by RJ Blain
Why did the first words I always comprehended after a bad experience in the water involve someone taking my clothes off? Why did Jake always have to sound so damned amused by it?
It wasn’t fair.
Comprehension hit me. Why did Jake sound amused?
At the first tug on my shirt, I burst into motion, opening my eyes to stare into wide dark eyes while grabbing for my shirt. Dark brown eyes the shade of the world’s best chocolate except better.
Yep, those were Jake’s eyes all right. It should have been a crime for a man to have such pretty eyes.
“Don’t you take my shirt off!” I shrieked, yanking the hem down. We tussled over it. He won, pulling it up and over my head. My traitorous hands shook too much for me to throttle him.
So much for being calm and cool.
“You’ll die from hypothermia if you keep that on, stupid.” Jake shook his head, and before I had a chance to tear into him, he wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. “Fancy meeting you here, partner.”
I grabbed the blanket and held onto it, staring at Jake, a thousand questions banging about in my head. I blurted, “What the hell?”
Jake sighed, shook his head, and worked his hands beneath me, lifting me up without a single sign of exertion. Considering our differences in height and build, I probably didn’t weigh much to him. “Did you hit your head?”
I bristled at the question. “You’re supposed to be training for your new post.”
“You’re supposed to be in New York on route to your assignment,” he bellowed back. “Or did you forget CARD members are supposed to be rescuing kidnapped kids instead of being kidnapped?”
Someone snorted on a laugh, and I jerked, turning my head. At the sight of at least ten FBI agents in their vests and full field gear, I felt my face burn as I blushed.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck shit! Fuck shit.” I groaned and kicked my feet in the futile hope Jake would put me down. “Please put me down,” I begged in a whisper.
“Not a chance. You know what happens if we let you walk around right after you go swimming. If you can call that flopping around swimming. You’ll get dizzy from the water in your ears and faint.”
“Why are you here? Where’s Annabelle? Is she okay?”
“The baby’s fine. Someone’s running her down to the ambulance to have her checked over. You’re the one I’m worried about.”
I drew in a breath, held it, and sighed out my relief. “Why are you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Nope, pretty sure it’s not obvious. Can you put me down now? I’m not going to faint.”
Jake snorted and shook his head. “Not happening, so you may as well settle down. I’m going to carry you to the ambulance. You may as well just accept it.”
“Bullshit! Fuck you. Put me down.”
“Not happening.”
“Why are you here, anyway?”
“Come on, midget. You’re smarter than this. I know you better than anyone else in the FBI. Of course they called me in when you were kidnapped. I’m the only one who can predict what goes on in that crazy head of yours.”
“Bullshit. Fucker. Put me down.”
“I’m not putting you down, and it’s not bullshit. You were kidnapped. You’re one of us. Of course they assigned more than CARD to the case.”
“Oh.” While I had hoped that would be the case, the reality of it hadn’t actually sank in. “You can put me down. Really. I can walk.”
“On pine needles and jagged rocks with no shoes or pants? I’m not going in the river again to fish them out.”
“It’s not my fault I suck at swimming,” I wailed.
“At least you remembered to get rid of the weight. You didn’t try to drown me, either. You lasted long enough for someone to get to you. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. You did good.”
My face burned from embarrassment, and my blush worked its way down my neck. “Damnit, Jake. Put me down.”
He laughed and argued with me all the way to the ambulance.
I had a vague memory of warning Jake I’d rip his intestines out of a hole I drilled in his big toe if he didn’t put me down and let me walk. After that, everything was a big blank. The next time I blinked, I was somewhere else.
The white walls and the beeps of a machine clued me into the fact the somewhere was a hospital. I regarded the IV stuck in my arm with disdain. Did catheters always have to hurt so much? I contemplated yanking the damned thing out, which would hurt like hell and probably make me bleed all over the place.
“Don’t you even dare,” Jake warned through a yawn.
I stared at my ex-partner. He was still dressed in work clothes, including his bulletproof vest. “Did you leave your casual clothes in Baltimore?”
“No.”
While I often used the cold, silent stare on him, Jake reserved his for when I had escalated a situation from huffing annoyance to beyond ready to pistol whip my ass. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I blinked. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason.” He kept staring, and I could have sworn there was a yellow gleam in his rich brown eyes.
“Who the hell keeps a wolf as a pet?”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Someone brave?”
“Don’t you mean stupid?”
“Tibetan mastiff crossed with a Siberian husky. He’s a search and rescue dog. He was given your scent and set loose to track you down. His collar is rigged with a GPS transponder.”
I felt my brows rise. “Someone bred a Tibetan mastiff with a Siberian husky and got a giant wolf?”
I didn’t believe it for a second. I had seen enough pictures of wolves to recognize a wolf when I saw one. Sure, it had been about the size of a small horse, but it was all wolf from the tip of his wet nose to the end of his tail.
“So it seems.”
“I didn’t see a collar.”
“From my understanding, it tends to get hidden under all that fur.”
“Why wasn’t his handler with him?”
“That dog runs fast, and once he picks up a trail, he runs. When he ran, we tracked him from the road.”
“Shitty dog ran off,” I muttered.
