A Little Too Hot

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I MANAGE TO get us there without getting lost, and by the time we pull into the garage, the sun is rising. I drag myself though the shower and then lay in bed, trying to sleep. But it’s useless. I find myself lingering on the edge of consciousness, listening for the elevator door, and every time I start to doze, the ring of gunfire in my head jerks me awake.

Finally, I give up. I tug on some clothes, and when I come out of my room, Nichols is in the leather armchair, biting her thumbnail and texting someone. A half-played game of solitaire is laid out on the coffee table in front of her.

I cross to the kitchen and start a fresh pot of coffee brewing, then flop onto my back on the sofa. “Why didn’t you know how to get here last night?”

“Only Montgomery, Cooper, Jenkins, and Special Agent in Charge Navarro were privy to that information,” she says, her thumbs flying over the screen of her phone.

“Why?”

She looks up at me. “Security. The fewer people who know, the more secure the location.”

I spin on the sofa and sit up. “Is that Blake?” I ask, glancing at her phone.

“No. Sorry,” she says, gripping it tighter, like I might make a dive for it or something.

“Has anyone heard from him?” I try not to sound totally desperate, but I can tell from the look on her face that I don’t pull it off.

“Cooper says they gave him a transfusion and the doctor wants to keep him for a few hours. He should be back later today.”

Relief floods through me. “Good. That’s good.” I bring my knees up and hug them to my chest. “What’s going to happen to Jonathan?”

She relaxes back onto her chair. “It depends on whether he knew they were tracking him. If he did, he’ll be charged with any number of things, including aiding and abetting, and obstruction of justice.”

“He’s my best friend. He didn’t know.” I wish I sounded more convinced.

She gives me a grave look. “I hope you’re right.”

Her stomach growls and she rubs a hand over it as she sets her phone on the end table and settles deeper into the chair. “We should have picked up some fries on the way home.”

I give her a feeble smile. “That kid is going to pop out of there with curly red hair and floppy white shoes, you know.”

Her eyes widen, but then she cracks up. Both hands go to her belly as she laughs, like she’s trying to hold everything together.

“Boy or girl?”

She looks at me, then her eyes shift around the room as if she’s afraid someone might be listening. “I’m not supposed to know,” she says quietly, leaning forward.

“What do you mean?”

“My husband says this is one of life’s few surprises, and he doesn’t want us to know ahead of time.”

I give her a skeptical smile. “But . . . ?”

Her face pulls into a guilty squint as she chews on her cuticle. “I couldn’t stand it. I had to know. So I called the doctor’s office after we had the ultrasound and asked him.” She leans closer. “It’s a boy,” she whispers.

“Is that what you were hoping for?”

She sits back in her seat, rubbing her bulging stomach. “I just want a healthy baby. We’ve been trying for three years to get pregnant.”

“Wow. Well . . . congratulations.”

“It put a lot of strain on our marriage when it didn’t happen right away. Mike comes from a big family and he wanted lots of kids, so . . .”

“Well,” I say, gesturing to her stomach. “Maybe it’s twins.”

That gets a nervous little smile out of her. “There was only one baby on the ultrasound.”

I get up and pour us both a cup of coffee, then come back to the sofa, handing her a mug.

“Thanks,” she says, taking it from me. “Something else I’m not supposed to have.”

I settle into the sofa. “Blake told me you were undercover at Benny’s.”

Her hand pauses, her mug halfway to her mouth. “I was.”

“What did you do there?”

She takes a slow sip of her coffee, and I notice a slight shake in her hand. “Danced. But then I got pregnant, so I told Special Agent in Charge Navarro that I had to pull out. I couldn’t risk anything happening to the baby. I’m on leave from fieldwork until after he’s born.” Her hand migrates to her stomach again as she says this in what I’m just now noticing is a protective gesture.

“Huh. I think I might have gotten your job. Jonathan said someone got ‘knocked up,’ ” I say making air quotes, “so there was an opening.”

Her smile seems a little forced. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Blake said you couldn’t find anything on Ben while you worked there.”

She shakes her head. “He keeps that place pretty spotless. Totally on the up and up.”

“So why are you guys so sure he’s guilty?”

She lowers her gaze and swirls the coffee in her mug. “I can’t really talk about anything to do with case with you.” She scoops up the cards and starts shuffling. “But I can whip your butt in cribbage again.”

We play, and she’s in the process of beating me for the third time when the faint clank of the elevator door opening has me bounding out of the sofa. My eyes snap to it in time to see Blake step into the living room.

He’s in a fresh T-shirt and there’s a white gauze bandage wrapped around his left upper arm. He looks like shit—pale, with dark hollows under eyes that look glazed over, mussed hair sticking up in twelve different directions, and slumped shoulders, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on them.

