A Lot Like Love

by Julie James

  He was desperate. Jordan could see the sweat beading along his brow and knew she was looking at a man at the end of his rope. So she pushed through the fear that threatened to overwhelm her and played her last card.

  "My father will pay you anything you want," she blurted out.

  Xander went still. She had his attention.

  Then she heard voices outside the front door.

  NICK PULLED UP in front of DeVine Cellars just in time to see two uniformed Chicago police officers approaching the door. They stopped a few feet from the store as he parked haphazardly along the curb. He jumped out of the car and quickly assessed the scene—noting the closed shades on the windows and door—and hurried to the back of his car to pop the trunk. He flashed his badge with one hand as the police officers came over, and reached for a midsized metal lockbox inside the truck.

  "FBI," he said in a low voice, not wanting Xander to overhear them from inside the store.

  "We received a call that you guys were on your way," the older cop said.

  "Have you made contact with anyone inside?" Nick asked.

  "Just got here seconds ago, right before you pulled up."

  "We may have a hostage situation." Nick opened the lockbox with a key on his key ring, and heard another car pull up as he grabbed his spare gun and lock-pick kit. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a familiar Ford LTD Crown Victoria come to a stop behind him. He was closing the trunk of his car just as Jack Pallas and his partner, Wilkins, strode over.

  Pallas wasted no time with preliminaries. He handed Nick a bulletproof vest. "What's the plan?"

  Nick slipped the vest over his shirt. It went without saying that he was in charge. It was his investigation, and more important, Xander Eckhart had his girl in there. He'd be damned if anyone else tried to call the shots.

  "I'm going in through the back door," he said. "Jack, you cover me. Wilkins—you guard the front." He nodded to the two uniformed cops. "They can serve as backup."

  "I'll let you know when we're in," Jack said to Wilkins, pointing to the small receiver in his ear. Wilkins wore a receiver in his ear as well, and both men had transmitters wired to the collars of their bulletproof vests. "Don't move until you get my signal, Sam."

  Wilkins pulled back the slide on his gun, ready. "We've got a second team on the way that'll be here in minutes," he told Nick. "You sure you don't want to wait?"

  "We're not waiting." Nick took off toward the alley, with Jack following him.

  They cut through the alley and stopped at the back door to DeVine Cellars. Nick saw that the lock was a standard dead bolt and prayed Jordan didn't have a chain on the inside of the door that would prevent quick and quiet access.

  He glanced over at Pallas as he pulled out his lock-pick kit. "I'll take Eckhart. You make sure the scene is clear—it's possible that Trilani is in there with them." He got to work on the lock. He moved fast and steadily, but still it took time he worried they didn't have.

  In his head, he kept playing over and over what might be happening inside Jordan's store. And he knew one thing: he was a fucking fool. His job, being the top undercover agent, his stupid pride—it all meant nothing. The only thing he wanted was to know that she was safe.

  He gritted his teeth as he pushed the lock pins into place with the pick. "This can't be it. No way. There are too many things I need to say to her."

  He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until Jack answered him.

  "You'll get your chance."

  Nick stared the other agent in the eyes. "I better. And just so we're clear, depending on what I find inside, there's a good chance I'm going to kill this piece of shit."

  HAVING HEARD THE voices, Xander's eyes darted to the front door. "Who's that?"

  Please let it be the police, Jordan prayed.

  They both watched the door for what felt like an eternity. When nothing happened, Xander slightly eased his grip on the gun. "Sounds like they're gone."

  "Let's get back to the money," Jordan said, stalling once again. "My father could wire whatever you want in exchange for my release. Fifty million. A hundred. Wherever it is you plan to vanish, that will go a long way toward keeping you comfortable."

  Xander's lips pulled back in a sneer. "There's only one problem: I couldn't touch that money. Thanks to you, the Feds are watching all my accounts."

  "My brother shut down Twitter from a laptop computer in Tijuana, Mexico. Trust me—he and my father can manage to open a bank account wherever you want, under whatever name you give them."

