What was wrong with me? Oh, the fact that they woke me at up six in the morning might've had something to do with it. Or that I hadn't worked out since I got on the airplane heading from California to Chicago back in August. Or the fact that I didn't want to do this, and they'd just assumed I would jump at the chance. I wanted to scream back at him and give him the middle finger, but instead I did my job: scan the windows, look for anyone looking back, look for any movement in the curtains. Look for pretty much anything. When I saw nothing, I yelled back at him, "I'm clear."

He lifted his radio and waved it at me. "Check in."

Across his radio, I heard, "Dale, check in. Check in, Dale."

I had no fucking radio.

"Dale!"

That was it. I gave him the middle finger this time.

He groaned in frustration, but checked in for me. "South left side clear." He paused, then added, "Dale's an asshole."

I lifted my finger higher above my head.

He laughed, but then our drama was forgotten. We heard Dean's voice from the front side of the house: "I don't care what rights you think you have. We have a warrant, motherfucker. Let us in. Now!"

I grinned, shaking my head. Memories of my childhood rolled back over me, and I adjusted my stance, leaning most of my weight on my left leg as I got comfortable. My job was to watch and report anything. My brother Dean's job was to roust the bail jumper, and as he continued to yell at whoever had been unlucky enough to answer the door, he was doing it to perfection.

I waved at Dylan and cupped my hands around my mouth to yell at him, "Who's the jumper?"

His hands immediately shot up in the air. "You didn't read the file?"

I'd been focused on dressing, coffee, brushing my teeth, coffee, finding my shoes, coffee, and then fixing my hair. They were lucky I remembered to grab a bulletproof vest. I shrugged.

A litany of curse words left him. "Are you kidding me?!"

I waited. He'd break. He'd tell me, acting like he was super disappointed. But I knew Dylan. He'd forget about this the instant we actually got the guy. Anyway I still had my fingers crossed, hoping the radio incident wouldn't be remembered later. I could grab a radio back at the office . . . hopefully before anyone remembered to confront me about it.

He swore again, but shouted back, "Your ex."

My what? I looked back at the house. Not recognizing it, I asked, "Which one?"

Then a curtain moved, and I saw him. Holy fucking hell.

Dylan yelled, "Jaxon," but he didn't need to. I stared right into the piercing brown eyes of the one ex-boyfriend I'd hoped to never see again in my life.

Shit!

His brown hair was shaved into a crew cut, but it made him even more mouth-wateringly attractive. As I watched him look around, saw how the shadows played across his chiseled cheekbones and those perfect lips, I knew I could testify to exactly how they could be used. I thought the fucker went to New York to pursue a modeling career. What was he doing back? And why was he the bail jumper? Well . . . okay. I wasn't that surprised by that last part.

Then he saw me too, and I felt whiplash from the sting. His eyes narrowed. He stood there shirtless, his lean physique perfectly molded and sculpted. A smirk appeared, and I could read his thoughts. He was thinking of running for it.

My groin ached already. Jaxon was the guy I'd had to quit. For real. I had to quit him. He was an addiction, and he got me into trouble, rather than keeping me out of it. My brothers hated him, but oh god . . . my eyes trailed down his chest again, and I remembered all the reasons I'd stopped listening to them.

He leaned back, brought up his foot, and my hand went to grab my radio. It grabbed my shoulder instead. Crap. This was why I should've swallowed my pride and asked for an extra. He was really going to run, and Dylan was looking the other way.

"No!" I yelled.

Jaxon flashed me a grin. Good lord, he was gorgeous. He flung himself out the window, and I stopped admiring his perfect dimples.

I looked to see if Dylan had heard me. He hadn't. His ear was pressed to his radio, and I heard buzz coming from the other side of the house. Then he took off, disappearing around the side.

"Dylan!"

He didn't stop.

Jaxon had landed in a roll and was up on his feet. He looked like a damn cat. The athleticism in one of his pinkies equaled all of mine (even in good shape) and half my brothers'. We were screwed.

He dashed past me and laughed. "Looks like you're going to have to tackle me, Doily. It's just you and me." He didn't wait around, though. He turned and soared into the woods behind the house.

For a moment, just one moment, I was mesmerized by the image of his ass. He wore black cargo pants, and they molded to his backside. It'd been too long since I had some of that fun. Then I remembered what I was supposed to be doing, and I tore after him.

