"As long as we have to. I've told you before, Kate, you don't want to get involved with me."
"And I've told you, I can make my own decisions about who I get involved with."
Raking both hands through his hair, Jonas paced the room, putting a safer distance—and a sofa—between them. "Be realistic. Even if I—" He broke off, inwardly cursing his lack of tact as a shadow crossed her expression. He sighed and tried again. "Best case scenario, anything that happened between us would be over in a matter of days. Do you really think you could live with that?"
"Why?" she demanded. "Why would it have to be over? You said it would be easy to fall in love with me. Would it be so awful if you did?"
Eyes closed, Jonas rested one hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. He thought back over a lifetime of failures. Failure to keep his family together, failure to stay connected to his sister, failure to live up to the expectations of everyone around him, failure to see he'd become the target of his own colleagues. The people he'd trusted.
Would it be so awful to fall in love with Kate?
It would be the worst, because he couldn't live with the thought of failing her, too.
The sound of footsteps broke into his thoughts and, once again, he steeled himself. But there was no need, because no touch followed. Not this time.
This time, there was only the soft closing of a door.
Chapter 40
"I still say it's a bad idea." Kate paced the length of the apartment's living space with short, angry strides. "There has to be another way."
"We've gone over it a hundred times, Kate." Jonas scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "There is no other way."
"Do feel free to jump in with suggestions if you have them, however," Grant Douglas added, a note of impatience edging his voice.
Kate glowered at him. They'd been at this for three hours, going over every detail, everything that could possibly go wrong—but she was damned if she'd make it easy for Jonas to get himself killed. Or for Grant to help him.
"You can't seriously mean to let him do this," she said. Foreboding tangled with a growing helplessness in her belly. She crossed her arms over it and scowled at her ex. "It's not like you to take chances like this. When the hell did you become such a goddamned maverick?"
Grant's lips tightened. "I'm not a maverick. I just think Jonas is right. This is the fastest way to—"
"It's the only way," Jonas interrupted. He rose from the table and intercepted her agitated pacing, his grip firm on her shoulders. Kate's knees wobbled at his touch, and it took all she had not to lean in against him. To hold him. Tightly, so she never had to let him go. But he wouldn’t let her. He'd made that crystal clear.
"You're not thinking objectively, Kate," Jonas said, his brilliant blue gaze steady. Focused. Calm. Missing the point altogether.
She crossed her arms in sheer self-preservation.
"Step back for a minute and be a cop again," he continued. "If this thing is as big as we think it is, we have no other choice. People are going to start burying evidence—if they haven't already—and the longer I'm in the wind, the more chance they have to do so. We don't just need to move fast, we need to move now. Before they realize we've brought in the FBI."
Kate blinked back sudden hot tears, swallowing against the hard lump in her throat. For an instant she almost hated the quiet strength of the man before her—did hate the wordless compassion he extended. She didn't want to step back and be a cop, didn't want to be objective. Not when the thought of what he was about to do filled her with a fear unlike any she'd ever known. Not when she was about to lose the man she—
She lifted her chin. "Then let me go with you," she said.
"No."
She knew argument would get her nowhere. Knew with absolute certainty he wouldn’t change his mind. She hated him for that, too.
Over Jonas's shoulder, she saw Grant still sitting at the table, studying the cellular phone in front of him as if it held the utmost fascination for him, and looking like he'd rather be just about anywhere else in the world. He wouldn't try to change Jonas's mind, either. Defeat settled over her like a suffocating blanket. She turned her face away.
Jonas's grip on her shoulders hardened for a second, and then he released her. "I'm ready," he told Grant.
In silence, Grant held out the cell phone to him—a burner he'd brought along so Lewis wouldn't be able to trace it back to anyone. Jonas punched in a number, put the phone to his ear, waited.
Then, "Lewis," he said. "It's Burke."
