by Freya Barker
“Have you slept at all?”
Jasper’s blurry face appears in my line of vision, and I blink a few times to clear the grit. I don’t say anything, just look into the warm blue depths of his eyes and wish I could float away.
“Jesus,” I hear him mutter.
The mattress shifts as he climbs in beside me, and panic sets in when his arms come around me, cradling me to his warm chest. I remind myself that the feeling of safety in his embrace is not real. That the moment I let go, and he discovers the real me, he won’t see me the same way again either.
“Let it go, beautiful,” he coos softly, his cheek firm against the top of my head. “Just let it go.”
That’s all it takes; a few gentle words, a kind embrace, and my desperate hold on impassion rips away with the first strangled sob from my throat.
The wave of churning shadows crashes over me.
Jasper
I fucking curse myself for leaving her alone in the first place.
The moment I see her face with those sunken, red-rimmed eyes, I know she has not closed them yet. I fucked up.
Her body is cold and stiff when I gather her against me, desperate to will some warmth into her soul.
I thought she’d hold strong in her almost catatonic state, but when I encourage her to let go, the first sob breaks free. And another. And another. Each one deeper and more gut-wrenching than the last. Some so violent, her entire body convulses as they rip from her chest.
I keep waiting for them to subside, but it’s endless and agonizing. The sun shines full into her window now, and when I check her alarm clock on the nightstand, I see over an hour has expired. This can’t be healthy.
My phone is on the coffee table in the living room, where Bella’s purse is too.
“Sweetheart.” I try to slip out from under her. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” The moment the warmth of my body leaves her, she curls back up in a ball, but the sobbing doesn’t wane.
My first stop is the bathroom, to check if there are any meds she’s supposed to be taking, but other than ibuprofen and something for menstrual cramps, there’s nothing in her medicine cabinet. Next up is the kitchen, but that doesn’t hold much either.
I need help.
Any other person; I’d load them up and take them to the hospital, but if one thing hammered home last night, her job is everything to her. If I take her into Mercy when she’s in the middle of...I’m not even sure what to call this, but if I show up with Bella in this state, the entire hospital will know eventually. Even if it doesn’t put her at risk of losing her job, it will certainly impact her working relationships. I can’t do that to her.
I dig through her purse to find her phone. Only one person, who might be able to help, and I don’t have his number.
Locating the phone, I open her contacts and find Ryan’s name right below Damian’s.
“How are you doing?”
It’s clear from the sound of his voice, he was still sleeping, and he obviously thinks I’m Bella.
“It’s Jasper Greene, I took Bella home this morning, and she’s not doing well. I’m gonna need your help.”
“What do you mean, not doing well?” he asks, suddenly sharp.
“She was out of it earlier, not sleeping but cold and unresponsive. But now...here, listen.” Rather than trying to explain, I hold up the phone and he should be able to hear for himself.
“How long has she been like this?” he asks when I put the phone back to my ear. I can hear rustling in the background, like he’s getting dressed.
“Well over an hour. I’d take her into the hospital, but—”
“Don’t,” he interrupts me sharply. “Let me see if I can help before you do that. Can you hold out for twenty minutes?”
“I can. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Hanging up, I take the phone with me into the bedroom, where Bella lies much the same as I left her, still making the same god-awful noises. Like a tortured animal. I crawl back in bed with her, and like before, have to physically move her onto my chest.
Almost thirty minutes later, when I hear the front door open, I’m about ready to fucking cry myself. I can’t remember ever feeling as fucking useless as I’ve felt in the past couple of hours.
Or maybe I just never cared enough.
“Sorry,” Ryan says walking in, and I belatedly realize Bella is virtually naked in my arms. Quickly I pull the sheet up to cover her as best I can. I’m not sure what the man thinks as he’s taking in the situation, and frankly I don’t give a flying fuck, as long as he can do something for her. “I had to swing by the hospital to get something from the rig.”
I flinch when he comes over to the side of the bed and leans over me to brush the hair plastered to Bella’s face. If not for my concern for her, this might’ve been awkward.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he tries to get through to her. “Shit just hit the fan, huh? Gonna give you some good stuff to help you sleep. You need to get you some rest.” There is no distinct reaction noticeable from Bella, but Ryan doesn’t seem to expect it. He opens the small bag he carried in on the nightstand, and pulls out a prefilled syringe while keeping up his continuous chatter. “You’ll probably have my balls later for sticking a needle in you, but it can’t be helped. And at the risk of completely alienating you, I will notify our supervisor that you seem to have come down with a nasty case of strep throat, and will be off for at least a week.” He wipes an area of Bella’s upper arm with a disinfectant, and slides the needle easily into her skin.
“What are you giving her?”
“Midazolam. It’s fast-acting. Don’t worry, I’m only giving her half a dose, hopefully just enough to help her sleep.”
In minutes, she settles down a little, her eyes closed and the sobbing down to an occasional involuntary hiccup.
“Now is probably a good time to grab a shower, I’m going to stick around for another forty-five minutes or so, to make sure she has no adverse effects, but she can’t be left alone today, someone will have to check in on her regularly.”
