The Heat Is On (11 page)

“Yeah?”

“I can't see a rhyme or reason to the order in which the eight of us are being targeted.”

Ethan shook his head. “Me, neither. Just be careful out there,” he warned. “And though I don't believe she's the target, I've advised Bella to do the same.”

At lunchtime, Jacob shoved the reports he'd been working on aside and left the building. He was halfway to Edible Bliss when he was called to check on a material witness for a case he was building involving the identity-theft ring.

Thanks to an uncooperative witness and an unhappy victim, by the time Jacob was back on the road again, it was nearly two.

Bella had probably eaten lunch without him long ago.

Still, he headed over there, needing to see her. It had nothing to do with his own emotions and feelings, he assured himself, and everything to do with what Ethan had said.

She needed to be careful.

Something bad had happened each day for three days running, and he just wanted to lay his eyes on her—and maybe his hands—and know she was okay.

Over the years he'd had hundreds of cases, and had met countless people he'd worried about in the scope of the job. But this wasn't just the job. This was personal.

Almost too much so.

He parked his bike in the back lot next to the
squad car assigned to the shop, nodding to the cop inside. It was Tom Kennedy, a rookie of less than a year. They spoke for a minute, and when Tom said he hadn't had lunch yet, Jacob told him to take off and grab something, that he'd watch the place until he got back.

Jacob stepped up to the kitchen door, wanting to take a quick peek inside before he made a complete check around the perimeter of the building.

Bella was alone, bustling around in tune to the sound system, which she had blaring Radiohead. She wore a pair of tiny denim shorts, an oversize white men's T-shirt knotted in the small of her back, a siren-red apron, and matching red high-tops on her feet. That made him smile. Hell,
she
made him smile.

Her wild hair was piled up on top of her head, a few wispy tendrils escaping, sticking to her damp temples. He knew just how that damp skin would taste, and he felt himself stir with arousal just looking at her.

Then he pictured her in that apron, and nothing else.

Christ, he needed help. If he had ever doubted the necessity of removing himself from the case, this moment made it irrefutable.

She hadn't seen him yet. She was singing to herself as she cleaned the countertop, the motion making her hips rock back and forth.

And making him ache.

Christ, he was gone. Completely gone over her. He hoped she'd decide to come out and get some air, but clearly she was getting ready to close up. Leaning against the doorjamb, he stood there with a ridiculous grin on his face, just soaking her in. He figured he could probably stand there and watch her all damn day long and not get tired of it, but then she vanished into the front room of the shop, where he could no longer see or hear her.

And he had a job to do first before he went inside. He straightened up to get on with it just as the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up. He jerked around at the exact moment the shot rang out.

He jerked again at the impact, and fire burned through him.

He really hated getting shot.

He opened his mouth to yell a warning to Bella, since he knew she couldn't hear a thing over her music, but nothing came out. His last thought at he hit the ground was that at least he wasn't holding a bouquet of flowers.

B
ELLA MOVED TO THE
front door of the shop, locked it, then looked over the freshly installed window. Remembering the reason for that had a shiver racking her as she flipped the Closed sign. She moved to the iPod dock in the closet and hit the power button, and in the sudden silence, another shiver, this one of dread, raced up her spine. She stepped out of the closet and looked around for the cause.

Everything looked normal.

Then Willow's face appeared in the front door's window, and Bella near fell back on her butt in surprise.

“Sorry,” Willow said when Bella had opened the door for her. “Forgot my key and my purse.” She frowned. “I don't know where my head is.”

“I do. It's on the shootings, and the fact that we had half our usual customers today.”

Willow sighed. “Yeah. That's it.”

Her hair was spiked straight up and out today, like Cher in her seventies Oscar run. She was wearing retro derby gear complete with polyester shorts and a green-and-white rugby top. The only thing missing was a pair of skates and the pads. “You're wearing your mom's clothes again.”

