“Are you okay?” He looked her over as if he expected to find gaping wounds.

She couldn’t respond at first, thrown by the intensity of his inspection as much as the pressure of his fingers around her upper arm. She hadn’t felt his touch in years, and all the blood in her brain seemed to rush to the point of contact, swirling the scent of his tropical sunscreen through her head. Oh, God, it was staggering.

“Kylie?”

The alarm in his voice snapped her back, and she took a quick step away from him, forcing him to release her. Breathe, breathe. “I’m fine. My Jeep, on the other hand . . .”

His narrowed eyes took in the vandalism. “Damn.”

Kylie said nothing, her mind’s eye focusing again on the thing on the ground on the other side of the Jeep. The smashed windshield was bad enough, but the bat. That bat, just like the one . . .

Sam joined them, his features tense. “Kylie.”

“Detective.” She tried to smile at him as she chafed her arms with the palms of her hands. It wasn’t cold out, but she’d started to shiver.

“Notice how she did what I told her to do and waited inside,” Chase grumbled.

His anger, apparently at her, caught her by surprise, but before she could respond, Sam said, “Are you okay? You’re awfully pale.”

Concern. God, she hated concern. It made her feel so weak. Taking a breath, she held it for a moment—steady, steady—and let it out. “I’m okay. Shaken, of course.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Sam said.

Chase paced over to the Jeep to check it out, looking pissed and tense in faded jeans and a tucked-in navy polo shirt that emphasized the ridged plane of his abdomen. His fists clenched at his sides, bulging the muscles in his biceps and cording the veins in his forearms. Just looking at him, taking in the flush of his anger, the energy in his stride as he stalked around the Jeep, sharp gaze scanning first the pavement and then the trees at the back of the parking lot—everything about him made her heart hitch and stutter into a higher gear. The distraction helped break the choke hold that fear had on her throat . . . until he glanced over at her, his eyes spitting fire.

When he strode over to rejoin her and Sam, he stopped too close and glared down at her from his cringe-inducing height. “Tell me what happened.”

He was so close she felt she couldn’t draw a decent breath. Why was he trying so hard to intimidate her? “He came out of nowhere, hit the windshield and ran away.”

“Wearing?”

“Black.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Black pants, black shirt, black hat . . . or ski mask, I guess. Black gloves.”

“Gloves?”

“Yes, he had on gloves. It didn’t register at first, but he was definitely wearing gloves. I can’t even tell you if he was black or white.”

“Build?”

“Tall and thin.”

“How do you know it was a guy?”

“I assumed, I guess, because he was strong enough to break the windshield.”

“Any ideas who would want to scare you?”

“No.”

“Anything else suspicious happen lately? Other than the sabotage at the construction site.”

“No.”

“Weird phone calls? Hang ups? E-mails?” He fired the questions at her so quickly they seemed to whirl around her.

“No.”

“Have you had a falling out with anyone since you returned?” He leaned closer, as though trying to blast the truth out of her with his laser vision.

“No,” she said steadily. Breathe, breathe.

When he turned to squint up at the stucco walls of the health club, she felt as though the air-conditioning had just kicked in on a steaming hot day. As her shoulders relaxed and she managed a full breath, the spinning sensation in her head leveled.

“This place have security cameras aimed at the parking lots?” Chase asked.

Sam shifted to peer at the building, too. “Looks like there’s one at the east corner. I don’t see any others.”

“Quinn would know about that,” Kylie said.

“Is he here?” Sam asked.

“Yes, in his office.”

“I’ll check with him,” Sam said, and took off.

As soon as they were alone, Chase rounded on Kylie. “Why didn’t you go inside like I told you to do?” he demanded.

“If whoever did this wanted to hurt me, he had ample opportunity.”

“Which brings up another point. Why the hell are you parking in a back lot that’s virtually empty?”

“Safety has never been a problem here.”

He took a jerky step toward her and made a furious gesture at her SUV. “You don’t call that a problem?”

This time, she couldn’t check her urge to take a step back, and the heel of her tennis shoe caught on the curb. Chase’s hand shot out, wrapping hard and firm around her upper arm to keep her from stumbling.

“Careful,” he said.

The timbre of his voice had shifted lower, and suddenly they were standing close enough that his cool breath feathered over her cheek. Before she could fortify her guard, his heat invaded her space, enveloped her, and she stilled, overwhelmed by the desire to lean against his strength.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he lifted his free hand to tuck stray hair from her ponytail behind her ear.

The gesture, so tender and caring, completely disarmed her. She could have melted right against him, let his strong arms enfold her. So easy and what a relief to—

“Ky,” he said.

The sigh in his voice had the same effect as if he’d placed a chisel on the crack in her defenses and tapped with a hammer. Alarmed, she tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, and the bare skin of her arm started to burn where his long fingers almost completely encircled it.

“Let go,” she said.

Her cheeks heated at how she’d sounded. Like she was choking. Oh, God, she was so close to losing it. Right in front of him. But that . . . thing, it was just like the one that shattered her dreams. And someone, some twisted bastard, was using it against her. Why? Why the hell . . . why? And Chase . . . God, Chase, was right here. Watching her every move, her every expression and reaction, analyzing and scrutinizing. What the hell was he looking for anyway?

Chase dropped his hand to his side, and the tight muscles in his face visibly relaxed. “I’m not trying to upset you, Ky.”

He used the even, conciliatory tone of a cop dealing with a hostile witness, and it hit her like a slap that he was trying to manage her. As she snapped her spine straight, she bit back the urge to snipe at him. It wouldn’t accomplish anything but make her feel bitchy. And none of this was his fault. He was just there to do his job.

“So what do we do now?” she asked. “Do you have to gather evidence before I call someone to come fix my windshield or what?”

His expression gave nothing away as he pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call in the crime scene unit.”