In the morning, my sheets are wrapped around my body three different times. I couldn't be more tangled or constricted. The state of my bedding suggests that my sleep was restless, even if I don't recall any nightmares.

After lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for a while, I finally untangle myself. If I lay here any longer, I'll be late to meet Dayna. I feel hung over, and my head is pounding. The knife I leave next to my bed because that's where I'm keeping it from now on.

Maybe I'll get a gun.

I need to discover if and how this guy managed to enter my condo so that it never happens again.

What if last night was a trial run? What if I was so tired that I imagined I closed the doors but didn't?

I'm not convinced, so I decide to have a look at the roof. It's a long shot but it's the only way someone could enter my condo, other than the front door.

He could be Special Ops., FBI training.

It's possible but improbable. Why would he bother? I'm reading too many mystery novels. Whoever he is, he'd have to be extremely resourceful and highly dangerous if he can enter my home with ease. Rebecca is my only connection to discovering who he is and that connection may be thin if their meeting was a one-night stand.

According to my source, Rebecca should be home by six this evening. I'll watch her house to see who comes to call. If Mr. CEO stops by—as is his habit on Saturday evenings—I'll hopefully acquire some photographic insurance.

If Mr. Blue Eyes shows up, I'll follow him home, go through his garbage, or pull up property records to finally give him a name. There is power in knowing a name, and I need his. Digging through peoples' garbage is one of the less glamorous, but extremely effective, aspects of my job.

A thought occurs to me. Maybe he's married. That would go a long way to explain his anger issues.

Oh, the tangled webs we weave...

I rush out my door because I'm running late for the gym. When I turn from locking my door, I collide with Gabe, my incredibly attractive neighbor. Crap! We hit so hard that I fly backwards, landing on my ass in a most un-ladylike fashion. Running into him is like bouncing off a brick wall. He's been hiding something under those sports jackets. I had no idea he was so solid. I've been secretly crushing on him since he moved in six months ago.

"I'm so sorry! I should have been watching where I was going. Are you okay?" I ask, taking his offered hand. It feels warm and strong as he effortlessly pulls me to my feet.

"I'm not the one on the floor. I should be asking you that question."

Gabe has this way of looking at me so intensely, and with such a direct stare, that I always get nervous. It feels like I'm back in high school when he's around me. He makes good eye contact and seems rather...old school. Gabe has that studious look about him but he's undeniably attractive wearing his glasses and sport coat.

Our condos are on the same floor, so we do run into each other occasionally. Not literally. This was a first. I'm always too nervous to say anything clever or witty.

Snap out of it, Sam. He's staring at you, staring at him.

"Oh, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," I mumble, not knowing what else to say. "Okay, so have a great day, Gabe. Sorry about running into you like that. I'll try not to do that again." Babble, babble, babble.

I sound pathetic to my own ears. He smiles and pushes his glasses higher on his nose as he watches me. I wonder; does he know what he does to me?

Gabriel Devereaux is the picture-perfect vision of a college professor except for the fact that he's smoking hot. He has a newspaper tucked under his arm and a briefcase in his other hand.

Gabe is an archaeology professor at Arizona State University. He doesn't look a day over thirty, but I suspect he's closer to his late thirties because of his position at the university.

How old is the youngest professor, anyway? Damn, he's beautiful!

I can't imagine how college girls sit through his lectures. Steamy fantasies are running through my head already. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't pass his class.

His shoulder-length hair has soft blondish-brown waves and screams to be touched. I catch myself as I start to raise my hand a bit before I snap it back to my side where it belongs.

"No trouble, Samantha. Running into you is always a pleasure," he says with the slightest hint of a smile.

Was that sarcasm or flirting?

I don't know how to take his comment, so I smile nervously and move quickly for the stairs before I make a bigger fool of myself.

***

Walking into the gym, I find Dayna warming up on a rower. I join her for a while before the CrossFit class begins. After an hour and a half of functional fitness that would make road-kill out of the typical gym bunny, we crawl to our favorite coffee shop a couple doors down.

Ugly Brew not only has amazing coffee but also serves a pretty mean egg-and-bagel sandwich. Comfy mismatched couches and chairs are tastefully arranged to create an intimate and cozy atmosphere.

After stuffing our faces, I cautiously tell her about my dream. I say cautiously because Dayna loves to make me blush, and she's good at it.

"Wow! That sounds kinky. I need me one of those! How attractive did you say he was?" she asks, scooting her chair closer. You'd think I'm about to dish on a hot date or something.

I give her a disgusted look. "I think he was pretty high on the "hottie-scale" but that's not the point. He acted like he was going to kill me, and I did NOT invite him into my dreams. Besides, it was more like a nightmare with some confusing emotional side effects. Only you would think it was erotic."

I choose to leave out the fact that I believe he may have been in my condo last night. She would freak out on multiple levels and insist on moving in with me for the next month.

I love Dayna, but we do not make good roommates. She is a cleaning force of nature, while I have a more relaxed attitude on the subject. Cleaning happens when I'm in the mood or when it starts to bug me. Sometimes, I clean when I'm stressed. If I'm tremendously upset, I'll rearrange furniture.

"It was totally erotic! Maybe I need to meet Tall, Dark, and Handsome for myself," she says, pulling off a dreamy look.

