Fearing she was still in the grips of panic, he stopped a foot away and bent his knees to get eye contact. Relieved to see recognition in them, he moved forward and gently drew her into his arms. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”
With Angela, he had come to expect the unexpected. Never could he have been prepared for what came next. With a cry that sounded as mournful as a beaten animal, she buried her face against him and burst into tears.
So used to a sassy, in-your-face Angela, Jake began to panic himself. Had she been hurt and he hadn’t seen it? Pulling away from her, he whispered urgently, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?”
When she kept her head down and continued to cry, he shook her gently. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She answered brokenly, “I’m a big wuss.”
Relief flooded through him. The urge to shake her again for scaring him was overwhelmed with the need to hold her and be grateful that she was unharmed. Just as he put his hands on her shoulders to pull her back into his arms, he noticed the hand she held at her side.
“Dammit, you are hurt.”
Gingerly he lifted her right hand and hissed as he assessed the damage. Without a doubt it was sprained, possibly broken.
“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
She stared at her hand as if it were a foreign object she’d never seen before. Shock was rapidly taking the place of the adrenaline overload from her scare. Moving carefully to keep from startling her, Jake scooped her into his arms, taking special care not to jar her hand.
In three strides he was at the couch where he placed her gently against the pillows. He turned and headed to the kitchen. Hot, sweet tea for the shock and then they were going to the hospital to get her hand x-rayed.
He glanced over his shoulder. She lay where he left her, the hollow, desolate look in her eyes worrying him more than the damage to her hand. He wanted to hold her and reassure her, but had a feeling doing that would be more for his benefit than hers. She had scared the hell out of him.
With quick efficiency, he poured water into a cup, dropped in a teabag and put it in the microwave. Not the proper British way to make a cup of tea but he was looking more for expediency than taste. The instant the bell dinged, he took the steaming cup, liberally added several spoonfuls of sugar and headed back to the couch where Angela lay, unmoving.
He set the cup on the coffee table and then pulled her to sit up. Propping her against his shoulder, he grabbed the cup and held it in front of her, allowing the steam to coat her face. “Take a sip.”
Her lips parted and Jake held the rim of the cup to her mouth and tilted it slightly. When he heard her swallow, the tension in his muscles loosened. At least she was responding to his verbal commands. Now to get the hot soothing liquid and sugar boost flowing in her veins and hopefully get her talking.
They sat silently for a minute or more. The only sounds came from Angela’s sipping and swallowing the hot beverage. He was glad to see color was returning to her face and the glassy look disappear from her eyes.
Noting the tea was almost gone, Jake lowered the cup. He was about to ask her if she wanted more when she expelled a gargantuan sigh. Her gaze locked on the cup he still held in his hand, she spoke softly, “For most of my adult life, I’ve wanted to be an LCR operative. I used to dream about rescuing people and how wonderful that must feel. The thrill of taking down bad guys, the satisfaction that came from saving victims… It’s been my dream for so long. And now…”
Jake frowned. “And now, what?”
She snorted softly. “And now it’s apparent that I’m not cut out for it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. LCR operatives get scared just like everyone else. It was your first time. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Sad beyond measure, Angela shook her head. She appreciated Jake’s words, especially since he hadn’t wanted her on this job in the first place, but she now knew the truth. The smallest of scares and she’d folded like a defective chair. And that was how she felt—defective. She hadn’t been able to function or think straight. If the skateboarder had been the killer, she would have shrieked like a banshee and probably gotten herself and even Jake killed.
The throbbing pain in her hand was nothing compared to the dull ache in her heart. It had taken only seconds for her dreams to be demolished.
“We need to get you to a hospital and have your hand checked out. Does it hurt?”
“A little…not much.”
“Think you can manage to get to the car on your own?”
“Yes, but where are you going?”
“With you but we can’t be seen together. We can’t blow our cover.”
Angela shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m off the op.”
The man beside her jerked as though he’d been burned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m not an active field operative anymore. I’m going back to my job as a researcher, that is, if Noah isn’t too pissed at me.”
When Jake pulled completely away from her and stood, Angela felt cold and lifeless as if he’d taken all the warmth and vitality with him. For several silent seconds he stood, looking down at her. Ashamed of her cowardice, she didn’t raise her head.
“We’ll discuss this later. Your hand is swelling rapidly. Let’s go.”
She had disappointed him—it was in his voice. She didn’t blame him. There was no one more disappointed in her than she was in herself. Of all the scenarios she had envisioned about her first op, this hadn’t been on her radar. Who would have thought something as innocuous as a kid on a skateboard could destroy her dream?
Feeling like a tired, lifeless creature, Angela grabbed her purse and went out the door, Jake following closely behind her. They had broken their cover—her part in the op was officially over. And now all she felt was empty and sad, much like she had when she lost her family. Jake, the man she loved and admired, walked by her side but never had she felt more bereft and alone.
Chapter Twelve
Jake had felt helpless plenty of times in his life, but he usually had a clue how to fix things. Not this time.
The instant they’d gotten into the car, Angela had phoned McCall. The conversation had been short and one-sided. She had been calm but resolute as she told him she was no longer on the job.
