Читать книгу The Heat Is On - Jill Shalvis - Страница 9

DETECTIVE JACOB MADDEN looked into those jade-green eyes and thought Ah, hell. What had already been a really rough morning shifted into something else entirely, except he wasn’t sure exactly what.

Not only was he running on less than two hours of sleep, he was he looking into the face of the reason for that lack of sleep.

The sexiest reason he’d ever had…

And there hadn’t been a wink of sleep involved. Nope, it’d been a physically active sleepover, and just thinking about it had certain parts of his anatomy twitching to life, though those certain parts should be dead after the night they’d had.

Christ.

He knew he shouldn’t have answered his damn cell this morning. He hadn’t been scheduled to work today. In fact, he’d planned on hanging out with his brother Cord, recently injured on one of Uncle Sam’s missions. Today’s physical therapy was to have involved the beach, with a net and a volleyball and some good-old-fashioned ass kicking.

But dead bodies always trumped days off, so here he was. It was what he did.

Work.

His job took over much of his life, and it wasn’t as if he was petting puppies for a living. Murder and mayhem was his thing, and he was good at it.

But sometimes it got to him.

And in this case, she got to him. Bella, with those slay-me eyes, heart-stopping smile and tough-girl attitude, got to him.

“Jacob?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” They knew each other’s first names, that they both liked adventure and seafood and that they had physical chemistry in shocking spades. He’d held her, he’d touched her. Hell, he’d had his mouth on every inch of her.

He knew he liked her.

A lot.

That had been the biggest surprise, he thought, considering the fact that the guys at the P.D. had signed him up for the date in the first place. As soon as he’d realized he’d been set up, he’d canceled out his singles club profile, but there’d already been one date planned and it’d been too late to cancel on her.

Bella.

He wasn’t sorry. Or he hadn’t been until she’d walked away sometime before dawn. He’d told himself that had been for the best and, considering her line about moving to Siberia, had figured he’d never see her again.

And yet here she sat, in the middle of his crime scene, looking anxious and stressed. He’d never been able to walk away from a perfect stranger, much less a woman he’d had panting and coming beneath him, so with a sigh, he reached for her hand. “Bella.”

Her fingers, icy cold, gripped his. In complete contrast, she kept her voice even. Guts. She had guts.

“I have a little problem, don’t I?” she asked.

He found his lips curving slightly. “Little bit, yeah.”

Letting out a long breath, she pulled her hair out of its messy ponytail. Wild waves immediately fell in her face. “I tend to do that, you know,” she said, trying to corral the hair back into the ponytail holder. “Walk into problems.”

Shit, he did not want to know this. “Define ‘problems.’”

She blew out another breath.

“Bella.” He waited until she leveled him with those eyes. “Dead-people problems?”

“Oh, my God. No.” She rubbed her temples. “I really should have stayed in Cabo. That’s where I was before this. The kayaking was good, and I was learning how to make the most amazing strawberry-and-honey friand—”

“Bella, about the dead-people problems.”

“Right. Sorry. I tend to talk when I find gunshot victims.”

“Again,” he said carefully. “Does this happen often?”

Her gaze met his. “You’re a cop.”

“Detective.”

She nodded. “I guessed cop or military last night.”

She’d made him? “How?”

She sent him a wry smile. “Have you met you? You give off this I’m relaxed vibe but really you’re totally alert, taking in everything around you.”

He took another deep breath and let it out slowly, considering his response. Last night she’d been wearing strawberry lip gloss, her sweet, seductive lips full and curved in an open, easy smile. Her eyes had been warm and welcoming. This morning her lips were bare, and no less kissable for it, but she was breathing a little erratically, and the pulse at the base of her throat was racing.

Dammit.

He’d been a cop since college, a detective the past five years, and he never, ever got used to the punch of empathy when dealing with a victim.

Question was, was she really the victim? “You work here at Edible Bliss.”

She nodded, her light brown wavy hair bouncing into her eyes again. Yesterday he’d loved that hair flying free around her when they’d been cuddled up on a Jet Ski, her arms wrapped tight around his middle.

Even later, that gorgeous hair had trailed down his body…

Don’t go there, man. “You’re the pastry chef,” he said.

Another nod. “My lone talent.”

He didn’t believe that. Last night might have been nothing more than a really great one-night stand, but he’d seen a lot of sides to her. She was adventurous as hell, tough as hell and sexy as hell.

