Jake's chest squeezed uncomfortably with an emotion he didn't feel very often and wished he could will away now. He almost felt bad for the girl, scared even. Did she have a clue what she'd gotten herself into by coming here? And dressed like this?
“Thank you,” Painted Lady said softly. “But I already have a drink.” She tilted her slender shoulder slightly and…she blushed with the gesture. Good Lord, when was the last time he'd seen a woman's cheeks turn color for something so minuscule? You'd think he'd just asked her to take her clothes off for a strip search.
“This your first time?”
“Ah, no,” she stammered, averting her gaze.
Definite amateur.
“What's your name?”
Curling her fingers around the sweated glass, she took a quick sip of her soda. Those dark eyes glanced away for a second before zeroing in on him like a radar lock. The blushing woman was tossed aside like a crumpled piece of yesterday's news. A seductress on the prowl had taken her place.
Jake's insides kicked hard and then squeezed into a tight knot. He hadn’t been in the company of a woman in… He couldn't recall. It had been way too long if he couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex.
It had been his choice, of course. Women his age wanted a commitment and he was damaged goods, too detached for intimacy or some such shit the department shrink had said. Who the hell needed that?
And how else could it be? A cop needed focus. He couldn't be effective in his job with his mind clouded with thoughts of someone at home. He'd seen just how distractions could destroy, not only a cop's career, but his life.
Jake focused on the woman's lips, unable to pull his eyes from the sheen of moisture settled there. With a move that seemed too natural to be deliberate, she ran her tongue over her top lip and wiped it clean.
Heat prickled his skin beneath his heavy jacket and settled like warm molasses in the center of his belly. He'd have to deal with his sexual appetite some other time. He was working and this woman was off limits with a capital “O.”
“My name is CJ,” she finally said.
After a moment, her penciled eyebrows lifted slowly, and she cocked her head to one side. It took a minute for Jake to realize she was waiting for him to respond.
“Jake.”
“Nice to meet you, Jake.” She thrust her hand out, apparently to shake his.
He nodded and gripped her tiny hand. It was silky soft and lost in his much larger one. She quickly snatched her hand away and rested it in her lap by the hem of dress. Another strange move. She was too nervous, too polite, and she was starting to lose some of the confidence that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Is that your real name? Jake?”
Lifting his beer to his lips, he asked, “Why would I lie?”
“Oh, I don't know. I can think of a hundred reasons why a man would want to hide his true identity.”
“For instance?”
“You have a wife at home?”
He paused, staring at her. “Would that bother you?”
Jake had to keep himself from laughing as he took a pull from the bottle. The way CJ rose up high on her stool, he was sure she was about to say yes, which for some strange reason, made him feel good. If she were really a hooker, she wouldn't give a shit if he had a Mrs. at home. He’d be just money to her.
“That's your business. Not mine,” she said.
He nodded again. “Damn right. But I'm not married.”
He couldn't fathom why, but Jake wanted her to know that fact. It shouldn't have made a difference. There was no way he was going to take this woman to bed. But he didn't lie when it came to relationships. Lies were too easy to trip over. He’d learned that one the hard way early on in his career.
“Are you waiting for a friend?” she asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, you don’t work here. That much is clear. You weren’t sitting with anyone or even talking to the bartender. I’m just wondering why someone like you would come to a place like this. What brought you here?”
His lips lifted up at the corners. “Do you always ask so many questions of people when you first meet them?”
She shrank a little in her seat. “Well, I…”
“What about you?”
“I asked you first.”
He frowned “For the record. Men tend to avoid questions in places like this.”
She looked startled. Then, almost as if she were storing that tiny bit of information away for safekeeping, her face changed.
“What do men such as yourself like?”
Jake couldn’t help but laugh. This whole picture was too absurd. He didn't know if he should be hauling CJ out of here to make curfew or lock her up for the worst solicitation he'd ever seen.
Why did his mind keep settling on pulling her into his arms and wiping that God-awful mask off her face so he could really look at her?
Lord, he was long overdue…
He needed a weekend off. Something to remind him he was still among the living where men and women and sex were concerned. Where he didn't worry about streetwalkers who needed rescuing.
He turned, about to give CJ an earful when a gust of cold wind pulled his attention back toward the open barroom door. The smell of cold March air freshened the dank odor of the room.
The man of the hour had arrived.
Jake fought to keep his reaction from showing as Ritchie Trumbella strolled into the bar like a king with his court. The two women draped on each of his arms looked much like CJ with their bodyhugger dresses and 4-inch stilettos. As soon as Ritchie greeted three men sitting at a table, he motioned to the women to move along. They walked to the end of the room toward the restroom while Ritchie surrounded himself with the rest of his entourage.
Damn! Where the hell was Angel tonight?
The older couple that had been arguing most of the evening quickly got up and left the bar.
Jake turned to CJ and saw that her eyes were like saucers, glued to the presence of this new man. If she didn't already know him, she was definitely intrigued. And he wanted to know why.
