by Dawn Altieri
The aroma of sizzling bacon wafted up, enticing a growl of hunger from her stomach. She stepped from the bed and raised her arms in an overhead stretch. Her clothes were scattered throughout the apartment, so after a stop in the bathroom, she padded over to Jake’s walk-in closet. A row of sport coats and dress shirts filled one side, and she ran her finger along them, picturing each one on Jake’s masculine physique. Toward the back, she found a worn-out light-blue cotton shirt among some other casual clothes. She tugged it off the hanger, slipped her arms into it, and fastened several buttons. The sleeves were too long, and it hung down past her hips almost to her knees, but it smelled faintly of Jake, or at least whatever detergent he used. She buried her nose in the collar and inhaled deeply. Perfect.
She turned, and her mouth fell open. A bulletproof vest hung on the hook inside the closet door. She touched her fingers to the Kevlar, picturing the vest on Jake’s body—the only thing standing between him and some crazed lunatic criminal armed with a gun and intent on ending him. A shudder swept through her as she quickly moved away.
She descended the spiral staircase as Jake flipped the bacon in one pan and poured an egg mixture into another. He’d put on a pair of gray pajama pants, and the way they were hanging so low on his hips, she was sure he wore nothing beneath them.
He wiped his hands on a dishtowel as he turned and saw her, standing before him in his shirt a couple of steps up from the floor.
“Wow,” he said, his mouth gaping. Her silhouette cast a shadow on the hardwood amid the glow of sunlight from behind her. “You just might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Are you cooking breakfast?” she asked playfully, descending the last few stairs. She moved into his arms and melted into his embrace. “I could easily say the same of you. No one’s ever cooked me breakfast before.” He placed his finger under her chin and lifted her mouth for a kiss. “I borrowed your mouthwash,” she admitted shyly.
His adoring smile creased the skin around his eyes. “Use whatever you need.” He kissed her again. “How’d you sleep?”
“Really well. Better than I can remember sleeping in a long time.”
“Good. You were out cold for a while. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Mmm.” She slid her hands over his shoulders and around his neck. “Someone wore me out last night.”
“Oh, is that right? Well, you better rest up, baby, ’cause I was going easy on you last night.”
He covered her mouth with his and her skin tingled at his remark. She could only imagine what other tricks he had up his sleeve.
He kissed the tip of her nose, then returned to the stove and moved the eggs to a couple of plates. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.” She took a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Did we forget about dinner last night?”
He set a plate before her. “Yeah, I guess we did.” He placed a cup of tea before her, removed his mug from the single-serve coffeemaker, and sat next to her.
She glimpsed the tea bag in her mug. “You drink English Breakfast tea?”
“No. But I know you do. I saw some on the counter at your place.”
“Oh,” she said. “You were pretty sure I’d be spending the night?”
He took a bite of his eggs. “I was hoping you would eventually. Guess my gamble paid off.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
The warmth of a blush touched her cheeks as she took a sip of the tea. Sugar and a little bit of cream—he’d made it perfectly. She set the mug down on the counter and took a bite of bacon. She was famished. Skipping dinner—along with the stress of the past weeks and the events of the night before—had taken its toll. She dug in eagerly.
“I’m heading down to the precinct in a bit,” Jake said between bites.
“But it’s Sat—” She caught herself before she finished the thought. He knew what day it was. He didn’t need her reminding him.
He gave her a half-hearted smile. “The bad guys don’t take weekends off, either.”
She nodded, knowing he was working hard to find out who was after her, who’d ransacked her apartment, who was terrorizing the women of New York City.
“I’ve got to get to the bottom this,” he added.
She fought the shudder that ran up her spine. She knew who he’d be investigating first, the one person who knew her security code and could let himself into her apartment. “You’re really convinced it could be Ben, even though he would know he’d be the obvious suspect? Why would he destroy the place?”
Jake hesitated. Maybe he wasn’t sure, either? “Jealousy can be a very strong motivator.”
An incredulous chuckle escaped her. “What would he be jealous of? He doesn’t even know about us. That’s crazy.”
“Is it?” He reached out to sweep away the lock of hair that hung against her cheek. “He’d love to turn you against me, make you doubt that I can keep you safe since I couldn’t solve Justin’s murder. Get you thinking exactly what you’re thinking right now.”
She shook her head in confusion. “What am I thinking?”
“That I’ve let this guy get too close to you. That I can’t keep you safe.”
She gasped, turning away quickly with a hand over her mouth. She knew her attacker had been getting closer. And she’d been questioning Jake’s abilities since the beginning of all this. But things had changed drastically between them last night, and even thinking those thoughts now felt nothing short of a betrayal.
“It’s okay, Emma.” He laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, kneading at the tension there that refused to subside. “I don’t blame you. No matter who it is, I should’ve nailed him by now.”
She faced Jake again and leaned in close, laying a hand on the scruff on his cheek, shoring herself up so she would sound convincing. “I’ve never doubted you could keep me safe.”
An exhausted expression came over him and he seemed on the verge of defeat. “I have.”
