Shadow of Doubt

by Linda Poitevin

  He frowned. The last thing he remembered was lunch in the truck stop. Kate had agreed to take him to Ottawa, they'd gotten back into the car, he'd dozed off, and then—nothing. Certainly nothing that involved a bed that smelled like...he sniffed. Summer. It smelled like summer, and sunshine, and—

  Kate. Where was Kate?

  Gingerly, all too aware of the hole in his side, he pushed himself up on one elbow and switched on the lamp. When his eyes adjusted to the glare, he took more thorough stock of his surroundings. Pale blue walls. White furniture. White sheets and lamp. Red chair. Floral duvet sprigged with some kind of red flower. Daisies? The overall effect was cool. Fresh.

  Undeniably feminine.

  He hadn't expected this side to Constable Kate Dexter. Not that he'd spent much time dwelling on his rescuer's personal tastes. He'd been more interested in getting as far away from her as he could. And he was still interested in that, he told himself firmly. No matter how he'd ended up in Kate's apartment, leaving was his top priority now that he was awake.

  Yawning, he scratched absently at his chest. His hand stilled and he raised an eyebrow. He was naked. How in hell had he gotten naked? His gaze snapped back to the chair, taking in the neatly folded jeans and shirt there.

  Kate?

  A not-unpleasant tension thrummed through him at the thought of her efficient, slender hands stripping him of his clothes, the imagined sensation of her blond curls brushing like fine silk against his skin as she leaned over him. He coughed. What in hell was he thinking? The absolute last thing he needed in his life right now was a distraction like Kate Dexter. The sooner he left here, the better, because...

  He frowned at the fog settling over his brain.

  Well, because reasons. He was sure he had them, but with fatigue crawling over his limbs like a weighted blanket and that summer scent rising from the sheets beneath him, he couldn't quite remember what they were. He fumbled with the lamp switch and the room plunged back into darkness.

  To hell with it. Thinking was going to have to wait. And leaving, too. Just until daylight. It would be rude to wake Kate up right now anyway. Or to leave without saying thank you. He pulled the duvet across him, its cotton crisp and cool against his skin, inhaled deeply of summer, and dropped back into sleep.

  ***

  Kate set the tray on the nightstand and glanced at the black shock of wavy hair sticking out from under the duvet, all that she could see of her guest.

  "Jonas," she called softly. The black waves didn't stir. She tried again, a little louder. Still nothing. She frowned. Surely he hadn't gotten worse again.

  She'd checked on him every hour on the hour until his fever had finally broken at midnight of his second night in her bed, well beyond the deadline Laura had given. She’d sponged his overheated body, changed the duvet cover when it became drenched with his sweat, rolled him from one side of the bed to the other to let the sheet dry beneath him. She'd been a regular Florence Nightingale for thirty-six hours, but what if that hadn't been enough? Unease gelled in the pit of her stomach. Had she relaxed too soon?

  She stretched out a hand and eased back the duvet. Jonas's face might have been carved of wood, it was so still. The beginnings of minor panic prickled through her chest, stealing her breath. Freaking hell, now what? Casting aside gentleness, she grabbed his shoulder and shook.

  "Jonas, wake—"

  The rest of her demand ended in a garbled choke as a strong arm pulled her down onto her back, looped under her arm and around her neck, and braced behind her head in a half nelson. Kate clutched at it, struggling for air, and almost instantly Jonas’s hold loosened until his forearm rested across her chest—muscular, hot, heavy.

  "God, Kate, I'm sorry," he muttered, his words warm against her ear. "Are you all right?"

  Crisp chest hair rasped against a blouse that had just now become an entirely inadequate garment, and a dozen traitorous sensations made breathing even more difficult than when he’d taken her down. She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her heart thundered against her ribs, and heat scorched her face in the wake of the molten fire flooding her limbs. She pulled against Jonas’s arm.

  "May I get up, please?"

  Surely she only imagined his brief hesitation before he released her—and her answering reluctance to leave his warmth. She clambered off the bed and straightened her shirt, trying not to close her eyes as the fabric slid over sensitive breasts.

