“Can’t they just cut the chain again?”
Thinking of the chain he’d damn near had to drag across the driveway, he grinned. “They could, but not without being noticed.”
She gave him a skeptical look, then stepped outside. His first impulse was to catch her hand, pull her back inside out of sight of whoever happened to be looking. But considering how reasonably she’d cooperated with his requests to restrict her movements, he let her go, instead closing the door, following her down the steps, into the covered driveway and back to the gate.
Her laugh upon seeing the tow chain that made the old chain look like a length of twine was fresh and sweet and normal. He appreciated the sound of it, and the feel, and couldn’t wait for the day it came naturally and often.
If she let him come around again once the case was closed.
The lines across her forehead eased, revealing more relief than he suspected she knew. “Thank you, Jimmy. I’ll reimburse you for it tomorrow.”
The old Jimmy could give her a list of various types of reimbursement he would prefer over money. The new Jimmy—the smarter Jimmy—kept his mouth shut, because after a long time of trying, Martine was starting to like him again, and he wasn’t about to risk that for a sly, flirty, maybe sleazy remark.
“You’d better get back inside before you turn into an icicle.” His voice was quiet, the sound hollow as the brick arch reflected the words back.
But she didn’t move. “I’m not that cold.” Also quiet, hollow. Her gaze locked on his.
He reminded himself to breathe, but his lungs wouldn’t fill, not with the tightness around his chest that came from nowhere. Her own breaths were shallow, causing the slightest lift and fall of her chest, and her cheeks were red, her lips tinged blue, belying her comment.
Slowly he lifted his hand to feather back a strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead. “The first time I saw you...”
She’d been with Evie, who had come by the station to see Jack, and he’d thought a lot of things: she was gorgeous. She had killer long legs, and the curves of her breasts, waist and hips gave her exactly the lush type of body that he preferred. Her smile was incredibly easy and passionate. She wasn’t his usual sort of woman, but they would be great in bed, and at the time all he’d been interested in was a great time in bed.
Instead of choosing one of those things to tell her, he changed the subject, sort of. “I haven’t dated anyone since before Alia and Landry got married.” Did Martine remember scowling at him through the ceremony or deliberately spilling champagne on him after the cake was cut? She had snubbed his every attempt to talk to her—talk, when he’d really wanted to take her in his arms, dance with her, touch her and persuade her that he was deserving of another chance. Her iceberg act had made him the butt of jokes for the other cops in attendance. Not the first time, not the last, and he’d deserved it.
Her deepening flush suggested she did remember. It passed quickly, though, and her gaze narrowed on his. “Define date.”
“Gone out with. Had a meal or drinks with. Spent time with a woman with the intention of starting or building a relationship.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “Wasn’t there an exotic dancer you were serious about?”
He’d been working a series of murders with Alia at the time, murders that had brought Landry into her life. Nina had been a sweet girl but temporary. She’d been ten years younger by age, double that in life experience. For a stripper, she’d held on to her naïveté pretty fiercely. By the time the murders had been solved, the relationship had been over.
“We were a mutually agreed-upon short-term thing.” His fingers were still in her hair. He slid them over icy black silk to her shoulder and gave the taut muscles there a squeeze. “Does it bother you that she was a stripper?” He knew what a lot of people thought of exotic dancers—and the people who got involved with them. Alia, wiser than most, had been amused. Would Martine, or would she fall back on her judgmental attitude?
“Does it bother you that I dated a stripper?”
His gaze widened, and so did her smile.
“His name was Nico, and we were together about six weeks before he moved on to Dallas. He was a nice guy—had a degree in engineering but found out he could make more money dancing—and he taught me some mo-oves...”
She swung her hips in a sensual shimmy that ended with her chilled body skimming across the front of his. Again Jimmy’s breath caught in his chest, and for one long moment he couldn’t remember how to let it go, how to replace it with fresh oxygen to feed his starving brain cells.
“Does not dating mean not having sex?” she asked, and what little bit of breath he’d caught rushed out again.
“You don’t pull punches, do you?” he asked wryly.
“What’s the point?”
“Yes, not dating means not having sex.”
“Wow. In...” Silently she counted up the months since Alia and Landry’s wedding. “I’m impressed.”
“Wow,” he echoed. “I’ve been trying to impress you for six years, and all it took was giving up sex for a year? You’re not an easy woman, Martine.” Something about his words surprised her—the trying-to-impress part? Her mouth formed a small oh of surprise, and because it was too tempting, and because his body was still tingling where she’d barely touched him, he cupped his hands to her face and bent over her. “Lucky for me, I like a challenge.”
His mouth covered hers, cold lips, hot breath, eager tongues. When her arms wrapped around his neck and she rose onto her toes to press her body against his, his hands moved without thought, sliding from her face to her shoulders to her spine, gliding downward to cup her butt and pull her hips against his erection. The cold didn’t matter anymore, or the snow or the case or the murders. Nothing mattered but getting closer to her, touching, seeing, tasting, needing every bit of her, satisfying the hunger she’d stirred six years ago that had never gone away.
