Zane stood in the doorway of my office, breathing hard like he'd run here. He was wearing jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt under his open coat. He looked completely out of place against the clean glass and sharp lines of my workspace.

My first feeling was a hot flash of violation. This was my space. My new ground. He didn't belong here.

"We need to talk," he said again. He shut the door behind him, the click too loud.

I didn't stand up. I leaned back in my chair, making space between us.

"How did you get up here?" My voice was calm. Cold.

"I told the woman at the...