have died before I had the chance to read your book."

"Remind me to make you angry at me on a regular basis, then," he mutters, one hand dipping between her legs, his fingers rubbing her through her jeans with a delicate precision that has her gasping, white spots flaring behind her eyelids. God, she wants him. She's on the pill, and if he says he's clean, she's going to take his word for it. Funnily enough, she has the feeling he won't lie to her, not even if it means not getting lucky.

She asks, he answers, and it seems they're both getting lucky tonight.

They undress just enough (it's not enough, she wants to see and feel all of him, but that's going to have to wait) to make this work, and soon his mouth is hot on her breast, his fingers curling inside her and she thinks she might not last the distance. Deciding to even the score, she shoves her hand inside his unbuttoned jeans, wrapping her hand around the smooth length of his straining erection, loving the shudder that wracks his body at her touch.

He kisses her as though he's been thinking about kissing her every moment since their first meeting.

She knows the feeling.

It's clumsy and a little desperate and when he finally slides inside her a thick rush of heat and flesh, she thinks she might have actually met her match. She'd be terrified by the thought if she weren't so busy trying not to fall apart at the first thrust of his hips. "Fuck, that feels good."

"I believe that's commonly known as an understatement." His words are stuttered against her shoulder, his hands tightening on her hips as she moves above him. Her hands buried in his hair, she presses a smiling kiss to his damp temple, and decides it's time for him to stop talking now. She slips her hand between their straining bodies, finding the point where she's stretched and slick, her fingertips sliding over both her flesh and his, swallowing his groan with a kiss even as the hollow ache inside her begins to tighten and ripple.

It's a very enjoyable way to shut him up, and definitely one she plans on remembering for further use.

She falls first, her forehead pressed hard against his as she arches above him, pushing and pushing until it's too much, too strong, enough to make her bite back a sharp cry. When he comes, he kisses her, muffling the sound of his release, his fingertips digging into her hips hard.

(She finds the perfect imprint of his fingers on her skin the next morning, clear enough to dust herself for prints.)

They stay entangled for a long moment, their breath coming fast and harsh in the darkness. She should be shocked at what's just happened, but she realises now that she was resigned to her fate from the moment she'd caught sight of him playing with his five year-old accomplice in that damned park. She makes a token effort at pulling together the sides of her shirt, then gives up, reasoning that he's felt if not seen everything already. "So, are you free next Saturday night?"

"I believe I am." Tilting back his head, he grins, his teeth white against the darkness of his stubbled chin. "Perhaps I could interest you in a nice game of Frisbee?"