Little Shop of Homicide (24 page)

“Unless?”

Jake spoke slowly, as if testing out a theory. “Unless Underwood intentionally incriminated you.”

“But why would he do that?” I shook my head. “I can’t see Noah deliberately setting me up to take the rap, and the more I think about it, the more I can’t see him in a homicidal rage. If he was going to kill someone, the murder would be planned down to the last second.
Besides, it’s not as if they were already married. It’s pretty easy to break off an engagement. There was no need for him to kill her.”

“Okay. Purposely implicating you is probably a stretch, but why all of a sudden do you think the good doctor is innocent? You were certainly willing to consider him a suspect up until today.”

“True.” I reluctantly admitted the flaw in my logic. “But now that I’m actually trying to picture Noah losing control like that, I see how ridiculous it is. He’s always been the most controlled person I know. He makes
Star Trek
’s Mr. Spock look impetuous.”

“Maybe.” Jake shoved his hands in his pockets. “Or maybe it’s because now that you think Underwood still loves you, he can’t be guilty of anything.”

“Of course not.” That wasn’t true. Was it? “My feelings have nothing to do with my opinion that Noah isn’t capable of impulsively killing someone.”

“Given the right circumstances, you’d be surprised what folks are capable of doing.”

“Hardly,” I scoffed. “In my previous occupation I saw exactly what people were willing to do if they thought it was in their best interest.”

“Including you?” He lifted a brow. “Are you still willing to do anything if it benefits you?”

“What are you talking about?” I had a bad feeling that I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.

“It took me a while to figure out your little act—first you’re hot for me; then you keep me at arm’s length; then you start the tease all over again.” He glowered at me. “That’s your way to ensure I keep helping you, isn’t it?”

Jake’s words cut into me like flying glass. Unwilling to let him see me bleed, I ran into the bathroom. That was why he’d been so cold to me all day. But how could he think that of me? After all the duplicity I’d endured at the hands of my father, mother, high school sweetheart, and boss, the last thing I would ever do was treat anyone
like that. I wondered what, or who, had put that toxic idea in his head.

Staring into the mirror, I was appalled to see tears in my eyes. Devereaux Sinclair did not cry, yet I was on the verge of doing so for the second time in a week. What was happening to me? Why was I suddenly allowing my emotions to rule my head? I was a dispassionate businesswoman, not some hormonal teenager. It was time to get a grip.

Trying to regroup, I gazed at the creamy ivory walls and ocher ceramic tiles of the bathroom. The dispassionate part of my brain noted that this décor was a soothing contrast to the rest of the suite’s provocative design.

The cold water I splashed on my face helped clear my mind. And then it occurred to me: Could there be a reason, other than the one Jake had already stated, why he had gone from ardent to aloof to accusing in less than twenty-four hours?

Now that I had time to think it over, I wondered if my supposed use of feminine wiles on him was just an excuse to keep me at arm’s length. Or maybe there was still another reason for his behavior.

After considering what his motive might be, I decided that I didn’t care what was behind his mood swings; I was sick of them. And although I was probably guilty of the same thing, I resented the mixed signals he’d been sending me since we had first met.

Resolved, I marched out of the bathroom and up to Jake, who was gazing darkly out the terrace doors. “What crawled up your butt since last night? And don’t try to tell me it was the realization that I was leading you on, because that’s a load of crap.” Okay. That was a crude way of putting it, but he deserved even worse.

“You seem upset,” Jake’s tone was smug. “Did I hit a little too close to home?”