  "I brought you breakfast." Crap. Was that husky voice really hers? Freaking hormones. She cleared her throat. "You haven't eaten for a while. I thought you might be hungry."

  Jonas remained silent for several seconds, his eyes hidden beneath a forearm as he lay back against the pillow.

  "I am," he agreed at last, moving his arm to prop himself up in the bed. "And thirsty."

  She handed him the glass of orange juice from the tray, careful to keep her fingers clear of his. He drained the contents and gave the glass back to her.

  "I don't remember a thing after leaving that truck stop yesterday. What happened?"

  "Fever. You wouldn't go to a hospital. And it was the day before yesterday."

  He stared at his, blue eyes startled, then scowling. "You should have woken me."

  "With what, my magic wand? Your fever didn't even break until last night. You slept because you needed it." Kate grabbed the duvet and held it in place when he tried to fling it back. "You still need it."

  "What I need," he retorted, shaking off her hand and swinging his bare legs out of the bed, "is to get as far away from you as I can."

  He pushed himself upright to sit on the edge of the bed, but almost instantly, every ounce of color drained from his face. Without comment, Kate pressed her lips tight, stooped, and lifted his feet back onto the bed. Jonas subsided against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut.

  She regarded him with equal amounts of concern and annoyance as he struggled to push back the pain and regain control. Could he not, just for two seconds, make this easier on himself? On her? She pulled the duvet across his nakedness and made a concerted effort not to notice that her breasts hadn't stopped tingling from his touch yet.

  "I repeat," she said, "You still need sleep."

  Eyes still closed, he shook his head. "I can't. If Lewis and Ramirez connect us and come asking questions—"

  "I get it," she interrupted. "I really do. But like it or not, you're going to have to heal before you can go anywhere on your own. Stay here and let me help, Jonas. Just for a few days. Get some rest, focus on healing, decide what your next move is. Please. You know I'm right about this."

  He declined to respond. With a sigh, Kate moved the tray closer to him, and then she and her tingling breasts headed for the door. The sound of her name stopped her. She turned back to meet the hard glitter of his gaze.

  "I know you mean well," he said, "but if I stay—"

  Kate pursed her lips at the emphasis on if. Jonas either didn't see or chose to ignore it, continuing without pause.

  "—this is as involved as you get, is that clear?"

  She crossed her arms. "Please tell me you don't think you can give me orders like that."

  He scowled. "I mean it, Kate. You don't need this, and I don't need your help."

  Leaning her good shoulder against the doorframe, she let her gaze travel the length of his prone figure. "Because you're totally able to look after yourself at the moment, you mean?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "I know you've been shot," she corrected. "And that you're not very good at accepting help. But you can relax, Burke, because I'm offering you a place to hole up in for a few days. Nothing more, okay? Now eat your breakfast and get some rest. I want you out of here as much as you do. "

  ***

  Jonas glared at the door long after Kate closed it behind her, leaving her parting words hanging in the air. Damned right, he wasn't good at accepting help. And for good reason, too. He'd been six when he'd gone into his first foster home, already streetwise and carrying a ch
ip on his shoulder, the weight of which would have slowed most men down.

  Help back then had consisted of one family after another trying to break him, to make him surrender to their rules. It was never about what mattered, what would have helped him. There had been no job for the homeless mother who'd had to give him up, no attempt to keep him with the baby sister he’d so desperately tried to protect.

  By the age of eight, he'd learned repeatedly that the kind of help offered by others couldn't be depended on. That he was the only one he could ever really trust. The message had been reinforced repeatedly throughout his teen years and adult life, and oh, look. Ramirez and Lewis had hammered the lesson home yet again just days ago.

  With a grunt, Jonas locked away the memories he preferred not to dwell on. He pushed back the covers and levered himself upright, slowly this time, respecting the tight, fiery knots in his gut and leg that could explode without warning if he abused them.

