A Shot at Love

by Peggy Jaeger

  “What are you doing?”

  Surprise banged through him first. He’d been so engrossed with the slide show he hadn’t heard the water shut off or the bathroom door open.

  When he turned and found her standing next to the bed, her arms, as usual, crossed in front of her, primal awareness replaced the surprise in an instant.

  Her mussed hair, wrinkled shirt, and the sheet mark indenting the left side of her cheek told him until quite recently she’d been on the bed, probably sound asleep. The mistrust in her eyes as she gazed across the room told him she was still wary of him. The fact she’d caught him in her room, uninvited and examining her computer screen, told him he deserved her watchful glare.

  “I knocked,” he said. “You didn’t answer. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  She uncrossed her arms and walked over to the desk. The scent of fresh-picked cherries floated with her and her hairline was damp as if she’d just washed her face.

  “Did you think by going through my computer you’d discover if I was?” She slammed the laptop closed and leveled another piercing stare at him.

  Ky dug deep for calm. He’d never had such trouble reining in his annoyance before. But ever since he’d met Gemma Laine, her attitude piqued his irritation to levels he was usually able to ignore. He waited a beat until he was sure he could at least speak in a civil tone, and then said, “I wasn’t going through your computer. I’d never invade your privacy like that. I was simply watching the slide show, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom.”

  Before she could shoot a snarky comeback at him, he added, “Your photographs are amazing. I can see for myself why you’re so successful.”

  His words shocked her into silence. Her shoulders relaxed under her sleep-wrinkled blouse and she dropped her hands to her sides, unfurling them from fists as she did.

  “The pictures of the city buildings are so lifelike, I felt like I was standing right in front of them, looking up at them. You’re extremely talented.”

  “Th—thank you.”

  Confusion replaced the wariness. Her brow, still crinkled, had his fingers tingling to reach up and rub it smooth. Why did she feel she had to constantly be on guard around him? She certainly hadn’t reacted to his partner like she did to him. Why, with him, did she feel the need to shield herself?

  “I’m sorry you thought I was snooping,” he said, as he dropped his hands into his pants pockets. “I wasn’t. Jon made me realize you’ve been up here, sequestered, all day, and we just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Find out if you needed anything or if you were hungry.”

  Gemma ran her fingers through her unruly hair. “I’m starving, actually,” she admitted. “At home I keep snacks around my workspace so I don’t have to stop and make something to eat.” Her sigh was deep and long. “I’ve got nothing up here.”

  “I can have the room stocked for you. All you need to do is tell me what you want.”

  “What I really want is to get out of here,” she said, her plump lips pulling into a pout. She picked up one of the cameras sitting next to her computer and played with the buttons. “But since that’s not happening anytime soon, I’ll have to deal with it.” She let out a sigh and shook her head. “I was just on my way downstairs to see if I could get something to eat.” She slung the camera around her neck.

  Ky nodded. “Come on, then. Jon’s already thrown hints about dinner.”

  He descended the stairs first, checking over his shoulder to make sure she was able to navigate without any problems.

  “You’re not limping. Knee’s feeling better?”

  She nodded. “It’s a little swollen, but no pain. By tomorrow I should be back up to speed.”

  He reached the foyer first and stopped to wait for her.

  “I don’t suppose I can go for a run, can I? I’m not usually inside all day long and I’m feeling pretty restless.”

  She looked so beaten down he wished he could tell her she could, but it just wasn’t wise for her to be out where she’d be seen. It was much safer to keep her isolated and hidden.

  “Don’t,” she said before he could speak. “The answer’s written all over your face.”

  “Feeling better?” Jon called from the den. He closed his laptop and joined them.

  “More like a lazy slob.”

  Why couldn’t she smile at him the way she did at his partner? Where was the guarded expression she perpetually had for him, whenever she spoke to Jon? He’d give anything to know why she felt so mistrustful of him when he’d given her no reason to. At least none he could think of.

  “I worked for a few hours and then I wasn’t able to keep my eyes open, so I crashed for a bit. I never realized sitting around all day is so exhausting.”

  Jon laughed.

  “Ky and I have been on enough stakeouts to know exactly how you feel,” Jon said. They walked into the kitchen and he pulled a chair for her to sit at the breakfast table.

  “At least I got a ton of work done,” she said, accepting the bottled water Ky gave her from the refrigerator. “I was able to finalize some of the photos I’m using for the book.”

  While Ky set about putting together the simple stew he’d planned for dinner, he had Jon assemble a salad for them to eat first. While the stew simmered, they sat and ate their first course.

  “You mentioned going for a run,” Ky said while he watched Gemma attack the salad as if she hadn’t eaten for days.

  “I usually get one in three or four times a week,” she said. “I missed yesterday’s and now today is all but over. Why do you ask? Can I?” Her eyes lit up as she looked across the table at him with such childlike expectation, that Ky momentarily forgot what he’d been about to say.

  He gave himself a mental shake.

  “Not outside, no. It’s not safe.” And just as quickly, her excitement disappeared. “But we’ve got a treadmill and workout set up in the basement. Free weights, mats. You’re welcome to use anything down there.”