She had layers, lots of them. No way was she just her job the way he was. “You found the victim on the stoop when you got to work,” he said, wanting to clarify.

“No. He wasn’t there when I first came in.” She paused. “Someone shot him.”

Yes. Right in the forehead. At close range.

“Shot him dead.” Her voice was a little hoarse. “There was blood…” Her eyes went a bit unfocused, and her tan faded to gray. “Huh. I see spots. Black spots. Do you?”

Shit. He pressed her head down between her knees, his hand curled around the nape of her neck. Last night her skin had been warm and silky. Today it was cold and clammy. “Breathe,” he commanded softly.

“I’m sorry.” She grabbed a shallow breath. “I don’t like blood much. You’d think I’d be used to it, given that once I was an assistant to a butcher in Rome, but I’m not. Used to it. God.” Reaching out blindly, she grabbed on to the leg of his jeans and held on. “God, Jacob.”

“Keep breathing,” he murmured, stroking the ten der skin of her neck with his thumb. “Slow and deep.”

She did her best to comply, sucking in air in a shuddering gulp. “That’s it, Bella. Good.” Again his thumb swept over her.

“I’m really sorry about the whole Siberia thing,” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut, her hands tightly fisted

“Just keep breathing.”

“I shouldn’t have said Siberia. I don’t even like Siberia. I didn’t—I just don’t do the long-term thing, I’m not good at it, and you seemed—You’re a long-term guy, you know? I didn’t want to mislead you—”

“Shh. It’s okay.” Was he a long-term guy? He’d always thought so, but his last two relationships had fallen apart and both his ex-girlfriends had put the blame square in his lap, citing his job, the hours and the danger. So he’d begun to wonder about his long-term potential.

Then he’d gone out with Bella.

He’d been pissed off about the setup, but prepared to make the best of the situation. He’d figured he’d have an okay time, then go home and watch a late game.

Instead, he’d been instantly entranced by Bella’s easy smile, sweet eyes and take-no-prisoners attitude.

He could use more of that, all the way around.

And yet here they were, at a murder scene. He knew she was tough, and he hoped she was tough enough for this.

“There’s a freaking dead guy on the back stoop,” she said out of the blue. “And I nearly tripped over him. Can you imagine? I actually asked him if he needed anything.”

His thumb made another gentle pass over her creamy skin. He couldn’t help himself.

Which was why he couldn’t be on this case. “Bella, don’t. Don’t tell me anything more.”

“I was here for an hour and a half before I saw him,” she whispered, not listening. “Do you think I could have—”

“No.” His voice was low but firm. She couldn’t have saved him. He believed that much. He looked around them. There were two uniforms and two plainclothes; himself and Ethan Rykes, Jacob’s sometime partner. Also Ramon Castillo had just arrived, their detective sergeant.

Shit.

Castillo was a tough son of a bitch who went by the book. Jacob swore to himself and gently pulled Bella to her feet.

“What?” she murmured, still a little gray as she shivered.

Goddammit, she was shocky. He had no idea why no one had noticed it before, but she needed out of this room and she needed to be checked out. She’d al ready been questioned, but protocol would entail her going to the station, where she’d be checked for gunpowder residue, and further questioned.

Normally, this would be his job. Not today. Not with her. Having been naked with a possible suspect was considered bad form.

There was a walk-in pantry off to the side of the kitchen, and Jacob pulled Bella into it. He shut the door and leaned her back against it, his hands on her arms.

She set her head against the wood and gave him a ghost of a smile. “The last time we were this close to each other,” she murmured, “you dropped to your knees and put your mouth on my—”

“Bella.” Christ. She drove him crazy. So did the memory.

Because she was right. He had dropped to his knees in front of her, tugged her pretty pink lace thong to her ankles and had his merry way with her.

She’d returned the favor.

“You have to listen to me,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“Are you in charge of the case?”

“Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I am, but in about two minutes when I talk to my sergeant, I won’t be. I can’t be.”

“Because of last night? Because we—”

He put a finger on her lips. A direct contrast to only a few hours ago, when he’d wanted to hear every pant, every whimper, every cry she made for more. “Yeah. Because of that. I’m not exactly impartial now.”

She stared at him a moment, then pushed his finger away. “Am I a suspect, Jacob?”

“As a formality, everyone on the premises will be.”

