A Lot Like Love

by Julie James

  As their father's lecture continued, Jordan smiled gratefully to her brother from across the table.

  Kyle winked in reply. No problem.

  SHE SHOULD'VE REALIZED, however, that she wasn't entirely off the hook.

  "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" Kyle asked as soon as their father left.

  Jordan sighed. "I wouldn't know where to start." Something had been nagging her all evening. Yes, she was mad at Nick for not calling her back, but she'd begun to wonder if she maybe, possibly, shared just a tiny bit of responsibility for their fight.

  She toyed with the stem of her wineglass absentmindedly. "Do you ever think we're not ... open enough?" she asked Kyle. "With our feelings, I mean. I suppose we are kind of sarcastic sometimes."

  To his credit, he neither laughed nor scoffed at the question. "Mom was always the expressive one. When she died, I think the three of us sort of fell into this routine." He smiled in a rare moment of sincerity between them. "But I think we get by well enough."

  Jordan shared the smile. She thought her family did pretty okay, too. Federal incarceration excepted. "But what about with other people?"

  Kyle shrugged at this. "I shut down Twitter after finding out that my girlfriend cheated on me. That seems pretty expressive."

  "You could've just told her how hurt you were," Jordan said gently.

  Kyle fell quiet in response to her comment. They'd talked a lot about the infamous Twitter incident, but not about the feelings that had caused it. She'd sensed that her brother barely wanted to admit to himself that there were any such feelings.

  "Telling someone how you feel can be risky, Jordo," he finally said. "Once the words are out, there are no take-backs."

  She didn't disagree with that. But if the alternative to gathering some courage and laying her feelings on the line was becoming an infamous Internet terrorist, perhaps it wouldn't kill her to be straight with Nick. Yes, he could've made things easier by not acting like a stubborn jerk, but nothing about Nick had been easy since the night they'd met. It was one of the things she liked about him. Eighty-two percent of the time.

  She took a deep breath, ready to start by being honest with herself. "Kyle ... I think I screwed up." She held up a hand, qualifying this. "Partially. Tall, Dark, and Smoldering deserves a lot of the blame. At least half. Maybe two-thirds. Of course, he's probably sulking right now, thinking that I'm the only one who's wrong here. He's kind of frustrating that way. He gets under your skin, like a tick, or a burr, or a thorn, or ..." She looked to her brother for help. "What else gets under your skin?"

  "Scabies?" he suggested.

  "Scabies? This is what you come up with?"

  Kyle stared at her as if she was losing it. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Jordo. But I'll say this, if you think you screwed up, there's only one question—the same one you asked me five months ago: Can you fix it?"

  Jordan sighed. "I'm trying."

  Her brother's gaze was firm. "Try harder."

  She glared at him. "Okay." Then after a moment, she nodded in concession. "Okay."

  Thirty-one

  DEVINE CELLARS WAS ready to go promptly at ten o'clock, and so was Jordan.

  Nick still hadn't called her back, but this was okay. She was pumped, recharged, and if he didn't want to take her calls, that was just fine. She'd march down to that fake office of his and tell him how she felt in person. Hopefully, there'd be some corresponding indication that he returned her feelings, but she couldn't dwell on that. This was new territory for her—the whole mushy, expressive thing—and if she thought about it too much, she might chicken out and resort to her quippy, self-protective defaults. And look where that had gotten her.

  She knew from her prior conversation with Nick that Xander was meeting with Trilani that morning, and guessed that Nick would be busy until later in the day. To preoccupy herself until then, she threw herself into the store's opening tasks. When she'd blown through all of those by 10:22, she looked around for something else to distract herself with. She was debating whether to alphabetize the wines in the store within each varietal type and geographic origin when the bell chimed against the front door.

  Thank God, a customer. Jordan spun around, and her smile wavered before she caught herself.

  Xander Eckhart walked into her store.

  Jordan quickly hid her surprise. Obviously, Xander and Trilani must have rescheduled their meeting. Since she and Nick hadn't spoken since Sunday, she was out of the loop on these things.

