Mistletoe and Murder

Chapter Six

Jacob needed to punch something. Not because he was angry but out of sheer frustration. In three nights he’d had three dreams about Romana, and she’d been naked in all of them.

There’d been other dreams as well, long-accepted nightmares that left him tense and wanting a drink, but never ones that absorbed him so completely that nothing he thought or did could shake their hold on him.

At 7:00 p.m., pumped on caffeine and with a gym bag over his shoulder, he walked through the door of the Riverside Gym. So many officers frequented the place that over the years it had become their off-duty training center.

Thankfully, Christmas wasn’t the busiest time of year. Jacob spied a handful of his cohorts, sweating, grunting and adjusting weight machines, but he wasn’t going for weights tonight. He wanted his workout fast, painful and exhausting as hell. It was the only hope he had of dousing his desire for Romana. He aimed a narrowed look at the ceiling. God help him, this wasn’t a thing he needed right now.

Circling the floor mats, he headed toward the change room. A man who’d been beating up on a large bag stopped when he spied him. The leather took a last vicious punch as he called out to Jacob.

“You looking for a self-defense partner, Knight?”

The room’s echo gave his tone an extra whip of anger. Jacob’s lips curved, but he didn’t alter his stride.

“I’ve got ten years on you, Hoag.”

Dylan rounded the bag, began untying his gloves. “The year count between us is only six, as I recall.”

“Street years count differently.” But Jacob halted, unzipped his jacket. Considered. “You want to fight out your mad?”

“My mad, my hostility, my contempt for a judicial system that favors cops above all others.”

Anticipation kindled in Jacob’s belly. “We’re on our own time,” he reminded. “I won’t hold back.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Despite the acid in his voice, Dylan’s face remained a blank canvas. “I might have washed out at the Academy, but I haven’t been sitting around mourning the loss. In fact,” he dropped his boxing gloves on the floor, “I don’t see it as a loss at all these days.”

Yes, he did, Jacob thought, because as a cop he’d have had easy access to his sister’s file. He’d also have had the means to investigate any and all claims made at the hearing.

With a shrug he replied, “Up to you, Hoag. Street rules.”

Dylan’s fists balled. “What does that entail?”

The light of anticipation flared as Jacob paused in the doorway to look back. “Means no rules at all.”

“HE’S NOT HERE, ROMANA.” O’Keefe pressed weary fingers to his eyelids. “If he’s not answering his cell phone, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“He’s not answering any phone.” She perched on the edge of O’Keefe’s desk and tried not to notice the bags developing under his eyes. “But there is something you can tell me.”

“Shoot.”

“How did you spend your New Year’s Eve nine years ago?”

O’Keefe raked the hair from his temples. “Nine years. I don’t… Ah, wait, maybe I do. Gilhoolie’s Pub?”

“That’s the one.” Romana wasn’t sure why she felt guilty when he was the one who’d been spotted going upstairs with Belinda Critch, but it probably had to do with a friend’s loyalty and the sense that she’d let herself believe a stranger’s story just a little too readily.

With no way back, however, she waded in deeper. “James Barret saw you with Belinda Critch, Mick. Handing money to the proprietor, going upstairs.”

O’Keefe’s hands fell and with them, Romana’s hopes. She’d wanted him to deny it, to be disappointed at her lack of faith. She absolutely did not want him to look at her with those big dog eyes of his and offer a sheepish grin.

“Weak as water, Romana, that’s me. Or was nine years ago.” His chair creaked as he leaned back. “My wife and I were- well, let’s be civilized and say we were having problems. I was drunk, and Belinda was there, coming on to me.”

She’d come on to James Barret, as well, yet Barret had managed to stay downstairs. “Belinda and Critch had only been married for eighteen months, Mick. He was still buying her presents, sending flowers to the lab.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I-” Romana blinked in surprise. “Nothing? As in no sex?”

“I couldn’t-you know, get it up. God, it was embarrassing. Still is.” He kneaded his eyebrows. “Anyway, she got annoyed and started flouncing around the room. She said she’d wasted her New Year’s Eve. There were other parties she could have gone to and far better men she could have seduced. Then she marched downstairs and disappeared into the back room.”

“Where the private party continued.”

“At full volume.”

“Was Barret still there?”

“His car was in the lot when I left-which was about twenty minutes after Belinda blew me off. It took me that long to screw up enough courage to go back down and face what I thought would be a round of jeers from my buddies. But I guess Belinda didn’t say anything, and they didn’t see her come down, because all I got were winks and thumbs-ups.”

Romana visualized the scene, told herself there was nothing funny about it. Still… “Honest to God, Mick, you men and your trophies.” She slid from the desk. “Okay, relax. In-terrogation’s over. What time does Jacob’s shift start?”

“Nine.” He waited a beat, then said, “You’ve got that thing happening for him again, don’t you? No lies, Romana. We’ve been friends too long for that.”

