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Peering out the window he spied an attractive blonde, barefoot and clad only in a long, white nightgown, banging on his door with one hand and applying staccato bursts to the doorbell with the other. With her wild mass of flaxen curls creating an airy halo, she resembled the glorious angel in his dream…minus the wings and terrible swift sword. His mind still wrapped in a fog, Max wondered for a moment if he was still dreaming. The continued racket at the door, combined with Spill’s raucous barks and growls, instantly dissolved that theory. He shook his head briskly, gave it a good whack with the heel of his hand and took another look. Yup. There really was a gorgeous, nearly naked woman battering against his door. He cracked open the door and stumbled back as the frantic woman burst in.

“Oh my God, I’ve killed him. _I’ve killed Henry!_”

“Huh?” Max had been up late working on the latest manuscript in his Jack Clyde, Private Detective hardboiled crime mystery series, which was already a week overdue. He’d only fallen asleep about an hour ago and was foggy as hell.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” she screeched, which had the little beagle snarling. “It was an accident!”

Battling back from the clutches of passion-laced sleep, Max scratched his head with one hand and his chest with the other as he bellowed a cavernous yawn. “Lady, what in the world are you talking about?”

“_Please_.” She fisted the sleeve of Max’s T-shirt and yanked. “You’ve got to come with me right away.”

His dog-brain deciphering that his owner was being attacked, Spill immediately morphed into his fierce guard dog mode, clamping his teeth on the hem of the woman’s gown and shaking it back and forth wildly.

“Easy, boy,” Max said, gently easing Spill away with the tip of the baseball bat. “It’s okay.” Standing firm as the woman continued to tug, he gaped at the wild-eyed vision standing on his doorstep. “_Do you have any idea what time it is?_”

Drop-jawed, the woman flailed her arms through the air. “What do you mean, do I know what time it is? Of course I know what time it is. It’s three o’clock in the morning. How can you even ask me something like that after what I just told you?” She seized Max’s T-shirt again, wrenching it. “I think he’s dead. Come on, hurry up. You’ve got to see if there’s anything you can do.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Slow down…” Max struggled to clear his thoughts. Gorgeous or not, the woman was either a murderer or a nut case—or both—and prancing out into the night with her probably wasn’t a good idea. “Do you mind telling me just exactly what you’re talking about and who you are?”

Rolling her eyes skyward, she emitted an impatient huff. “Angel.”

Max’s eyes widened and he looked again for any sign of a sword or, perhaps, a pair of concealed wings.

“Angel Brewster. I live a few doors down from you. I think I may have just killed Henry. He’s just lying there, not moving…well, he was sort of twitching and writhing at first, but he’s not anymore. I can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.” She looked up at Max who stood silently befuddled. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come on. We need to hurry.” She resumed her yanking. Spill fastened himself to her nightgown again, low on his haunches and growling as he bravely battled the billowy white material.

Domestic abuse, Max reasoned as he nudged Spill away. The angel and her husband had some sort of argument that had escalated into a battle and she slew the guy with her sword…piercing, slicing, hacking… Max winced. Maybe she caught him fucking his secretary…or maybe the bastard was a wife beater…

“Did he hurt you?” he asked as his gaze roved over her pale skin, in search of injuries. “Any bruises or broken bones?”

Angel looked at him as if he had two heads. “Of course not. Henry knows how much I love him. I’ve always seen to his needs. Why would he want to hurt his mistress?”

“Ah, so you’re Henry’s mistress.”

“Yes.”

Max nodded knowingly. Clearly a case of BDSM gone terribly awry. On the other hand, maybe the guy told her that it was finished, that she was history and he was going back to his homely, rich wife after she’d given him an ultimatum. Of course, maybe Angel had just gotten tired of the guy and found herself a new, richer sugar daddy. Max quickly appraised her form, backlit from the dim streetlamp. He felt his cock stir as he eyed the full, sensuous curves. So much like the heavenly being in his dream. Too much.