The squeak of hinges snapped Parker’s attention to the door. Hottie stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other on the handle, a look of determination plastered on his face. A look she was familiar with. A look she saw reflected in her mirror on a daily basis. A look mirrored on her coworkers’ faces when working a case.

A look she never thought to see directed her way.

Which was a bit unnerving, but not nearly as unnerving as the realization he’d followed her. He stood in the doorway like he owned the place. Or owned her.

Her limbs shuddered like a car without shocks. He. Followed. Her. Was he stalking her? Was he with the ones who tried to kidnap her? What was he doing here? More to the point, how did she get rid of him? Her muscles might be coming out of a deep freeze, but that didn’t mean she could hop off the bed and toss him out the door. Where was the damn call button?

Parker patted the mattress. Hottie took a step closer. Then another. No button. Her heart shook an uneven rhythm, the beat a warning drum in her veins. Her hand moved faster against the mattress, searching, seeking, not finding.

Damn it.

"Be of ease. I mean no harm."

She stilled, her hand paused mid-pat as if his words flipped her off switch. Deep and soothing, his voice stroked across frazzled nerves, slowing her racing heart. If he could bottle that sound, women would fall at his feet.