A Lot like Love
Page 83
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“I can handle it,” he said. After he’d gotten her settled, he stood up and did the weirdest thing.
He began to pace next to the car.
Jordan watched him go back and forth, all intense strides and furious turns. At one point, he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. Then he stopped abruptly and knelt down next to the car.
“Still think you’re going to throw up?” he asked.
Jordan shook her head, baffled. “No.”
“Good.” Nick grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her.
Well, then.
She forgot all about the pain in her wrist.
Nick pulled back and looked her over, his face filled with worry. “One more second and he would’ve hit you with the gun. And who knows what else. When I think about what could’ve happened . . .” He gripped her shoulders determinedly. “I should’ve told you this earlier, Jordan. Now that I’ve got my chance, you’re going to hear it whether you like it or not. You came into my life and messed the whole thing up and now I’m screwed. Because I’m in love with you. As in balls-out, head-over-heels, watching-Dancing-with-the-Stars -on-Monday-nights, wine-and-bubble-bath kind of love. Hell, I think I’d even wear a scarf indoors for you.”
Jordan smiled, her eyes misty, as she touched his cheek. “That’s the best kind of love.”
She took a deep breath. “I have a few things to say myself. Mainly just one, actually. Don’t take this next undercover assignment. Stay with me instead.”
Nick’s eyes pierced hers, refusing to let her off that easily. “Tell me why.”
“Because . . . I love you.” She exhaled. No take-backs. The words were out there forever.
And it felt great.
He pulled her against his bulletproof vest. “About time you said it,” he said gruffly. “It’s been three damn weeks.” He kissed her, and just as his hand curled around the nape of her neck, someone behind them cleared his throat.
Jordan pulled back and saw a gray-haired man wearing a no-nonsense, FBI-type suit standing next to the car. She also saw that the once-quiet scene outside her wine store was swarmed with FBI agents and police officers.
Oops.
“First Pallas and now you,” the gray-haired man said, shaking his head at Nick. “It’s like I’m running a goddamn dating service around here.” He spun around. “Wilkins! Huxley!” he barked. “Next case that involves a single woman—you’re up.”
Standing at the sidewalk, Agent Wilkins pumped his fist excitedly. “Yes.”
Huxley adjusted his glasses with a grin, looking decidedly pleased.
“That was supposed to be sarcastic. I’m getting too old for this shit,” the gray-haired man mumbled under his breath. He turned to Jordan with a smile. “Ms. Rhodes—I’m Mike Davis, the special agent in charge. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see that you’re safe.” He nodded approvingly at Nick before walking away. “Good work, McCall. As always.”
Jordan thought of something. “Wait—how did you know I was in trouble?” she asked Nick. “The panic button calls the police, not the FBI.”
“The day after Xander’s party, I put taps on both your home and store phone lines,” he said.
“I don’t recall us having any discussion about you doing that.”
Nick grinned cheekily, looking like his old self again. “I told you I was keeping an eye on you, Rhodes.”
She heard the sound of an approaching ambulance. Her cue. “Not to play the needy girlfriend card or anything, but do you think you can come with me to the hospital? Because any minute, I’m going to freak out over the fact that I had a gun pointed at my head, and it’s not going to be pretty.”
She had no clue what she’d said, but from the sudden look of tenderness on Nick’s face, it seemed to strike a chord with him.
He reached up and stroked her uninjured cheek. “If you need me, I won’t leave your side. I promise.”
Thirty-two
THEY MADE HIM leave her side.
Due to so-called hospital “policy” and “safety regulations” —aka a load of bullshit—they wouldn’t let Nick accompany Jordan into the X-ray room. He was debating whether to pull out his gun or his FBI badge—figuring one of them ought to do the trick—when Jordan squeezed his hand.
“I’ll be fine. Maybe you could try to round me up a Vicodin or something for my wrist?” she suggested.
He threw her a knowing look. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Yes. Because I see you making the don’t-fuck-with-me face. And if you start shooting people, they’ll get bumped ahead of me in the X-ray line, and then I’ll really be screwed.”
With a glare at the hospital staff, Nick reluctantly headed out to the waiting room. To distract himself, he called Davis. “Any idea yet how Eckhart knew we were on to him?”
“He’s not saying a word,” Davis said. “Except that he wants to talk to a lawyer, of course. How’s Jordan?”
“She’s getting some X-rays taken. Her wrist is definitely broken; I don’t know yet about her cheekbone. You can tell the U.S. attorney that I better see charges for assault, battery, and false imprisonment added to Eckhart’s indictment.” Nick paused. “And when I get back to the office, I want to speak with you privately. About the kind of work I’m going to be doing going forward.”
