I expect her to push back after my announcement that I’m staying the night with her, and she does. “Turn around,” she says, blocking my entry into her apartment, “and walk right back down those stairs behind you. You aren’t staying the night with me.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, detective,” I say. “I’m staying.”
“Detective is the key word in that statement,” she says. “So, I repeat. Turn around, and walk back down the stairs. And do it now.”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” I repeat, and then add, “Jewel,” before backing up those words.
I step forward, crowding her with the intent of forcing her to retreat. She doesn’t budge, which leaves me no option but to make her budge. My hands settle on her slender waist, and I’m also walking her backward, until we’re inside her apartment and I’m kicking the door shut behind me as I do.
Her hands go to mine, an obvious attempt to control me, but all she does is make me hot and hard, when I have no business being hot and hard. She’s my client. “You’re out of line, major,” she snaps and right when her knee would land painfully in my groin, I catch her leg, turn her to press her against the door, and capture her legs with mine.
“Jacob is the name,” I say, flipping the lock by her head into place while she reaches for her weapon. I catch her hand.
“You don’t want to do that,” I say.
“I don’t like being manhandled,” she says. “Back off.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I say. “I’ll do what I have to, to protect you. Because that’s my job.”
Her eyes sharpen. “Your job, is it? Well sleeping here with me isn’t your job.”
“Around the clock protection is my job. If I sleep with you, it would not be part of my job. It would not be with our clothes on. But it would most definitely be because we both wanted it.”
“You arrogantly say that like it’s ever going to be an option.”
“It won’t be. Not as long as you’re my duty, but I am staying here tonight. You need me. We both know that’s no longer in question, but if you want to shoot me, do it. Let’s just get it over with or don’t do it at all.” I release her and push off the door, stepping backward to give her just enough space to pull that gun.
She steps right back up to me, and twists my shirt in her hand. “You talk to me. You don’t manhandle me. You don’t shove your way into my apartment. And that’s non-negotiable.”
There is a sudden whiplash effect of energy between us, sexual tension that can’t be ignored. I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just stand there, with that mouth of hers tilted in my direction, tempting me to kiss her, and I’m not the only one thinking about it. She looks at my mouth, and fuck, I want to pull that braid of hers free, and dive my fingers in her hair.
But I can’t.
I won’t.
Her fingers ease from my shirt and then fall away. She steps back but doesn’t look away. “Non-negotiable,” she says before she rotates and starts walking.
I don’t stand around like a scolded puppy. I pursue her past a living area, vaguely noting the stone walls and modern gray seating area, my attention focused on her as she rounds the gray wood-framed island. She presses her hands to the surface and watches me, waits on me. Obviously readying for battle, and I’m up for whatever battle is before me. I step to the island across from her, my hands also planted on the smooth surface.
We stare at each other again, a push and pull between us that is damn near combustible, and since we can’t fuck, I prepare for the fight to follow. But when I expect her to head down the Jesse Marks rabbit hole, that’s not where she travels.
“Do you have men on my father the way you do on me?” she asks, instead.
I narrow my eyes on her, certain that Royce had to have covered this. “We have a full detail on your father, and we’re revamping the company procedures as well.”
“Who’s watching him and how closely?”
“There were no threats against your father,” I say. “If that wasn’t clear this morning with Royce, I’ll make it clear now.”
“But he is he being protected?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Rick Savage, also a former Green Beret, is in charge of his detail. And Rick is a crazy insane, killer that would take a bullet for your father and makes me look small.”
“Did you serve with him?” she asks.
“No.”
“Do you trust him?”
“He’s good at his job,” I assure her.
“That’s not a declaration of trust.”
“I trust him,” I say, her interest in my trust telling me she knows I’m competent. “Do you want to meet him?”
“Yes. Please.”
I don’t miss the polite request that tells me she’s in a completely new zone, one that I haven’t seen to this point. “Done,” I say. “I’ll arrange it. Now tell me what changed between the restaurant and now. And don’t tell me that I distracted you, and you are circling back to your father. We both know it’s more than that.”
She tilts her face upward and looks to the ceiling, her actions tell me something happened in the last twenty minutes, which leads me to the only place it can lead me. “Why did you squat down by the door?”
She lowers her head and looks at me. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“I would have been dead years ago if I did.”
She opens the drawer next to her and sets a plastic baggy with a dead orange and black Monarch butterfly on the counter. “That’s what I bent down and picked up. It’s butterfly mating season, which I know because it became relevant to the forensic evidence in a murder I solved last year.”
It could be symbolic to her. A reminder of the murder that changed her life. But I don’t think that is where this is headed. “What does that mean to you?” I ask, watching her closely.
“Before I answer that. You studied me. You watched me without me knowing, thus why you now have your stalker nickname.”
“I’d prefer protector, just an FYI.”
“How about asshole?” she challenges.
“I’ll be whatever it takes to keep you alive.”
I expect a snap back and once again I don’t get what I expect. Her lips thin and a two-second beat passes before she asks, “Did you know that my best friend in college, the one that was murdered, was obsessed with butterflies? Jewelry, clothes, figurines… you name it, she collected it.”
“No, I did not,” I say, and then I go where she is leading. “You think someone left this for you.”
“My gut says that’s exactly what happened, and if that’s the case, this person knows where I live. This person found out more about me than you and your Walker team of experts. This person is dangerous. Which is exactly why I tried to send you away.”
“Explain.”
“We don’t know who this person is or how they might react to you, or Walker being involved.”
“My being involved tells them that I’m protecting you. It tells them to back the fuck off.”
“Or it tells them to find a way around you, and that leads to the precinct, where this person might attack others. Or a public place. Or a redirect to my father.”
“We have your father well covered.”
“What about the entire precinct? Or innocent people around me? We don’t know who this person is or what they are capable of. But we do know that if they really did leave that butterfly, they’re steps ahead of us.”
“Something we can agree on.”
“And at this point,” she adds. “I’m not sure you being here makes a difference. We had dinner. We were seen together. Anyone who figured out the butterfly connection will figure out my connection to you already. Whatever nerve we might have hit, we’ve hit. Whatever set of actions we’ve set into play, are already in play.”
She’s right. I feel it. Trouble is coming and it’s not gentle. It’s fierce. It’s angry. It’s deadly. And it’s definitely two steps ahead of us.