She shook her head. “I am safe. Here. With you.” She pressed her lips to his, slowly, reassuringly, to seal the words in some sort of pact between them, but as he broke away gently, she knew it hadn’t worked.
“You have to promise me something,” he said. “If Windsor even tries to contact you, you’ll call me immediately. Understood?”
She dropped her gaze and nodded, and Jake kissed the top of her head.
“So, I guess I’m stuck here all by myself today,” she said.
He nodded. “Afraid so. Hang out, relax. I can think of nothing I would enjoy more”—he gave her a kiss—“than coming home later to you in my bed, in that shirt”—another kiss—“or out of that shirt.”
The heat of his words brought a flush to her cheeks, despite the disappointment that had overwhelmed her just moments ago. Oh, if only he didn’t have to work today…
He hopped off the stool and took his plate and mug over to the sink. Then he gave her one last kiss. “I’d ask you to join me in the shower, but I’ll never get to work if you do. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
She swiveled on her stool to watch his glorious, half-naked form as he moved up the staircase. When he’d almost reached the top, he called out to her. “I know you’re checkin’ out my ass.”
She laughed. “Damn right, I am.”
She finished her breakfast and cleaned up, washing the dishes and replacing them on the open shelves above the sink. She took her tea over to the sofa, sat with her feet curled up beneath her, and gazed out the windows at the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance while she relaxed to the sound of running water from the shower above. Cozy and right at home, just as she’d been at the beach house.
It was a gorgeous spring day with a cloudless sky. If things had been different, they could’ve spent the day together, gone for a walk in Central Park or down in the Battery, enjoyed lunch at any of a thousand restaurants in the Village
or Little Italy. This time, she let the fantasy linger just a bit longer before shooing it away.
Jake returned a short while later with his damp hair tousled and sexy, wearing his jeans and carrying the rest of his clothes. He pulled his white dress shirt on, working his way down the buttons while she looked on from the sofa, mesmerized. He tucked the shirt into his jeans and zipped them up, concealing those remarkable lines of muscle from her view. Watching him put clothes on was almost as much fun as watching him take them off.
He sat next to her with a foot propped up on the coffee table to tie his shoes. “I’m sorry I can’t stay here with you today.”
“It’s okay.” She ran her hand through her hair, propped her elbow on the back of the sofa, and rested her head in her palm. “I’ll find something to keep me busy. I might just go back to bed.”
He dropped his foot to the floor and settled his gaze on her. “You really don’t want me to make it to work, do you?” He stood and slipped his gun holster on while she watched intently.
“Can I ask you something?”
He pulled on his dark-blue sport coat. “You can ask me anything.”
“When you get called in to work…” She took a deep breath before continuing, even though she was sure she already knew the answer to her question. “Does it always mean someone’s been murdered?”
He exhaled, blowing the air out of his mouth forcefully, and sat down again. His obvious reluctance to be honest hit her like a fist to the stomach.
“Not always,” he said. “Sometimes, but not always. Sometimes another detective comes across something related to a case I’m working, especially with the gang stuff. There’s a lot of crossover there. Sometimes patrol picks up someone we’ve been after for questioning.” He took the mug of tea from her and placed it on the table so he could hold her hands. “But sometimes, yeah, that’s exactly what it means.”
As awful as it was, she was thankful he’d told her the truth. “I guess I never really thought about how many murders there are in the city.”
He hung his head for a moment, then met her gaze again. “Emma, I don’t want you to think about all that. Let me worry about it. It’s my job, not yours.”
She tried to pull her hands from under his, but he held on. She swallowed hard, hating how anxious his job made her. She’d never known anyone with such a dangerous career. Why did it have to be the man she was falling for? The man who insisted she shouldn’t want him, no matter how much she actually did? The man she was suddenly so afraid of losing?
“I’ll try,” she said softly. “I can’t promise anything.”
He ran his hand down her cheek as that little muscle in his jaw twitched. “Okay,” he said suddenly. “I’ve gotta go. Adam’s outside already.”
“Adam’s here?” She was getting used to having him around her office, but in Jake’s home?
“I don’t want you alone. At all. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.” He kissed her, hard and promising. “I promise this will all be over soon, and you’ll never have to think about any of it again.”
How could she have forgotten? She’d assured him this was just a fling, that she was okay with something temporary while they were stuck in close proximity. She wouldn’t have to think about that anymore, either, since, as he said, it would all be over soon.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jake stormed down the hall toward Lieutenant Dan O’Shea’s office with Mack trailing behind.
“You need to settle down, buddy,” his partner said.
“I’ll settle down when I find out where the hell Benjamin Windsor was yesterday while Emma’s apartment was being torn to fucking shreds.”
“Detective Quinn.” Lieutenant O’Shea leaned back in his chair. “What can I do for you?”
“Lieutenant.” Jake cleared his throat and grasped the back of one of the guest chairs. “I need a protective detail on Emma Sloane.”
O’Shea’s brow shot up. “You need a detail on her? Did I miss something?”