Her moan echoed in the small space, given strength by the unusually quiet night and by the need that scraped across his nerves with a painful sting. He’d heard that sound from her before, had made that sound with her before, and welcomed it again. The first time—last time—had been ruined by the ring of his cell phone and his mention of his wife. At the time, he’d thought it was the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but now he knew better. Just being with her then, kissing her, wanting her, had been wrong in ways he hadn’t comprehended then.
He did now.
Anything more that happened between them now would have to be a rational, clearheaded decision on both their parts, or he would lose another chance with her, and this one would likely be the last.
That would be the stupidest thing he’d ever done.
Reluctantly he ended the kiss—the hardest thing he’d ever done—and nuzzled her throat, her jaw, her ear, before murmuring, “I should go.”
Part of him hoped she would say, No, you should stay. The weaker part hoped she wouldn’t.
Her breath was slow, audible, forming a tiny cloud in the air. “You probably should.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you.”
Her lips quirking into a smirk very much like his own fallback expression, she shifted her body against his, making his breath catch, his nerves tingle, his muscles damn near spasm with pleasure. “I know that. But we should be sure.”
I’m damn sure. “Rational,” he agreed.
She nodded. “Reasonable.”
“Certain we can set aside the past.”
“Make a calm decision not based on emotions of the moment.”
The need inside him that wasn’t about to go away anytime soon snickered. If any decision should be based on emotion, it was this one. But he ignored it. “Certain you can trust me.”
She stilled, then her gaze sought his in the dim light. For
a long time, she looked at him, her expression all serious and complex and intense, making his breath catch once more. When it eased, so did the tension inside him, and when the corners of her mouth turned up in the smallest of smiles, the tightness in his body eased, too.
“I do trust you, Jimmy,” she said, and the honesty in her voice humbled him. “I trust you with my life.”
And he would protect her with his life. And maybe, when all of this was over, she would trust him with her heart, too.
Chapter 7
After a surprisingly peaceful night, Martine woke to find a mostly pure blanket of white coating everything. Cradling a cup of coffee between her palms, she looked down on the courtyard, undeniably a magical fairyland with all the snow, and grunted with a distinct lack of appreciation. Sunshine. She wanted sunshine and warm breezes and no more of this winter crap.
In the living room, the morning news anchors were talking about nothing but the snow and its complications. Lists of schools closed for the day scrolled across the bottom of the screen while lists of areas to avoid due to traffic accidents were updated every few minutes. Stay home unless you really need to go out, the cheery blonde said with exaggerated sincerity.
Between sips of coffee, Martine texted Niles and Ramona and told them not to come in today, then gave Anise a choice. She usually needed the money more than the other two. If she could get to the shop safely, Martine would open and work beside her today. She could use some company.
Niles replied K. Ramona said, Thnx. Regretting the slow disappearance of the written language as Martine knew it, she was rewarded with Anise’s message: I’ll be there before ten and will bring lunch.
Mention of lunch made Martine’s stomach rumble. She got a chicken drumstick and the last few scoops of potato salad from the refrigerator and took it with her coffee into the crafts room. With the lights on, the heater running and the curtains open, it was the least claustrophobic place in her apartment. If she ever needed to defend herself there, she had plenty of sharp or heavy objects, from scissors to paper cutters, in addition to the Taser and the pepper spray.
She was in the process of selecting a new project to start or an old one to finish when her cell phone rang. Spying Evie’s name, she put it on speakerphone and forced the happiest greeting she’d managed in a while.
“Hey, the kids haven’t seen you in nearly a week. You want to come and have an early lunch with us?”
“Hmm, when the kids invite me somewhere, there’s usually a hook, like the waiters are six-foot-tall rats.”
“They were mice. You’ve seen enough rats down by the river to recognize the difference. But you will need a coat. Maybe two of them. And a hat. A scarf, gloves, boots, maybe earmuffs if you have any.”
Evie’s amused voice was interrupted by Jackson’s shout. “Aunt Martine, we’re having a picnic in the snow. Please come!” A second later, Isabella added her pleas, and a garbled message from little Evangelina suggested she was doing the same.
Evie wrestled the phone back from her children. “Now it’s my turn to talk.”
“It’s always your turn,” Isabella said archly.
“When you have your own phone—”
Martine interrupted. “Which will probably be for their next birthdays so Jack can keep track of them.”
Evie snorted. “He would have the vet plant tracking chips in them if he could.”
“Is he back yet?”
“No. He’s snowed in in Omaha.”
Martine felt a niggle of guilt because she hadn’t even given Jack more than a thought or two since he’d left. She hadn’t spent much more attention on Evie, home alone with the three kids who were definitely Daddy’s boy and girls. Ordinarily, she’d be helping Evie distract them in the evenings, but this wasn't an ordinary week.
