“Absolutely. If you’re not worried about the energy spike the other day, I’d really like you to come back. Now that I’m up and running, it’ll help to re-create the event, or see if it can be re-created.”

“Not interested.”

“I’ll pay you for your time.”

“I don’t need your money.”

“That doesn’t make it less useful. Think about it.” He decided to cut his routine short and give her the time to do just that. “By the way,” he added as he replaced the weights. “Nice abs.”

She merely peeled back her lips to show her teeth as he strolled out. Imagine, she thought as she finished out her routine, a dork like that accusing her of being afraid. If it hadn’t been so laughable, it would’ve been insulting. Then thinking he could buy her time for his ridiculous experiments or study or whatever the hell he called what he did.

It was a shame, a damn shame that he was the best-looking and certainly the best-built guy she’d run across in months. If he hadn’t been such an irritating moron, they could have enjoyed some workouts of an entirely different nature.

Instead, she was going to have to make the effort to avoid him whenever possible. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would make it her winter project.

With her muscles comfortably fatigued, she went back in the locker room, showered off, pulled on her tank suit, and headed into the pool area.

And realized, immediately, she should have known. He was already in the pool, doing laps with slow, almost lazy strokes. It surprised her to see that his tan covered every inch of him, or every inch she could see. The black Speedo he wore wasn’t hiding much.

She wasn’t giving up her swim, even if it meant sharing the water with him. Tossing her fresh towel aside, she dived in.

When she surfaced he was an arm-span away, casually treading water. “I’ve got an idea.”

“I bet you’re just full of them.” She dipped her head and slicked the hair back from her face. “Look, I want to get in my laps and go. It’s a big pool. You stay on that side, I’ll stay on this one.”

“Let’s not call it an idea, let’s call it a proposition.”

“Booke, you’re going to piss me off.”

“I didn’t mean—”

He did flush now, a perfectly gorgeous combination with that manly stubble. The little twist of lust in her belly really put her off.

“I didn’t mean to imply—” He took two careful breaths, knowing he would stutter otherwise. “I meant a race.”

He knew he’d caught her competitive streak by the way her eyes glinted just before she turned in the water and swam to the side. “Not interested.”

“I’ll give you a quarter-length handicap.”

“Yeah, no question, you’re going to piss me off.”

“Four lengths,” he continued, clamping onto the idea like a hound onto a bone. “If you win, I don’t bother you again. If I win, I get one hour of your time. One hour, against three months. Those are pretty favorable odds for you.”

She started to brush him off. Wanted to brush him off. He couldn’t bother her if she didn’t let him bother her. There was only one slight hitch. She couldn’t resist a dare.

“Four lengths, head to head.” She pulled swim goggles over her head, adjusted them. “When I win, you keep your distance, you don’t mention your project or whatever you call it to me again, and you don’t try hitting on me on a personal level.”

“Now that last part stings, Deputy, but agreed. If I win, you come to the cottage, assist me in some tests. One hour’s work, with your full cooperation.”

“Deal.” When he held out a hand, she simply stared at it blandly. “Forget it.”

She waited for him to join her at the wall, prepared herself with long, slow breaths. “Freestyle?”

“Okay. On three?”

She nodded. “One, two . . .”

They pushed off together on three, cut through the water. She didn’t intend to lose, didn’t even consider it a possibility. She swam nearly every day of her life, and she was the home team. She noted his form as they paced each other on the first lap. It wasn’t bad, but hers was better. They slapped the far wall, pushed off for the second lap.

She was beautiful to watch, and he hoped he had the opportunity to do more of it. Under less intense circumstances. It wasn’t just strength, he noted. She had the fluid, disciplined grace of the true athlete. He’d never deluded himself that he qualified in that area. But if there was one thing he could do, it was swim. He had to admit he hadn’t expected them to be so evenly matched. He had a longer reach and a good seven inches on her in body length, but the woman had a powerful kick. He picked up the pace, testingly, on the third length. She matched it. He found himself both challenged and amused. She was toying with him. He put on more speed and admitted it was a damn good thing she’d tossed his handicap back in his face.

The sonofabitch was like an eel, Ripley thought. When they shoved off for the final lap in tandem, she realized she’d seriously misjudged his abilities. Gathering herself, she poured it on, nipped past him by a quarter of a body length, felt her adrenaline kick in for that final push.

And was struck with shock and dazed admiration when he streamed by her and slapped the wall two strokes ahead.

Chest heaving, she surfaced, shoved back her goggles. No one, not even Zack, could beat her at four lengths. It was demoralizing.

“So.” He panted, shoved his hair back. “Any time today good for you?”

The bastard hadn’t even had the courtesy to rub it in. It only made the taste of defeat more sour. He’d been so, so damn pleasant about the whole thing. She began to wonder if he was on drugs. Surely no one could stay so even-tempered without chemical assistance.

She worked off part of her mad shoveling snow, soothed her bruised ego with some of Nell’s famous cinnamon buns. But it picked at her, a restless fingernail at a scab, throughout the day. There were a number of calls to keep her busy: cars sliding off the road, a smashed window due to a poorly aimed snowball, and the usual variety of mischief that liberated kids could create on a snow day. Still, it worried her mind and spoiled her mood.

In the station house, Zack listened to her muttered curses, watched her pour yet another cup of coffee. He was a patient man, and he knew his sister. He’d crossed paths with her several times that day on patrol and had recognized the signs of her temper brewing.