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“The Order?” He scoffed. “I’m talking about you, Jenna. This isn’t your battle. You need to steer clear, before you get hurt.”

“Excuse me, but I think I can handle myself. I am a cop, remember?”

“Used to be,” he sternly reminded her, pinning her with a hard look. “And you never went up against anything like Dragos in your line of duty.”

“I’m not going up against him now, either,” she argued. “All we’re talking about is a harmless office meeting with a government field agent. I’ve been involved in these kinds of territorial pissing contests a hundred times. The Feds are worried that a local yokel Statie might know more than they do about one of their cases. They want to know what I know, and vice versa. It’s not a big deal.”

Shouldn’t be a big deal, she thought to herself. But those jangly nerves were still clamoring and Brock didn’t exactly look convinced, either.

“It could be bigger than you expect, Jenna. We can’t be sure of anything when it comes to Dragos and his interests. I don’t think you should go.” His face was very serious. “I’m going to talk to Lucan. I think it’s too dangerous for him to let you do this.”

“I don’t remember asking what you thought,” she said, trying not to let his grim expression and sober tone of voice sway her. He was worried—deeply worried, about her—and part of her responded to that worry with an awareness she wanted to ignore. “I don’t remember putting you in charge of what I do or don’t do, either. I make my own decisions. You and the Order may think you can keep me on some kind of a leash—or under a damned microscope so long as it suits you—but don’t confuse compliance with control. I’m the only one in control of me.”

When she couldn’t hold his thunderous gaze any longer, she turned away from him and went back over to the sofa, busying herself with picking up the collection of books she’d been thumbing through in her restlessness of the past few hours.

“Christ, you are hardheaded, aren’t you, lady?” He blew out a low curse. “That’s your biggest problem.”

“What the hell does that mean?” She threw a scowl in his direction, surprised to find he had moved up right behind her. Close enough to touch her. Close enough that she felt the heat of him in every awakened nerve ending in her body. She steeled herself against the masculine power that radiated off his big form, hating the fact that she could still be wildly attracted to him even when her blood was simmering in anger.

His stare penetrated, seeming to bore right through her. “It’s all about control with you, Jenna. You just can’t stand to give it up, can you?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No? I’ll bet you were like this from the time you were a little girl.” She turned away from him while he was talking, determined not to let him goad her. She grabbed an armful of books and carried them over to the built-in shelves. “I’ll bet you’ve been like this your whole life, haven’t you? Everything’s got to be on your terms, isn’t that right? Never let anyone take the reins, no matter what. You don’t budge an inch unless you’ve got your sweet, stubborn ass planted firmly in the driver’s seat.”

As much as she wanted to deny it, he was hitting very close to home. She flashed back through the years of her childhood, all the playground fights and daredevil stunts she’d gotten dragged into just to prove that she wasn’t afraid. Her time in the police force had been more of the same, though on a grander scale, upgrading from fists to bullets, but still struggling to show she was as good as any man—better, even.

Marriage and motherhood had presented another set of obstacles to master, and that was the one area in which she’d failed miserably. Paused in front of the bookcase, Brock’s verbal challenge hanging behind her, she closed her eyes and remembered the argument she and Mitch had the night of the accident. He’d accused her of being stubborn, too. He’d been right, but she hadn’t realized that until she’d woken up in the hospital weeks later without her family.

But this was different. Brock wasn’t her husband. Just