A Little Too Hot

Chapter Thirty-Five

“MARCUS,” I GASP. I pull the towel tighter around my chest, as if it might somehow stop a bullet from the gun that’s pointed at me.

His scowl deepens. “Ben was right. You were working for them the whole time.”

“No! I was never working for them. I swear it. I loved working for Ben.”

His jaw tightens as he lifts the gun higher, pointing it at my face. “I saw you at that cabin, and I heard you in there. You’re screwing that narc.”

“I was . . .” My face is burning, and I can’t believe, in the adrenaline-fest of my bloodstream, there’s any left to rush to my face. More than that, I can’t believe I even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed with a gun pointing at me. But at the thought of Marcus listening, I relive just enough of the experience to send blood to my cheeks. “I never met him before my first night at Benny’s. I wasn’t working for them. I swear.”

Marcus moves closer, his fingernail blanching white as his finger tightens on the trigger. “I’m going to finish you both.”

I listen for the shower to turn off, but Blake’s still in there. I can’t call for him, and I can’t warn him. All I can do is try to talk Marcus down. My eyes flick to the gun, but I force them not to stay there. “You don’t have to do that. The murder charge is gone. It’s been dropped. There’s nothing I can do to hurt Ben now.”

His piercing gaze stays locked on mine. “Ben pulled me off the street when I was seventeen. He’s been a dad to me for eight years. I’m not going to let you and that cop ruin him.”

I take a slow step toward him, not sure what I mean to do. But, just at that second, the bathroom door flies open.

A buck-naked Blake launches into the room like a shot with my hair spray can. He’s in Marcus’s face before I can even blink. A cloud of hair spray envelops Marcus’s head and he cries out as Blake takes him down to the floor. The next second, there’s a loud pop as the gun fires.

“No!” I scream. My towel drops to the floor, forgotten, as I run toward them.

Blake and Marcus are tangled together on the floor. I don’t see any blood, but they’re wrestling for the gun.

“Get to the panic room!” Blake barks.

My heart feels like a trapped rabbit. “I’m not going without you.”

“I said go, Sam,” he groans as Marcus grabs for his family jewels.

I lunge for the hair spray can as Blake cries out. I aim for Marcus’s face and spray.

He lets go of Blake’s junk and claws at his face. Blake yanks at the gun, but Marcus’s huge paw stays wrapped around it.

“Go, Sam! Now!” he shouts at me. “I’ll come for you.”

Marcus swings out with his free hand and catches Blake across the jaw, so I spray him again, then give him an elbow to the nose for good measure.

“Get the hell out of here!” Blake shouts, yanking the gun from Marcus’s hand as he cries out. He plants a knee in Marcus’s chest and points it at his face.

I start to grab for my towel, but Blake stands and shoves me toward the door. “Leave it! Panic room! Now!”

He’s got the gun. He’s okay. My eyes plead with him to come with me, but his expression hardens and he jerks his head toward the hall.

So I go. I run down the stairs and yank open the door behind the pool table. Once I’m inside, I pull it closed and tug the lever. I hear the metal dead bolts of the bullet-resistant door clank into place as a fluorescent bulb flickers to life overhead.

I slide down the wall, shaking, and rest my head on my knees. I’m hyperventilating, but I know if I pass out, I won’t hear Blake when he comes for me.

Blake. Blake, Blake. Please be okay.

It’s a long time before I can even calm my thoughts enough to think about anything else. Finally, I lift my head and look around. There’s a chest in the back corner. I stand and move to it. There’s a case of drinking water inside, a dozen or so cans of food, and a flashlight.

I’m naked in a panic room with nothing but food. A blanket would have been nice. Or a phone.

I sit on the chest and stare at the door. How long has it been? Shouldn’t Blake have come for me by now? Should I go out there? What if Marcus got the upper hand? What if Blake’s dead?

I crumple into a ball, my forehead on my knees and my hands over my head.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

He has to be.

God, it’s been hours! Or minutes. I have no freaking idea how long I’ve been in here.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I have to know what’s going on.

I pull the lever and the dead bolts click back. Slowly, I crack the door open.

“Hello, Jezebel. You gave us a scare.”

My heart kicks. “Cooper?”

“The one and only.”

I breathe a relieved sigh and peek around the door. He’s there, coming around the pool table toward me. “Blake? Is he okay?”

“Casanova is fine,” he says, but there’s something heavy in his tone.

“What’s wrong?” I say, unable to hide my panic.

“Come on out. We have some things to sort through.”

“Um . . . do you have a towel or something? I’m kind of naked.”

He blows out a sigh and hangs his head, then pushes away from the pool table. “I’ll be back.”

I tuck behind the door and wait, my heart pounding.

“Jez,” Cooper says a few minutes later. “I got you something.” His hand juts through the crack in the door with my robe in it.

I take it from him and slip it on, then tie the sash. When I step out, Cooper has this paternal disappointment on his face. “Come upstairs,” he says, turning and crossing the room without waiting for me.

“Where’s Blake?”

He shoots me a glance over his shoulder but says nothing.

When we get to the top of the stairs, I start for my room, but Cooper grasps my arm and leads me into the family room . . . and my heart stalls.

Perched on a bar stool, her legs crossed, is a woman in a smart blue pencil skirt and a white blouse, with dark hair wrapped into a clip on the back of her head.

I listen for any sound from my room, but the house is quiet. I turn to Cooper. “Where’s Blake?” I ask again.

“He’s been taken down to the office to be debriefed,” the woman answers.

“Who are you?”

She steps toward me and holds out her hand. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Navarro.”

I tug my robe tighter with one hand as I shake hers with the other.

“This morning’s events demonstrate that you’re still not safe,” she says. “We need to relocate you for a few days until we’ve sorted everything out.”

“How did Marcus find me?”

“Special Agent Montgomery is convinced we’ve got someone on the inside helping Arroyo’s men, and if that’s the case, we need to determine who and how. We also need to know if Arroyo is still after you, or if this Marcus was acting alone.”

“But the murder charge has been dropped. Why is this happening?”

“Pissing off a mob boss is never a good idea,” she says. “Put some clothes on and pack your things.”

I turn and step cautiously into my room. The bed is just how Blake and I left it, a tangle of sex-ravaged sheets.

What’s happening to him?

I look at the floor where he wrestled with Marcus. There’s no blood, so I hope that means he’s okay.

I tug on clothes and fold everything else into the roll-away suitcase someone left inside my door, then sit on the bed and smooth my hand over the spot where Blake laid on top of me only a few hours ago. Finally, I stand and drag the suitcase out to the elevator. Tears prick my eyes as I step into it and look back at the place where I fell in love with him. And I realize as the doors close, this was the only place I’ve really felt welcome in a long time. Blake made this home for me.