“Dog whistle. When we got close, his owner whistled for him.”
“Isn’t that sorta stupid?”
“No, he’s trained to return to the spot he left when he was called. He’s a really smart dog.” Jake stretched out in his chair, propped his elbow on the side of the bed, and leaned towards me. “Unlike a certain FBI agent I know.”
I reached with my left hand towards the catheter, arching a brow at my former partner in silent challenge.
“You were dehydrated and had hypothermia. Add in the fact you wouldn’t wake up when you fainted, and they thought it was wise to keep you overnight for observation. If you yank that out, you’ll bleed everywhere. I’m sure they won’t be willing to release you.” Jake made a show of checking his watch. “If I tell the nurse you’re awake now, they might be able to slip you out today. You know how these hospitals get. Gotta release the prisoners during sane hours. I could make you stay here for another day.”
I froze. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Jake smirked, got to his feet, and leaned over the bed to kiss my forehead. “I was certain we’d be dealing with a body. Good job getting yourself and that little girl out alive. You did good. I’ll go let your keepers know you’re awake so you can get discharged today.”
“You’re an asshole, you know,” I called after him.
He waved at me, sticking his head out of the door to talk to someone before returning to my side. “I’m not an asshole. I’m your rescuer. I jumped in that cold water just for you.”
“I was swimming just fine.”
“You were under the water more than above it. That’s not fine.”
“I was working on my strip tease. You know I can’t swim and strip at the same time. Come
on, Jake. Don’t be a dick about this.”
“I still can’t believe we’ve spent that much time with you in the pool for you to barely manage the dog paddle.” Jake sighed, grabbed a newspaper from the floor, and sank down on the chair. “The nurse will be around in a few minutes, probably to yank that IV out.”
“I could just yank it out myself.”
“This again?”
“Hey, the nurses are busy. I’m trying to be considerate here.”
Jake rolled his eyes, shook his head, and opened his paper. “This is my favorite headline: Who’s the real target? Babe or Baby? WAKO kickboxing champion kidnapped with infant.”
My mouth dropped open, and I felt the blood rush out of my face to pool in the vicinity of my feet. “What?”
“I could repeat this headline all day long. Who’s the target? Babe or Baby? WAKO kickboxing champion kidnapped with infant. How is that pronounced? Whacko seems pretty accurate to me.”
“I’m not a WAKO kickboxing champion,” I spluttered. It was the truth, too. I hadn’t won any belts under the WAKO umbrella.
“This pretty picture tells me otherwise.” Jake turned the newspaper so I could get a good look at the front page. It was definitely me, and I was kicking the hell out of another chick’s face. Below it, surrounded by text, was a picture of me accepting a belt for having progressed through the finals. “Nice outfit.”
The outfit in question was barely there; the sports bra did a good job of keeping me covered and supported, and I had picked the shorts specifically to tweak Ma’s nose. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I thought it was pretty impressive I managed to speak with a neutral tone and expression when I wanted to die of embarrassment and run for the hills.
No one from the FBI was supposed to learn about my hobby.
Jake reached down and picked up another newspaper. “Infant Kidnapped with Four-time Kickboxing Champion.” When he showed me the image, which was split between a picture of Annabelle and a picture of me kicking a different chick in the face, I wrinkled my nose and turned my cold and silent stare on him.
The next newspaper was even worse. The image was from before I had partnered with Jake. I had been on a mandatory one-month vacation to recover from an injury and hadn’t dyed my hair, resulting in a lot of white-tipped hair. Jake cleared his throat and announced, “Baby kidnapped with Kit Kat the Vixen, Kickboxing Champion.”
“That’s a terrible nickname,” I observed, although I was forced to admit my hair did look a little like a fox’s tail when pulled into a ponytail. “Her hair is so much longer than mine.”
“Uh huh.”
“You’re not buying it, are you?”
“Not for an instant.”
Careful not to yank out the IV, I pointed at Jake. “Don’t you talk shit about my hobby. You collect baseball cards. You giggle when you get a rare card, too. I’ve heard you. You giggle. You stalk baseball players to get your precious little cards signed, too. And you only have your duplicate cards signed so you can have a matched set with your mint originals.”
Jake snorted, folded the three newspapers, and set them beside his chair. “It was better to go the kickboxing route than announce to the world an FBI agent was kidnapped. They’ll be announcing the fact you’re an FBI agent—”
“No fucking way. No. They can’t. No.” In my hurry to get up and put an end to anyone exposing my role in the FBI publicly, I yanked the catheter out. Pain blinded me, and I yelped, slapping my left hand over the bleeding wound. “Fuck!”
A nurse stepped into the room, took one look at me, and sighed. “You ripped the catheter out, didn’t you?”
“She sure did,” Jake said, shaking his head and pulling his phone out of his pocket to play with it so he wouldn’t have to watch me bleed all over the hospital room.
Chapter Seven
Despite Jake’s threats of keeping me at the hospital another day, they discharged me several hours later. The doctor checked me over, deemed me healthy, and kicked me out.
The hospital forced me to leave in a wheelchair, which I thought was ridiculous. “I can walk.”