His gut twisted with her interest. And a sudden emotion that vaguely felt like…annoyance. Regardless of what he'd set out to do, he didn't want CJ to meet Ritchie Trumbella any more than he’d want his own sisters to meet the man. Trumbella was bad news and the sooner CJ understood that, the better off she'd be.
“Friend of yours?” he asked.
She snapped her attention back to him like a rabbit caught in a snare. “No. Yours?”
“You ask too many questions, CJ. You never know whose toes you're stepping on.”
“I'll keep that in mind.”
She lifted her soda to her lips again and took a sip. Then another. Jake's eyes lingered where the glass had been, then to the mark her lips had left on the sweat-lined glass.
“Who is he?” she asked, going against his warning.
How could she be here like this and not know Ritchie Trumbella? Why on earth was she here at all?
He owns Rory's.”
Ritchie Trumbella owned a whole lot of other shady dealings, too. But if CJ didn't know this legitimate one, it was doubtful she knew anything at all about his non-paper dealings.
Taking her by the arm, he said, “Let's get out of here.”
CJ's dark eyes grew impossibly wide and her mouth dropped open. Her slender body lifted high on the barstool and went statue stiff. For a minute, Jake thought she'd actually stopped breathing.
* * *
Cassie sat paralyzed on the barstool, blinking hard as the shock caused by the man in front of her set in. Sure, talking to Mr. Cool Leather Jacket with the smoky blue eyes was fine but that he was trying to pick her up… If she were sure she wouldn't fall off her heels, she'd fly for the door. No matter how attracted she was to this man, there was no way she was going to go that route if he'd been willing to be with a…
Death couldn't come too quick for Maureen.
“I think
I've gathered enough…had enough soda,” she said. The backs of her thighs were sticky from sweat and made a squeaky sound as she helplessly slipped off the stool while trying to keep her dress from riding up her thighs.
Jake stood next to her, his hand still gripping her upper arm. Her body tightened with the physical contact. He smelled of leather, a hint of the beer he'd just consumed, and something else. It wasn’t the cheap, heavy cologne so many men wore. He smelled musky, very male, erotically appealing.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to pull free.
“It's a good idea I take you out of here.”
“That's not necessary,” she insisted.
“No trouble.”
“It is to me.”
“I just want to make sure you get safely to your car.”
“I didn't drive,” she blurted out when his grip on her arm grew tighter.
Brilliant, Cassie. So much for a quick getaway. She could have kicked herself for throwing him the advantage. She would have if she were sure her dress would stay firmly in place.
But Jake's reaction was suddenly different from what she'd expected. His dark eyebrows drew into a tight knot on his forehead. He glanced away and dragged his fingers over a head of course dark hair, letting his hand rest on the nape of his neck. She damned herself for wanting to lose her fingers in his hair. Three years since she had a decent relationship and her body picked now, of all times, to come back to life.
“Please tell me you weren't planning on walking home in this neighborhood,” he said tightly.
She straightened her spine. “Of course not. What do you take me for?”
He tossed her the most irresistible wry grin. He didn't have to say a word for her to know what he was thinking.
“I’m not what you think.”
Another grin. This one was more irresistible than the last. Her knees suddenly turned to rubber, making it difficult to stand. She cinched her purse strap higher on her shoulder and folded her arms across her chest.
Jake cocked his head to one side. “And you're so sure you know what I'm thinking?”
“You think I'm something I'm not. And I can assure you, I am definitely not.”
He had a full-blown smile now. One with straight white teeth and a dimple on his left cheek she was sure wreaked havoc with more women than her.
“You're not all that hard to figure out, CJ.”
Indignation swelled inside her. Despite her obvious attire, she didn't like his assumption. She hadn't had sex in three years, and she definitely wasn't going to have it tonight with him.
“If you'll excuse me, I'll go catch a cab and be on my way home. Alone.”
Jake shook his head and sputtered. “CJ, you couldn't be further from the Land of Oz. Cabs don't come to this neighborhood, honey. They know better.”
Cassie groaned inwardly. That would explain the cab driver's behavior earlier when he dropped her off. Admittedly, she didn’t frequent this part of town and was more thankful that the cab driver knew how to get here than curious about his reaction. As neighborhoods go, the street didn’t look ominous, but looks were deceiving.
A crescendo of laughter had Jake glancing over his shoulder to look at the man on the other side of the room. He was the owner of the bar, Cassie recalled Jake saying.
With his movement, Jake's jacket gaped open, and she had the first glimpse of what this man hid behind his black leather armor. A Beretta was tucked firmly inside a holster against his chest. It was hidden well, but easy to find for someone trained in what to look for. Cassie knew the gleam of the metal when she saw it. She knew the weight of it in her hand and the smell of gunpowder when it ignited.
Dark memories had her heart hammering wildly in her chest. But the boisterous conversation on the other side of the bar shifted her back to her reality. Cassie glanced in that direction, but she couldn't see a thing past the wide expanse of Jake's shoulders.
As Jake leaned his arm on the bar, Cassie’s breath lodged in her throat. Her pulse hammered. And she wished to God she hadn't been curious enough to look.