"I still have to figure out how he's involved with my case. If he should try to kill me again, I'll be sure to give him your number," I say, sarcastically. "Speaking of incredibly attractive men, I ran into Gabe today." I can't hide my smile.

Dayna's face breaks into a wide grin. "Oh, do tell! This sounds promising. What happened?" she asks leaning forward again.

"I literally ran into him. As in, falling-on-my-butt, ran into him." I take a sip of my coffee, waiting for the visual image to sink in.

Her mouth forms an 'O' before she raises her eyebrows and asks, "Did you capitalize on this golden opportunity by asking him out? Tell me you made a play."

I make a face and nervously adjust myself on the seat. "I don't even know how to speak when he's around. Of course I didn't ask him out. I made a fool out of myself. I'm sure he's thinking, 'Why can't I meet a smart and sophisticated woman like Sam?'" I say, imitating a deep voice.

"You simply need to ask him over for dinner or out for a drink. I'll bet he's good in bed," she says with a mischievous smile. I roll my eyes at her and turn bright red. "You know you've thought about it."

"No, I'm pretty sure my fantasy hasn't even gone that far with him. I'll ask him out for a drink when I can actually form complete sentences in his presence," I say, standing up.

Men are easy for Dayna. She's always been beautiful. She's had the perfect curves of a college cheerleader since eighth grade. Many girls didn't like her for that very reason. What they didn't know was behind that beautiful face and curvy figure was a heart of gold.

Dayna gives me one of her supermodel smiles and grabs her bag to leave. "I'm just saying..." she says as she gives me a warm hug good-bye. We make plans to meet up for drinks later in the week.

***

Rebecca's neighborhood is gated with a security guard on duty at the entrance 24/7. I don't have a good excuse to drive into the neighborhood, so I park a block away and walk my way past the security guard.

Tonight, my hair is piled on top of my head in a messy but stylish bun. I'm dressed in a light blue velour warm-up suit from Victoria's Secret that hugs my curves and isn't designed for the gym. A large 'blingy' handbag conceals my camera and telephoto lens. I give a little wave to the security guard as though I belong, and he waves back as I pass through. Sometimes, attitude is all you need to discourage questions.

When I parked my car, it was right before dusk. Evening has turned to full night by the time I reach Rebecca's street. I pass another couple walking their dog and we exchange waves. They turn onto another street a few minutes later.

There is a small park-like area that sits in the center of the homes on this street. Making myself comfortable on a bench that provides the best view of Rebecca's house, I pull out my camera.

This is a pretty nice neighborhood, and I can only guess how a secretary at a law firm affords to live here. She seems too young to have acquired it in a divorce, but I suppose that's a possibility. All I know is that it's not Rebecca or Mr. CEO's name on the deed to this property.

Her car sits in the driveway, and I see lights on throughout the house. After a while, Rebecca walks through the living room, which has a large floor-to-ceiling window with sheer curtains pulled aside.

Tonight, Rebecca is wearing a long white silk robe. She's carrying a glass of wine as she adjusts some cushions on the sofa before disappearing into another room.

I only have to wait about twenty minutes before Mr. CEO pulls up and parks his Lexus next to her Mercedes.

He goes around to an entrance that I can't see. He must have let himself in, because they greet each other in the middle of the living room. Maybe he has his own key.

They embrace and kiss before he presents her with flowers and a bottle of wine in one hand and a small gold colored bag in the other. He pats her on the butt as she walks away with her gifts. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl.

I've already started snapping pictures since his arrival. It's dark enough that no one can tell I'm here unless they're within fifteen or twenty feet of me.

She enters the living room again, and they start making out right there, for me and all the neighbors to see. I don't think he'll be able to convince a judge that their relationship is platonic.

He unties her robe and slips it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. It pools around her high heels in silken waves. She's wearing a red bra and panties, or maybe a bathing suit. It's hard to tell these days. Victoria's Secret has made sure they all look the same.

Oh, look at that, she's wearing a small scarf that looks out of place with her skimpy attire.

I called that one.

She takes his hand and pulls him out the back patio doors. I can tell she has a pool because the reflected lights from the water cast a moving glow across them and the walls.

I need shots of the backyard activities, so I creep up to the driveway and move along the side of the house to see if I can find a safe spot to shoot from.

Sometimes, I feel like paparazzi.

***

Many incriminating photos later, I can finally call it a night. This is the job I was paid for, but I can't help feeling disappointed that Blue Eyes wasn't the one to visit her tonight. Rebecca was my only shot at finding out who he is.

The temperature has dropped, causing me to feel chilled as I walk out of the neighborhood and back toward my car. It's particularly dark tonight with no moon and no streetlights. That's Phoenix for you; we don't want the city lights to interfere with our star gazing. No worries about being mugged or murdered, though.

My car is parked on the dark street ahead of me. I can barely make out a dark figure leaning against it. Nervously, I look around to see if there is anyone else to call out to, but there's no one around.

Slowing my pace, I look back toward my car, but the shadow is gone. Was there anyone there or was the darkness playing tricks on my eyes? The street is quiet as I cautiously scan the area. Since I seem to be alone, I walk briskly to my car, my keys ready. My hand shakes as I fumble to connect the key with the lock. I finally manage to get the key in and I'm relieved when I hear it click.

I'm unable to open the door before a silky male voice next to my ear says, "Ms. Lewis."