A Little Too Hot (22 page)

The sun feels so good, and the warmth lulls me into a drowsy half-dream where I can almost forget everything that’s happened over the last few months. I can almost pretend that I’m more to Blake than just his job.

“Sam,” he whispers in my ear.

“Hmm . . . ?” I answer lazily, without opening my eyes.

“We should head back. The tide’s coming in and the dive shop closes in an hour.”

When I open my eyes, the sun has moved across the sky. “Was I asleep?” I ask, propping up on to my elbows.

“For the last hour.”

I sit and realize my suit is dry. “It’s so peaceful here.”

He looks around and something a little mournful passes over his face. It makes me wonder again about his dad. “It is. It’s one of my favorite places.”

He stands and reaches for my hand, pulling me up. We pack up and trudge back to the parking lot with all our gear, and Blake loads everything into the back of the Escalade.

The gunshot comes out of nowhere, and Blake has me on the ground in a heartbeat, his body over mine. He swears under his breath as he looks wildly around the parking lot, and I realize, in nothing but his swim trunks, he has no gun.

But then the bang comes again, and an ancient Volkswagen Beetle rolls into the parking lot, a plume of black smoke in its wake. It backfires again as the engine chugs to a stop.

“Christ,” Blake says, rolling off me. “Are you all right?”

My left hand feels sticky, and when I sit up and look at it, I see the gouge in my palm. My knee’s scraped too, but not bleeding. “Yeah,” I say as he pulls me up by the hand. “I’m okay.”

He takes my shaking hand in his rock solid one and opens my palm, poking at the skin around the cut. “It’s not too deep,” he says. He lets me go and opens the storage compartment in the back of the Escalade, pulling out a first aid kit. After cleaning me up with a betadine wipe and covering the cut with a Band-Aid, he pulls a fresh T-shirt over his head and straps his chest holster on over the top. Then he ushers me to the passenger door, unlocks the glove box and pulls out his gun, tucking it into the holster.

He climbs in behind the wheel. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It’s all right. You were just doing your job.”

He turns and his eyes lock on mine. “I don’t want to do my job anymore. I’m sick of trying to be supercop. I’m sick of following orders and doing everything by the book.” His jaw tightens and his eyes go distant. “None of it is going to bring him back.”

“Who?” I ask gently.

His eyes focus again and he just looks at me a long moment.

My chest constricts with the pain in his expression. “Your father?”

He tips his head into the headrest and stares at the roof. “Caroline wasn’t just my sister. She was my best friend.” He lifts his head and looks at me. “My dad shipped us both off to live with my aunt and uncle when I was one and Caroline was two. I guess he did the best he could on his own, but this job means long hours and a lot of travel, so he had to give something up. He chose his job over his kids,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face. “When I was old enough to realize that, I hated him. My aunt made my dad take us for a week every summer, but from the time I was thirteen, all I ever did with our time together was try to make his life a living hell. That was when he stopped bringing us here.

“When I turned eighteen and didn’t have to see him anymore, I stopped coming. For five years I pretended he didn’t exist. And then Caroline died. The night they flew her body home, Dad came to Houston. I didn’t want him there and I told him so. Said if he wasn’t part of Caroline’s life, he didn’t get to care that she was dead. It got pretty ugly. Punches were thrown. But then we talked. All night. As backward as it seems, part of why he gave us up was because he loved our mom. I guess it was too hard after she was gone . . . looking at us and being reminded of her all the time.”

He tips his head back into the headrest, and moisture pools in his eyes. “The night I said goodbye to my sister was the night I met my dad.” His expression hardens. “And three months later, Arroyo gunned him down. He stole any chance I had to get to know my father.”

Seeing the agony on his face, I know today wasn’t just about facing down
my
fears. He had some that needed to be faced down too. I reach for his hand, but he pulls it away and rubs it down his face.

“I’m sorry, Blake.” It’s all I can think to say, because I know what it feels like to always come in second. My real father didn’t even want to know me. I was never going to be good enough for Mom and Greg, so they replaced me with the golden boys. Nothing cuts quite as deep as being rejected by the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally. But for him, it’s worse. I never knew my dad. Blake found his just in time to lose him again.