* * *
Jake saw terror flash across CJ’s face. Great, she was finally beginning to understand how stupid it was for her to be here. But just as he was about to lead her to the door, her arms abruptly came up to his chest. She gripped his leather jacket, leaning into him as if she were about to climb into his lap.
Confusion mixed with heightened awareness of this enigmatic woman suddenly so close to him.
“Gun!” she screamed. With an unbelievable force, Cassie yanked him forward to the floor until his body was stretched over the length of hers. The air in the bar exploded into a spray of bullets and flying glass shards. Chairs and tables tumbled over as people screamed and scrambled for cover.
The room and everything that was happening exploded right in front of him and registered at lightning speed. Primal instinct took over. Screams, bullets, breaking glass and the sound of his own heart pumping were deafening. Jake wrapped his arm around CJ's waist, shielding her body with his own as he slowly dragged her around the corner of the bar to relative safety on the other side. She buried her head in his chest as he encased her body, protecting her from the flying glass from the shattered mirror behind the bar and the bottles of booze bursting with every hit from bullets.
It seemed to take forever for the explosion of gunfire to stop. In reality it was probably less than thirty seconds. But as soon as it started, it was over. It took another thirty seconds for Jake to get his bearings once the massacre had ended.
From outside, the cold wind whistled through the blown out windows and brought with it the sound of tires peeling out as a car sped off down the narrow side street. Before Jake even lifted his head, he knew the car was gone. Whoever did this would go unpunished unless he could find a witness.
His chest tightened where CJ's face pressed against his shirt. He didn't have to see her face to know she was crying. Her fingers clutched his shoulders in a death grip and her body shuddered helplessly beneath him.
It would make it easier on this case to have a witness, but Lord help him, he didn't want it to be this fragile woman in his arms.
#
Chapter Two
Cassie looked at the clock on the wall as she sat downtown at Detective Jake Santos's desk in a cold metal chair in the middle of an open room filled with desks and paperwork. It was two AM. And she was alone.
In the far corner of the room, officers absorbed details of the shoot-out at Rory’s. Jake, or rather, Detective Jake Santos, had disappeared. That left her nothing to do but relive the horror of the evening, or busy her mind formulating yet another wild scheme of murder. She had the most delightful daydream of her fingers curled around Maureen's throat. Since she wasn't a violent person by nature, there was no harm in letting her daydream run rampant. Maureen deserved it. Cassie had just witnessed enough violence firsthand to last her ten lifetimes and it was all Maureen's fault.
Jake appeared in front of her holding a Styrofoam cup, startling her.
“You okay? Still awake?”
“I don’t think I’m going to sleep for the rest of my life. But other than that, I’m okay,” Cassie said weakly. She wasn't okay. She wasn't okay the first time, all those years ago on that hot Miami night when she’d witnessed her first murder. Why should it be any different now?
But she would be, as soon as she got some sleep and some distance from this horrendous evening. As soon as she submerged herself deeply into work again.
Jake took her hands in his and then curled her fingers around the cup. “Drink it. But I warn you, it's deadly.”
She looked into the cup and grimaced. “You pass this off as coffee? I thought you were supposed to prevent murders.”
“We do what we can, but some things are beyond our control. Your fingers are like ice cubes. This will help.”
Jake shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it around Cassie’s shoulders. Immediately the heat from the jacket, left
over from being encased around Jake's warm body, engulfed her. It smelled of rawhide and man. Wrapped in it, Cassie felt small and fragile. Protected. She welcomed the heat and the presence of the man who'd supplied it.
Once again, the horrible scene in the bar flashed before her eyes before she could stop it. She remembered it in all-too-vivid detail—the exploding glass, the cries of fear and pain…having Jake's arms wrapped around her like a shield.
He dragged a chair next to her and spoke in a low voice. “I have to ask you some questions.”
“I figured as much.” Cassie forced a smile.
“What were you doing at Rory's tonight?”
“Research.”
He lifted his gaze from his notepad and darted a quizzical look at her. His shoulders sagged and he let out a slow breath, tossing the pad of paper to the cluttered metal desk.
“I'm telling you the truth,” she insisted.
“Truth? Okay, let's start with the truth. At the bar, you told me your name was CJ. When we first got to the station, you said your name was Cassie Lang. Your driver's license says Juanita C. Alvarez. So I'm asking you again—”
“The C is for Cassandra,” she said, cutting him off. “It's my middle name. Juanita is my birth name, but people don't usually call me that. Just Cassie. CJ was for CJ Carmen, the main character in all my books.”
“Your books? What kind of books?”
“Crime novels.”
“You were using the name of a character in a book?”
She sighed. “Yes and no. When I created my character, CJ Carmen, I just reversed the first two initials of my own name.”
“And Cassie Lang?”
“My pen name. That's what my readers know me as. I'm a crime novelist. Since I’m used to doing public events, it’s become habit to introduce myself by my pen name.”
Jake blew out a quick breath, looking more haggard than sure of himself as he had at the bar. “Then what were you doing at Rory's dressed like…?” He flipped his hand so his palm was facing up, gesturing to her scanty clothes.
She sputtered and rolled her dark eyes. “I just told you, research.”
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