“How long do you figure she’ll be out?” I ask, when I feel her body go heavy with sleep and gently slide her head off my chest and onto her pillow.
“Hard to tell. The drug alone, not necessarily that long, but given that she was already exhausted, I wouldn’t be surprised if she slept the day away.”
“I can work from here,” I say, more to myself than anyone else, as I make a mental list of what I will need either Dylan or Luna to drop off.
As suggested, I grab a quick shower, after supplying Ryan with a well-deserved cup of coffee I manage to wrangle from Bella’s Keurig machine.
“She seems to be comfortable, but call me if anything changes,” he offers, when he’s ready to go a little later. “My shift doesn’t start until three, but I’ll call in to check how things are before that.”
I shake the man’s hand and clap a hand on his shoulder.
“Appreciate it. I hope this won’t get you into hot water.”
“Nah,” he answers with a grin, brushing it off. “Not unless you or Bella decide to spill the beans.”
“No chance of that happening.”
“Figured as much.” I expect him to leave but he hesitates in the doorway. “Look, you realize she may need help that extends beyond this, right? She’s never come right out and admitted to it, but I’ve suspected there are emotional issues she struggles with. She’s a damn good partner, and I’d hate to lose her because she is not taking care of them. I don’t know who you are to her, but from what I can see, you care. I suggest you get her to talk to someone this week. She may need medication to help her cope.”
“I’ll see to it,” I promise. “I care more than I probably should.”
CHAPTER 9
BELLA
I wake up with a pounding headache, eyes caked shut, a dry throat, and a bladder that is about to burst. This time without the pleasure of a bottle of wine and pint or so of ice cream.
Bits an
d pieces are coming back to me, most of them ones I’d rather have forgotten. Yet somewhere in between those was the memory of a pair of strong arms and soft words, which somehow kept me from getting sucked under completely.
Swinging my legs over the side, I sit up, holding onto my head for fear it’ll explode. A glance at my nightstand shows it’s close to four. Shit, I slept the day away.
I reach for my old ratty robe and make my way to the bathroom on wobbly legs. While relieving my bladder, I rummage through the drawers of the vanity looking for relief of another kind. I’m positive I had some ibuprofen left somewhere. I find it in the medicine cabinet and palm four. I’m not even sure that’ll make a dent in this doozy of a headache.
With drugs on board, my mouth no longer tasting like the bottom of a trashcan, and a splash of cold water on my face, I feel somewhat human. I need coffee.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Startled, my head swivels around a little too fast at the rumble of Jasper’s voice when I walk into the kitchen. It was so quiet in the house, I thought he might have left.
“Hey,” I manage just seconds before I’m enveloped in those arms I remember. My arms slips around his waist where my fingers curl in the back of his shirt.
One of his big hands slowly rubs up and down my spine, making me want to purr like a cat. Despite the danger signs popping up, I nuzzle deeper in his shirt.
“Coffee?”
Dammit. He even knows the magic word.
Reluctantly, I let go as he walks over to my Keurig and hits the button. Clearly he’d been prepared, a mug already slowly filling.
“Sit,” he orders, noticing me swaying on my feet.
I perch my ass on a stool and lean over, dropping my head on my arms on the counter. It’s tempting to close my eyes and let myself drift off again, but I know sleep is just a way for me to hide.
The tender brush of fingers through my hair has my eyes well up. I can’t believe he stayed. After my meltdown, I thought for sure he’d be running for the hills, but as he’s done more than once recently, Jasper is proving to be nothing like the man I believed him to be, and everything like the man tentative dreams are made of.
His fingertips gently trace the scab left by my encounter with the underside of my car last week, reminding me of yet another instance where he looked after me. Of course, just minutes later he kissed me, only to walk out the door and drop off the face of the earth until yesterday. I’m not sure who he was running from; me or himself.
Afraid to fall under his spell again, I raise my head and his hand falls away.
“How are you feeling?” He scans my face with concern.
“Like I was run over by a freight train.”
“I bet.” He grins and again he reaches out, brushing a stray strand from my forehead. I’m mesmerized, getting lost in his eyes, until the welcome gurgle of my Keurig announces my much-needed coffee is ready.
“Black. Right?” I nod at his question, a little surprised. I guess being an FBI agent you’re required to have above normal powers of observation.
He hands me my cup and I wrap my hands around it, taking a grateful sip.
“What do you remember?” he asks, as he drops another dark roast cup in the machine and sets his mug under the drip.
The question may have come out casually, but that doesn’t hide the weight behind it. It’s a clear invitation to talk, to share...to explain. I’m not sure I want to, in fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t, but I also don’t want him to go to Damian to get answers, and he deserves at least some.
“Well, it’s clear I had a little meltdown,” I start, not just a little defensively, and working to put the usual snap in my tone. “I’m sure my low resistance after that bout of stomach flu, didn’t help.”
“I didn’t know you were sick,” he comments, almost accusatory as he turns to face me.
“Flu. Just went back to work on Tuesday.”