“Yeah, I love her closet. I'm going to stay there again tonight. There's an extra couch…”

“Thanks. I'll let you know.”

Hands on hips, Willow's eyes narrowed as she studied Bella. “You're eating your short-crust pastry.”

Bella looked down at the pastry in her hands and sighed. “Had so much left over today. And it's good.”

“It's great,” Willow corrected. “It's soft and flaky and
perfect.
But according to you, it also goes right to your hips.”

“You forgot your purse and keys due to stress. I'm eating due to stress. We're quite the pair.” Bella sighed again and tossed the pastry into the trash.

“Well, Jesus, if you were going to throw it away…” Willow looked wistfully at the trash can.

“Don't you dare.” They moved into the kitchen, where Bella gave her a new one from the leftovers bin, and Willow happily bit into it.

Bella shook her head. “I hate that you can eat like this and stay as skinny as a rail.”

Willow grinned and took another pastry. “Good genes.” She cocked her head and her smile faded. “There's something else wrong. Aw, honey. Is it Sexy Cop?”

“No. Yes. I don't know.” She shook it off. “It's nothing. He was supposed to meet me for lunch and didn't. No biggie.”

“He's got an important job. He probably just got held up.”

“Yes. Maybe.” But maybe not. Maybe he'd decided their casual fun was over.

“He doesn't seem like the sort of man to play with a woman's feelings,” Willow said quietly. “And anyway, I've seen him look at you. He'd never play with you like that. Something came up. He'll call.”

“Yeah.”

“You keep going down that path,” Willow said, grabbing her purse, “and you're going to be insane by the end of the day. I'm going to the movies. Trevor's driving. Come with us?”

“Not today, thanks.”

Willow gave her a fast hug. “You're just afraid because you're feeling more than you meant to, because you're falling for him.”

Bella squeezed her eyes shut. “Maybe.”

“Don't worry, Bell, I think he means to catch you.”

And then she was gone, out through the dining area and the front door, and with a sigh, Bella
locked up. For the tenth time, she pulled out her cell phone.

No missed call.

Fine. He hadn't called. That was fine.

You're falling for him.
Willow's words echoed in her head. They were a scary truth.
Her
scary truth, because she
was
falling.

But was she the only one? Hard to tell. But if so, that was okay. He'd said casual. It wasn't his fault that she hadn't managed to keep it that way. She'd get herself together. She would.

She sagged a little, feeling the ache behind her ribs that showed her up as a big, fancy liar. With a shake of her head, she turned off the lights, grabbed her key and went to push open the back door, but it got stuck on something. She pushed a little harder, and when it moved enough for her to squeeze out, she nearly tripped over—

A body.

He was on his side facing away from her. Dark hair, buff arms, broad shoulders, blood pooling beneath him on the ground—

Oh, God.

This wasn't just any body, this one was as familiar to her as her own.

With a groan, Jacob shifted, and she stepped over him and dropped to her knees with a shocked sob.
“Jacob!”
His shirt was light blue, so she could clearly see the hole in his shoulder, and the blood
pumping from it. Panic clenched her hard in the gut, and she ripped off her T-shirt, wadding it up to press it to his wound as she whipped out her cell phone and pounded 911.

He rolled to his back, face tight in a grimace as she gave the information to emergency dispatch.

“Goddamn,” he said through his teeth when she was done and pressed harder on the wound. “That hurts.”

She slid a hand beneath his head to move it to her lap, and her fingers came away bloody. “You must have hit your head.”

“Well, that's a relief.” He was staring up at her and blinking rapidly. “Explains why there's four of you.” He closed his eyes. “Get inside and stay away from the windows.”

“What? I'm not leaving you!”

“Goddammit, Bella. The shooter could still be out here somewhere.”

She lifted her head and looked around, heart pumping so hard she could scarcely breathe. “No one's out here.”

“Did it go through?”

“What?”

“The bullet. Did it go through?”

She let out a breath and looked him over. Hole in the front. Gently she leaned over him so she could see the back.