Kate walked to the window and stared down at the stream of glaring headlights and flickering taillights below the apartment hotel, mentally tuning out the conversation on the other side of the room. She didn't need to hear it, knew already what Jonas would tell the man on the other end of the phone line.
Rick Honeyman had given him information, he would say to Lewis. Files. Papers. Hard evidence. He wanted to deal, he'd tell him. The evidence for a cut of the profits—enough to let him disappear. For good.
He'd give the address of an abandoned building chosen by Grant's team for its ease of surveillance. He'd give a time, too—ten tomorrow morning—and go in alone, wired, trying to get someone to say something they could use. Trying to get someone to confess, or at least give them enough to open an investigation, obtain a search warrant, start the long process of nailing Lewis’s and Ramirez's asses to the wall.
Trying not to get killed first.
Kate drew a quick, reflexive breath against the pain that lanced through her. No. He'd be fine. He had to be fine, because the alternative was unthinkable—especially knowing she couldn't be there to prevent it.
"Kate?" Grant's voice and cleared throat brought her back to the present. She turned and found him at the door, trench coat on, briefcase in hand. Jonas no longer held the cell phone to his ear. The plan was set. The damage was done.
"I'm going," Grant said. "Do you want me to pick you up on our way to the stakeout in the morning?"
The FBI team would be at the location three hours before the meet, setting up their stakeout. Waiting for Lewis and Ramirez and the others. Waiting for Jonas to—
Kate pressed her lips together and nodded.
"I'll be here at six-thirty," Grant told her. "Try to get some sleep, okay?" He turned to Jonas. "You, too. I'll bring someone with me in the morning to get you up and running with the tech we’ll need you to wear."
The door closed behind him. Silence descended on the room, deafening in its totality. Jonas looked across at her, the physical distance between them made a thousand times greater by his remote expression. An ache settled into her heart, deep, hollow, awful. She had no idea how to breach the gulf, and Jonas had no intention of doing so.
"I'm going to bed," she said. She passed him on her way to her room, near enough to feel his warmth brush against her skin. Hoping, wanting, needing him to reach out a hand to stop her.
He didn't.
* * *
Jonas propelled his torso off the floor on his third set of push-ups. A thin sheen of sweat bathed his body, sensitizing his skin to the whisper of air moving past as he descended again, pushed up again. He set his jaw against the quiver of fatigue in his arms and across his chest, against the nagging tugs of pain that still plagued him, against the reason he was doing calisthenics at three in the morning in the first place.
He'd been tossing and turning since midnight, unable to settle into a sleep that didn't center around dreams of car chases and cabins and filmy white nightgowns. Dreams of rising from his bed and going to the room next to him. Going to Kate...just once.
Awake wasn't any better. Lying in a tangle of covers, staring at the ceiling, listening for signs of her presence on the other side of the wall. Distraction had seemed the only answer, and so for twenty minutes he'd punished his body with the most intense exercise he could dream up in the cramped living space of the hotel apartment. And still he wondered...
Abandoning th
e push-ups, he levered himself into a sitting position and rested his arms across bent knees in the dark. This was useless. He could run a marathon right now and it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. He stared at the closed bedroom door only a few feet away. Of all the roads Lewis and Ramirez could have dumped him on, why did it have to be the one Kate Dexter was traveling that night? Things could have gone so differently if someone else had found him...been so much less complicated.
Right, because anyone else would have taken the same chance on your sorry ass that she has, a snarky voice said in his head. Picked you up, believed your story, not turned you in, given up half her life for—
A soft scrape sounded against the door to the hallway. Jonas stopped breathing. He waited. It came again, accompanied this time by a muttered exclamation and a metallic jingle. The blood in his veins ran cold. Someone was trying to get in.
He pushed himself up from the floor. He thought of his gun, still in the nightstand drawer by his bed, then glanced at Kate’s closed door. No, warning her came first.
But even as he took a step toward her bedroom, the apartment door edged open, and he changed direction, swiftly crossing the room to flatten himself against the wall behind the door. A shadow stepped into the apartment. Jonas waited until it cleared the doorway, then threw himself forward, slamming it into the wall.