  “Really? Is that where you worked out this morning?”

  Her cheeks instantly colored and Ky couldn’t for the life of him figure out why she’d be embarrassed at the question.

  “I mean, I noticed when you came into the kitchen you were, you know…you looked like…maybe you’d been running. Or something. Working out. You were all…sweaty.”

  She stopped and took a large gulp of water. Across the table Jon’s eyebrows rose as he turned his gaze from her blushing face to Ky’s.

  Not understanding the cause of her awkwardness, Ky replied, simply, “Yes, it was. Do you think your knee is up to a run?”

  “Maybe not a full one. But walking on a treadmill is better than doing nothing.”

  “After dinner I’ll show you the setup,” he told her.

  While he saw to their meal, Gemma asked them both, “Have you found out anything new? Who killed your agents? Or…anything else.”

  “No,” Jon answered.

  “Oh.”

  The disappointment in her voice echoed throughout the kitchen.

  “I don’t suppose you could tell me anything, anyway,” she said, “since I’m not a cop or involved in any official way.”

  “It’s not that,” Ky said. “Believe me, you have a right to know what we find out. We both agree on that.” He nodded at Jon. “But your life is in danger now and our priority isn’t only finding the hit squad, but in keeping you safe as well.”

  She laid her salad fork down on the table.

  He didn’t know what to make of her silence. In truth, he liked it better when she was sparring with him, showing her strength and will.

  Ky rose and served them the now ready stew.

  “We’ll get them,” he told her. “I’m certain.”

  Gemma’s gaze tracked his movements while he ladled their dinner into bowls. “I keep telli
ng myself that, but…”

  “No buts,” Ky said and sat. “For now, just eat.”

  “Good Lord.” Gemma closed her eyes when the first spoonful passed her lips. “Is this another of your grandmother’s recipes?”

  He shook his head. “This one belongs to Mom. Although, I’m sure my grandmother added something to it.”

  “You really need to write these down so I can give them to Kandy. She’s always on the lookout for new recipe ideas for her shows. She’ll probably want to do an entire hour on Greek cuisine after tasting this.”

  “I thought her show wasn’t in production anymore?” Ky said.

  Gemma squinted at him. “How do you know that? I didn’t peg you for a cooking show groupie.” Her lips pressed into a small line, her head cocked to one side. Something akin to a playful glare danced in her eyes as she regarded him.

  In that second, Ky had such an overwhelming desire to kiss the grin off her face that he had to count to five before replying, fearful he’d give into the temptation.

  “Not me, the women in my family,” he said when he knew he’d be able to control himself. “They’re all big fans. My sister-in-law Phaedra was the one, I think, who mentioned a while back the show wasn’t live anymore.”

  Gemma didn’t reply, and when the grin disappeared from her lips, he wondered at the cause.

  “Everything okay?” Jon asked, noticing as well her quick mood change.

  She laid down her spoon and took a swig of her water. “I just realized something. Something I hadn’t even considered before right now.”

  “What?” both men asked.

  She lifted her gaze to Ky and swallowed. The camera that had slung around her neck until she placed it next to her salad bowl before eating, she now pulled back into her hands and fiddled with again. It was almost as if holding it gave her some sort of comfort, of solace, like a child with a favorite blanket or toy.

  Why is she nervous?

  “I’ve been so wrapped up in thinking about how my life has been turned upside down with this whole situation. I never even considered what it might mean to the two of you, having to be stuck here with me. Being away from your families. Loved ones.” She looked down at the camera and then back up at Ky. “Wives.”

  The air in the room suddenly flared with an unseen electrical charge Ky couldn’t put a cause to. He swore her eyes changed colors: darkened from crystals to pale blueberries while she gazed across at him. Her sculpted brows pulled together above her eyes while she bit the inside of her cheek.

  “No worries on that front,” Jon told her. “Neither of us is hitched. Although,” he slanted a look at Ky, “it’s been rumored around the office Papps is married to his job.”

  The jest had its intended reaction. Gemma’s quick, unfiltered laugh broke the sudden tension at the table.

  She leveled her gaze at him. Ky couldn’t read what she thought about Jon’s statement in her eyes, if she believed it, or not, but the wall of wariness had fallen down.

  She turned to Jon and, with a gentle, questioning lift of her brows said, “And you’re not?”

  His own grin was fast and boyish. Ky knew what a flirt his partner was, and usually wasn’t bothered by it. Jon Winters was a top-notch agent, a crack shot, and there was no one else Ky wanted covering his back during a hairy situation.

  But he wished his partner would tone down the charm a little with Gemma Laine. That quick, hot bead of jealousy he swore he hadn’t felt yesterday had been a lie he’d told himself so he wouldn’t get blindsided. They had a job to do; several, in fact. Aside from keeping Gemma safe, they needed to find out who had leaked Calafano’s whereabouts to Ritandi and figure out another way they could put him away for good. Flirting with their present witness wasn’t a good idea. On any level.

  When he saw how easily and freely she interacted with his partner though, Ky knew the little stab in his midsection had a name.