He takes a few deep breaths to pull himself together, then looks at me. “But the thing is, Arroyo’s just one of hundreds. Thousands. They’re lining up behind him already to take his place. Arroyo goes to jail, and nothing changes. I put you in the middle of my war, but it’s a war that can’t be won.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You didn’t put me here, Blake. That’s all on me. I’m the one who fucked up and got tossed from school. I gave my parents every reason to throw me out. I took advantage of my friends. And I’m the one who took the job at Benny’s.”

He reaches for me, threading his fingers through the hair on the back of my head and pulling me close. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you since I walked into Benny’s, but I’m not sorry I did.” He closes the inch between us, bringing my mouth to his. His kiss is deep and desperate, and starts an ache in my chest.

He pulls away, his hand cupping my cheek, and thumbs my chin. “I never saw you coming, Samantha West.”

He kisses me again, then lets me go and starts the engine. We return our diving gear and find a tiny shack on the coast where we stop for fried seafood. It’s greasy and good and I devour all of it along with a beer. And every move I make, I feel Blake’s eyes on me, but I try not to look. Because one thing I know is, I could lose myself in that gaze.

He calls Cooper from the road to tell him we’re on our way back. We talk about the urchins and starfish. We talk about the beach and the guy at the dive shack, who we both agree was seriously stoned. Blake plays his music and we talk about that. But as we head home, we don’t talk about anything that matters, like what happens next. Or if what we’re feeling is still just lust or something more. We don’t talk about if I’m ever going to see him again when I’m no longer his job.

Blake and I have shared so much. We’ve lived under the same roof for over six weeks. We’ve spent time together; gotten to know each other. There’s something beautiful and tragic in his soul that speaks to mine. I want to know him. I want to know every inch of him.

My head swims with more questions than answers as we wind up the hill to the house. When we get there, Cooper is in the driveway. He walks alongside the Escalade as Blake pulls into the garage.

“Everything’s clear,” he says as Blake steps out of the car. “How were things on your end?”

“No problems,” Blake says, opening the tailgate and pulling out his bag. “But I want someone on the perimeter tonight.”

Cooper’s eyes flash to me and he tips his head at Blake in a question. “And tomorrow?”

Blake nods, moving toward the elevator and sliding in his key. “Tomorrow too,” he says, pressing his code into the panel.

“We’re still going through with it?” Cooper says warily.

The elevator door opens and Blake steps in. “Yes.”

I look at Blake as I follow him into the elevator, trying to sort what they’re saying, but it’s like they’re speaking in some secret agent code that I’m not privy to.

“ ’Night, Jezebel,” Cooper says as the door slides shut.

“What’s tomorrow?” I ask Blake as we descend.

“Saturday, last I looked,” he answers without looking at me.

“So . . . Saturdays now warrant someone on the perimeter? I thought we went out today because the danger has passed.”

Finally, as the door opens into the living room, Blake turns to face me. “I believe it has . . . and I want you to have your life back.” He rubs his neck, dropping his backpack on the tile floor. “I want that more than I can tell you . . . to give you back what I took. But we’re still in a little bit of a cooling off period, and as long as it’s my job, I’m going to keep you safe. We just need a few more days, Sam.”

He takes the mesh bag to the kitchen and pulls out the abalone, and I move to the window. Outside, the sun is setting over San Francisco, streaking the sky with lavender and crimson and gold. I step out onto the balcony, trying to keep the sudden pang in my chest off my face. Because in a few more days, this will all be over. In a few more days, I won’t be Blake’s responsibility anymore. I’m just now realizing that the thing I’ve been hoping for all along is the thing I’m dreading most.

Chapter Thirty-Two

T
HE SME
LL OF
frying bacon wakes me, and when I stumble out of my room the next morning, Blake is already finished with his workout. He’s freshly showered and his hair is sticking up every which way as he moves around the kitchen.