Even as my fury erupted and I kicked him in the shin, I was thinking that I couldn’t fault Jake’s observational skills. Not the part about me flirting with him because I
wanted him to get me off the hook with Woods—that issue was way more complicated—but all the rest. I
had
sent mixed messages to Jake, and maybe knowing that Noah still loved me
had
changed my opinion of him

“Of course I’m upset.” I glared at him as he nursed his leg. “You’ve been jerking me around since the day you strolled into my store and announced you were there to save me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I stared down my nose at him. “First you kiss me, then you freeze me out, then you insult me. Did you really think I’d take that kind of treatment without reacting? And then to accuse me of using you…” I trailed off, unable to complete the sentence without either punching him in the nose or breaking down and crying. “How about you cowboy up and tell me what’s really wrong? Believe me, it’s better to admit you’re wrong right away, because it’s a lot easier to eat crow while it’s still warm.”

Blue eyes blazed into mine as Jake strode toward me. I could see that each step he took shot a bolt of pain up his leg.
Damn!
I should have remembered his injury and never kicked him. Now I was the bad guy, and I could feel my righteous anger trickling away with every flicker of discomfort that he fought to hide.

In less than a nanosecond he was so close to me we were almost nose to nose, and despite the fact that I was still upset with him, I found myself fascinated with every detail of his face.

The muscles in the strong column of his throat worked as he struggled to speak. “I had an appointment with my doctors here in Kansas City this morning before I picked you up, and I’m not healing as well as they hoped.” Jake gripped my shoulders. “They told me they’d give me another month, but if there’s no improvement, I’ll have to either take a disability retirement or a job at headquarters.”

“So you could still work for the U.S. Marshals?” I wanted to make sure I understood.

“Yes, but being a desk jockey isn’t the same as fieldwork.” His grin was brief and rueful. “It just feels so damn good when you get to tackle the perp, handcuff him, and bring him in. If I can’t do that, I’d rather take Tony up on his offer to run the ranch.”

“I’m so, so sorry. And I do understand that news like that must be devastating.” My adrenaline spent, I leaned my cheek against his.

“Yeah.” Jake’s breath was warm against my ear. “It threw me for a loop, all right.”

We were silent for a moment, then I raised my head and said, “What I don’t understand is how did you go from that awful report about your injury to me not really being attracted to you?”

“Someone may have mentioned the possibility.” Jake stared at his boots.

“And that person would be…”

“Meg.”

“Right.” I stepped away from him. “You called her to tell her what the doctors said?”

“I had to.” Jake moved his gaze from his feet to his belt buckle. “She’s my supervisor.”

“Oh. That has to be awkward.” Had I known his ex-wife was his boss? Definitely not. I would have remembered that nugget of information. “And you didn’t think she might have an ulterior motive?”

“Now that you mention it, I should have.” He smiled sheepishly, then frowned. “She caught me at a bad moment. She was always good at finding any weaknesses and exploiting them to her benefit.”

“Look—I’m sorry I’ve been blowing hot and cold, but you have, too.”

“Sorry about that.” He dimpled. “I guess we both have our battle scars.”

“You think?” It wasn’t the apology I’d hoped for, but his appeal was undeniable. “When I was a teenager and upset about Noah dumping me, Gran told me that hurt can soften you like a flannel shirt that’s been washed
over and over again, or it can turn you into a dried-up rose, ready to crumble the first time anyone doesn’t handle you with care.”

“Which are you?”

“I think I’ve been the flower, but I don’t want to be like that anymore.” I sighed. “Can we start over? Maybe try to trust each other a little?”

“That might be good.” He put his arms around me. “That might be real good.”

The warmth of his voice and his embrace melted my resolve to go slow this time, and I said into his shoulder, “I’m game.”

“Care to prove it?” His invitation was a passionate challenge I found hard to resist.

Jake pulled me closer and I arched against the solid length of him. The pressure of his chest against my breasts sent tingles to other sensitive areas of my anatomy. I closed my eyes because it was too easy to get lost in the way he was looking at me.

Jake’s heartbeat thudded against my own. I knew we should stop and really think about whether we wanted to take this step. We had both learned a piece of life-altering information today—his career might be over and my ex-boyfriend might still love me. Right now we should be stepping back, considering our options, and regrouping. Certainly we shouldn’t be taking any kind of emotional risk.