He began to pace next to the car.
Jordan watched him go back and forth, all intense strides and furious turns. At one point, he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. Then he stopped abruptly and knelt down next to the car.
“Still think you’re going to throw up?” he asked.
Jordan shook her head, baffled. “No.”
“Good.” Nick grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her.
Well, then.
She forgot all about the pain in her wrist.
Nick pulled back and looked her over, his face filled with worry. “One more second and he would’ve hit you with the gun. And who knows what else. When I think about what could’ve happened . . .” He gripped her shoulders determinedly. “I should’ve told you this earlier, Jordan. Now that I’ve got my chance, you’re going to hear it whether you like it or not. You came into my life and messed the whole thing up and now I’m screwed. Because I’m in love with you. As in balls-out, head-over-heels, watching-Dancing-with-the-Stars -on-Monday-nights, wine-and-bubble-bath kind of love. Hell, I think I’d even wear a scarf indoors for you.”
Jordan smiled, her eyes misty, as she touched his cheek. “That’s the best kind of love.”
She took a deep breath. “I have a few things to say myself. Mainly just one, actually. Don’t take this next undercover assignment. Stay with me instead.”
Nick’s eyes pierced hers, refusing to let her off that easily. “Tell me why.”
“Because . . . I love you.” She exhaled. No take-backs. The words were out there forever.
And it felt great.
He pulled her against his bulletproof vest. “About time you said it,” he said gruffly. “It’s been three damn weeks.” He kissed her, and just as his hand curled around the nape of her neck, someone behind them cleared his throat.
Jordan pulled back and saw a gray-haired man wearing a no-nonsense, FBI-type suit standing next to the car. She also saw that the once-quiet scene outside her wine store was swarmed with FBI agents and police officers.
Oops.
“First Pallas and now you,” the gray-haired man said, shaking his head at Nick. “It’s like I’m running a goddamn dating service around here.” He spun around. “Wilkins! Huxley!” he barked. “Next case that involves a single woman—you’re up.”
Standing at the sidewalk, Agent Wilkins pumped his fist excitedly. “Yes.”
Huxley adjusted his glasses with a grin, looking decidedly pleased.
“That was supposed to be sarcastic. I’m getting too old for this shit,” the gray-haired man mumbled under his breath. He turned to Jordan with a smile. “Ms. Rhodes—I’m Mike Davis, the special agent in charge. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see that you’re safe.” He nodded approvingly at Nick before walking away. “Good work, McCall. As always.”
Jordan thought of something. “Wait—how did you know I was in trouble?” she asked Nick. “The panic button calls the police, not the FBI.”
“The day after Xander’s party, I put taps on both your home and store phone lines,” he said.
“I don’t recall us having any discussion about you doing that.”
Nick grinned cheekily, looking like his old self again. “I told you I was keeping an eye on you, Rhodes.”
She heard the sound of an approaching ambulance. Her cue. “Not to play the needy girlfriend card or anything, but do you think you can come with me to the hospital? Because any minute, I’m going to freak out over the fact that I had a gun pointed at my head, and it’s not going to be pretty.”
She had no clue what she’d said, but from the sudden look of tenderness on Nick’s face, it seemed to strike a chord with him.
He reached up and stroked her uninjured cheek. “If you need me, I won’t leave your side. I promise.”
Thirty-two
THEY MADE HIM leave her side.
Due to so-called hospital “policy” and “safety regulations” —aka a load of bullshit—they wouldn’t let Nick accompany Jordan into the X-ray room. He was debating whether to pull out his gun or his FBI badge—figuring one of them ought to do the trick—when Jordan squeezed his hand.
“I’ll be fine. Maybe you could try to round me up a Vicodin or something for my wrist?” she suggested.
He threw her a knowing look. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Yes. Because I see you making the don’t-fuck-with-me face. And if you start shooting people, they’ll get bumped ahead of me in the X-ray line, and then I’ll really be screwed.”
With a glare at the hospital staff, Nick reluctantly headed out to the waiting room. To distract himself, he called Davis. “Any idea yet how Eckhart knew we were on to him?”
“He’s not saying a word,” Davis said. “Except that he wants to talk to a lawyer, of course. How’s Jordan?”
“She’s getting some X-rays taken. Her wrist is definitely broken; I don’t know yet about her cheekbone. You can tell the U.S. attorney that I better see charges for assault, battery, and false imprisonment added to Eckhart’s indictment.” Nick paused. “And when I get back to the office, I want to speak with you privately. About the kind of work I’m going to be doing going forward.”