“Are you . . . is it . . . okay?” I stammer.

“It’s fine,” he says, wrapping his hand over his bandage, as if that might hide what crappy shape he’s in. “Wasn’t much more than a scratch.”

“I’ll stick around tonight, if you need me to,” Nichols says, hauling herself out of the chair.

“We’ll be fine,” Blake tells her. “Cooper’s out front, waiting to take you back down the hill. Special Agent in Charge Navarro’s sending him back up tomorrow morning, even though I told her I’m not compromised.”

Nichols cuts him a skeptical look. “You’re not indestructible, Montgomery.”

“I’m fine,” he says in that slow drawl.

Her face scrunches as if she doesn’t believe him. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Blake answers. “Go.”

“All right.” She moves toward the elevator, jiggling her phone. “Mike will be happy. He’s been texting me every three minutes. He worries.”

“As any husband would,” Blake says with a weary smile. “Thanks for standing in.”

“Just glad everyone’s safe,” she says, punching the elevator button and stepping in. But just as the door starts to close, Blake sticks his hand in and it springs open again.

Nichols tenses as Blake steps into the opening. “Give your elevator key to Cooper. I’ve got his.”

She nods. “No problem.”

He steps back and the elevator door closes.

I move closer. “You’re really okay? Nichols said they gave you a transfusion.”

He nods, flexing his bandaged bicep. “Stitched up, pumped up, and good to go.”

“What happened with Jonathan?” I feel my face scrunch, and I realize as soon as I ask it, I’m afraid of the answer.

He takes a deep breath and settles heavily into the chair Nichols just vacated, elbows on knees. “He’s exactly as clueless as he seems. It doesn’t appear he had any idea about the tracking chip in his shoulder. Apparently, his drinking buddy chipped him when he was passed out. He told Cooper where he’d been with Arroyo’s goon, but when Coop and Jenkins got there, the place was empty.” He hangs his head and shakes it in frustration. “All he had to do was steer clear. That shouldn’t have been so goddamn hard.”

I’m at once relieved and swamped with guilt. Jonathan filled the hole in my life that Lexie left behind. He’s been my closest friend and confidant for most of the last year. I know his heart and I never should have doubted him. I should have told Blake and Cooper that Jonathan would never do anything to hurt me. Shame crushes my heart like a stone fist.

Blake stands and shuffles toward the stairs. “Are you okay on your own for a minute? I need to—”

“Sleep,” I interrupt, gaining my feet. “You look like shit on a plate.”

His mouth curves up on one side. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” I say with a brush of my hand at the stairs. “Get some sleep and I’ll make you some lunch whenever you’re ready.”

The almost-smile clears and his gaze goes suddenly intense. “Thanks,” he says again, and I get the feeling there’s more he wants me to hear, though I’m not sure what it is.

“You’re welcome. Now go.”

He keeps me fixed in his intent gaze for a second longer, then turns for the stairs.

Mindlessly, I drift to the kitchen and pour myself another cup of coffee, then climb the stairs to the office. I peruse the shelves without reading any of the titles and randomly come away with one of the Harry Potter books. I settle onto the sofa and mechanically thumb past pages of words, but I don’t see any of them.

Jonathan took a bullet trying to protect me the night of the crash. I love him like a brother. Granted, a really horny brother, but a brother nonetheless. The look on his face as Cooper dragged him away—the hurt in his eyes when he realized I didn’t believe in him—is etched indelibly in my mind. I need to apologize to him. If I could just talk to him . . .

If I could just talk to anyone. Izzy. Ginger. Katie.

Mom.

Maybe it’s almost getting killed . . . twice, but I miss her, and I suddenly feel so homesick it hurts. An overwhelming swell of claustrophobia wraps itself around me, and I feel like I’m being smothered. I can’t do this. Mom throwing me out; Blake, Jonathan, the fact that Ben wants me dead—none of this can be happening to me. This is someone else’s life I’m trapped in.

My head swims with the panic that’s taking control of me. I launch off the sofa to the window and press my palms against it, breathing hard. Freedom is just on the other side of the thin glass.

The urge to run is overpowering, and I fly down both flights of stairs and rocket onto the deck, sprinting down the path to the pool. When I get there, I don’t even slow, diving head first into the warm water in my jeans and tank top.

And I swim.

I beat my way through the water, the drag of my clothes making it a challenge to stay afloat. But I keep going. I don’t heed the ache in my shoulder, or my burning lungs, or limbs that are turning to lead. I keep swimming.

And when I can’t move another muscle, I sink to the bottom and just sit here. My lungs are on fire, but I don’t care. It’s quiet down here, even my thoughts muffled.

Down here is the only place I’ve found peace since this whole thing started.

Down here, everything else goes away.