  He rubbed a hand over his bristly jaw line, pausing when the scent of vanilla wafted up to his nose and walloped him in the gut. His arm tingled with another memory, this one of Kate's softness beneath it. The tickle of her hair across it. The warmth of her—

  Jonas held his arm away and stared at it, horrified at its treachery. Jesus, but he needed to get away from here. Kate's help—and those golden cat's eyes—be damned.

  He stood, giving his body time to adjust to the demands being made on it. If he took it slowly enough, this might work. He hobbled across the room to the clothing piled on the chair, telling himself that the knife in his thigh was normal; the pain, within acceptable parameters. Sweat beaded on his brow. Sweatpants and shirt in hand, he returned to sit on the bed. He slid his legs into the pants one at a time, took a deep breath, and stood to pull them on. The too-quick movement knocked him right back down again.

  Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling, coming to terms with the reality he'd been handed. As much as he hated to admit it—and it really did gall him—he wouldn't make it a block like this. He was going to have to take Kate up on her offer, at least for a day or two.

  Hell.

  Chapter 15

  Jonas limped out of the bedroom a few minutes later, almost colliding with Kate as she emerged from the bathroom. The amber gaze swept over him from head to toe, and her lips compressed. He braced for the forthcoming lecture.

  Instead, she flicked off the bathroom light switch and said, "I'll pick up more painkillers today. You’ll have to make do with extra-strength acetaminophen in the meantime. It’s in the kitchen cabinet above the fridge."

  Jonas didn’t reply, taking in the stocking-covered toes peeping out from beneath charcoal slacks. His gaze traveled upward, noting how the gray fabric flared slightly below her knees but deliciously hugged the rest of her leg; settling on the pale gray blouse clinging to the curves his arm had—

  Kate cleared her throat. "Did you hear me?"

  "I heard." Jonas ground his teeth. "Kitchen cabinet above the fridge. Got it."

  Her cheeks flushed with pink, Kate turned and continued down the hallway, twisting her hair up and clipping it at the nape of her neck as she walked. "The coffee's still fresh if you want some, and I left sandwiches wrapped up in the fridge for your lunch. I'll make spaghetti for dinner when I get home."

  "Where are you going?"

  Jonas hadn't meant it to sound quite so abrupt, but the sexy sway of her hips leading him into the living room was damned distracting. It threw him off his stride.

  "To work."

  She sauntered past him to the hall closet. Walked, actually. But focused as he was on those hips, it looked a hell of a lot more like a saunter. He scowled.

  "Do you think that's wise?"

  She looked over her shoulder at him as she pulled open the closet door. "I think it's what pays my rent."

  "What happens if someone starts asking questions?"

  "I've already missed one day. Questions are more likely if I miss another."

  A valid point, but not one that quelled the vague panic in his gut at the thought of remaining here like a sitting duck, waiting for Ramirez and Lewis to turn up. Or at the idea of Kate being out there on her own, unprotected from them. Kate extracted a heavy metal lockbox from the floor of the closet, opened it, and took out her service weapon. Jonas's mouth twisted. Well, maybe not entirely unprotected.

  "You understand how dangerous these people are, right?" he asked abruptly.

  She shot a pointed look at his leg. "I think I have a rough idea, yes."

  She checked the ammo clip and tucked the weapon into the side holster he hadn't noticed clipped to her belt. Damned sexy hips.

  "Stay," he said gruffly. Kate's hands stilled.

  Shit. That hadn't come out the way he'd intended.

  A silent second passed, followed by three more. Jonas cleared his throat.

  "I've been working undercover for almost eight years," he said, "and Lewis and Ramirez got the drop on me. You—" He gestured vaguely in her direction.

  The amber gaze snapped to meet his. Her hands settled on the damned hips. "I what?"

  "When is the last time you even pulled that thing, let alone used it?" He jutted his chin toward the gun she'd strapped on.

  "In the kitchen at the farmhouse," she retorted. "Remember?"

  Touché. But not what he'd meant.

  Kate raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I'm capable?"

  There was no easy way to say it. "Not when it comes to dealing with this, no. If you were in uniform, working the streets, maybe, but you sit behind a desk, Kate. If they figure out your connection, if they find you, you won't stand a chance. So please. Stay here and lie low where I can keep an eye on you, just for a couple of days. As soon as I can leave town, I'll call Lewis again. It will draw their attention away from you, and then your life can go back to normal."

