“What?” When she jumped, darted another nervous look around, he feigned a casualness he didn’t feel.
“Slash like that,” he gestured to the tire, “doesn’t get there because you ran over a nail.”
He watched the denial creep into her eyes.
And knew she was going to lie to him.
HERE it was, Ava thought dismally. The first of many lies to be told. And the fact that she did have to lie, for his sake as well as her own, was a bare-knuckled punch to the gut. She hated to lie, hated for people to not know exactly why they might not want to hang around her. It was the reason she’d confided in both Lou Ellen and Katie. They deserved to know what they were getting into.
Jordan deserved no less.
If he were just a man – the first man in a long, long while that she felt the almost irresistible urge to confide in – she knew, instinctively, that he was also the kind of man you could trust.
But she couldn’t trust him with this.
To do so would mean explaining exactly how he’d ended up at the hospital that night. And who had put him in that trunk to begin with.
“Probably just some kids pulling pranks.” And because she wanted him to forget about her car – there were still traces of his blood on the headrest, for pity’s sake – she realized she had to put him off. “Um, listen, Jordan,” she glanced back toward her clinic because she couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m afraid I might have to take a rain check on dinner. I need to get this taken care of.”
“Do you want to call the police? File a report for your insurance?”
“No. No, I really don’t.”
“Okay. Do you –”
“You’re not obligated to help. Really, I can handle this. We’ll do dinner another time.”
“Uh-huh. Do you have a spare?”
“No.” She shook her head, thinking it was like trying to stop a steamroller with her bare hands. “I popped a tire a few weeks ago when I was visiting a client’s farm. I haven’t gotten around to buying a replacement. But –”
“I’LL tell you what.” Jordan slung an arm around her shoulders and started steering her toward his car. Kids, hell. It might be spring break, but he knew – from personal experience – that kids up to no good usually waited until after dark to sneak out of the house and wreak their havoc. As it was only a little after five, he really didn’t think they could pin this on marauding teens.
The note of disquiet he’d felt last night struck another chord.
Factor in the tail when they left the bar, her landlord’s shotgun, Ava’s jumpy demeanor… Jordan was starting to think along the lines of a dangerous ex.
He’d get to the bottom of it, eventually. Right now he just wanted to remove her from the scene. She’d be more likely to confide in him over an intimate dinner than hanging around the parking lot. “I’ll give you a ride home, and then we can stop and pick up a new tire before I bring you back in the morning. I’d be happy to change it for you.”
“Jordan, I don’t think –”
“Exactly.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re tired, and you’re not thinking clearly. So why don’t you just let me take you home and make you dinner.”
When they reached his car, he tucked her into the passenger seat, ignored her various protests. Then he scooped up the carrier filled with yowling cat, depositing it on the back seat. He climbed in with hurried grace, threw the car in reverse, and got the hell out of there before Ava could realize she’d been herded.
This was one sheep he wasn’t going to let slip away.
DOWN the street, a black car started.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN“WHY don’t you go take a shower and get comfortable, and I’ll get started on this.” Jordan took a carton of portabella mushrooms out of the bag, sat them next to the ricotta cheese. A package of green lasagna noodles – spinach, Ava gathered – followed a colorful array of peppers and tomatoes on the vine. Garlic, fresh parsley and basil. She guessed he really did know how to cook.
“Ava.”
Her head snapped up, and he pressed a smiling kiss to her lips. “You. Shower. Go.”
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
JORDAN set aside the fresh mozzarella. She was hovering. She was hovering, and he could tell that she wasn’t used to having someone else in her kitchen. The well-thumbed cookbooks, neatly organized collection of stainless steel cookware, the pots of herbs on the windowsill – guess he’d jumped the gun, there – amidst an otherwise, well, ugly-ass kitchen suggested she was a woman who liked to cook.
And a woman, apparently, who was suspicious of a man who could.
Locating a wine glass in one of the glass-fronted cabinets above the counter, he poured her a glass of the Bardolino he’d brought along.
“Here, drink this in the shower. It will help you relax.”
Ava accepted the wine and frowned. “What makes you think I’m uptight?”
“Honey, you’re so stiff I could nail you to the wall and use you for shelving.” He poured his own glass half full and leaned back against the sink. “Just do me a favor, would you, and set the oven to broil on your way out.”
“Broil? You’re planning to broil the lasagna? Oh, ha ha,” she said in response to his grin.
“If it will ease your mind, I’ll tell you a little story. I’m one of five boys, as you know, and my mother, bless her heart, had to put up with an awful lot while we were growing up. One night, after she’d put in a long, crazy-making day of child rearing and had just put dinner on the table, one of my brothers – who will currently go unnamed as we’re all still a little angry with him – told her that he didn’t like her tuna casserole and wasn’t going to eat that slop.”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “Bet that went over well.”
Jordan lifted his glass at the understatement. “You have to know my mother to appreciate the full effect that had. But nevertheless, some good did come of it.” He sat his wine down, grabbed a trio of peppers and carelessly juggled them. “She made us learn to cook. A couple of us took to it, a few of us didn’t, but the point is, we all know how. Now,” he set the peppers back on the counter. “Will you go take your shower and leave me to this?”