God.

God, there was so much blood. “Yes,” she said shakily. “It went straight through.”

“That's good.” His eyes were a little glazed and fixed on what was right in front of his face—her chest. “Nice bra.”

She made a sound that was a half laugh, half sob, and applied more pressure.

“Oh, shit,” Jacob rasped through his teeth.

“I'm sorry. You're bleeding so much.”

“Call Ethan. Have him tell Tom his lunch break's over.”

Again she used her cell. Onlookers were starting to trickle into the parking lot, one of whom brought her a shawl to wrap around herself. Two of the adjacent shop owners were there, too, and several people that Bella didn't know, all standing a respectful distance back.

She heard sirens. “They're coming.”

He didn't move or open his eyes and she gripped him tight. “Jacob!”

“Shh,” Jacob whispered. “He's sleeping.”

“No. Stay with me,” she said fiercely, leaning down to put her face right in his. “Don't you dare leave me.”

“Bella,” he said softly, sounding pained. He squeezed her hand. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Okay, then.”

He didn't say anything more, but she could see his chest rising and falling. Breathing. Breathing was good.

The ambulance pulled into the lot and everything happened in super speed then. She was pulled free
of Jacob, who was quickly assessed, his vitals taken and an IV started. She heard the EMT report to the hospital that they had a thirty-two-year-old male with a through-and-through GSW to the shoulder, vitals stable, possible slight concussion.

She never took her eyes off Jacob. He was clearly woozy, but he'd been able to give his name, age, the time and place. That had to be good, she told herself.

Then he was loaded up.

She tried to go with him, but another EMT detained her, gaze running over her gently as he assessed her to make sure the blood all over her wasn't hers. By the time it was determined she was fine, the ambulance with Jacob had left.

Fine. She knew just where the hospital was, since on her first week in Santa Rey she'd cut her finger with her paring knife and had required three stitches. She needed a shirt anyway, and she had to lock up, and she had to—

“Bella.”

She turned and found a grim-looking Ethan, and nearly lost it at the familiar face.

Right. She had to talk to the police.

Yet again.

“Oh, Christ,” he said when he got a good look at her. “Were you hit?”

“No, it's Jacob's blood.”

He backed her into the kitchen, keeping a tight grip on her until she sat in a chair. Without a word,
he went to the refrigerator and got her a bottle of water. “Drink,” he said, and went to the sink to wet a towel.

“Someone shot him,” she said softly.

“I know.” Gently he pulled the shawl off her, then ran the towel over her arms. He rinsed it out, then handed it back to her, presumably so that she could do her own torso. “What did you see?” he asked.

“Nothing. I saw nothing. I got a sort of hinky feeling, and I shrugged it off.” She shook her head. “Willow came back for her purse—”

“Willow was here?”

“Yes, briefly. After she left, I came to the back door here to leave, and nearly tripped over him. He was just lying there.” Her hand was shaking so badly she couldn't drink. “And I'm shaking. I never shake.”

He shrugged out of his shirt and wrapped it around her. “Are you going to take me to the station again?” she asked him.

“I'm not a complete asshole. I'm going to wait for you to collect yourself, then I'm going to drive you to the hospital to see him.”

She lifted her head and met his gaze. “You're worried about him, too.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Yeah.”

She stood up. “Consider me collected.”

He looked her over as if to make his own assessment, then he reached for her hand and took her to his car.

G
ETTING SHOT SUCKED.
Being X-rayed and MRI'd sucked. Lying in a hospital bed sucked.

Jacob kept his eyes closed because somehow he hurt less that way. What else sucked? he wondered. Oh, yeah, wearing a stupid hospital gown with his ass hanging out—

At the slight rustle at his side, he gave up the pity party and opened his eyes.

The room immediately started spinning wildly. Thank you, morphine.

The lights were low. He could hear the soft muted sounds of monitors and sensed activity just outside his door, but inside his room, all was fairly quiet.