  Xander paused again. He sat up, hovering over her on his knees. Jordan saw his hesitation.

  "The money will give you your life back, Xa—"

  "Shut up!" He shoved her against the ground, and the back of her head banged against the tile. He wiped sweat off his brow with one hand, and his voice rose. "I can't think with all your talking! Just shut up!"

  Jordan braced herself when she saw him draw back his other hand, about to hit her with the gun. She closed her eyes and pleaded silently—please don't let it hurt too much—

  A gunshot rang out across the store.

  Her eyes flew open.

  Xander jerked back and dropped the gun to the floor. He clenched his shoulder, his arm hanging limply at his side from a perfectly aimed bullet. He saw something coming from the direction of the back door and his eyes widened in panic. He scrambled to his feet and quickly backed away from Jordan. He held up his hand defensively. "No, I didn't—"

  Nick stormed toward Xander with a menacing look. "I told you to keep your hands off her," he said in a low growl.

  He grabbed Xander by the throat and flipped him to the ground with one hand. He shoved his knee against Xander's chest, pinning him to the floor, and pointed his gun right between Xander's eyes.

  "Who's out of his league now, asshole?"

  Xander remained motionless and quiet, undoubtedly the smartest decision he had made all morning.

  Nick stared down at him for a long moment, his expression icy. Finally, he looked over at Jordan. "Are you okay?"

  She nodded. "Yes." Hearing the tremor in her voice, she cleared her throat. "I think so." She pushed herself up with one arm, holding her injured wrist to her chest.

  "You're hurt." Nick shoved the gun against Xander, who half grunted, half whimpered. "Care to explain how that happened?"

  "She tripped and fell."

  "Now there's an original answer," Nick said disgustedly.

  Someone approached from behind them. Jordan turned and saw the agent who'd put the monitoring device on Kyle's ankle. Agent Pallas, if memory served.

  "I checked the cellar," he told Nick. "No sign of Trilani or anyone else." He raised an eyebrow at Xander's position. "We're good here?"

  Nick eased his gun off Xander's forehead with what seemed to be a great deal of reluctance. "Yes. We're good." With one hand, he caught a pair of handcuffs that Agent Pallas tossed over. He yanked Xander up by the lapels of his coat. "Please try to resist. It would make my day."

  "Fuck you, McCall," Xander said. But he held his hands out complacently as Nick slid on the cuffs.

  Agent Pallas walked over to the front door and unlocked it. "We're clear." Another FBI agent in a bulletproof vest and two police officers stormed into the store, guns drawn. Nick handed Xander over to the other agents, and then walked toward Jordan.

  He bent down and took her hand. "Think you can stand?" he asked softly.

  She was very aware of the five extra pairs of eyes on her, one pair of which belonged to the man who'd just held a gun to her head. "Get me out of here. Please."

  Nick nodded. He helped her up, being careful with her wrist. He led her toward the door, stopping to address the younger FBI agent. "Did you call for an ambulance?"

  "It's on the way," the agent said.

  Nick looked at Xander, whose face was strained with the pain of the gunshot wound. "Get another one for him. Tell them to take their time."

  As he led Jordan out of the store, she bumpe
d her wrist against her chest and sucked in a breath at the flash of pain. "I think it's getting worse."

  "It's the adrenaline wearing off," Nick said tersely. He led her over to his car and opened the door to the backseat. "You should sit here while we wait for the ambulance."

  "Just a heads up: I might throw up in your car from the pain."

  His eyes flashed, yet still there was no quip or sarcastic comment. He was acting very un-Nick-like.

  "I can handle it," he said. After he'd gotten her settled, he stood up and did the weirdest thing.

  He began to pace next to the car.

  Jordan watched him go back and forth, all intense strides and furious turns. At one point, he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. Then he stopped abruptly and knelt down next to the car.

  "Still think you're going to throw up?" he asked.

  Jordan shook her head, baffled. "No."

  "Good." Nick grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her.

  Well, then.

  She forgot all about the pain in her wrist.