Jake snickered and kept pushing the chair, slapping my hands whenever I tried to wheel myself to the door. “But I’m having so much fun pushing you.”
“Pushing my buttons!”
“Every last one of them.”
“How the hell did I put up with you as a partner for so long?”
“Maybe I should get a transfer to CARD. I’m not sure they’ll be able to handle you without help.”
I contemplated if killing Jake would count as justifiable homicide. Instead of putting my kickboxing skills to good use, I jumped out of the chair and ran for the front doors. I caught sight of several FBI agents waiting in windbreakers a match for the one I was wearing. Someone—probably Jake—had found a pair of slacks and a dress shirt for me. I wore his jacket, and I didn’t care that I swam in the damned thing.
“Agent Johnson,” one of them greeted.
I checked the hospital for any sign of reporters, tense until I did a full circle without spotting a single camera. I focused on the blond-haired man who had greeted me. Were all male FBI agents giants? I pulled my hand out of my pocket and thrust it out. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Mitch. This is Donny, Fred, and Paul. Seems we owe you a big thanks for your work.”
I tilted my head to the side. “CARD?”
As one, they nodded.
Mitch cleared his throat. “What do you know about the case?”
I liked the direct approach, and I wasn’t exactly surprised someone had shown up to grill me right away. “Two day time limit before they’d live up to a death threat. That’s it. They were pretty close-mouthed. One gave a fake name, rest hardly said a word the entire time. Professionals.” I sighed, running my hand through my hair. “Fuck. I need a bath.”
“First you try to drown yourself. Now you want more water? Crazy woman,” Jake muttered. “You were supposed to let me wheel you out the doors.”
“Smart women run for freedom when the chance presents itself.”
“Agent Thomas,” Mitch greeted. “Thanks for coming out. Seems your predictions on what Agent Johnson would do were spot on.”
“No problem at all. That’s what partners are for.”
“Former partners,” I reminded him.
“You ain’t in New York yet, Kit Kat.”
“You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?”
“Nope.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you adore me. I jumped in that cold water for you.”
“Okay. Get it out. Stroke your ego. We don’t have all day. Praise yourself so I can smile, nod, and agree with you.” I tapped my foot. “I’m waiting.”
“Are you sure you folks want her?”
Mitch coughed. “I’ve heard her new partners are preening in New York. They didn’t get the assignment because they’re on vacation thanks to being one team member short.”
“I hope they like to swim,” Jake muttered.
I stomped on his foot. “So I guess I’m not fired or a suspect?”
Mitch shook his head. “You weren’t a suspect for very long. The idiots in Baltimore delayed things, but once we were put on the case, it went along pretty quick. Let’s get somewhere more private. I hope you don’t mind some questions.”
“Don’t mind at all. Lead the way.”
“I’m going to just tag along if you don’t mind.” I got the feeling Jake intended to come along even if they minded.
“That’s a joke, right?” Mitch sighed. “Yes, you can come along. May as well. It’ll save her from having to go through two questioning sessions. You’ll represent your side of things, right? It’s nice to do joint operations, but damned, it’s a pain in the ass, too.”
“No kidding. I’m transitioning, too, which only confuses things.”
“HRT, right?”
“Yep.”
“Tough jo
b.”
Jake gave Mitch a long look, the faintest of frowns in place. “I’d say your jobs are even tougher.”
“Where’s Annabelle?” I asked.
“Safe. She’s on her way back to Baltimore. Her father flew in last night. They’re in protective custody. We’ve got a car this way.”
I wondered why people called SUVs cars, especially when they were about as big as a truck. At Mitch’s gesture, I got the front passenger seat. I buckled up, stretched my legs out, and sighed. “I was supposed to meet with my new landlord. Shit.”
“Taken care of,” Mitch replied. “The New York headquarters handled things for you, so you won’t have any unpleasant surprises waiting. Or, more accurately, the Johnsons handled everything after we notified them of your disappearance.”
I grimaced. “Shit. I haven’t called them.”
Jake reached between the seats and offered me his cell. “Yours is still in evidence. You’ll get all your stuff returned once we head back east.”
“Thanks.” I stared at the phone for a long moment before sighing. “Actually, I’ll do this later. After questioning.” I offered the phone back.
“Nope. Call them. Don’t start acting like a chicken shit now.”
“You are such an asshole, Jake.”
Mitch cleared his throat, his mouth twitching as he fought to suppress a grin. “It’s a twenty minute drive to the office. You have time.”
“Fuck you all.” I jabbed at Jake’s phone, dialing Pops’s number from memory. Apparently Jake had put his number in the phone under the label of Father of the Shrimp. “Really? Really? I hate you, Jake.”
He laughed. “Saw the label?”
I flipped him my middle finger since the phone was ringing.
“Hello?” my pops answered.
“Hey, old man. It’s me.”
“Thank God, pumpkin.”
I considered my options and decided it was best to toss the apology out first and wait out the storm. “Sorry.”
“Whatever for, pumpkin?”
“Everything. Also, I’m not a pumpkin,” I hissed.
“You’ll always be my pumpkin.”
“Why can’t you call me a princess, an angel, or something nice? Must I always be an orange squash?”