The emotionless way she’d announced her decision must have stunned McCall. At the hospital, once the nurse had taken Angela into an exam room, Jake had called his boss. McCall’s “What the hell happened?” wasn’t a surprise. What struck him was the sadness he heard in the man’s voice.
Quickly and succinctly, Jake described the evening’s events. McCall had expelled a long, ragged breath. “Bring her back here when you can. She’ll want to talk to Samara.”
The LCR leader had ended the call with disturbing information. Another woman was missing. There was no seeming tie to the disappearances of the other women with the exception of a bouquet of red roses found in the woman’s home. Neither a stripper nor a waitress, the missing woman worked at a small investment firm. Her home was in a different area of the city from where the other victims had lived. Plus, her physical characteristics had nothing in common with the killer’s preferences. The only similarities were the roses and the fact that she had vanished without a trace. The police were tentatively treating her disappearance as related.
After talking with McCall, Jake debated his next move. Telling the others, Riley Ingram and Justin Kelly, that he and Angela were off the job felt too precipitous. He wanted to wait and talk to Angela again after she’d had a while to think about her decision. Just because she’d told McCall she was off the case didn’t mean things couldn’t be reversed. Why he was so concerned about changing her mind escaped him. Only a week ago, he would’ve been happy to hear she had decided against being an operative. Now, he wanted to convince her to stay the course.
Jake shoved his fingers through his hair. Hell, his thi
nking was as skewed as Angela’s.
The door behind him opened. He whirled around and watched as she wandered into the room like a lost waif. And he knew why he wanted to change her mind. Before this incident, there had been a bright, unquenchable light in her eyes. The brightness was gone, leaving them dull and sad.
She held up a bandaged hand. “It’s a slight sprain. No fractures. The doctor said it should be fine within a week or so.”
“That’s good news.”
She grimaced a half smile. “I guess we can leave.”
In silence they left the hospital, got in the car and headed back to the apartment. Jake searched for the right words—something he could tell her that would make her rethink the experience and realize her fear had been natural. The truth hit him between the eyes and with a sigh, he opened his mouth and did something rare. He began to talk about his past.
“I went into the Army gung-ho and clueless. Took to the training like a duck in water. Everything they asked of me, I was eager for the challenge and excelled in it. Ask me to shoot a target, I was dead-on. Drop me in the middle of wilderness with no equipment and I’d find my way home, no problem. Tell me to swim a mile in the ocean and then hike twenty miles just to capture a damn flag, I was all over it.”
As he talked, Angela sat quietly, unmoving. He knew he had her attention because her body was stiff, as if she were holding her breath. Encouraged, he continued, “Then came my orders. They were sending me to Afghanistan. I was going to fight, probably kill, and possibly be killed. It finally hit me that I was going to have to put all those skills I’d learned and excelled at to use. I was scared shitless.”
Jake thought back about that time. Today he could smile at that too eager kid who enjoyed playing Army until it came time to man-up and actually do what he’d been trained to do.
“What did you do?”
Pleased at the question, he continued his story. “The night after I got my orders, I lay in my bunk and thought about all the things that could happen. The harder I thought about it, the more I panicked. The next day, I was headed to talk to my sergeant, ready to admit that I wasn’t prepared. On the way, I passed by the chapel. I thought, ‘What the heck? I’ll go in and have a talk with the Big Guy before I give it all up.’
“The chaplain happened to be in his office as I passed by, and for whatever reason, maybe because I looked scared or probably because he’d seen the same thing in hundreds of other soldiers, he invited me inside. I sat down and let it spill. Every fear, every scenario my brain could come up with…”
They pulled into a parking space in front of the apartment complex and Jake paused to see if Angela would stay and listen. She didn’t move.
“The chaplain listened while I poured out everything bubbling within me. When I was finished, I thought he’d probably tell me I was right to want to quit, that I would be doing my country a favor. Instead, he just nodded his head and said one simple sentence.”
“What?”
“He told me that when it’s time, God gives you the courage to do what you need to do.” Jake shrugged. “He was right.”
Several seconds of silence passed. Finally when he realized she wasn’t going to ask any more questions, Jake opened his door. He was coming around the car to help her out when she got out on her own and said baldly, “The difference between you and me is that when it was time, you had the courage to follow through. I didn’t.”
Jake stood outside Angela’s bedroom, unsure of his next move. He almost felt like that clueless kid again, struggling with the right thing to do and afraid of doing the wrong thing. What he wanted was to barge into the bedroom, force a confrontation, igniting her anger and that fiery spirit he admired. Seeing Angela so defeated tore at him like a jagged knife. Good judgment told him to let her be—the rest would do her good. Tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, she’d have a different perspective.
He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Good judgment be dammed.
The sound of the shower from the bathroom should have stopped him. He was aware she took a shower every night after her performance. Dancing worked up a healthy sweat and she’d commented more than once that she smelled. Jake couldn’t tell her that he loved the natural fragrance of her body. Admitting that would get them into a territory he was determined to avoid.
So why the hell was he headed where he was sure to find trouble?