“Only if you’re one of the ones who took to it.”
“You’re a tough customer, Doc. But lucky for you, it just so happens that I am.”
AVA went, still baffled by the fact that there was a gorgeous man – a gorgeous prosecutor, for God’s sake – currently making dinner in her kitchen. Her life over the past couple of weeks had been one long, strange ride.
But, she mused, dropping her soiled clothes on the bathroom tile, taking another sip of a surprisingly nice Italian red. As much as she hated her uncle’s manipulations, and what for her was an uncustomary lack of control, she realized that she couldn’t count the past week as a total loss.
She’d saved a man’s life.
And while it pretty much sucked that she couldn’t play finders keepers with this particular man, it was still nice to know that he was around.
Setting the water to parboil, Ava climbed into the shower and let the heat ease some of her tension.
The goon had slashed the tire on her car. Petty, she admitted, slicking the heavy mass of her hair back from her face.
Petty, and pretty damn effective at keeping her on edge. Her clinic, her car – the two material possessions she gave a damn about – so points to the goon for hitting her where she would hurt. But a business, a vehicle, hardly mattered compared to the people for whom she cared.
Lou Ellen had been threatened last night. So far Katie’d been left alone, but Ava couldn’t count on that lasting. And now, now despite every effort on her part to discourage him, Jordan had joined the mix.
The big idiot.
After tonight, whatever she had to do – be it rudeness, lies, or actual physical violence – she had to make it clear to him that this dinner was a one shot deal. No more wavering back and forth, getting plowed under
by his will. It was time to be that sensible, intelligent woman and stick to her damn decisions.
Leaning her hands against the wall, Ava watched the red and white tiles blur as shampoo stung her eyes. Not shampoo, she realized. She had yet to wash her hair. To her horror, she felt her throat swell up, and realized those were tears.
Maybe she wasn’t handling the whole thing quite as well as she thought.
It sucked being caught in a web that wasn’t of your own spinning. And it sucked finding a man you really liked, only to have to cut him loose lest he get caught up in the web with you.
Blinking hard, Ava grabbed a bottle, squeezed the fruity shower gel onto a sponge. Worked up some anger with the lather, because it sat easier than tears. Damn Carlos. Damn him for so thoroughly screwing with her life.
She didn’t need this right now. She had enough trouble, as it stood – nearly six and a half feet of which was currently standing in her kitchen.
Making something that was starting to smell awfully good.
Shutting off the water, Ava grabbed a towel, headed into her bedroom. She picked out a sturdy bra, a pair of simple white cotton panties. And then hesitated when she noticed the bright red silk lying next to them.
It was stupid, she told herself, as she gently refolded the cotton. Ran her fingers over the silk. She was a sensible, intelligent woman. There was no point in entertaining even the briefest of lascivious fantasies.
But she pulled the sexy lingerie out of her drawer, anyway. It would make her feel better to know she had it on under her clothes. She might have to get rid of the man, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t one hundred percent woman.
She threw on an innocuous looking red T-shirt – trying to pretend that neither the shirt nor the underwear had anything to do with the fact that Jordan told her it was her color – a comfortable pair of jeans, and decided to forgo footwear. She was in her own home, after all. And she hadn’t invited him here, damn it.
Leaving her hair loose and damp, she slicked some gloss over her lips. That was it as far as makeup. If he didn’t like it, well he could leave. Big, pushy man. She padded through the living room, and heard him talking to One-eyed Jack.
“Yeah, I see you over there pretending not to like me. You’ve got that whole beady-eyed thing going on, just like your mama. She pretends not to like me, too. Well guess what, I’m onto you – both of you – so you can save yourself the effort.” There was a short pause, during which Jordan obviously bribed Jack with some kind of food, because she could hear the cat’s usual growls. Followed by his purr. “Uh-huh, just as I thought. I feed you, and you’re all over me. Now let’s see if that works with her.”
The mad Ava had managed to work up dissolved faster than lather.
The man talked to cats. He offered to make vegetarian lasagna – and damn it, actually seemed to know how. He had a weak spot for stray dogs. He willingly spent the night on a rickety old cot and was terrified of needles – but let her sew him up anyway.
He’d brought her a cactus.
Jordan Wellington wasn’t just the kind of man women fell in love with. He was the kind of man she could fall in love with.
“Shit,” she whispered, for what felt like the thousandth time. That was exactly what she was stepping into. A deep, deep pile of it.
With the knowledge that she was perched on the edge of a very big cliff – and that despite all the back peddling and arm-windmilling and localized panic, was very likely to lose her balance – she walked into the kitchen and straight into Jordan’s arms.
Pleased, clearly surprised, he smiled when she tilted her head back. “See, I told you the wine would relax you.”
“It’s good wine.” She moved out of his arms to pour another glass. “You have excellent taste.”
“I do indeed.” Jordan lifted his own glass toward her. “Especially in women.”
