The sun was just making its presence known in the eastern sky when Christy and her cameraman, John Fletcher—Fletch for short—pulled up and parked on the road in front of the Barton house.

Christy spared a moment to take a second glance at the peachy glow on the horizon. She didn’t see the sun rise in L.A. often. There was that one night her girlfriends took her out for her birthday and then to a diner for breakfast after the dance club closed. But she didn’t remember noticing the sunrise. No surprise there.

Fletch yawned. “You have no mercy, dragging a man out to work before his first cup of coffee.” The video camera balanced tenuously on his shoulder, making Christy want to put her hand up to steady it.

She put one finger to her lips. “Shhh. I want to sneak in and get him as he’s waking up.”

Fletch managed to raise a sleepy but suggestive-looking eyebrow. “You’re just hoping he’s naked.”

Christy frowned at him and opened the back door stealthily, hoping he didn’t notice she hadn’t denied the accusation.

It still amazed her how everyone around Pigeon Hollow left their doors unlocked. Once Mrs. Barton had assured her she was welcome to let herself in at anytime, day or night, she had begun to plan how to best capture Bobby without his being on guard because of the camera. Today’s little fishing excursion was the perfect excuse to sneak in and find the man right where she wanted him, in more ways than one—in bed. Which was why she was sneaking in just before five, when he’d told her to arrive by five-thirty.

She crept through the silent kitchen and down the hall to where she knew Bobby’s bedroom was. Mrs. Barton, the quintessential southern hostess, had given her a tour of the house on the first day. Bobby, unhappy Mandy had named him as a main character for the show, had scowled the entire time.

At first Christy had assumed Bobby’s reaction to her being privy to his home life was caused by embarrassment. After all, he had to be thirty, but he still lived with his parents in spite of having what appeared to be a good job. That was before Christy gleaned the real situation. Bobby was there to help raise his sister’s fatherless son, or formerly fatherless son. But that was a whole other story, one she’d had on tape, the tape she’d turned over to Bobby. The decision that would likely cost her job.

When she had realized that the reason Bobby wanted that tape was because he didn’t want his nephew or his sister exposed to the entire world, and not to protect his own reputation, she’d finally given it up to him. But the bonus side, which made up for the crap she’d taken from Mandy over it, was that he now owed her. He owed her big and she intended to collect.

Her heart started to beat a little faster when she reached Bobby’s closed bedroom door. She turned the knob tentatively, not knowing if this was the one door in Pigeon Hollow that would actually be locked.

It opened and her heart pounded harder as she stepped into the room lit by only the soft glow of early morning light creeping through the half-raised blinds.

Bobby slept with the two windows open, a fan propped in one, blowing on him where he lay on the bed. It figured he didn’t have an air conditioner in his room, even in the summer. Mr. Tough Guy wasn’t the type.

He slept face up, on top of the sheets, totally exposed and clad in only dark- colored boxer briefs. In the dimly lit room, Christy’s eyes widened. There was a lot of man contained in those briefs—long, thick, hard. She swallowed at the sight.

In hindsight, this had probably been a risky idea. She’d never considered he slept on top of the covers. What if the man had slept in the nude? She swallowed and was very aware that Fletch had begun filming next to her. The tape was rolling. Too late now.

She glanced back to the underwear and the man within them. Privately, she’d been torn as to whether this staunch public servant would be a boxer or a brief man. This morning had answered her question. His garment was neither and both at the same time, much like the man himself. Yes, Deputy Bobby—as Mandy called him—was a paradox all right.

Bobby stirred in his sleep. With a groan, he reached down and rubbed his impressively thick length through his underwear before rolling over onto his stomach and showing her his other asset. That side was just as nice to look at as the other. This man was definitely a two-sided coin, and both sides were equally attractive.

The red glowing numbers on the bedside alarm clock changed to 5:00 and a deafening beeping filled the room. Christy jumped. Fletch cursed. Bobby rolled over and slapped the button. Then he made Christy fear for her life, no exaggeration, since it seemed the deputy slept with his weapon. Or at least with it right next to his bed on the nightstand.

Gun drawn and wearing a glare that could kill without bullets, Bobby growled, “This here is a good way to get yourselves shot.”

With another withering glance in her direction, but without any sign of self- consciousness, he stood. He grabbed a pair of jeans off the bedside chair and strode into the hall on his way to what Christy assumed would be the bathroom.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You get all that, Fletch?”

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