He stopped at the entrance to the bathroom. Steam billowed from the shower but Angela stood in the middle of the room. The humid mist was so thick, he couldn’t see her clearly. He waved to clear his vision and then froze. She was standing in the middle of the room, completely nude with the exception of those damn black boots. Unable to look away, his eyes roamed over her. Yes he saw her almost every night with little more on than what she was wearing now. This was different. The setting was intimate and if he reached out his hand, he’d be touching that soft-as-silk skin. From the tip of her long elegant feet to the top of her beautiful head, she was perfection. Impossibly long legs, slender hips, taut, flat stomach, perfect globes for breasts, slender, feminine shoulders, and a face both exotic and ethereal. It was as if every fantasy of the perfect woman had culminated into the making of Angela Delvecchio.
“I can’t get my boots off.”
While he’d been standing here, salivating like a teenager in the first throes of sexual arousal, she’d been working to remove her clothes to take a shower. Her injured hand prevented her from tugging the boots off. Never had he felt more like a heel.
“Sit on the edge of the tub. I’ll pull them off.”
When she complied, Jake went to his knees and lifted a booted foot. He told himself he was performing a service. Appreciating the view shouldn’t be part of the equation. Yet in this position, how could he not look? She was smooth and hairless, everywhere. He knew about Brazilian waxes. Had heard they were painful. As a stripper, it made sense that she’d had the procedure done. Yet all he could think about was whether or not she’d been like that before this mission and what would she do if he leaned forward and tasted her sweet, moist flesh?
Swallowing hard, he tugged at her boot and removed it slowly, torturing himself as he exposed even more beautiful skin. One boot off and one to go, he glanced up at her face, sure that he would see the same need that was roaring through his bloodstream. Instead her eyes were closed and tears streamed down her face. Hell and damnation, enough with his inappropriate lust. She was suffering.
He removed the second boot, stood and pulled her to her feet. “Get in the shower.” He grimaced at the thick, gruff command but was surprised he’d been able to speak at all.
“I’m not supposed to get my hand wet.”
“I’ll help you.”
She turned and stepped over the rim of the tub. Jake adjusted the nozzle, and grabbed the sponge hanging from a hook on the wall. He poured fragrant liquid soap onto the sponge, recognizing the scent that drove him crazy every time she was near.
“I think I can manage almost everything with one hand but could you stay and prop me up?”
Rivulets of water streamed a caressing path over her shoulders and down her luscious curves. Mesmerized, all Jake could manage was a small grunt of agreement to her request. Then with great difficulty, he pulled the shower curtain closed, shutting out the delectable sight of her soapy body.
Holding her slender, elegant hand in his own, Jake closed his eyes and tortured himself as he imagined the scene behind the curtain. In his mind, her hand became his as he slowly caressed down her body, from soft, beautiful shoulders to her breasts. He swirled the sponge around each ivory globe and then trailed it down her flat stomach toward the soft mound between her legs. His hand moved between her legs and then the sponge was gone. His fingers touched unbelievably hot, smooth flesh and—
“Jake?”
Pulling himself out of his fantasy, Jake managed a thick, raspy, “Yeah?”
“Could you help me wash my hair?”
Oh hell.
Feeling both fragile and powerful at once was an odd combination. She was so disappointed in herself because of her cowardice, a part of her wanted to bury her head beneath the bedcovers and forget reality. But seeing the desire in Jake’s eyes made her feel stronger, more secure. And though she had known Jake was attracted to her, the need she’d seen in his eyes made her realize just how much he wanted her.
And yet, he had done nothing more than look. If she made any advances to him, would that shut him down? His rejection, especially tonight, wasn’t something she was willing to risk. If he turned down her offer, she’d shatter into a billion pieces right in front of him.
She finished her shower, albeit a little awkwardly. How odd to have Jake outside the shower curtain holding her hand. The act was gentlemanly and courteous but also amazingly erotic. The connection of him holding one of her hands while her other one glided over her body was uniquely arousing. Every place she touched, she imagined it was Jake’s hand instead of her own.
Now came the biggest test as she waited for him to respond to her request to help her wash her hair. Though she had been aware of the tenseness of his body outside the curtain, when she asked the question, he went board stiff. Would he say no?
The curtain opened and Jake stood there. If she had thought she saw desire before, it was nothing like what he was experiencing now. Blue fire blazed in his eyes, dark, wicked…knowing.
Angela stood, mesmerized.
He picked up her shampoo bottle. “I’ll pour the shampoo in your hand and then help you massage it in.”
The hoarse growling was barely recognizable as Jake. She did as he asked and then he put her injured hand against the wall, outside the shower. “This will go faster if I can use both of my hands. Keep your hand here.”
When she complied, he said, “Now, bend your head.”
What followed was one of the most erotic moments of her life. Jake’s big, strong hands, along with her much smaller one lathered her hair into a soapy mass of bubbles and foam. Her eyes closed, she swallowed moans of arousal as strong fingers massaged her scalp and the back of her neck. Never had she realized the correlation between her head and her sex. For every strong press of his fingers, a corresponding throb occurred between her legs.
CHANCES ARE (Last Chance Rescue) Page 11