Turning just his head, he came face-to-face with Bella. She was sitting in a chair by his bed, hunched over the raised mattress, head down on her folded arms.

Given her slow, even breathing, he concluded she
was sleeping. Her hair was a wild, riotous wreck. He was fairly certain there was blood in it, and his heart picked up speed until he realized it was probably his. She wore a man's shirt, not his, shoved up to the elbows, and with her face turned to the side, he could make out the very faint tracks of whisker burns on the underside of her jaw.

Those
were his.

She was a quiet, tousled, clearly exhausted mess, and maybe it was the fact that he was as high as a kite, but no one had ever looked better to him.

The door opened behind her, but thanks to what he knew from experience was a combination of a severe adrenaline letdown and an emotional exhaustion, she didn't so much as stir as his brother Austin walked in.

He and Jacob were only a year and a half apart, and on a normal day, when one of them wasn't lying in a hospital bed trussed up with bandages and on some good mind-altering drugs, they could have passed for twins. Dark hair, matching dark eyes and a tendency for walking headfirst into trouble.

“Just talked to your doctor—” Austin glanced at Bella, raised a brow, then silently sat on the other side of Jacob's bed. “That her?”

“Who?”

“The woman you went out with, the one you dropped off the face of the planet for over the past few days.”

Jacob felt the stupid smile cross his lips and
couldn't do a damn thing about it. “Her name is Isabella Manchelli—Bella. She works at Edible Bliss. She's a pastry chef and a friend.”

“Great,” Austin said. “But none of that answered my question.”

“Keep it down, she's asleep.”

Austin raised a brow. He looked Bella over, taking in the wild hair, the way her mouth was slightly open, and he smiled. “She's cute.”

Bella shifted, turned her head over to the other side, and in the process, lifted up briefly enough to reveal more blood in her hair.

Austin's smile faded. “Tell me she's not hurt.”

“It's my blood. Tell me what the doctor said.”

“X-ray and MRI were negative, no bullet fragments. Mild concussion. You're going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but while you're in here you get morphine. You're probably going to be woken every two to three hours, but the good news is that the nurse on duty is pretty damn hot. Still, the next time you're going to be stupid enough to stand on the back stoop of a woman who tends to get her men shot at, the least you could do is wear a vest.” He paused and looked over Bella again. “So you're dating her?”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you met her through a singles club. Seems kind of cheesy, man.”

“Should I have met her on a bar stool like you meet your one-night stands?”

“So she's a one-night stand?”

Their gazes met and Jacob sighed. “I don't know. I can't think straight. Are you on the merry-go-round or am I?”

Cord entered the hospital room at a dead run, or more accurately, a limping run on a leg that hadn't quite healed yet. Eyes a little wild, he stopped short and gripped the doorjamb. “You were shot.”

“Yeah,” Jacob said.

“You're breathing.”

“Yeah.”

“And wasted,” Austin added.

Cord let out a slow, careful breath, then sank to a chair. “I didn't get details, just a text from Mr. Talkative here, and I—” He broke off with a shake of his head and put a hand to his heart. “Christ, man.”

“I'm okay,” Jacob said. “Though you've split into two. You need some help.”

Cord just stared at him. “Christ,” he finally said again. He hadn't been back from his last overseas mission all that long and was still a little jumpy. “What I need is whatever you're on.” He turned to Austin. “Prognosis?”

“Hard head still intact, and expected to make a full recovery,” Austin told him. “He's going to be okay, Cord.”

Cord nodded but still looking shaken, leaned his head back to the wall.

Austin turned to Jacob with a raised brow. “Why don't you tell baby brother here how you're on, what, date number three? With the same woman.
That woman, in fact.” He gestured to a still-sleeping Bella.

That seemed to knock Cord out of his own thoughts. “She must be a walking fantasy or something.” He cocked his head. “Kinda hard to tell with the crazy hair.”