  “No, ma’am,” Jon replied. “I’m too young and good looking to be tied down at this age. I’m single, bilingual, and ready to mingle.”

  Gemma’s gaze narrowed.

  “I’ve got a pretty good life outside the bureau. It’s a great job, but it’s just a job.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Life’s too short to make the job the be-all and end-all.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” she said, her lips quirking. “Maybe someday you’ll actually convince yourself it’s true.”

  She turned to Ky while Jon let out a whoop.

  “Gorgeous, talented, and she can cut straight through the bullshit,” Jon said. “Finally I’ve found the girl of my dreams. Gemma Laine, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

  “No,” she answered, immediately. “Not in a million years.”

  Jon’s hands flew to his chest, a hurt pout on his face. With his eyes closed and clasped as if in pain, he declared, “You wound me, woman, to the quick.”

  “You’ll survive.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head, a ghost of a grin billowing on her lips. “You’re too much of a playa not to.”

  For the first time Ky had an unfiltered view of her natural persona. Unguarded and quick, feisty, with just enough snark to be sassy but not derisive; this Gemma Laine was a delightful surprise.

  She turned her attention back to Ky. “To answer your question,” she said, ignoring Jon now, the mirth drained from her face, “you’re right, Kandy’s regular cooking show isn’t in production anymore. But she signed a new deal to give the network three cooking specials a year. She wanted a complete out, but EBS knows what a golden goose she is. They gave her carte blanche and a ridiculous payday as long as she agreed. I can see her devoting an entire hour to food like this,” she lifted her spoon, filled with stew, “so you’d better warn your mother and grandmother to be prepared for her call.”

  “They’d be honored,” he said.

  Honored? They’d be hysterical, but he didn’t say that out loud.

  He could picture them now, both women, plus his sister and his brothers’ wives, all standing in his mother’s kitchen, cackling away in Greek, each talking at the same time, offering their own special twist on a recipe.

  While they ate the rest of their meal, Jon asked Gemma questions about her family and her business, while Ky sat and listened.

  When they each rose and took their empty dinnerware to the sink, Jon reminded her it was his job to clean up.

  “You guys really don’t have to wait on me, you know,” she told them. “I’m used to doing things all on my own. I’m not useless.”

  “No one thinks you are,” Ky said. “Let Jon clean up, though. It keeps him humble.”

  “That’s one word for it,” his partner said while he filled the sink with water.

  “Come on,” Ky told Gemma. “I’ll show you the layout in the basement.”

  Chapter Four

  Gemma opened her eyes and for the second day in a row had a momentary flash of panic.

  Not her bed; not her bedroom.

  She sprang to a sitting position and as soon as her gaze landed on her laptop where it sat on the desk across from her, a desk Agent Pappandreos had insisted—ordered—her to move away from the window the night before, she remembered where she was.

  And why.

  She fell back on the pillow and scrubbed her hands down her face.

  Another day in paradise.

  Not.

  Habit had her reaching for her cell phone. Immediately, she remembered she didn’t have it.

  Stretching her arms above her head, she did the same to her legs, noting her knee felt fine, a little stiff, but no pain, and flexed her toes, lengthening her body along the bed.

  A quick glace out the open window told her the day was just beginning, and she decided to begin it the way she usually did. With a workout.

  Up and
dressed in the exercise gear Kandy had packed since she knew her sister so well, Gemma tied on her running shoes, twined her hair into a short ponytail and made her way to the basement.

  When she opened the door to her bedroom, the hallway light was lit. She cocked her head and listened for any sounds of life in the house. Hearing none, she gingerly walked to the stairs, down to the first floor. The den was vacant, the security screens glowing in the dark room like an eerie montage, perpetually streaming. Gemma stopped to see the two other agents she’d met, LaRoux and Coble, each on a separate monitor, walking around the outside of the house.

  They’re on patrol, she told herself, making sure no one breached the house and got to her.

  With a shudder, Gemma tore her eyes from the screens and exited the room.

  The kitchen was empty, the coffee machine on and the carafe half-full. Guessing the caffeine was for the outside agents, she moved to the basement door and opened it.

  Muffled sounds drifted up the stairs from the lit room that ran the length of the house.

  When Ky had shown her the area the night before with the invitation to use whatever she wanted to and at any time, Gemma had been impressed by the quality of the equipment. A top-notch elite treadmill, stair climber, and a full array of weights were displayed for her choosing, along with two boxing bags suspended from the ceiling and a life-sized Slam Man punching stand. But Gemma’s eyes had zeroed in on the nontraditional gear along one area of the concrete. Nunchakus, a series of different lengths of jo staffs, and several kamas of differing sizes were secured to the wall.

  Gemma’s eyes had gone wide when she’d viewed the fighting weapons. As much as she valued a good run, keeping up with her weapons training was equally as important. She hadn’t been to class in several weeks due to her book deadline, and her fingers and arms had twitched with longing when she realized she had the weapons at her disposal.

  With as little noise as possible, Gemma crept down the basement stairs, drawn to the sound of a fist connecting with something hard. It was an unmistakable sound, one she’d hoped to make herself this morning.