Feel The Heat

by Cindy Gerard

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” She sipped her champagne, set it on the tray, then settled back and closed her eyes. He did the same. Yet an hour later, he was still awake. But B.J. was asleep.

  She looked small and vulnerable and almost childlike with her feet tucked up under her hips and her head lolling to the side. A tenderness washed through him that he couldn’t explain and didn’t understand as he watched the sunlight streaming in through the window play against her cheek and set golden sparks shimmering in her hair.

  She stirred, trying to get more comfortable. He didn’t even think about it. He slipped his arm behind her and around her shoulders and drew her close to his side. She made a sleepy, sighing sound and snuggled right up against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, and settled back to sleep.

  And the damnedest thing happened as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. A feeling of peace came over him. It felt so natural to hold her this way. Like it was something he did every day. Like it was an intimacy he had a right to feel and indulge in. Like it was something he wanted to have the right to do.

  17

  “Took you long enough.” Alex opened his hotel room door to let Smith inside. The shooter’s alias wasn’t exactly original but Alex didn’t care much about originality. He cared about results.

  “Talk,” he said, ignoring Smith’s sideways glance toward the minibar.

  “It didn’t take much to flip Brommel and get him to admit he heard from the Tompkins woman. She called him yesterday.”

  “She tell him where she was?”

  Smith shook his head. “If he’d known, he would have told us before he died, trust me.”

  Alex knew that Smith was one of those guys who enjoyed the wet work. Brommel would not have gone out easily, poor bastard.

  Smith dug into his pocket. “Brommel’s cell phone,” he said, handing it over. “The incoming number was blocked but I figure you’ve got someone who can get a fix on the approximate location, right? Then it’s just a matter of tightening the noose.”

  Yeah, Alex had someone who, for the right price, could access the information. A cell phone call could be pinpointed simply by finding the closest cell towers and calculating the signal strength. It wouldn’t put them on top of Stephanie Tompkins but it would get them in the right neighborhood. After that, process of elimination would help them find her.

  “I’ll be in touch.” He checked his watch as he walked Smith to the door. It was almost one a.m. “I should have something for you in a couple of hours.”

  Stephanie opened her eyes slowly, then groaned in pain when she tried to turn her head. God. Her neck was killing her.

  Very carefully, she lifted her head, then reached up and peeled a sheet of paper off her cheek. Why was there paper stuck to her cheek?

  Because she’d fallen asleep at the computer desk, she realized, clawing a little further into consciousness and working the stiffness out of her body.

  That’s what she got for taking one of those damn pain pills. They made her sleepy. And a little woozy.

  She wondered what time it was but was so tired she could barely focus on the clock on the lower right corner of the monitor. Three sixteen a.m. Late. Or early, depending on your perspective. She wondered how B.J. and Rafe were doing but knew they were capable and smart and good at what they did. She also knew she was frightened for them.

  For herself also, for that matter. But she couldn’t think about that now. Beneath the cast, her arm throbbed and pounded like ten headaches. She went in search of an ice pack to wrap around the cast, which might reduce the swelling. Then she needed to get back to work. She still had hundreds of messages to decode. Time was the enemy and there had to be something more in there … something to help lead B.J. and Rafe and the BOIs in the right direction.

  The house was quiet. Ghostly quiet now that everyone was gone but her and Green.

  Green. He was a tough one to figure. He was a quiet man. She’d always been intrigued by the former CIA agent with his aura of mystery, his quiet competence. Of all the guys, he was the one who raided her father’s library whenever the BOIs came to visit. And he had always been the one she thought about after they’d gone.

  Where was Green?

  “Joe?” she called from the hallway, suddenly concerned.

  She jumped when a table lamp by the sofa in the living area burst with light.

  “You okay?” He bolted up off the sofa.

  “Other than the heart attack, yeah, I’m fine,” she stuttered, holding her good arm to her breast. “Sorry … sorry I woke you.”

  He ran a hand roughly over his eyes, blinked away the sleep.

  “Combat nap. Don’t worry about it. Damn. Look at your hand.”

  “It’s okay,” she lied, then looked down and saw what he saw. Her fingers were swollen like sausages. “Or maybe not.”

  “Sit down,” he ordered, jerking his head toward the sofa. “We need to get it elevated and iced. Be right back.”

  She watched him walk away from her and into the kitchen.

  He was barefoot. Why that struck her as … well … sexy, she didn’t know. But something tickled her stomach at the sight of those big bare feet. Something that made her see him as more of a man rather than just a warrior. A man who had feelings and vulnerabilities and, well, bare feet, just like any other man.