“And you didn’t call me?” I’m surprised he looks as irritated as he does.
“For what?” I feel a good head of steam build. “You’re the one who ran out of here like you were being chased the night before I got sick, and yet you expect a call? Why? So you can be a knight in shining armor? You like swooping in and playing the hero. I’m sure it does wonders for the ego. Except apparently your armor disappears at the stroke of midnight.”
I know I’m using attack to deflect from the conversation he was aiming for, it’s an ingrained response for me; an automatic defense mechanism that seems to kick in when I feel cornered.
“At midnight, huh?” he says, dripping with sarcasm as he sharply sets his cup down on the counter and checks his watch. “Then I guess my ego overstayed its welcome.”
In three large strides, he’s across the living room and out the front door, leaving me to gape after him with my mouth hanging open. The sharp sound of the door slamming shut has me jump in my seat, and I immediately regret my words.
For crying out loud, the man had walked away from the job, just to see me home. Stayed with me to make sure I was okay, and called help when he discovered I wasn’t, still not leaving my side.
I’m a bitch. A grade A, bona fide bitch. So afraid I’ll get hurt, I lash out and make sure I do injury first. It’s no wonder only my family tolerates me. No friendships I’ve ever had stood the test of time, I even fail at those.
My head drops back down on my arms, and this time I make no effort to stop the tears, as the destructive thoughts play on repeat in my mind.
A warm hand touches the middle of my back and slides up to settle on the back of my neck. Jasper’s voice is firm but kind.
“That’s enough of that.”
Jasper
I had to get some air before I’d say something I might regret later.
To say my day had not run smoothly would be an understatement. Luna had been at the office early and kindly dropped off my files and laptop, plus a change of clothes from my locker. All I told her in explanation was that Bella was feeling under the weather, but I don’t think she quite believed it. Luna had been there last night; she would’ve noticed Bella’s robot-like behavior and drawn her own conclusions. Nothing I could do about that. Typical Luna, she didn’t ask any questions, just gave me a brief update on the status of the investigation and promised to call with anything new.
Still remembering the dress-down Damian gave me last week, I quickly called him before the grapevine could find its way to Europe. I gave him what details I had, as he fired off a barrage of questions. When I let slip that Bella had been the one to find Bert, he’d been ready to abort his vacation and hop on a plane home. I then compounded my mistake by mentioning I was at her house. I was hoping to put his mind at ease, but only succeeded in raising his suspicions when I told him she was sleeping. Not really my place to share Bella’s breakdown with him, I went with the excuse Ryan came up with and just said she was sick and sleeping it off.
By the time I got off the phone, I could only hope I deterred him from cutting his honeymoon short.
There’d been occasional updates throughout the day, both the shell as well as the bullet were recovered from the scene this time, and looked to be consistent with a nine millimeter. Officers also found part of a bicycle pedal at the base of the trail. It was discovered wedged in the crack of a rock where some brush appeared trampled, and looked too clean to have been there for long. A bike might explain a few lingering questions around transportation. The shooter could easily get around, virtually undetected, on a bike.
Luna is the one who suggested if that were the case, we should probably be on the lookout for someone with a backpack, since it’s highly unlikely the perp would ride around on a bike with a gun tucked in his pocket or waistband.
More leads to pursue, just as soon as the CBI forensics lab reports on their findings.
A day filled with waiting: for information to come through, for Bella to wake up. I’m not usually an impatient guy, but that is when I’m free to go run down any idea or l
ead that crosses my desk. I didn’t have that luxury today. By the time I heard her in the bathroom, I’d been ready to wake her myself.
Too much time to think, consider, and second-guess, is rarely a good thing.
Perhaps that’s why her words hit their mark. I’d been questioning my own motivations for sticking around earlier, so when she lashed out like that—and I’m well aware that’s all it was—it was a little too close to the quick.
The moment I walk back in and see her slumped over the counter, I immediately regret walking out.
“That’s enough of that,” I order, worried I’ll have to make another call to Ryan. I give her neck a squeeze before digging a clean kitchen towel from a drawer, wetting it under the cold tap and offering it to her. “Wipe your face, Squirt.”
I use the pet name purposely, hoping for exactly the dirty look she throws me through her tears, before snatching the towel from my hands. The fire in her eyes is better than tears, or even worse, yesterday’s blank pools.
“Figured you were gone,” she says on a lingering sniffle, with a little bite. Not enough to hide the hurt underneath, though.
“Couldn’t even if I tried,” I establish, pointing in the direction of the coffee table holding my laptop and covered in paperwork. Her gaze follows mine and I see her shoulders slump.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers with her back turned. “I didn’t—”
“I know you didn’t. I just needed to cool off.” I round the counter and take a seat next to her, turning her to face me. “I’m not running,” I assure her when her eyes finally come up. “I just didn’t want to fire back and make you cry. And here I’ve made you cry anyway. Have I mentioned I’m not good with crying?”
She gives a little snort and tilts her head to the side. “You did fine this morning.”
I grin; I recognize an opening when I see one. “So you remember this morning?”