  Nick pulled back and looked her over, his face filled with worry. "One more second and he would've hit you with the gun. And who knows what else. When I think about what could've happened ..." He gripped her shoulders determinedly. "I should've told you this earlier, Jordan. Now that I've got my chance, you're going to hear it whether you like it or not. You came into my life and messed the whole thing up and now I'm screwed. Because I'm in love with you. As in balls-out, head-over-heels, watching-Dancing-with-the-Stars -on-Monday-nights, wine-and-bubble-bath kind of love. Hell, I think I'd even wear a scarf indoors for you."

  Jordan smiled, her eyes misty, as she touched his cheek. "That's the best kind of love."

  She took a deep breath. "I have a few things to say myself. Mainly just one, actually. Don't take this next undercover assignment. Stay with me instead."

  Nick's eyes pierced hers, refusing to let her off that easily. "Tell me why."

  "Because ... I love you." She exhaled. No take-backs. The words were out there forever.

  And it felt great.

  He pulled her against his bulletproof vest. "About time you said it," he said gruffly. "It's been three damn weeks." He kissed her, and just as his hand curled around the nape of her neck, someone behind them cleared his throat.

  Jordan pulled back and saw a gray-haired man wearing a no-nonsense, FBI-type suit standing next to the car. She also saw that the once-quiet scene outside her wine store was swarmed with FBI agents and police officers.

  Oops.

  "First Pallas and now you," the gray-haired man said, shaking his head at Nick. "It's like I'm running a goddamn dating service around here." He spun around. "Wilkins! Huxley!" he barked. "Next case that involves a single woman—you're up."

  Standing at the sidewalk, Agent Wilkins pumped his fist excitedly. "Yes."

  Huxley adjusted his glasses with a grin, looking decidedly pleased.

  "That was supposed to be sarcastic. I'm getting too old for this shit," the gray-haired man mumbled under his breath. He turned to Jordan with a smile. "Ms. Rhodes—I'm Mike Davis, the special agent in charge. I can't tell you how relieved I am to see that you're safe." He nodded approvingly at Nick before walking away. "Good work, McCall. As always."

  Jordan thought of something. "Wait—how did you know I was in trouble?" she asked Nick. "The panic button calls the police, not the FBI."

  "The day after Xander's party, I put taps on both your home and store phone lines," he said.

  "I don't recall us having any discussion about you doing that."

  Nick grinned cheekily, looking like his old self again. "I told you I was keeping an eye on you, Rhodes."

  She heard the sound of an approaching ambulance. Her cue. "Not to play the needy girlfriend card or anything, but do you think you can come with me to the hospital? Because any minute, I'm going to freak out over the fact that I had a gun pointed at my head, and it's not going to be pretty."

  She had no clue what she'd said, but from the sudden look of tenderness on Nick's face, it seemed to strike a chord with him.

  He reached up and stroked her uninjured cheek. "If you need me, I won't leave your side. I promise."

  Thirty-two

  THEY MADE HIM leave her side.

  Due to so-called hospital "policy" and "safety regulations" —aka a load of bullshit—they wouldn't let Nick accompany Jordan into the X-ray room. He was debating whether to pull out his gun or his FBI badge—figuring one of them ought to do the trick—when Jordan squeezed his hand.

  "I'll be fine. Maybe you could try to round me up a Vicodin or something for my wrist?" she suggested.

  He threw her a knowing look. "You're trying to distract me."

  "Yes. Because I see you making the don't-fuck-with-me face. And if you start shooting people, they'll get bumped ahead of me in the X-ray line, and then I'll really be screwed."

  With a glare at the hospital staff, Nick reluctantly headed out to the waiting room. To distract himself, he called Davis. "Any idea yet how Eckhart knew we were on to him?"

  "He's not saying a word," Davis said. "Except that he wants to talk to a lawyer, of course. How's Jordan?"

  "She's getting some X-rays taken. Her wrist is definitely broken; I don't know yet about her cheekbone. You can tell the U.S. attorney that I better see charges for assault, battery, and false imprisonment added to Eckhart's indictment." Nick paused. "And when I get back to the office, I want to speak with you privately. About the kind of work I'm going to be doing going forward."