  There. He’d come up with a plan at last. Of sorts.

  Kate stared at him for a moment. Then she shrugged into a gray blazer that matched the pants she wore and slipped her feet into a pair of low-heeled black shoes.

  "The television remote is on the coffee table," she said, as if he hadn’t spoken. "I have satellite and Netflix, so you should be able to keep yourself occupied until I get home. If anything comes up, my office and cell numbers are beside the phone."

  "That's it?" Jonas scowled at her. "You're not even going to respond to my suggestion?"

  "Is that what you think it was? A suggestion?" Kate picked up a briefcase and pulled open the apartment door. "Funny. To me, it sounded more like an insult. I'll be home at five. Try to get some rest."

  ***

  Stretched out on the couch, Jonas listened to the sounds of Kate's return home. The key in the lock, the opening of a closet door, the clunk of the heavy gun box returning to the floor after she put away her weapon, the closet door closing again. He couldn't keep up the pretense of sleep forever, but—

  A soft, heavy something landed on his chest. He cracked open an eye and stared at the plastic shopping bag. Raised his gaze to the woman beyond.

  "Clothes," she said, walking away. A second later, he heard her in the kitchen.

  He cleared his throat and raised his voice over the clatter of pots and pans. "You shouldn't have bothered. I'm fine with these."

  "You sweated out a fever in those ones," she called back. "Trust me, you need the change."

  He plucked at a handful of shirt. Sniffed. Grimaced. She had a point.

  "You're welcome," she added loudly. A pot landed in the sink with a metallic bang, and the water came on.

  Jonas sighed and moved the bag of clothes off his chest. Gingerly, he swung his feet off the couch and onto the floor. She was right. He should thank her. Not only for the clothes, but for taking him in like this. Saving his life, not turning him in...damn, but he owed her. So much.

  The knowledge had been eating away at him all day. He wasn't used to owing anyone for anything. He made a point of avoiding situations that called for indebtedness of a
ny kind. Or thanks. Or apologies, for that matter—which he also owed Kate after this morning. He winced at the slam of a cupboard door and levered himself upright. No time like the present...if only to keep her from knocking the place apart.

  He arrived in the doorway as Kate turned off the water and lifted a pot from the sink. "Can I help?" he asked.

  Kate jumped, sending water sloshing across her feet. She cursed and set the pot on the counter. Jonas handed her the tea towel looped through the fridge door handle beside him. She took it wordlessly, dried her feet, mopped up the puddle, and tossed the towel into a corner.

  He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and slid the tips of his fingers into the front pockets of his sweatpants. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  Kate turned her back on him. "It's fine." She set the pot on the stove and turned it on. "And no, I don't need help."

  He watched her take out a jar of spaghetti sauce and a box of pasta from a cupboard, then moved out of her way when she crossed to the fridge and took a bag of meatballs from the freezer.

  "Thank you for the clothes," he said when she returned to the counter.

  She snorted. "Was that as painful as it sounded?"

  She wasn't going to make this easy, was she? Not that he could blame her. He hadn't exactly been a model of appreciation so far.

  "Thank you for everything else you've done for me, too," he said. "And I'm sorry for this morning. I didn't mean to insult you. I'm sure you're a perfectly capable cop."

  She stared at him over her shoulder. "My goodness, you're just a fountain of good manners all of a sudden, aren't you?"

  Jonas flexed his jaw. He supposed he had that coming.

  "I haven't had much practice at accepting help," he said. "And I'm not used to having someone else to worry about when I'm in a situation. I'm not very..."

  "Well socialized?" Kate suggested tartly, when he trailed off.

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Not quite the words I was looking for, but no, I suppose I'm not...well socialized. I am sorry, though, Kate. And I'm very grateful. So...friends?"

  He pulled one hand from its pocket and held it out to her. Pink blossomed in her cheeks as she stared at it, then she turned her back on him again.