  She sat down. She realized she wanted to get to know him better. Better? That was a laugh. She didn’t know him at all. She decided that was going to change. She’d almost died yesterday. She could die tomorrow if whoever wanted her killed found the safe house and got past Joe. These past couple of days had taught her what Bry’s death should have. Life was precarious and precious and she really didn’t have all the time in the world to experience it.

  Joe returned to the living room carrying not one, but two ice packs and a towel.

  Seize the moment.

  Bry had lived by those words. It was past time she carried on in his absence.

  “Lift your arm.” Joe sat down beside her, all business. “Let’s use this towel to protect your cast so it doesn’t get wet.”

  With unbelievable gentleness, he wrapped the hand towel around her cast, then grabbed a throw pillow and placed one of the ice packs on top of it before carefully lowering her arm onto the pillow. Satisfied with the placement, he covered it with the other pack.

  “Thanks.” She smiled up at him.

  He scowled and avoided meeting her eyes. “You’re working that wrist too hard.”

  “If there was another option, I’d take it. But there isn’t. I have to keep after those messages.”

  “Not right now you don’t. You have to sleep. Why don’t you lie back? Catch a few winks.”

  “I’m awake now, and too wired to sleep.”

  “Then you’ll rest your wrist—minimum half an hour. We’ll see how the swelling is then and decide whether you go back to work.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed because her wrist really did hurt and because he was pretty cute giving orders.

  Cute? Green? Oh man, he’d love that.

  “So, bet you never thought you’d be demoted to playing nursemaid.”

  He still wouldn’t look at her. “I’ve pulled worse duty.” He stared at the laptop on the coffee table in front of the sofa. A constant stream of shots from the outside security cameras scrolled by in an eerie green glow. She recognized the pictures as views through night vision cameras. “Besides, I volunteered.”

  That was news. Interesting news. Interesting enough to make her heartbeat step it up a bit.

  She watched him as he leaned forward, moved the laptop a little closer, then settled back beside her.

  Most people wouldn’t call Joe a handsome man. Not like Rafe and Gabe and some of the other guys were handsome. And he definitely wasn’t pretty, like Reed, who could be a huge box-office draw as a heartthrob.

  No, his jaw was too hard, his lips too narrow, giving him a bit of a sinister look. A Mean Joe
Green look. His eyes were hazel, deeply set, and mysterious. Add the high cheekbones and a strong, prominent nose and it made for a very interesting face. And no windswept hair for this man, this no-nonsense man who kept his light, sandy brown hair cut military short. It looked great on him.

  Most impressive of all, though, was his build. He was honed and hard and pumped up in all the right places. Not body-builder pumped, but close.

  “What do you do to keep in this kind of shape?” she asked.

  He glanced at her, his brows drawn together like he was thinking, What? Did she really ask me that? Just as quickly, he looked away, clearly uncomfortable to have any kind of attention directed at him.

  He clasped his hands between his widespread knees. “I’ve just always kept fit, I guess.”

  She laughed. “Fit? Is that what you call it?”

  “Well, yeah.” He leaned back against the sofa again. “What do you call it?”

  Sexy. Hot. Buff. That and more came to mind but what she said was, “I call it hard work.”

  “I never think of it that way. And I asked you to lie back.”

  “Fine,” she said, deciding that maybe it was time to rattle Mr. Green.

  She shifted sideways, leaned back against the overstuffed arm of the sofa, and lifted her feet until she was semi-reclined with the pillow on her lap and her legs bridged over his lap, while her butt nestled up against his big, solid thigh.

  Blame it on the drugs. Blame it on fatigue. Blame it on the notion that she wanted to see how he’d react.

  And react he did—without saying a word.

  His entire body stiffened. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, like he was afraid to move.

  “Happy now?” she asked, wondering where this shameless flirt had come from. It wasn’t that she hadn’t had her share of relationships, some not worth talking about, some she’d probably always remember. But she was not and had never been a flirt nor the aggressor.

  Maybe it was just time to force Green’s hand and see if she was the only one interested in exploring a relationship. She’d noticed the way he’d been watching her when he didn’t think anyone was looking.

  “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” She wasn’t sure why she felt such an urge to bait him. Or maybe she did know. Still water and all that. She wanted more glimpses of what lay beneath the surface.

  “Not much, no,” he agreed.

  “Why is that, do you suppose?”

  He finally looked at her. Looked at her long. Looked at her hard. “Guess I just don’t have much to say. And you’re supposed to be resting.”

  Evade, evade, evade. He was skilled at the tactic. “This is restful. The quiet. The night. You. You’re very comfortable to be around.”

  He shot her a doubtful look.

  “Okay. Maybe comfortable isn’t quite the word. How about safe? I feel safe around you.”