“Morning,” I say, making a beeline for the coffeepot and filling my Alcatraz mug to the rim. On the counter are our abalone shells. Blake said I could keep them, though I have no idea what I’m going to do with them. I worked most of the night after dinner cleaning them. Inside the shell, under where the abalone was, there’s a beautiful prism of shimmering blue and green. It reminds me of my dragonfly’s wings.

He smiles up at me as I lift my mug to my face and gulp. “Just in time.” He slides on an oven mitt and reaches into the oven, pulling out a plate mounded with French toast.

“Wow. Are you expecting Jenkins or something?”

He arranges three slices on a plate, sprinkles powdered sugar over the top, and hands it over the counter to me. “He’s been outside all night. If there’s any left, I’ll bring him up a plate.”

I help myself to a few slices of bacon and pour too much syrup over everything. “Why did you want someone out there last night?”

His eyes flick to me as he serves himself. “Just a precaution.”

“Because of what happened last time we left the house?”

“Partly.” He steps around the counter and slips onto the stool next to me. “Arroyo has pled out, and with the murder charge off the table, there’s nothing you can do to hurt him anymore. I just want to make sure he knows that before we let you go.”

“How will you know he knows that?”

“His lawyers will take him through the evidence. Nowhere in any of the racketeering evidence does your name appear. He should figure it out pretty quick. But . . .” He trails off and I look up at him. “We got Sayavong, Sam. It’s starting to fall like a house of cards. The FBI got the manifest for a container ship that Sayavong contracted with under the name of Chang in the past. There were some inconsistencies, and when the Bureau pushed, the company caved and handed over the records. With the help of local officials the FBI was able to locate the girl who went missing from Benny’s. He shipped her to Central America, and from there flew her to a buyer in Brazil.”

There’s a full minute that I can’t breathe. “Are you serious? You found her?”

A smile blooms on his face. “Thanks to you. And there were others, Sam. We’ve located four other American girls and a handful of Mexicans and Central Americans. Your information has taken down the ring. You’ve probably saved dozens of girls.”

“I didn’t do it. You said the FBI was already looking at him, right?”

“But you put the pieces together for them,” he says with a flash of admiration in his eyes.

Even if I helped a little bit, it feels like, maybe for the first time in my life, I’ve done something worthwhile. I prop my elbows on the counter and drop my head into my hands. “Are they okay?”

His voice is wary. “They’ve been through a lot, but now that they’re coming home, they can get the help they need.”

It makes me think of Sabrina, and I wonder how she’s doing. Can any of them ever be right again?

I can’t really eat, so we barely make a dent in the French toast, but I can’t keep from picking at the bacon, so Jenkins’s plate only has one slice on it when Blake brings it up to him. When he comes back, I’m on the balcony, looking out over the view I’m going to miss so much when this is over. He steps up to the rail next to me and leans his elbows on it. “Looks a little windy out there,” he says, his eyes on the bay. “Wonder if it’s windy in the city.”

“Probably,” I say absently, turning my face up to the sun and drinking it in. “At least there’s no fog this morning.”

“A nice day for a wedding, don’t you think?”

A wedding.

Trent and Lexie.

With everything that’s happened, I’d lost track, but today is their wedding.

“I suppose.” I brace myself for the wave of hurt or betrayal or anger, so when what I feel isn’t any those things, it takes me a second to get a grasp on what it is. And when I realize it’s excitement, I breathe out a laugh. Lexie is getting married today. My best friend. But on the heels of the excitement there’s disappointment that I won’t be there.

“C’mere,” Blake says, taking my hand and towing me into the living room. He picks up a garment bag that’s draped over the back of the armchair and hands it to me. “Open it.”

I unzip the bag, and inside is a champagne-colored halter dress with bling around the collar and down the front.

“The invitation says seven o’clock. I thought this was appropriate for an evening wedding.”

I lift the dress out of the bag and hold it up against me. “Oh my God. It’s beautiful.” I look up at him. “They said I could go?”