  She deferred to her now standard method of handling situations in which she was wholly clueless—she acted normal. Or at least tried to. "Xander. It's good to see you again. It's been a couple weeks."

  "Since the night of my party." Not surprising given the cold temperatures outside, he wore a dark overcoat and black leather gloves.

  "How have you been?" Jordan hoped she didn't sound as unnerved as she felt. She hadn't counted on seeing Xander again before ... well, ever, actually. Perhaps this had been wishful thinking on her part—he was a regular customer of her store, after all.

  You can do this, she reassured herself. She'd managed to maintain the friendly charade during his party; she could certainly handle some small talk while he perused the store. They were so close—the FBI was nearly finished with their investigation. She wouldn't screw things up now.

  Still, there were tingles at the back of her neck. Why wasn't he meeting with Trilani?

  She watched as Xander walked—without pausing—past the "New and Noteworthy" wine display at the front of the store.

  He always stopped and checked out that display. The snob in him couldn't resist, couldn't stand the idea that there might be some notable wine out there that he didn't know about.

  Jordan swallowed hard.

  With as little movement as possible, she slid her hand underneath the bar and pushed the panic button.

  "How am I doing?" Xander asked. "Truthfully, Jordan, not so great. Not so great at all."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. Did something happen?"

  As he approached, Jordan could see that his expression was stone cold.

  "Actually, something did happen. I found out that someone I thought I could trust lied to me. Betrayed me." He stopped directly opposite her at the bar.

  A long silence stretched between them.

  "Just tell me why you did it," Xander finally said. "But I should warn you, Jordan—if I don't like your answer, things could go very badly for you."

  He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a gun. "And I have a feeling there's a really good chance I'm not going to like your answer."

  NICK PACED IN his fake office, waiting for his cell phone to ring.

  He'd told Huxley to call as soon as Trilani arrived at Bordeaux for his meeting with Eckhart, but he hadn't heard a word yet.

  While he paced, he tried not to think about Jordan.

  As a guy, he knew that he wasn't supposed to admit these kinds of things, but this whole argument with her had completely freaked him out. Over the course of just a few days, he'd gone ballistic when he'd seen her talking to the douchebag, he'd called in every favor owed him to get her felon of a brother out of prison, they'd spent a whirlwind weekend in wine country of all places, he'd actually considered changing his job for her, and then they'd had a fight and he'd stormed out of her house feeling like he'd been used for sex.

  Clearly, he wasn't himself these days.

  And the only way he knew to get back to being himself was to cut off the problem. To push Jordan out of his life completely.

  That made him freak out even more.

  Somehow, with her sneaky ways, she'd managed to get inside him and screw up all his plans. He'd been perfectly happy with his life until she'd come along with her wine and her sassiness and her sparkling blue eyes and the way she always made him laugh. He would laugh at himself for being such a sucker ... except he hadn't so much as cracked a smile since he'd left her house on Sunday.

  It all
had happened too fast. He'd always assumed that one day he'd get bored with undercover work and that he'd slowly transition out of bachelorhood when that happened. But this—this wild, heart-pounding, nerve-wracking, exhilarating, rollercoaster ride between him and Jordan—was nuts. Plain and simple. And here's what freaked him out most: if he was one of those sensitive, introspective types, he would say that the feelings he had for Jordan sure seemed a lot like love and he, Nick McCall, didn't do love.

  Or hell, maybe he did.

  Still pacing in his office, he added a whole slew of Brooklyn-flavored swears to that, most of which he guessed the average sensitive, introspective type wouldn't even know the meaning of.

  The way he saw it, he had two choices. Plan A: keep avoiding Jordan and see if this heart-pounding, nerve-wracking feeling went away as quickly as it came. He remembered something he'd once overheard at a family party: his cousin Maria had been babbling on about her boyfriend problems and had said she'd read in Cosmo that it took a person one-half the length of a relationship to get over a breakup.