  Davis was quiet for a moment. "All right, McCall. Whenever you're ready."

  Nick spotted two men he would've recognized anywhere enter the radiology department and hurry toward the checkin counter. "I've got to go, Mike. We'll have that talk soon." He disconnected his phone and watched as the younger of the two men gestured angrily at the clerk behind the desk.

  Apparently, Kyle Rhodes didn't like being told he couldn't see Jordan, either.

  Nick walked over. Nice way to meet the family. He'd seen the camera crews pulling up at DeVine Cellars as the ambulance had pulled away—someone had obviously alerted the media.

  "Mr. Rhodes—if I could have a word with you, please. It's about Jordan."

  Both Grey and Kyle turned around. Jordan's father looked the same as he did in Time, Newsweek, and the Wall Street Journal, with his distinguished silver and blond hair and tailored suit. Kyle, who was dressed in cargo pants and a dark gray sweater, looked ready to brawl with anyone who got in his way. An interesting contrast to Jordan, Nick mused. Sure, she was sarcastic, but she seemed far more cool and levelheaded than her twin brother.

  Grey looked Nick over questioningly. His eyes held on the gun harness Nick wore over his shirt. "And you are ... ?"

  He held out his hand. "Special Agent Nick McCall. First off, you should know that your daughter is going to be fine." He saw both Kyle and Grey exhale in relief. "Jordan's been through an ordeal, but she is ..." Incredible. Strong. Smart. Gorgeous. Hot as a firecracker in bed.

  Probably better to keep that part to himself.

  "... quite tough," he finished.

  Grey Rhodes shook his hand cautiously. "Thank you, Agent McCall. Yes, she is."

  Nick gestured to an alcove where they could speak without everyone's eyes on them. "Why don't we talk over there, where it's more private?"

  The two men followed him. "They're saying on the news that my sister was attacked in her store," Kyle said once they were alone. His concern for Jordan was etched in his face. "Does this mean the FBI is investigating the case?"

  "It's more complicated than that. Jordan was attacked by a man named Xander Eckhart, a local businessman. You may know of him. There was a struggle, and she suffered a broken wrist and a bruised cheekbone. Eckhart had a gun, but Jordan was able to stall him until we arrived at the scene."

  Kyle and Grey exchanged shocked looks.

  "But Xander and Jordan are friends," Grey said. "
Or certainly close acquaintances. She attends his charity fund-raiser every year."

  "This was a jealousy thing, wasn't it? I'll fucking kill Eckhart," Kyle said. "I've been to his clubs a few times, and he always asks me about her." He turned to his father. "I bet it's because he saw her at his party with this new guy—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smoldering or whatever. The jerk-off who isn't talking to her."

  It took all of the jerk-off's undercover skills not to react to that. "It wasn't because of jealousy," Nick said. "Not directly, anyway. Eckhart attacked Jordan because she was cooperating with the FBI in an undercover investigation in which he was the target. Eckhart somehow learned of Jordan's involvement in the investigation and wanted revenge."

  "An undercover FBI investigation?" Grey repeated. "How could my daughter help you with something like that?"

  "We needed access to an office that Eckhart keeps in the lower level of Bordeaux. The party was our only opportunity, so Jordan agreed to bring along an undercover agent as her date."

  Grey's eyes were steely cold. "That sounds very dangerous, Agent McCall."

  "It sure does." Kyle took a step closer to Nick. "Five months ago, I got a nice taste of the courtesies the FBI extends to the Rhodes family. So let's cut the bullshit. What kind of threats did you bully my sister with to get her to cooperate in your investigation?"

  Normally, Nick didn't take too kindly to hotheaded excons who invaded his personal space. But this particular hotheaded ex-con happened to share DNA with his girlfriend, so he was willing to play nicer than usual. "I didn't threaten your sister, Kyle."

  "Oh, I suppose she decided to help you out of the kindness of her heart," he said sarcastically.

  "If you want to know Jordan's reasons for helping us, I suggest you ask her yourself."