The intruder grunted under the impact, then recovered and looped a leg behind his, dropping him to the floor. His grip tight on a zippered sweatshirt front, Jonas pulled the figure down with him. The carpet had barely brushed his back before he gave a mighty heave and rolled over, pinning the other person beneath him. With his left hand, he slammed both the intruder's hands against the floor, then he leaned his right forearm across the vulnerable throat, applying enough pressure to leave no illusions about his superior power. Or his ability to cause great damage.
"Now," he snapped, glaring down at the hoodie-sheltered face, "suppose you tell me who you are and what the hell you're doing here."
The shadow sucked in a quick, ragged breath. "Jonas?"
Jonas stiffened, and in the span of a heartbeat, he became aware of the distinctly feminine curves of the body between his thighs. The gentle rise of the chest beneath his. The softness of the belly pressing against his—
"Kate?" he croaked.
Chapter 41
The pressure of Jonas’s forearm lifted from Kate’s throat, and she heard him fumble for something on the wall beside them. The overhead light came on, and she blinked in the glare. She would have held up a hand against it, but he still held both of hers pinned to the floor over her head. With his free hand, Jonas pushed the apartment door closed.
"Damn it to hell, Kate, I could have hurt you!" he growled. "What in God's name were you doing?"
"I couldn't sleep. I went for a run."
"You what? At three in the bloody morning in a strange city? Are you out of your mind? What if I'd been someone else?" His grip tightened on her. "Anything could have happened to you out there."
"I know how to look after myself," she reminded him. "And I was careful."
He didn't look impressed.
Kate sighed and tugged at her hands. "Do you mind?"
His gaze moved to the hold he still had on her. He let go, but he didn’t move away. She eased her arms down and rubbed at her shoulder.
Jonas frowned. "Did I hurt you?"
She shook her head. "Not really. It just doesn't like being in one position for too long."
"Show me."
The request was as unexpected as it was abrupt, and Kate stopped massaging her shoulder to stare up at the tiny muscle flickering in front of Jonas's ear. Then she tugged aside the hoodie and the strap of her sports bra to expose the shiny, puckered remains of the bullet hole just above the midpoint of her collarbone. Jonas stared at it in silence. His gaze returned to hers, a question in the shadowed blue depths. Kate cleared her throat.
"It was a freak thing," she said. "There was a gap at the neck of my vest. It entered there. A one-in-a-million shot."
"Hollow point?"
She gave a terse nod of her head. "When it fragmented, it took out something called the coracoid process, part of the shoulder blade that helps stabilize everything. They pieced it back together as best they could, but..." She trailed off, still coming to terms with knowing it would never be the same.
"It missed the artery?"
"Nicked it." Kate held back a shudder at the memory of bright red arterial blood spurting from her body when they removed her vest. So much blood.
"You're lucky to be alive." Jonas's voice was gruff.
"So are you," she pointed out.
His mouth twisted. "Touché."
Conversation fell away, and quiet settled between them, its seconds marked by the soft tick of the wall clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
The silence morphed into a beast stalking its prey. Stalking them.
And still Jonas remained. A half-naked Jonas, his chest sprinkled with crisp, curling hairs, skin gleaming beneath the harsh light above them. Kate blinked. Breathing failed. How in heaven's name had she not noticed the semi-nakedness before?
In the space of a single heartbeat, awareness flared in her belly and spread to her every nerve ending. Suddenly, acutely, she felt every inch of the hard, muscled strength of his legs pressing against her sides. Saw the lean fingers resting on his thighs, tantalizingly near her ribcage, her breasts. Felt the unmistakable swell of his—
Oh, dear lord. Her eyes snapped shut. Move, her mind urged him. Stay, her body whispered. She tried to swallow, but her tongue had glued itself to the roof of her mouth. Above her, Jonas exhaled on a long shudder. His legs tensed as if readying to rise, and she braced herself for his retreat from her yet again.