  That didn't sound too bad, Nick thought. If he only counted the times they'd hooked up, he and Jordan had been together for three days. According to Cosmo, he should be over her in thirty-six hours.

  He checked his watch. Damn. By his calculations, he was supposed to have moved on three hours and twenty-four minutes ago. Not a good sign.

  Which brought him to Plan B: fuck Cosmo and accept the fact that this heart-pounding, nerve-wracking feeling was never going away. And deal with it. Plan B had one good thing going for it—it meant that he got to storm down to Jordan's store and tell her just how pissed he was that she'd messed up all his plans. He wasn't sure where the conversation would go from there, but he'd come up with something. Or maybe he'd simply scrap all the talking and kiss her until she remembered how boring her life would be hanging out with a bunch of douchebags wearing scarves.

  Now that sounded like a plan.

  Nick's cell phone rang, and he checked. Huxley. About time. But the news was not what he had expected.

  "Looks like Eckhart skipped out on another meeting," Huxley said.

  "Is he still sick?"

  "No clue. There's been no communication by Eckhart from inside his office all morning."

  Nick didn't like the sound of that. Eckhart had been very quiet over the past couple days. Since they'd assumed he had the stomach flu, this hadn't raised an immediate flag. But people who worked with Roberto Martino did not make a regular habit of blowing off his men. "I don't like that he's gone radio silent."

  "You think he's onto us?" Huxley asked.

  Nick swore under his breath. He didn't know how that could be possible, or what would've suddenly tipped Eckhart off, but he'd been involved in enough undercover investigations to know that if an agent had to ask whether his cover had been blown, then, yep—his cover probably had been blown. "We need to wrap this up ASAP."

  "Do you think we got enough evidence to convict?"

  "It'll have to be enough. I'll call Davis to let him know that we should proceed with Eckhart and Trilani's arrests." Nick's other line beeped, and he checked to see who was calling. "Speak of the devil. I swear, Davis either has ESP or taps on our phones. He always knows when this stuff goes down."

  He clicked over to answer Davis's call. "I was just about to call you, boss. We've got a situation here with Eckhart."

  Davis's voice sounded uncharacteristically terse. "What situation?"

  Nick explained that Eckhart hadn't shown up for the meeting with Trilani. When he was finished, Davis's next question caught him off guard.

  "Where is Jordan Rhodes right now?"

  Nick didn't see why that was relevant right then. "I'm guessing she opened her store at ten. Why?"

  "We picked up a call coming from the phone line at DeVine Cellars. The line that connects to the alarm system," Davis said. "Somebody there pushed the panic button."

  Jordan.

  Nick already had his car keys in his hand and was running out the door. "I'm on my way."

  JORDAN'S EYES HELD on the gun pointed at her.

  She tried to keep her voice calm. "Xander. What are you doing?"

  He tightened his grip on the gun. "Come around the bar. Slowly. And go shut the shades."

  The store's phone began to ring. The alarm company, she thought. When she didn't answer, they would send the police over. Which meant she needed to keep Xander talking until they got there.

  Getting her first good look at him, she saw that he hadn't shaved for several days. And there were dark circles underneath his eyes, eyes that regarded her with calculated fury. "I think you should put the gun away so we can talk about this."

  "And I think you should shut your lying mouth. Go close the goddamn blinds."

  Not being in a position to disagree, Jordan did as he asked. Xander kept the gun trained on her as she walked to the front windows and pulled down the shades, one at a time.

  "And the one over the door," he ordered. He stood directly behind her and placed the gun against the back of her head. "Don't get any ideas about running."

  Jordan closed her eyes, feeling the pressure of the barrel against her scalp. Just keep stalling. As she shut the final shade over the door, she looked hopefully for someone who might be walking by, someone she could possibly signal, but no luck.

  She did a quick assessment in her head. She must've bought herself at least three or four minutes already. The police had to be on their way. After she finished drawing the shade, she heard her cell phone ringing in the back room.

  "Lock the door." The gun dug harder against the back of her head.

  She did as he asked.

  "Now move back into the center of the room."

