Hector’s excited burst of possessiveness drained, leaving an empty shell in its wake. “I don’t understand. Save him from what? Ruin him how? Which vision will cause which?”

Despondent, Dallas toyed with the lid on the coffee. “I don’t know. I had the visions a while ago, but I didn’t know what the double thing meant until Kyrin explained it to me yesterday. I wish we could both avoid her, or both have her, but apparently, no matter what, one or the other is going to happen.”

“Not necessarily. I could kill her,” Devyn suggested.

Hector jumped back to his feet, the pyre-gun extended, his finger resting on the trigger. “You will not go near her.”

The Targon’s lips stretched into a languid smile. “How adorable. You actually sound like you believe you can stop me.”

“Oh, I can stop you. I can destroy everything you hold dear.” Hector had killed in cold blood before. Not since he was a child, fighting his way out of the slums. But for Noelle, to keep her safe, he would kill again. And again.

One side of Devyn’s upper lip lifted over his teeth in a scowl that would have scared a ravenous grizzly. “I dare you to try.”

“No one’s going to kill her.” Dallas waved his hand through the air, the kill-or-be-killed vibe dissipating. “Okay? All right?”

“All I was saying was that accidents happen.” Devyn spread his arms innocently. “And for that, everyone nearly snaps my head off.”

Tendrils of smoke rose from the seams of Hector’s gloves, making him cough. He gritted his teeth and sheathed the gun before he could melt it.

Dallas reached behind his back and withdrew something black and floppy and tossed it Hector’s way. “New pair of mitts. Knew you’d need them.”

Hector caught them and exchanged the old for the new. “Thanks.”

“So that’s why you asked me to bring them,” Devyn said with a nod. “I thought you were getting kinky on me.”

“You wish.”

“No, Bride wishes. She actually asked me why you didn’t kiss me at my wedding like Noelle kissed Ava at hers.”

Now was not the time to recall that tantalizing meeting of female mouths and tongues and—

Hector gripped his thighs, and even though he felt the burn all the way to the bone, he knew his legs wouldn’t bear so much as a streak of pink. If only the same were true for Noelle. “So what are we going to do about Noelle?”

He didn’t want his friend hurt. Ever. For any reason. And he especially didn’t want to be the reason.

His fantasy of being with Noelle, totally and completely, began to wither and die as quickly as it had formed.

“I don’t know,” Dallas said, despondent again. “I know you want her. I want her, too, but I can share, and I can walk away. No problem. You can’t. However, I keep thinking, what if sleeping with her is what will save me?”

Eyesight … going red again. “And what if sleeping with her ruins you?”

A lengthy pause, a heavy sigh. “Yeah, that’s always my second thought.”

“For the time being, why don’t both of you stay away from her?” Devyn suggested. “In the meantime, Dallas might have another vision and that vision might provide the answers you need.”

“We can try and avoid her,” Dallas said with a hint of anger this time, “but it won’t do us any good. One of us will be with her when the time is right.” He glanced at Devyn, frowned. “Talking about it didn’t help. We have to change the subject.”

Good. Talking about it wasn’t helping Hector, either. He felt raw, brutalized, unsure. Capable of any dark deed. He desired Noelle, but he also loved Dallas.

Yeah, he thought, he did indeed love the guy. He joked around with some of the other agents, but Dallas was the only one who knew him and accepted him anyway. Can’t hurt him.

“I’ll have to talk to Mia,” Hector croaked out. “Get her to take Noelle off our case.” Noelle would feel rejected, and rightly so. She’d be humiliated. Hate him. Never forgive him for so public a denunciation. Sickness spilled straight into his stomach.

“Thanks, man,” Dallas said in an equally abrasive voice.

“Speaking of the case, is that why you emailed me the morning news?” Devyn asked him, studying the screen of the device he’d just pulled out of his pocket. “Ah. I see.” A rich chuckle. “Motherhood certainly agrees with Miss Tremain, doesn’t it?”

His own device had fallen to the floor when he’d stood, he realized. Hector didn’t dare reach for it, too afraid he’d melt the plastic, so he leaned over and drank in the image he’d left on the screen. Noelle in black and white, a grainy photo but lovely nonetheless. She stood beside Corban Blue, and the bastard had his arm wrapped around her waist.

Both were dressed formally, Noelle in a short, tight dress that managed to glitter, even from the tiny screen, and Corban in a tux. He was tall, leanly muscled, his white hair slicked back from his face. He was almost pretty. Fine, no almost about it. He totally was.

Was that the kind of guy Noelle usually went for? If so, Dallas was more than a better fit for her; he was her type. And Hector couldn’t forget that she’d once called dibs on him. Even though only last night she’d claimed never to have wanted him.

Red returning … sickness spreading … Hector inhaled slowly, held, held, exhaled even more slowly. Can’t have her. He needed to get used to that. He had before, and he would again.

Yet still the questions formed. When had the photo been taken? How long had Noelle known the guy? Did they still talk?

The urge to murder the football star suddenly bombarded him. Hector never should have claimed Noelle as his. His mind and body weren’t going to let him forget as easily as before, were both forging full speed ahead as if her seduction was still an option.

The story speculated about the very things Hector had. Were the two on or off? How far along was her pregnancy? Was she having a boy or a girl? How had Corban reacted to the news? There were a few smaller photos of Corban—each with a different woman. How were those women taking the reports of his impending fatherhood?

A hard knock echoed through the room.

Dallas glanced at the monitor resting on the table beside the couch and jerked upright. The bronze of his skin leached of color, every negative emotion he’d projected returning to his gaze in a frenzied flood.

“What?” Hector demanded, already reaching for his gun. He sensed a threat, a big one, and reacted accordingly.

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