But this time, he didn't. This time, he remained. This time, gently, magically, his fingers brushed her collarbone, traced it, rested on the puckered scar. She opened her eyes and stared upward, into the brilliant blue of his.
"Kate," he began.
She placed her fingers over his lips, stilling his words. She shook her head. "Don't," she said.
Another long, deep shudder rippled through his frame.
Kate raised her other hand to his shoulder. She traced her fingertips over his collarbone, slid them over the swell of muscle, skimmed them across the scattering of rough hair. She hesitated as his jaw contracted, then boldly let her touch drift lower. Her fingers grazed the denim edge of his jeans, slid beneath the stiff material.
Jonas’s stomach muscles contracted, and he inhaled sharply, covering her hand with his own, catching it tight. "There are so many reasons we shouldn't," he muttered.
And so many more they should—but Kate kept the thought to herself. "I know," she said.
"Do you?" His expression was both bleak and filled with yearning at the same time. "I don't want to hurt you, Kate."
"Then don't."
Surprise flashed through his eyes. Resignation followed it. He tightened his jaw and nodded. "You're right," he said. He braced a hand against the floor on either side of her, preparing to push himself up. Away.
Kate curved her hands over his shoulders and pulled herself up to meet him. "That's not what I meant," she whispered. Then, before she could think better of it, she kissed him.
Jonas went rigid beneath her touch. His mouth tightened against hers, and for a moment she thought she had failed. Thought that he would pull away after all, that she would be denied even this one moment with him. In desperation, she softened her mouth, opened it ever so slightly, and slid the tip of her tongue against his bottom lip.
He pulled back, conflict clouding the brilliance of his eyes. "Damn it, Kate, you're not playing fair."
"There's no such thing as fair," she retorted. "Not anymore, and certainly not tonight. You don't want this to go anywhere? Fine. But you owe me, Jonas Burke, and I'm collecting. Now."
The war in Jonas's gaze continued for a few seconds more, and then, just as Kate w
as wondering what more she could possibly do to convince him, it gave way to a smolder that darkened his eyes to the color of sapphires. Strong hands cupped her face, and he leaned forward, bearing her to the floor with unmistakable intent.
"Have it your way, Kate Dexter," he growled. "But be forewarned that I believe in paying my debts in full."
She had no time for more than a quick, surprised inhale before his mouth claimed hers and his tongue slid between her lips to tangle with her own. A groan broke from her as his hands spanned her ribcage, thumbs sliding over her breasts through the fabric of her hoodie and the sports bra beneath.
Too much fabric.
As if in agreement, Jonas undid the hoodie's zipper and pushed the garment from her shoulders. Strong fingers slid under her bra, fought for a second against its snug fit, then shoved it impatiently up and out of the way. Then his mouth left hers, traveling down, trailing over her throat, lifting to bypass the bra, closing with mind-spinning accuracy over first one rigid peak, then the other.
Kate wanted to object, to tell him to slow down, but need arched her back, driving her against him. His hands roved her body, stroking and teasing, evoking sensations one after another, so fast she couldn't catch her breath between them. Couldn't keep up with her own body. She buried her face against the thick muscles of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. Her fingers found the snap of his jeans. The hardness of his body beneath the zipper.
The already taut muscles of Jonas's stomach went rigid, and his fingers closed over hers, stilling her efforts.
"Not yet," he murmured, his voice hoarse with restraint and his breath hot against her cheek. "I'm too close to the edge. You deserve more—"
Kate stopped his words with her lips.
"To hell with that," she murmured against his mouth. "I'm already over the edge—and I'm not going alone."
She tugged free of his hold and found the jeans snap again. This time, Jonas didn't try to stop her. He lifted to give her access, and she slid his zipper down, the metallic rasp loud in the silence that had fallen between them. She wrapped her fingers around him, reveling in his thick heaviness. The throb of his heat. His breathing turned ragged.
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