The hint of a mischievous smile tugs at his mouth. “It took a little arm twisting, because it’s possible Arroyo’s men might know this woman is a friend of yours, but Special Agent in Charge Navarro agreed to let us go for an hour.”

“Us?” I ask, surprised.

His gaze turns cautions. “I have to go with you, Sam. And Cooper will be posted outside. I don’t think there’s any real danger, but if anything were to happen . . .”

“The reception,” I say as he trails off.

He looks a question at me.

“If we can only go for an hour, I want to go to the reception so I can talk to people.”

“You still can’t say anything . . .” he warns, “about any of this.”

“I won’t. But my friend Katie will be there, I’m sure. And . . .” I put the dress down and look at it. “. . . if I only get to wear this for an hour, I want it to be an hour that counts.”

He looks at me for a beat, then nods. “The reception. But you can’t RSVP. No one can know you’re coming.”

I scowl at him. “I couldn’t RSVP if I wanted to. You’ve got the only phone.”

He flashes me a dazzling smile and I feel myself melt in the glow of it.

I wish I could see Jonathan. It still eats at me every day that he knows I didn’t believe in him. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make up for that. But seeing my old friends from high school will be so amazing. And it will give me something else to think about for a while.

I need this so much right now.

“If we’re not concerned about making the wedding,” Blake says, “we should wait until after dark to leave.”

“So, what time?”

“Nine?”

I scoop up the dress and head toward my room. “I have some things to do to get ready.”

He leans against the counter and watches after me, that cocky almost-smile on his face. “Careful, or you’ll outshine the bride.”

I turn back at my door and smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

His eyebrow arches. “I don’t think there’s anything you’re going to be able to do about it.”

I manage to keep the giddy smile off my face until I’m through my door. I close it and hug the dress, spinning a circle and trying not to giggle like a sixth grader.

W
HEN
I
UN
PACK
the garment bag after my shower, in addition to the dress, I find matching four-inch heels, silk stockings, and a garter belt. Seems Blake thought of everything. The whole ensemble is sex on a stick.

I wax my legs, massage in lotion, and give myself a pedicure and manicure. I experiment with my makeup and find I’m able to almost completely cover the scar on my cheek. In dim light it shouldn’t be noticeable.

The dress is shimmering champagne and hugs every curve, with a tie at the neck and an open back. It’s got a tapered hem and a slit up the front. It’s elegant and sexy all at the same time, and much nicer than anything I’ve ever owned. I slip it on, and, looking at myself in the dress that Blake bought me, for the first time I can honestly say I’m glad I’m not with Trent. I’m glad it never went that far.

I scoop my hair up and experiment with how I want to wear it. After all these weeks pent up here, this feels like dress-up—like Cinderella getting ready for the ball. Blake is my fairy godmother.

When I come out of my room a few minutes before nine, the view leaves me breathless—and I’m not talking about the lights of the city and the bay below. Blake is standing in the middle of the family room in charcoal pinstripe slacks over black cowboy boots. His black shirt is open at the collar, and over it he wears a medium gray vest and a black leather suit jacket. I’m gaping at him as I try to catch my breath.

“You look . . .” He gives his head one slow shake. “Stunning doesn’t do you justice.”

“You too,” I finally say, moving forward in a little bit of a daze. Blake just turned from my fairy godmother into Prince Charming, and it’s everything I can do not to drool.

His hair has gotten longer, I just now notice, because I can clearly see streaks of blond in the sandy brown. And it’s beach tousled. The whole package just makes me want to unwrap it.

“After you, mademoiselle,” he says with a flourish toward the elevator. He presses the button as I step up next to him.

“We’re really doing this?”

He smiles and nods. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

I look at him a second, my eyes scanning from the hair to the face and down the suit, and I seriously think about it. But then I shake my head and step into the elevator. “Let’s go.”

He escorts me to the Escalade and opens my door, taking my hand and helping me in. I watch him as he walks around to his side, struck again by how he moves. Just like with his kata, everything he does looks effortless. He slips into his seat and shoots me a conspiratorial smile as he starts the engine. “Ready to crash a reception?”