“Fantasy,” Jacob repeated, brain fuzzy. “We knocked out fantasy number one. Need to move on to fantasy number two.”

That had both Austin and Cord giving each other a speculative look. “What's fantasy number two?” Austin wanted to know.

“Her in her apron and nothing else.”

Cord grinned, the hauntedness and hollowness gone from his gaze. “Those must be some good drugs.”

Austin took in Jacob's expression and shook his head. “Oh, Christ.”

“What?” Jacob asked, his eyes at half mast now. They were closing on him without his permission.

“You've got that look, the same stupid, love-struck look that Cord had right before he admitted he'd fallen for Lexi.”

“Hey,” Cord said. “True, but—hey.”

“I'm pretty sure I'm just high,” Jacob said in his own defense.

“I actually hope that's true,” Austin said. “Because if you fall, too, that leaves me hanging out here all alone, and even I can't handle all the single women in town by myself.”

Cord grinned. “You can try.”

“You still have Wyatt,” Jacob said, reminding Austin that their other brother was still single. “He'll be home soon enough.”

A shocked silence echoed between them as Jacob's words said sank in. “Wait a minute,” he said. “I didn't mean that I
am
falling.”

They all turned their heads to stare at a still deeply sleeping Bella, and Jacob's gut tightened. His heart tightened, too. Typically when he looked at her, his dick tightened, as well, but nothing there. Damn meds.

A little snuffling whimper escaped from Bella, and Jacob stroked her arm with his hand. “Shh,” he said. “It's okay now.”

Her frown smoothed out and she let out a shuddery breath.

And just like that, his dick twitched. Good to know he was in fine working order after all.

Austin was staring at him. “You're soft around her.”

“Soft?” He begged to differ.

“You know what I mean.” He looked at Bella and then shook his head. “What does she see in you?”

Jacob sighed. “Thanks for coming by.”

“But go away?”

“That'd be great.”

 

W
HEN
J
ACOB WAS RELEASED
from the hospital late the next evening, Bella was waiting to take him home.
She'd spent the night with Willow at her mom's, then gone back to her place to shower and change, and now had a purse full of happy pills and two pages of doctor's instructions as she slid her arm around Jacob for the walk out.

“I'm not an invalid,” he said, smiling down at her.

He'd been smiling a lot since he'd started the happy pills. He'd smiled at the nurse, and she'd dropped her supplies. He smiled at his brother, who was currently on his other side helping Bella get him to the car, and Austin just shook his head and said, “You're a sap.”

“Love you, too, man,” Jacob said, making Austin laugh.

Austin turned to Bella. “Take care of the idiot, will you?”

“Plan on it.”

And now the “idiot” was smiling at her as she drove him home, making her heart catch in her throat.

Her life had turned into a
Law & Order
episode, and he was smiling at her.

God. She could hardly bear to think about what had happened to him, or how much worse it could have been.

Ethan and most of the P.D. were on this case, she told herself. They would find the shooter, Ethan had promised. They would take care of it.

She knew it, she believed it.

She just hoped they'd do so before anyone else got hurt.

At Jacob's house, she guided him to the couch, removed his shoes and sank back on her heels to look up at him.

“You stopping at the shoes?” he asked, and wriggled his toes.

“Yes. Why?”

“I'm not comfortable. I want to be in sweats.”

She dutifully pulled off his socks.

“And?” he asked with a sweet grin that was so amiable and easygoing—unlike his usual stoic, tough, badass self—she laughed. “You are feeling no pain today, Detective.” But she obliged him by unbuttoning his shirt and carefully easing it off his shoulders, working around the splint and sling his left shoulder was immobilized with. At the sight of all the thick bandages, her mirth faded.

He hadn't required surgery—a miracle. Nothing vital had been hit. Another miracle.

He was a walking miracle…

“And?” he murmured again, arching a brow.