“I appreciate the invite,” she said, grateful she had a legitimate reason for turning it down. Sitting outside to eat and drink in the snow didn’t make the happy girl inside her jump and cheer.
“But you’ve got more sense than I do.”
“No. You know I’d do it, but... I’m not supposed to go anywhere where someone might see me, and I wouldn’t want to risk anyone following me to your house, scaring the kids or—or hurting...” She couldn’t think beyond that. Her brain just refused to.
“I’m sorry, Martine. I didn’t forget. I just didn’t realize. Without Jack here to keep me updated, I just thought things were the same as Tuesday. Are you in danger?”
Martine’s gut clenched. She didn’t want to tell her best friend that Paulina’s killer knew her address, had been to her house and sent her messages, but she also didn’t want Evie showing up at the apartment or the shop to keep her company, either. “Enough that you should forget you know me for a while.”
Evie gasped. “I can’t—I won’t—”
“For the kids’ sake, Evie.” Martine could actually feel the moment Evie relented. Her friend was a strong woman, loyal to the friends who made up her family and fiercely protective. She also understood thoroughly that having kids changed the dynamics of that family. In matters of safety, the kids always, always came first.
“Tell the little monsters that I’m sorry I can’t join them on their snow picnic, but send me pictures.”
“I will. We will.” A tremor shook Evie’s voice. “You be careful, Martine. And tell Jimmy if he doesn’t do his absolute best on this case and keep you safe, I will put a curse on him that will make his dangly bits shrivel up and ruin him for any other woman the rest of his life.”
Martine winced at the threat. Evie’s powers were of the foretelling-the-future variety, but if anyone knew someone who could do what she’d threatened, it was her. Martine decided to give her good news—or, at least, interesting news—to offset the bad. “Oh, no, don’t do that,” she said, a little bit of slyness working its way into her voice. “I intend to ruin him for any other woman for the rest of his life.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, then Evie squealed. “Are you being bad with NOPD’s baddest boy? Jack said if you didn’t kill him in the first twelve hours, he’d probably be okay, but this sounds like way more than okay. Give me details, Martine. I need gossip.”
“Oops, I think I hear Anise downstairs,” Martine lied. “Gotta go. Love to the kids and love you, too. Don’t freeze on your picnic.”
Though she knew she’d frustrated Evie—exactly as she’d intended—her friend’s laughter pealed before the call disconnected. Smiling, she wiped her fingers on a wet wipe from the box on the bookcase, shook out an inexpensive vinyl tablecloth to cover the table, then began taking items from the shelves. She had ninety minutes before Anise would arrive downstairs and no desire to spend it being idle, where her mind could wander wherever it wanted.
Painting fabric was one of her many hobbies, one that helped justify having an entire room just for crafts. She’d made gorgeous watercolor cushions for her patio furniture last year and had bought a plain white hammock on closeout last fall with the intent of doing it to match. She already loved her courtyard and was sure she would love it more with the hammock tucked near the niches built into the brick wall that held candles inside hurricane glasses. With plenty of soft pillows, it would be the perfect place to relax on a lazy evening, and with the double-sized hammock, there would be plenty of room to share it with Jimmy.
Or some other guy, she reminded herself. Just because they both wanted to give this thing a chance didn’t mean it would work out. Yeah, it could be another guy. Maybe Nico would come back through town, or maybe someone she hadn’t yet met.
Or Jimmy, the stubborn part of her repeated. Maybe it wouldn’t work out for the long term, but for a few months, enough for the evenings to get warm enough to laze outside, yeah, it could last that long. Long enough to surprise everyone who knew him. Maybe long enough to surprise everyone who knew her,
too.
Maybe even...
She rolled her eyes, not willing to go there, and focused on her task. After taking her breakfast dishes to the kitchen, she returned with two cups of water, one for the paint medium and the other to wet the watercolors. The pigments were strong, vibrant colors that spread across her canvas in swirls and swoops, seeping into the fabric as the water helped move it along and toned down the hues to a dozen shades of gorgeous pastels that made her happy just to look at them.
By the time the phone interrupted her again, she was applying the last swipes of paint medium. Pleased with her efforts, she traded the brush for the phone, arched her back in a stretch and answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hey, Anise, perfect timing. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
There was no response. No, that wasn’t true. She could hear something in the background—a rustle, a whisper, really just a sense of a sound—then the bell downstairs buzzed. Jumping, she almost dropped the phone before calming her heart and her nerves and jogging down the stairs.
Anise stood on the stoop, bundled up as if the worst blizzard in the history of the world was raging. Only her eyes and the bridge of her nose were visible, and ice crystals decorated her yellow ski mask where it covered her mouth. Martine undid the locks and pushed the planter to the side so she could open the door. “Too cold to even say, ‘Hey, I’m here,’ before you hang up?” she teased.
“If I didn’t already suffer from seasonal depression, this weather would do it to me,” Anise said flatly. “Hey, I’m here.”
Martine’s smile faltered. “Didn’t you just call my cell to let me know...”
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