I screamed over my shoulder, "Runner!" I wasn't holding my breath for help, and, gritting my teeth, I really was going to try to get him, just for the enjoyment of tackling him underneath me one more time.

Five minutes later, I realized I had no shot of getting him. My lungs protested, threatening to shut off completely if I didn't slow down, and my legs weren't helping. It was like they'd forgotten how to run. I almost pitched to the side twice, and my knees wanted to buckle, but in the end a log was my demise. I was running, or still trying-I was wheezing so loud that if I'd had a radio, I wouldn't have been to talk into it-when I saw the log. I jumped over it and was airborne when I saw the second log.

I screamed as my foot hit the log and my ankle went one way while I went the other. I crumpled to the ground.

Searing pain flared all over me, making my insides feel like they were burning up. I clutched my ankle and pressed down. My brothers always said to stop the swelling. I'd never read the bounty-hunting first aid manual to understand why swelling was bad, but I held my ankle like it was a life preserver. As I bit my lip and rocked back and forth, the rest of me tried not to let loose the water works. I was a girl, but fuck, I couldn't act like a girl. No crying, or I'd hear about this moment twenty years from now.

"Doily."

I glanced up. Jaxon had come back. He'd stopped a few feet away and watched me warily. Sweat ran down his chest, and he rested his hands on his hips. His pants slipped down, showing the V his muscles formed as they dipped beneath his waistband. As he knelt, his stomach muscles clenched even more tightly together.

I wanted to scream again. He looked so damn beautiful, and here I was. Sweaty. I felt my face and looked at the blood on my fingers. My hair was probably a mess, and I wore a pink tank top underneath my vest. It would've been hot, if the bottom wasn't disintegrated into shattered ends. Looking down at my jeans, I saw a big hole had ripped, and horror filled me as I followed the rip from beginning to end. Yep. It began at my knee and ended at my crotch.

Jaxon hadn't knelt to look at my ankle. He was staring right at my bright orange thong underwear.

"Stop." I groaned. Bending down so my forehead pressed to my leg, I thought maybe he'd go away.

His low, smooth chuckle rippled over me, sending old sensations and tingles through me too. He stood and came closer. Stopping so he was out of reach, he asked, "No radio, huh?"

I snarled at him, "Go away."

"You're supposed to trick me into getting close. Then you put those handcuffs on me. Remember?" He nudged my leg with his foot. It was a gentle touch, but I gasped. This hurt.

He bent down so he could actually look at my ankle this time. "That's how we used to have fun, remember? Hmmm . . . it doesn't look broken. Ice it and you'll be fine by tonight."

"What'd you do, anyways?"

His light, flirty look disappeared. He grew serious and stepped away again. "I can't tell you that, my little Doily."

I hated that name.

"And since you're not going to die, I'm going to complete my escape now."

"Jaxon." I looked at him, pleading now. "You can't leave me like this. Carry me back. They're probably still searching that house. They won't even think to come look for me."

He shrugged. "That's your problem. And they'll look for you."

At that second, we heard shouts behind us, and a wide grin came over his face. "See? You're the baby girl. They'll always look out for you."

"Jaxon, for real. What'd you do? I can help you." I needed to stall. Shoving the pain down and out of my mind, I focused on him. Bringing him in would prevent a lot of the teasing I knew I was otherwise going to endure. Come closer, a little closer. I started to wedge out my handcuffs from my waist and opened them. One quick flick of my wrist and I might be able to get them on his foot. Maybe. Using my fingers, and holding my arm in place to shield them, I started to slide the handcuffs wider.

He laughed. "I don't think so, sweet cheeks. Listen, I'll turn myself in after this weekend. I promise."

"Why not now? What's so important-" But even as I spoke, I knew. "Oh no."

He'd been watching me. As I connected the dots, his smirk grew. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You're fighting again?"

"I gotta make money somehow. I'm in the Boxing Day match this weekend."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "We're not in Canada. We don't have Boxing Day."

He laughed, his top lip curved up in an adorable way, and began walking backward. He lifted a hand to wave. "Still. I'll see you this weekend. I'll even come to your bedroom so you can get the jump. How's that?"

He had a wicked glint in his eyes, but I knew he would follow through as promised. I also knew that meant we wouldn't be catching him until then. He was going underground, and we might not be able to find him until he was ready to be found.