She looked at his jeans. Levi's, button fly. She ran her finger over his corrugated abs, which contracted beneath her touch. She popped the top button and felt him harden beneath the denim, and then it was her turn to arch a brow.

“He's excited to see you,” Jacob explained.

“You say that like it's been so long,” she murmured,
crawling between his long legs and leaning in so that she could rest her head on his stomach. “It's only been a day and a half.”

“He's greedy when it comes to you.”

With a soft laugh, she turned her face and nuzzled his belly button. His skin was silky smooth, with the ripple of hard sinew just beneath. “I think this is my favorite spot on you.”

He was lying back against the couch, his eyes at half mast, his long, thick lashes shielding his thoughts. He brought his good hand up to her hair. “I was hoping your favorite spot was down a little.”

She stroked the spot he was talking about, and he let out a sigh, which turned into a ragged groan when she dragged her tongue south to the Levi's waistband, snaking it just beneath.

“Christ, Bella.” His hand tightened in her hair. He kept his head back, his eyes now closed, throat exposed. She watched his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured.

She eyed the growing bulge behind the button fly. “Oh, I think I do… You know, you might be right about my favorite body part. Let me take a look.” She popped open the rest of his buttons, and he sprang free. In the same way she'd nuzzled his belly, she leaned in and pressed her face against him, then gave him a kiss.

His breathing had accelerated, but other than that,
the rest of his long body was stone still, clearly waiting for her next move.

“You do realize,” she whispered, her lips brushing him with each word, “this isn't doctor recommended.”

“He said I should go with what feels good. Trust me, Bella. You feel good.”

“Well, stop me if anything causes you any pain.” She let her tongue dart out and run the hard length of him.

“You're not hurting me.” His voice was raw. “You're
killing
me. But, Christ, please don't stop.”

In less than three minutes, she had him quivering, alternating between swearing and begging. In two more, he was panting, boneless and completely sated.

“You okay?” she whispered, sitting back on her heels.

“If I was any more okay, I'd float out of here and into bed.”

She smiled. “I'll help you.” She got him down the hall and onto the mattress, and he lay there, eyes closed, color a bit ashen. She'd never rebuttoned his jeans, and she already knew he was commando beneath them, but she still couldn't help but stare as he one-armed them down his legs and kicked them away.

She'd had her mouth on every single inch of that glorious, gorgeous body and still, she wanted him.
She was afraid she always would. “You hungry? Thirsty? Need anything?”

He made an almost inaudible negative sound.

She covered him with a blanket and moved to leave the room, but, eyes still closed, he reached out and unerringly snagged her wrist.

Seemed he was down for the count but still in complete control of his instincts. “You okay?” she asked. “It's late.”

“Yes. So?”

“So…” He tugged, and with a gasp, she sank down beside him on his good side. “Jacob, careful—”

“Don't drive home this late, don't go be by yourself.”

“I won't be alone. There's still a man on the shop.”

“Just stay.”

“But you need to rest. You're not up for—”

“I won't be able to rest if I'm worried about you, and if you go back there, I'll worry.”

She went still for a long moment, her eyes closed, chest aching, wishing he'd say, “Stay with me because I want you to.”

She'd told herself she didn't need to hear that from him but she did.

God, she did. She needed to hear it from someone in her life, someone who wasn't family, who didn't have to say it.

“You should know,” she finally whispered to him in the dark, her hand caught in his. “I'm…afraid. Of you. Of me. I don't do things like this, Jacob. I don't let guys in. I like to keep my options open, I like to be free to up and leave whenever. And I'm due to leave.” She paused, then decided what the hell. She'd already anted up, might as well play out the round. “But even with an entire lifetime of experience of keeping my emotions in check, with you I let go. I let go and let myself feel, all in a matter of days, which is where the terror comes in.” She let out a low laugh, and dropping to her knees beside the bed, she hugged his hand to her chest, pressing her face into his good shoulder. “Fact is,” she murmured, “I think I'm beginning to maybe, a little bit, fall for you.”