  He actually smiled.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “It’s funny because usually I make people nervous.”

  “Ah. The Mean Joe Green persona.”

  “That would be it.”

  “And you perpetuate it.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have to. You’re looking at me, right? This face doesn’t exactly say nice puppy dog.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I am looking at you. And no, I don’t think puppy dog. Should I?”

  “Rottweiler, maybe.” He smiled again and she was charmed.

  “Is that what you want people to see?”

  “Most of the time, yeah. I guess I do. And most people don’t bother to look further.”

  “I’m not most people. What I see is a stand-up man, a man who would die for his friends and put his life on the line for me. It humbles me, Joe. And it scares me. I don’t want anything happening to you because of me.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  “Because you’re good at what you do.”

  “Because if something happens to me, that means they got to you. That’s just not going to happen.”

  “Because I’m a job.”

  “Because you’re important,” he said, meeting her eyes.

  Unspoken were the words to me. He didn’t have to say them. In that moment she knew. His eyes said it all. She was more than a job to him.

  The room got very quiet then as they both processed that fact.

  “Joe?”

  “I’ll go fix something to eat,” he said abruptly. “If you’re not going to sleep you at least need to refuel.”

  Then, with a dexterity that astounded her, he lifted her legs off his lap and shot up off the sofa without disturbing her arm.

  As he headed for the kitchen, she felt an immeasurable amount of power because she seemed to be capable of making this big, strong man run away like his tail was on fire.

  Way over his head, Joe thought as he dug around in the fridge for the makings of a sandwich. He’d gotten in way over his head with Stephanie and way out of his element.

  He attacked. He didn’t retreat. Yet he’d done everything but wave a white flag when he’d tucked tail and run away from the woman with the amazing, expectant eyes and the bottomless bag of questions.

  He wasn’t a talker. Hell, he wasn’t witty. Puppy dog? Rottweiler? Where the hell had that come from? He’d been flirting, and it wasn’t right.

  Not with Stephanie. Stephanie was … just what he’d said she was: important. The more he was around her the more he realized just how important she was to him.

  And there were more things wrong with that way of thinking than there were hours in a decade. He was a loner by choice as much as necessity. His work didn’t exactly allow for long-term relationships. Hell, he’d already lived longer than he’d have bet on. So no, a woman—a good woman—like Stephanie couldn’t factor into any equation involving him.

  Comfortable. Safe.

  He wished she wouldn’t have planted that seed.

  Because, damn. It had taken root. And damn, it made him wonder about all the what-ifs he never let himself think about.

  “Joe?” Stephanie looked over her shoulder to see that he’d poked his head back out of the kitchen.

  “Problem?”

  “I don’t know. Is that supposed to do that?” She nodded toward a control panel of sorts they’d mounted on the wall. One of the green lights was suddenly flashing red.

  In three strides he was back at the laptop.

  “Something or someone tripped a wire in the right rear quadrant.” He tugged a pistol out of the waistband of his jeans and doused the light. Then he reached for his boots and quickly pulled them on. Only the eerie green glow from the laptop monitor cast light into the room.

  “Could it be an animal?” she whispered hopefully.

  Before he could respond, another light started blinking red, then two more in rapid succession.

  “Oh God,” Stephanie gasped. One animal, maybe. Four, not a chance.

  Just then the shadowy form of a man appeared on the laptop’s monitor.

  Joe knelt in front of the computer, clicked a few keys, and the screen scrolled through a full cycle of the cameras set up around the perimeter of the building. He clicked some more keys. As the lenses zoomed out to encompass a larger area, he attached a sound suppressor to his pistol, the action so automatic he never lifted his gaze from the screen. Every view showed a similar shadowy figure hunched and walking slowly toward the house.

  “You know what to do and where to go.”

  Yeah, she knew even though when they’d gone through a practice drill in the event the grounds were breached, she had hoped she’d never have to put the plan into play.

  He pulled a wire out of his pocket, gripped it in his teeth, and grabbed what she recognized as an AR-15 automatic rifle that was loaded and ready from the hallway.

  “Don’t come out for anyone but me,” he ordered, settling a pair of night vision goggles over his eyes. “And if you’re not sure it’s me, shoot.”

  “Be careful.”
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  But he was already out the back door, shutting it behind him so quietly, she didn’t even hear him leave.

  Trembling with terror, she ran to the kitchen, withdrew the Glock that he had loaded and shown her how to operate that morning. Then she hurried to the back entryway and tucked herself into the tiny broom closet they’d cleaned out for her. Once inside, she sat down on the floor, her back wedged into the corner as he’d told her when he’d briefed her on defensive actions in the event the house came under attack.