But Jake’s husky voice telling me everything he wanted to do with me was interfering with my resolve. He hadn’t even touched his sexy lips to mine, yet I was weakening.

One of his hands brushed a curl away from my face, and his caress was so tender, a sigh escaped before I could control myself. His other hand massaged my hip. Why did his touch feel so good? Readying myself to break away from his embrace, I took a deep breath.
Shoot!
He smelled like fresh hay and clean air and leather—a thoroughly masculine version of heaven.

Tendrils of alarm slid through my brain, entwining with a longing that was swiftly erasing all my good intentions. My voice cracked as I asked feebly, “Wouldn’t it be prudent for us to take things more slowly?”

“Probably.” Jake trailed kisses along my jawline. “But I’ve never been a prudent guy. If I were, I’d have become a CPA or an engineer, not a deputy U.S. Marshal.” His mouth moved to my ear, nipping at the lobe. “And I doubt someone who was a hotshot in the investment world is always cautious, either.”

“It’s all about measuring risk versus return.” I let my head fall back, a silent invitation for him to continue his exploration. I knew there was a good reason why I shouldn’t do this, but darned if I could remember what it was.

“So, should I stop?” He nibbled down the cord in my neck as he peeled off my sweater. “We could watch TV until the CI gets here.”

“Maybe in a little while,” I suggested, threading my fingers through his hair. “There’s nothing good on television Saturday nights.”

“How about Pay-Per-View?” Jake taunted, stopping and putting a little space between us, but not taking his arms from around me.

I saw his gaze wander to my mouth, and I knew he was going to kiss me. “I’m not in the mood for a movie or a ball game.” If I was ever going to call a halt to our lovemaking, now was the time, but a sudden flare of heat made me moan.

“Well…” His tongue slid against the seam of my lips. “We could do this.”

He teased me with gentle but insistent kisses, inflaming a primitive need in me that was so powerful it shredded both my caution and my common sense. My mouth opened, and he deepened the kiss, tasting me as if I were a fine Merlot. I moved nearer, until I was cradled between his thighs. The intimacy of the situation was making me lose all restraint.

It was my turn. I tussled Jake’s shirt over his head, then intensified our kiss. Arching my spine, I tried to burrow closer to him. While his hands were busy with the clasp on my bra, I pulled his belt through the loops, allowing it to slither to the floor.

Somehow, during my quest to get Jake naked, I had lost my jeans. And a small part of my mind, the tiny portion that could still think, was thankful that I had worn black satin underwear.

Then, just before we approached the point of no return, there was a knock on the door and a voice called through the metal, “It’s me, Leon Jones. Let me in.”

“S
on of a bitch!” Jake watched Devereaux disappear into the bathroom. She was clutching her discarded clothes as if they were a lifeline, so it was a good bet she wasn’t coming out anytime soon.

Kicking his belt under the couch, he buttoned his shirt, then took one last look around before letting the CI in. The guy’s timing sucked.

The maintenance man was exactly what Jake had expected—weaselly, hyper, and sporting several prison tattoos.

“Hey, man, what took you so long?” Leon scuttled over the threshold, peering down the hallway behind him before slamming the door shut. “You need to call and demand that your toilet be fixed immediately. Act real mad and threaten to check out. The clerk will beep me, and then my time is accounted for and it will be okay if someone saw me coming in here.”

Jake complied as ordered while he tried to forget the sensation of having Devereaux in his arms. He had expected to be turned on, but he wasn’t prepared for the tenderness he felt for her. She had wrapped herself around his heart like a silky web, one that grew tighter the more he fought it. How could a few kisses have such an impact?

Once his alibi had been established, Leon asked, “Hey, where’s the chick? I told you that a couple needed to check in to this suite or it would look suspicious.” He strutted forward, his finger pointing toward Jake. “You better not have screwed me.”