  Jordan glanced around the store, at the wine bottles everywhere. Maybe she could grab one to use as a weapon and ... risk being shot by the man who had a big-time ax to grind with her, a man who undoubtedly would be all too happy to have another excuse to pull the trigger.

  Not the best plan.

  She moved toward the middle of the store and turned around.

  "Now we can talk without worrying about interruptions," Xander said.

  More stalling. "Great. Maybe now you can tell me why you have a gun pointed at me."

  "Drop the fucking charade, Jordan. I know everything. Your boyfriend, Nick McCall, works for the FBI. You brought him to the party so he could bug my office." Xander cocked his head, drawing closer. "It was when you asked me to join you on the terrace, wasn't it? Is that when he did it?"

  "My boyfriend's name is Nick Stanton and he's in real estate," Jordan said steadily. "The night of the party, I asked you to join me on the terrace to discuss wine. That's all."

  With his free hand, Xander backhanded her across the face.

  Caught off guard, Jordan fell back and tripped on the leg of a display table. Her wrist cracked against the tile floor as she tried to break her fall.

  Her eyes blurred from the sharp pain in her cheek and shooting down her wrist. She touched her face gingerly and winced. Holding her left arm against her body, she propped herself up with one hand and turned around to face Xander.

  He stood before her with a satisfied glint in his eyes. "Not so smug now, are you?" He knelt down to her. "Tell me the truth." Once again, he moved the gun to her head.

  Given the circumstances, Jordan knew she needed to give him something. When in trouble ... she went with her usual out.

  "I did it for Kyle." Her voice was strained from the throbbing pain in her wrist as she began to tell her lies. "The FBI threatened me. They said they would make sure that he was denied any chance for early parole, and that they'd make his life a living hell at MCC." She looked at Xander as if pleading for him to understand. "He's my brother, Xander. I had no choice."

  He seemed momentarily uncertain. Then the hard expression returned. "Bullshit. It's been all over the news—they let your brother out of prison. That was your deal."

  "You think I'd be foolish
enough to agree to leave Kyle in prison after they threatened him? I told them I wouldn't cooperate unless the U.S. attorney promised in writing to release him."

  For a moment, Xander almost appeared to believe her.

  At that point, Jordan would take any moment she could get.

  Then he shook his head. "Nice try. But I don't think you'd shack up with McCall after he threatened your brother."

  "Our whole relationship was a setup. Because of the bugs in your office, the FBI knew you were having Nick followed. They made me play along—told me I needed to pretend he was my boyfriend."

  "And going to Napa with him—was that part of the setup, too?"

  Jordan paused, not having realized Xander knew about that. "It was a previously scheduled business trip, and Nick thought it would look more convincing if he went with me."

  She prayed that he bought it.

  "I gotta hand it to you, Jordan—you're good," Xander said with a humorless laugh. "I almost believe you. But your days of playing me are over." He gestured with the gun. "This whole thing nearly worked out perfectly for you. You got your brother out of prison and snagged a boyfriend in the process. You even managed to work in the romantic trip to Napa you've always wanted. And you got it all at my fucking expense," he said through clenched teeth. He pressed the gun to her temple, his hand shaking.

  Jordan closed her eyes. Oh God.

  "You destroyed my life," he hissed. "I'll lose everything over this. My restaurants, my home, my wine collection—Martino's money has touched everything, and the Feds are going to take it all." He dug the gun harder into her skin. "I'll go to prison. If Martino doesn't get to me first. I'm a dead man, Jordan. Because of you."

  As she lay on the floor of her store, trembling, Jordan realized that she hadn't thought about what would happen to Xander when the investigation was over. Maybe she hadn't wanted to. "Xander, I—"

  "Don't." His hand shook. "You ruined me, and now I'm going to return the favor. I'm getting the hell out of here. Taking off to a faraway place that doesn't have an extradition treaty. I'll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, worrying who will find me first—the FBI or Martino. Not the way I thought things were going to work out for me. But at least I'll have one thing: the satisfaction of remembering the look on your face when I pull this trigger."