"Dale!"

Dylan's voice came from back down the path. I looked over my shoulder, but he wasn't within view yet. "I'm here!" I yelled.

When I turned back, Jaxon was gone.

CHAPTER TWO.

I sat on the couch with six bags of ice all around my ankle. I only needed one, but nope, my brothers thought it was hilarious to make the pile as high as it could be. Dylan wanted to see if he could get it all the way to the ceiling, but Dean yelled at him for using too many ice packs. However, when I tried removing them, they just laughed and brought them back. I'd managed to wedge a blanket between some of the ice packs so there was only one actually on my ankle. I used the other ice packs to hide the blanket, so it was a win-win. My brothers kept laughing at me, my leg stuck under a house of ice bags, but I was secretly laughing at them.

Dumb shits.

It was either this or be harassed because I went into the field without a radio. Really. I knew better. The only one who was actually angry at me was Dean, but he was pissed because I hadn't used my feminine wiles on Jaxon. But hello? It's Jaxon. He's not exactly dumb-not like my brothers.

That evening around nine, someone shouted, and four of my brothers sprinted past the door to the back of the house. When I heard the office door slam shut and car doors open, I pushed myself upright.

Dylan sprinted past, or tried to. He held a coffee cup, so he could only jog or it would spill.

"Hey!" I yelled.

He jerked, and the coffee spilled on his arm. He turned to me with a scowl. "What the eff, Dale? I have coffee here."

"I have a question here."

He growled at me and looked around. When evidently he didn't see what he wanted, he used the bottom of his shirt to wipe off some of the coffee. "Yeah? What do you want? You got me while I clean up. Then I'm out of here."

"Where's everyone going?"

"Oh." The growl left him, and he started laughing. "You were had, little sister."

"What're you talking about?"

"The Boxing Day fight. Your boy lied to you."

"He's not my boy, and how do you know?" I wasn't surprised to hear Jaxon had lied. That was another factor in our breakup.

"We got a tip. He's fighting tonight, not on Boxing Day-although he could be fighting then too. But yeah." He finished cleaning up the coffee and frowned at his flannel shirt. Putting his coffee cup on the counter, he decided the shirt had to go. He tossed it on a chair and pulled off his white tee shirt, which had absorbed most of the coffee.

"Oh my," came a voice from the doorway.

There, holding onto the doorframe with her mouth formed in an O and her eyes traveling slowly down my brother's body, was my best friend. While I had straight, dark brown hair, Haley had blond curly hair. Almond eyes, tiny little lips, freckles sprinkled over her complexion-she was cute and gorgeous all at once. She had a small frame, boobs she wished were bigger, and slender hips, and she wasn't the only one drooling. Dylan's eyes were glued to her. No. Correction: they were glued to her rack.

I motioned to her. "Haley."

She didn't answer. She completed her first scan, arriving at his feet, and started back up.

"Haley."

She held a hand up. "Hold on. Girl's working here."

Realizing he was a fine specimen, my brother moved as if he were in slow motion. He started to reach for his flannel shirt, flexing his arm muscles, then turned his arm so his shoulder muscle bulged. The pectorals were next, and last, as he grabbed his shirt, he made sure to suck in his breath and twist to the side so his abdominal muscles were as cut as possible.

It could've been a scene out of a sitcom, as Haley wasn't even trying to hide her reaction. She held a latte in her hand, and while she drank in the sight of my brother, her hand lifted the lid. She let it fall to the floor as she dipped her fingers into the cup, then wiped them at the corner of her mouth.

She was foaming. I got it.

A second later, she glanced at me, biting down on her lip and trying to hold back her laughter. She pointed to herself. "Get it?"

I rolled my eyes. "He's my brother. You're disgusting."

Dylan realized his Magic Mike moment was over and chuckled, buttoning up his flannel shirt at a faster pace. He gestured to the cup she was holding. "What's that?"

"A latte."

He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He started for her, but she held it back and circled the room to me. "It's for your sister."

As she gave it me, I beamed. "Finally. The best friend has arrived."

She rolled her eyes, making a tsking sound, and perched at the side of the couch. Then she studied the mound of ice packs. "Uh, is that good for you?"

Dylan barked out a laugh, slapping his leg. "That's what she gets for not taking a radio out into the field."