“A formality.” She shook her head. “I’m the only one on the premises. Willow lives in the apartment upstairs next to mine but she’s in class. The store isn’t open.” She met his gaze and he was gratified to see hers had cleared.

Yeah. She was tough enough for this.

“I didn’t kill him,” she said. “I don’t even know who he is.”

His life had been saved on more than one occasion by nothing more than his wits and instincts. Those instincts were screaming now, telling him that this woman, this smart, funny, walk-on-the-wild-side woman could never pull a trigger to kill someone, much less at close range, in cold blood.

But then again, he’d seen worse.

“Who is he?” she whispered.

“Don’t know yet. He had no ID on him, no wallet, no keys, no money, nothing. He didn’t appear to drive himself here.”

She blinked. “Then how did he get here?”

“I guess we were hoping you could shed some light on that subject.”

She said nothing, just stared at him.

At a hard, single knock on the door right behind Bella’s head, she jumped, then turned and stared at the door as if it’d grown wings. “They’re coming for me.”

“No one’s coming for you.” He pulled open the door and faced Ethan.

“Can anyone join this party?” Ethan asked lightly.

Jacob wasn’t fooled. Ethan might look like a big, rough-and-tumble linebacker, with more brawn than brains, but underestimating him was a mistake. Ethan was sharp as a tack, and always solved his case. Jacob nudged Bella out of the pantry. “Why don’t you get yourself some more water.”

When she nodded and moved away, he looked at Ethan.

“What the hell, man?” Ethan asked quietly, his smile still in place for anyone who happened to look over at them. “You screwing with protocol for a pretty face? And don’t get me wrong, that is one pretty face…” Ethan turned his head, his gaze slowly sliding down the back of Bella as she walked away, from her wild hair to the sweetest ass Jacob had ever had ever sunk his teeth into. “Pretty everything,” Ethan corrected.

Jacob let out a careful breath. “I can’t be on this case.”

“You afraid to get tough with Cutie-Pie?” Ethan grinned. “That’s okay. Big, bad Ethan will do it for you. I can take one for the team.”

“I have a conflict of interest,” Jacob said tightly. “And it’s your fault.”

“Huh?”

“That date you signed me up for last night? It was with her.”

“And?”

“And the date didn’t end until a few hours ago.”

“Nice.” Ethan’s grin faded as the implications sank in. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Before Ethan could say another word, Sergeant Castillo moved in close, leaning over both their shoulders like a bloodhound on the scent. “Ladies, we have a problem?”

“Yes,” Jacob said.

Ethan smirked. “Casanova here not only slept with the key witness, but he also slept with our only suspect so far. But at least it’s the same person, so…”

Jacob let out a controlled breath and resisted punching Ethan. Barely.

Ramon, dark skinned, dark-eyed and tougher than any of them on a good day, quietly stared at Jacob. “Ethan, coffee.”

Ethan didn’t budge. “I want to hear you chew him a new one.”

“Coffee. Now.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“As a heart attack.” Ramon never took his eyes off Jacob, waiting until Ethan stalked off. “Talk.”

“You remember the guys telling you yesterday that they’d signed me up for a date with the singles club.”

Ramon’s eyes lit with a quick flash of humor—the equivalent of a belly laugh on anyone else. “Yes.”

“It was last night.”

Ramon’s gaze slid across the kitchen to where Bella was standing in front of a baker’s rack, inspecting whatever she had on it. It looked like cream puffs.

They smelled like heaven.

His mouth watered and he wondered if under different circumstances—say, her not running out on him, and him not answering his cell phone—he’d still be at home right this minute, once again sampling her considerable wares—

“Let me take a wild stab at this,” Ramon said. “The date those assholes set you up on was with one Isabella Manchelli.”

“I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

Ramon didn’t cut a smile. “You slept with her. Hell, Madden.”

Across the room, Ethan approached Bella, fun, laid-back guy gone, cop face on, his pad out.

Ramon let the silence hang between them a minute, then blew out a breath. “Bad timing.”

Yeah.

Ramon was quiet another moment, then shoved his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay, well, we’ll deal with it.”

They didn’t have much of a choice. Jacob glanced over at Bella again. She was still talking to Ethan, but looking past him, right into Jacob’s eyes, her own soft and compelling.

She’d planned on never seeing him again, and he’d reconciled himself to that as being for the best.

But fate had intervened now. He wondered just where it would take them, and if they were going to enjoy—or regret—the ride.