“No lies.” She brought her head around. “No comment, either. Direct me, Mick. He’s not here, he’s not at the hospital, he’s not on duty, and he’s not answering. I need a location.”

“Try the gym,” he suggested. “When Knight has a problem crawling around in his gut, he likes to sweat it out.”

She wouldn’t ask, Romana promised herself. Didn’t want to know. She made it as far as the office door before glancing back.

O’Keefe’s smile was resigned, but all he said was, “I wish to hell I had an answer for you. I know there’s something that didn’t come out at the hearing, something that’s been eating away at him ever since.” His eyes held hers. “Whatever it is, and with Critch on the loose, hell bent on having his revenge, my gut feeling is that you’re going to wind up in the middle of it-with no way back, and, more than likely, no way out.”

ONE OF DYLAN’S FISTS nicked his jaw. Jacob licked blood from the corner of his mouth and felt the fire inside swell.

Dylan danced back and forth on his toes, expending energy, breathing in controlled bursts. Jacob preferred a mental dance and slow, assessing circles that, for the most part, took him out of range whenever his opponent bounced in.

“Kick it back up, Knight,” an impatient Dylan growled. “We’re not cats in an alley.”

They weren’t kangaroos in the outback, either. “I’ll kick it up,” Jacob replied. And offered a dangerous smile. “When it feels right.”

Dylan blew out more loud breaths. His lungs appeared to be tiring, which actually surprised Jacob a little. From the look of his muscles, Hoag should have been in better shape.

He let Dylan come to him, offset the left hook and faked a right. Dylan was so busy protecting his face that he missed the body blow completely. It caught him in the solar plexus and elicited a rush of air that left him doubled over and gasping.

But only for a moment. Then the dancing stopped, and he charged.

It was exactly what Jacob wanted.

Dylan’s fingers missed his throat by inches. When Jacob snaked an arm around his neck, he felt an elbow plunge into his stomach. It hurt, but not enough to throw him off. Snugging his grip, he gave Dylan’s ribs a hard jab. In response, Dylan butted him on the side of the neck.

Jacob felt sweat slither down his spine. The desire for more was a hunger inside him. The pain felt good, and every punch, every kick, every lash knocked another cobweb loose.

His mind felt clearer than it had in days. Didn’t diminish his desire for Romana, but the clutter around it was disappearing. He could meet his feelings for her head-on and, hopefully, put them in their place. Wherever the hell that was.

Reading Dylan’s body language, he anticipated the next blow and dipped his left shoulder just enough that Hoag’s knuckles bounced off bone. With adrenaline zinging through his veins, Jacob spun, kicked Dylan’s legs out from under him and planted him face-down on the mat.

Dylan’s curses emerged in a rough growl. He jerked under Jacob’s body weight but couldn’t free himself.

Jacob leaned over. “Had enough?”

Dylan snapped up his head and swore. “You’re bigger than me, Knight. You have a longer reach.”

“You weigh more than I do.” Jacob held him down for another moment before relaxing his hold. “No rules, Hoag.”

“Yeah, you said that before.”

As he spoke, Dylan worked himself onto his back. His lips peeled away from his teeth. Without warning, he doubled his fists and raised them like a hammer.

But Jacob wasn’t foolish enough to have trusted a spiteful adversary. Despite Dylan’s weight advantage, he blocked the worst of the blow.

The spark reignited. He’d have let it erupt if he hadn’t caught a movement in the doorway.

Glancing up, he saw Romana leaning on the wide jamb. She had one hand hooked over the opposite elbow as she observed the fight.

The mistake was his. If he hadn’t looked, he’d have seen Dylan draw back his foot. What he saw instead was the expression of shock that bolted across Romana’s face.

Only a kick aimed straight at his crotch could elicit an expression like that. A split second before Dylan’s foot contacted, Jacob rolled sideways. He plunged his heel into Hoag’s side, directly into his kidneys.

While Dylan crumpled and wheezed, Jacob did a slower roll into a crouch. With one hand dangling between his knees, and the fingers of his other checking out the cut on his mouth, he regarded Romana from the ground.

“How’d you track me down?”

“I talked to O’Keefe.” Wincing in sympathy, she pushed off to approach them. “Is he all right?”

“Will be.” Jacob located his towel and stood. “We said nine for the mall, didn’t we?”

She sent Dylan a last commiserating look, then refocused. “We didn’t specify.” Accusation gleamed in her eyes. “And you didn’t call.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“No, but I’m feeling irritable, and here you are, fresh from a head-clearing workout that I wish I’d thought of for myself.”

A faint grin appeared. He held his hands out to the side. “You wanna go, Officer Grey? Tank’s not empty yet.”

At his offer, her approach, in fact her entire demeanor, altered. Instead of simply walking, she began to sashay, in a way that could only be called bombshell seductive. “Are you challenging me, Detective Knight? Because I’m always up for that.”