Jake took a deep, steadying breath. “No, sir.” It had been a poor choice of words. This was not about Jake and what he wanted. Emma’s safety was too important to risk having the lieutenant toss this aside as a personal request. “I’m concerned for the safety of a witness. There’s a person of interest who needs to be brought in, and she’s at risk until that’s been accomplished. I’m not getting a hell of a lot of cooperation.”
“Everyone’s cooperating, Jake,” Mack insisted. “We’ll question Windsor as soon as we can, but his people say he’s out of town.”
“And you believe that?” Jake snapped, spinning toward his partner. “That he’s out of freaking town? How convenient he left when he did.”
“Quinn.” O’Shea stood, calm and unmoving. “Do I need to remind you he’s a Windsor?”
Jake didn’t give a shit who he was, if he was their guy, and the department shouldn’t, either. Would they be so desperate for all that Windsor money in contributions to the police fund if Jake’s hunch about the prodigal son turned out to be right?
“Do you have anything solid on him?” O’Shea asked. “Prints, surveillance footage, anything?”
Jake released a deep breath. “None of that’s back from forensics yet.”
“Exactly.” O’Shea shoved his hands into his pockets. “So what do you propose I bring him in on? Your gut instinct? Because as reliable as that may be, somehow you seem to have gotten a little too close to this case to be objective.”
“I’m concerned for the safety of a witness,” Jake repeated in a much firmer tone, praying O’Shea would believe him.
“I see that.” O’Shea eyed him suspiciously. “Look, Jake, I can’t authorize a protective detail. I don’t have the budget or the manpower for something like that. And Nate Windsor will ruin this division if we go after his son without a damned good reason.”
Jake’s jaw clenched. He knew that all too well. “She matches the physical profile of the previous victims exactly. At least give me one uni to put on her.”
“A lot of women in the city match the profile. Should I have an officer trail all of them?”
Jake could hear the patience slipping out of his lieutenant’s voice, but his own patience had slipped, as well. He gripped the chair again. “She isn’t safe with that asshole out there.”
“For the record, that asshole hasn’t done anything illegal. And until you can prove otherwise, the best I can get you is an order of protection. You know this already, Quinn.”
O’Shea’s words sank in and twisted Jake’s insides. Of course he knew it. He couldn’t go spouting his theories, accusing Ben Windsor of breaking and entering, or even murder, without any solid evidence. And if the department found out he was sleeping with Emma, he’d sound like he had some sort of personal vendetta against the man, which would put the whole investigation at risk. Not to mention Jake’s career.
The clock ticked loudly on the wall, breaking the silence in the room.
“Are we on the same page now?” O’Shea asked.
Jake’s jaw clenched. “Yes, sir. We are.”
He returned to his desk in frustration and stared at the suspect sketch on his computer screen as his aggravation rolled back to a low simmer. He couldn’t count how many times he’d studied the sketch already, sometimes convinced it was Windsor, sometimes not sure at all. Windsor wanted Emma. All the victims looked like Emma.
Jake replayed his conversations with Windsor at Emma’s apartment, at the restaurant, in the WWM conference room. There’d been no mistaking the challenge in Windsor’s tone. The smug insinuation that Jake’s investigation would fail yet again, the unfounded confidence Ben had that he’d win Emma over. But with nothing solid to tie him to any of the crimes, Jake’s theory that Windsor would run down his own brother to get him out of the way seemed shaky at best.
Jake needed something real, something concrete, in order to bring him in. Before everyone in the department thought he’d lost his damned mind.
“I’ve got something for you,” Mack announced a short while later as he sat down next to Jake’s desk and opened his laptop.
Jake blew out a hopeless breath. “Like what?”
“The internet dating site, Lovematch.com.” Mack clicked a few keys and opened several files. “You’re familiar with this, aren’t you?” he teased.
If Jake was ever in the mood for teasing—which he wasn’t—today would not be the day. “I don’t need the internet to find dates.”
“Oh, I forgot. You just go through old case files.” Mack met Jake’s unamused glare before he slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, lighten up, it’s a joke. But watch yourself. Your lovesick puppy routine is a little more obvious than usual today. What gives?”
Jake remained silent. He couldn’t put what was going on with Emma into words, even if he wanted to.
A slow, knowing grin stretched across Mack’s face. “Ah, shit. You’re in deep, aren’t ya?”
Jake clenched his jaw and looked away, still refusing to answer. Anything he told his partner would put Mack at risk if the situation went south.
“Just be careful, man. Not that I should need to tell you again.” Mack returned his attention to the laptop. “So, anyway. Look at this.” Mack clicked a few more times and opened several profile pages from the Lovematch website.
Jake leaned in closer to view the pictures and instantly recognized Abigail Murray, Sarah Goldberg, and Suzanne Ramsay. “Well, well, well.”
“Marino was able to get into Ramsay’s account from her laptop, and then he found the others with a simple geographic search. I’ve got calls in to the bigwigs at Lovematch. The person I talked to gave me a load of crap about privacy policies and personal information, so we don’t have access to their accounts yet. Warrant’s in the works. Could take a few days to get through all this, though.”