be checked out. She’d al ready been questioned, but protocol would entail her going to the station, where she’d be checked for gunpowder residue, and further questioned.
Normally, this would be his job. Not today. Not with her. Having been naked with a possible suspect was considered bad form.
There was a walk-in pantry off to the side of the kitchen, and Jacob pulled Bella into it. He shut the door and leaned her back against it, his hands on her arms.
She set her head against the wood and gave him a ghost of a smile. “The last time we were this close to each other,” she murmured, “you dropped to your knees and put your mouth on my—”
“Bella.” Christ. She drove him crazy. So did the memory.
Because she was right. He had dropped to his knees in front of her, tugged her pretty pink lace thong to her ankles and had his merry way with her.
She’d returned the favor.
“You have to listen to me,” he said, looking into her eyes.
“Are you in charge of the case?”
“Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I am, but in about two minutes when I talk to my sergeant, I won’t be. I can’t be.”
“Because of last night? Because we—”
He put a finger on her lips. A direct contrast to only a few hours ago, when he’d wanted to hear every pant, every whimper, every cry she made for more. “Yeah. Because of that. I’m not exactly impartial now.”
She stared at him a moment, then pushed his finger away. “Am I a suspect, Jacob?”
“As a formality, everyone on the premises will be.”
“A formality.” She shook her head. “I’m the only one on the premises. Willow lives in the apartment upstairs next to mine but she’s in class. The store isn’t open.” She met his gaze and he was gratified to see hers had cleared.
Yeah. She was tough enough for this.
“I didn’t kill him,” she said. “I don’t even know who he is.”
His life had been saved on more than one occasion by nothing more than his wits and instincts. Those instincts were screaming now, telling him that this woman, this smart, funny, walk-on-the-wild-side woman could never pull a trigger to kill someone, much less at close range, in cold blood.
But then again, he’d seen worse.
“Who is he?” she whispered.
“Don’t know yet. He had no ID on him, no wallet, no keys, no money, nothing. He didn’t appear to drive himself here.”
She blinked. “Then how did he get here?”
“I guess we were hoping you could shed some light on that subject.”
She said nothing, just stared at him.
At a hard, single knock on the door right behind Bella’s head, she jumped, then turned and stared at the door as if it’d grown wings. “They’re coming for me.”
“No one’s coming for you.” He pulled open the door and faced Ethan.
“Can anyone join this party?” Ethan asked lightly.
Jacob wasn’t fooled. Ethan might look like a big, rough-and-tumble linebacker, with more brawn than brains, but underestimating him was a mistake. Ethan was sharp as a tack, and always solved his case. Jacob nudged Bella out of the pantry. “Why don’t you get yourself some more water.”
When she nodded and moved away, he looked at Ethan.
“What the hell, man?” Ethan asked quietly, his smile still in place for anyone who happened to look over at them. “You screwing with protocol for a pretty face? And don’t get me wrong, that is one pretty face…” Ethan turned his head, his gaze slowly sliding down the back of Bella as she walked away, from her wild hair to the sweetest ass Jacob had ever had ever sunk his teeth into. “Pretty everything,” Ethan corrected.
Jacob let out a careful breath. “I can’t be on this case.”
“You afraid to get tough with Cutie-Pie?” Ethan grinned. “That’s okay. Big, bad Ethan will do it for you. I can take one for the team.”
“I have a conflict of interest,” Jacob said tightly. “And it’s your fault.”
“Huh?”
“That date you signed me up for last night? It was with her.”
“And?”
“And the date didn’t end until a few hours ago.”
“Nice.” Ethan’s grin faded as the implications sank in. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Before Ethan could say another word, Sergeant Castillo moved in close, leaning over both their shoulders like a bloodhound on the scent. “Ladies, we have a problem?”
“Yes,” Jacob said.
Ethan smirked. “Casanova here not only slept with the key witness, but he also slept with our only suspect so far. But at least it’s the same person, so…”
Jacob let out a controlled breath and resisted punching Ethan. Barely.
Ramon, dark skinned, dark-eyed and tougher than any of them on a good day, quietly stared at Jacob. “Ethan, coffee.”
Ethan didn’t budge. “I want to hear you chew him a new one.”
“Coffee. Now.”
“You aren’t serious.”
“As a heart attack.” Ramon never took his eyes off Jacob, waiting until Ethan stalked off. “Talk.”
“You remember the guys telling you yesterday that they’d signed me up for a date with the singles club.”
Ramon’s eyes lit with a quick flash of humor—the equivalent of a belly laugh on anyone else. “Yes.”
“It was last night.”
Ramon’s gaze slid across the kitchen to where Bella was standing in front of a baker’s rack, inspecting whatever she had on it. It looked like cream puffs.
They smelled like heaven.
His mouth watered and he wondered if under different circumstances—say, her not running out on him, and him not answering his cell phone—he’d still be at home right this minute, once again sampling her considerable wares—
“Let me take a wild stab at this,” Ramon said. “The date those assholes set you up on was with one Isabella Manchelli.”
“I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”
Ramon didn’t cut a smile. “You slept with her. Hell, Madden.”
Across the room, Ethan approached Bella, fun, laid-back guy gone, cop face on, his pad out.
Ramon let the silence hang between them a minute, then blew out a breath. “Bad timing.”
Yeah.
Ramon was quiet another moment, then shoved his fingers through his dark hair. “Okay, well, we’ll deal with it.”
They didn’t have much of a choice. Jacob glanced over at Bella again. She was still talking to Ethan, but looking past him, right into Jacob’s eyes, her own soft and compelling.
She’d planned on never seeing him again, and he’d reconciled himself to that as being for the best.
But fate had intervened now. He wondered just where it would take them, and if they were going to enjoy—or regret—the ride.
3