Still nursing his injured side, Dylan gained his feet. “Watch for silent bullets, Romana. It’s the only way Knight knows how to deal with a woman.”

She kept moving, her eyes locked on Jacob’s. “Oh, I think he knows one or two other ways.Your left cheek’s bleeding, Dylan.”

He touched the bone, swore and limped away.

“I think you riled him, Knight.”

He heard a soft snap in his head, wondered where all the light had gone. “I might have.”

“He’s wrong, you know.”

“So you said.” Off-kilter and edgy because of it, Jacob watched her closely. Dylan Hoag he could handle. Romana in this mood was a more difficult proposition. To say nothing of more dangerous.

She halted less than a foot in front of him, made two fists and jammed them against his stomach muscles. “You look good without a shirt.”

“Clothes are restrictive.” His eyebrows went up. “You gonna take your shot now, or wait until you’ve destroyed my guard completely?”

“No rules, Knight.” Her eyes danced. “Besides, I prefer to bide my time in hand-to-hand combat.”

He wondered if a person could drown in eyes like hers. It seemed possible since simply breathing had become a major undertaking. If he’d been hot before, it was nothing compared to the way he felt now.

And wasn’t that just what he needed after everything he’d done to close down his feelings for her tonight?

She pressed her fists in deeper. “So what’s the deal? Are we going to do it or not?”

He had to realign his thoughts. “You want to fight?”

“It’s an option.” The dance became a tease. “But I like my idea better.”

With a quickness Dylan Hoag could only dream of, she snatched up two handfuls of Jacob’s damp hair and yanked his mouth onto hers.

HE TASTED OF HEAT AND SEX, like fire in a snowstorm. Two seconds in, and Romana’s blood went from a sizzle to a roar. She’d plunged into the kiss unthinking. She wanted him to respond the same way.

To her surprise, he did, and with a swiftness that both excited and intrigued her. His mouth devoured hers. His lips explored and his tongue probed in such a wonderfully thorough way that she wished it could go on forever. She wished more that the soft warnings deep inside her mind would disappear.

Shoving them back, she released Jacob’s hair, let her hands streak across the smooth lines of his shoulders. The workout with Dylan had heated his skin and now, she thought with a hazy smile, it was heating hers. Couldn’t get much better than that, even in a dream.

Jacob’s grip on her waist shifted lower. He snugged her hips against his. She felt his arousal, and with a satisfied purr, bumped herself against him. Drawing his full lower lip into her mouth, she regarded him through her lashes.

“You should punch out your rivals more often, Detective. I like the aftereffects.”

“You’re only feeling the ones that don’t involve bruises.” His lips trailed upward over her cheekbone, but while his breath on her temple brought a shiver, she really wanted that mouth back on hers.

He did truly amazing things with his tongue. However, pretty much anything he did right now would only fuel her desire to tear off his sweats and have sex with him on the gym floor.

Her roving hands snagged his waistband. For a second, she considered tugging on the drawstring. But even as his mouth returned to feed on hers, she knew she wouldn’t do it. Wasn’t quite that uninhibited. She feathered her fingers over his back instead, then upward again until they were tangled once again in his hair.

Now if only the nagging voice in her head would go away. But it kept sneaking out, reminding her that no matter how much she wanted him, the ice she stood on was far too thin to be trusted. What would she do if it cracked, if everything she believed, needed to believe, turned out to be a lie?

The question haunted, almost as much as he did. Jacob Knight rocked her senses in a way that no one else ever had. He threw her off-balance, tripped her up when he kissed her, then, piece by piece, stripped away every last scrap of her common sense.

Ah, but if she was honest, wasn’t that what she wanted him to do? After all, she’d been the one to initiate the kiss.

Romana supposed it was fortunate that a sergeant from Internal Affairs, a woman who knew them both and who’d been on the force for more than thirty years, should breeze into the room with a sarcastic, “Oh, knock it off you two. If I can’t smoke in here, neither can you. Heads-up, Grey. You might want to think twice before letting this one get you on your back. Beautiful he might be, but I can tell you firsthand, pretty much every female under sixty at HQ is lined up and itching to take their best shot at him. And not with bullets.”

Romana didn’t look at the woman, nor did she step away. She did, however, let her eyes sparkle up into Jacob’s.

“Does that lineup include you, Sergeant Davenport?”

“Would if my hubby wasn’t still the love of my life.”

She kept walking. Like Romana, she didn’t glance over or pause as she passed. “I was just at HQ if you’re interested. Word’s out that Critch has jumped parole, and he’s on a vengeful tear. No surprise, Knight, your captain decided to have a chat with Critch’s prison shrink this afternoon. I won’t go into detail, but suffice to say the shrink figures his patient’s either cured and functional, or he’s completely off the map and incurably, nonfunctionally, carry-his-grudge-to-the-death insane.”