Ava felt the warmth of that all the way down to her toes. “That smells wonderful,” she gestured toward where the lasagna bubbled and baked in the oven. She glanced around, noting the candles burning on her small wrought iron table, the tossed salad and basket of warm bread already in place. The white cloth napkins which he’d apparently brought with him.
The man was nothing if not thorough.
“Why don’t we get started on the salad?” Jordan gestured her toward the table, pulled out her chair. “The lasagna should be ready in about twenty minutes. In the meantime, you can tell me about your day.”
She did. And while she enjoyed what she had to admit was a very skillfully prepared portion of lasagna, found herself telling him a whole lot more. She edited, occasionally fudged, but otherwise shared things she hadn’t even considered. Maybe it was the wine going to her head, the candlelight, the excellent meal. But he was incredibly easy to talk to. Actually, Ava was forced to admit, it had little to do with the trappings, and more because they just seemed to click. That subtle, internal connection that allowed you to hear someone and think: yeah. I get that.
They talked about everything from religion to literature – with him shuddering only mildly when she admitted a fondness for medical thrillers. Childhood idols, sports teams followed. Relationships. While he could claim nothing more serious than a six month stint in law school, Ava found herself describing her narrowly missed trip to the altar.
“So this Michael,” Jordan referred to her ex-fiancé as he gestured with his water glass. Since her tiny dining set hadn’t been designed with someone of his size in mind, he stretched his yard of leg out to the side. “Is he still hanging around?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, has he been giving you any trouble, wanting to get back together, anything like that?”
Ava folded her napkin and laid it next to her empty plate. “I haven’t seen or spoken with Michael in over a year now. Closer to two.” She angled her head. “And besides, he’s the one who dumped me. Why would he want to hang around?”
“Maybe he realized he was a complete idiot.”
Ava smiled a little ruefully. “Well, as flattering as that is to hear, I can assure you that as far as Michael is concerned, it was more like good riddance. But anyway. Why do you ask?”
JORDAN considered how best to address the question. He’d noticed Ava’s reticence after they’d been followed the previous night. Her nerves when they’d discovered her flat tire. All the other strange occurrences that indicated someone had her running scared.
Although scared wasn’t really the word he’d use to describe Ava. She seemed nervous. More than a little ticked off. Edgy, certainly, but cautious.
And maybe it was his ego talking, but he also thought her situation had a lot to do with why she kept pushing him away.
“I’m not blind Ava.” Straightforward. Straightforward was the way to handle this, since he knew damn well she’d already lied when he’d asked her about the tire. “Nor am I stupid. Someone’s giving you trouble. Why, and what kind, I’m not sure, but the fact is that people who follow other people around, slash their tires, and God knows what else has happened that I’m not aware of, are dangerous. It’s called stalking – and as you nearly accused me of it last night, I know you’re familiar with it – and there are laws against it. If you’re having trouble, I’d like to help. It would be no problem for me to get a restraining order put through, if you’ll tell me who’s doing this.”
Ava went still.
“Well.” She sat her wineglass down, narrowed those big brown eyes on his. “Aren’t you the perceptive one.”
“Ava –”
She held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t run right over me like you do. You’ve said your piece; give me a chance to say mine. I won’t insult your intelligence by insinuating you’ve imagined the problem.”
“Good.”
Her chin came up in defense. “First of all, I want you to know that I appreciate your concern, and the spirit in which it’s given. You’re a good man.”
“Why don’t I like the sound of that?”
“Ava. Do you know how many women say just that? Before their loved one takes it too far one night, blackens their eye, breaks their ribs. Maybe decides that he just won’t take no for an answer, and pulls out a gun.”
“Well, that’s mildly sexist –”
“It’s not sexist, it’s reality. I’m a prosecutor, Ava. I see it almost every day.”
She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “I’m sure you do. But that isn’t the case here. Just trust me on this one, and leave well enough alone. I like you, Jordan. I really do. And I understand that, being the good man that you are, you’re used to taking charge, looking for a solution, because that’s the only way you know to help. But I’m pretty good at taking care of myself. If I run into anything I think I can’t handle, I promise you’ll be the first person I call. But unless I do, I’m going to have to ask you to step back. If you can’t handle that, then there’s no point in this going any farther.”
Jordan assessed the cool-eyed woman staring back at him. And thought of all the other women he’d known of who – yes – thought they could handle themselves. Women whose murders he’d prosecuted because they just didn’t think that their husband, or ex-boyfriend, or the guy in apartment 2-D was really anything for them to be overly concerned about. Sure the guy might hit them when he was drunk, or follow them around while they ran errands, or look in their windows at night.
But it wasn’t something they couldn’t handle.
And admitting that they couldn’t handle it, asking for help, telling others that they were frightened or had been abused, was something those women had been either too ashamed to do, or something they’d viewed as weakness.
And inevitably, they’d ended up a case file on his desk.
“I teach self-defense.”
“What?”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it, but I volunteer at the Y. Basic self-defense for women.”
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