Lethal Attachments

Chapter 1-2

The insistent sound of the door’s buzzer jarred Doyle awake. He opened his eyes, imagining he could still feel Kord’s hands cupping his ass. But that must’ve been a couple of hours earlier. As he lay there swimming back to wakefulness, he realized he’d actually been able to get back to sleep once Kord had left. He remembered watching the big hunk leave for stakeout duty and then the dreamy feeling of sinking back to sleep. Now the door’s buzzer knifed through his thoughts, insisting he get out of his warm bed.

He shook his head, rolled over and looked at the clock. Eight o’clock.

The buzzer rattled him again.

Doyle sat up, surveyed the room, and spotted his gray silk bathrobe carelessly tossed over a chair. Kord must’ve left it there the night before. The titillating image of the former undercover cop wearing a silk robe a size too small—which didn’t come close to covering Kord’s prime assets—rushed back into Doyle’s thoughts. Kord was never very careful with anything which both annoyed Doyle and made him smile.

The buzzer punched through his thoughts, forcing him out of bed. He pulled on the robe and tied the cord at his waist, realizing it didn’t fit him all that well either.

Who could be at his door at eight in the morning? More importantly, who could be there without the front desk having called first to announce a guest? Unless it was a neighbor in the building.

Strangers weren’t permitted in the Filbert unannounced. That just didn’t happen at the exclusive condo high-rise. Guests were required to check in at the front desk. And the big bruisers hired as guards were supposed to intimidate all comers.

Whoever was standing at his door was persistent. The buzzer just didn’t let up. Reaching the door, his robe fell open. Pulling the silky fabric around his body and retying the sash, Doyle realized it wasn’t much cover. He smirked, not about to worry over his state of undress. This stranger had arrived without notice. At Doyle’s home. He could wear what he damn well pleased at eight in the morning.

Peeking through the door’s peephole, he saw a cute—scratch that—a nerdy cute young man. The young guy’s anxious expression only enhanced the cute and vulnerable image.

As the man was about to press the buzzer again, Doyle pulled the door open. The slender young man drew in a breath sharply, as if he didn’t really expect the door to open. His glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them up, a little harder than he’d wanted from the look on his face.

Glancing up, his startled eyes widened to platter size behind the huge glasses, and his mouth formed a perfect oval of surprise. Doyle had intended to question the guy’s manners—arriving at his home so early in the morning and ringing the buzzer almost nonstop, but the forlorn and pitiful look on the young man’s face, softened Doyle’s heart. Which he immediately resented. He knew he was a soft touch and didn’t like that weakness in himself.

“What can I—”

“Oh, wow! Mr. McCann. You’re here—”

“Of course I’m here. I live here.”

The young man attempted a smile but was unsuccessful.

“I need your help.”