Chapter Six
The second Wes dropped Jo at the hotel—yay on walking through the lobby dressed like a prostitute—she went straight upstairs, aiming for a good, long shower. The entire experience left slimy, ugly filth—even if she couldn’t see it—plastered to her skin.
She twisted the faucet to hot and adjusted the spray on the shower head to just short of bash mode. What she needed was a good scrubbing with her own body wash. Lawyer Jo body wash with its subdued lavender scents that relaxed her.
Stripping out of the clothes, she folded them and set them on the sink. She’d like to toss them into a heap on the floor—or burn them—but they weren’t hers and she supposed the officer they belonged to would eventually need them again. And God bless that woman for her service. For being willing to risk getting hurt or possibly killed by walking the streets in that getup. In the past year, Jo had spent a lot of time around cops, mostly men, and could not imagine, not even when she opened her mind to its full expanse, the nerve it took to lure johns. So, no, she’d fold the clothes nicely, have the hotel launder them and return them to the officer herself so she could thank her.
For the clothes and for her service.
Steam filled the bathroom and she propped the door a few inches. As much as she wanted the heat, suffocating didn’t seem like a great option. Under the spray, she squeezed a massive amount of body wash into a washrag—could really use a loofah—and scrubbed until pain pricked at her and the pressure turned her skin a raw pink.
She stared at the spot on her wrist where the handcuffs had cut into her, focused on it and breathed in. What a day. All of it. The lineup, the bikers, the getup. But she needed to remain calm. Lawyer mode. In lawyer mode, reason outweighed emotion, but even this was too much.
All because she’d walked into a store to buy some knockoff merchandise. Gabe was right. She needed to stop. Harmless as it might have seemed, if she hadn’t been in that store, she’d not be a potential witness to a murder. Simple fact. One added to the other simple facts that in the last few months she’d had her hand broken by an enraged store owner, got trapped in an intentionally set fire, and had a bomb strapped to her. And each time Gabe was left to help her get out of it. They could have both been killed.
All because she wanted to chase counterfeit merchandise.
“Some life, Jo,” she muttered.
Her breath caught and she squeezed her eyes closed, forcing herself to concentrate on the mundane task of bathing. Of scrubbing the filth away. Crying would not help her. Crying. Please. She’d cried what, maybe three times in the last year? She certainly wasn’t going to do it now.
No. Everything was fine. She was safe. Gabe was safe. She needed to get through this shower, stop the insane little meltdown, and hit reset. Be the strong, in-control Jo who’d convinced the mayor of New York to trust her. The fucking powerhouse of intellectual property attorneys.
That’s who she needed to be.
She raised her head and let the hot, needling spray batter her face. Forget the pity party. But, damn, that was getting harder and harder. An intellectual property attorney shouldn’t face life-threatening scenarios. With what Gabe did for a living, yes, but not her.
And worse, she’d done it to herself. Every shop she walked into searching for knockoffs, every lead she chased, every smuggler she investigated caused this. She’d caused this.
The water continued to pound on her, a storm of drops smacking, stinging her raw skin and she stared down at her brutalized arms. What a mess. What have I done?
She didn’t know.
Somehow she’d been blind to the series of mini-nightmares her life had become and now they stacked up, crushing her, reminding her it was her fault.
And now, another mess. A murder investigation. With Gabe in the middle of it.
She squeezed the washrag in her hand, raked it against her thighs, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing, but the dirt, she felt it, sticking to her skin, taunting her. Dammit. The fucking dirt wouldn’t come off and she pounded her fists against her legs, opened her mouth and a gulping sob erupted.
No. No crying. No crying.
But the tears came, flooding her eyes, mixing with the shower spray and she swiped at them. Coming unglued in the shower. Terrific, Jo. Just great.
Her heart slammed and she bent at the waist, pushing her hands against her chest, pressing in, wanting all the pain and agony and fear to cease. Just stop, right there in the shower because she couldn’t take it anymore. Not one thing more.
“Jo?” Gabe called
Oh, no. Don’t let him see this.
And, God, the sound of his voice triggered something. Something wild and desperate and weak that she’d been so close to tamping down. She shot straight, sucked a huge breath through her nose, held it.
“I’m here,” she croaked.
Dammit with the soppy hysterics. Who the hell was she right now? Not the mighty Jo Pomeroy. The woman who never backed down, the so-called powerhouse, had turned tail and ran, leaving behind a sniveling lump of useless tears.
The shower curtain whipped open and she flinched. Gabe stood there, his eyes slightly narrowed as water bounced off of her and hit his shirt. Ignoring the spray, he grabbed her, pulled her against him, her soaked skin rubbing against his clothes as he wrapped her in a back-crushing hug. She buried her face in his neck and held on—so need this—squeezing hard enough to pull strength from his huge body. Her breath hitched and she shuddered because Gabe was here. Solid and strong and immovable. The steel structure to cling to when the walls blew apart. That was Gabe. Even when she made him crazy, he kept her safe.
“Just breathe,” he whispered, his soft voice drilling right into her chaotic thoughts. “It’s okay. Crying doesn’t make you weak.”
And that did it. All the anger and fear and trapped emotions shot right up her throat, clawing their way, ripping free in a wail.
God, how humiliating. Not just crying, but wailing like a demon.
“I was so scared,” she sobbed. “For you. For me. I didn’t know what to do and I had to wear those fucking clothes and they made me feel so dirty and I feel like everything I’ve done since yesterday afternoon has been wrong. I can’t do this anymore.”
He kissed the top of her head and stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. The man was soaked. His hair, his shirt, his shorts. Even his sneakers were probably ruined. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Listen, crazy blond lady, don’t apologize.”
Crazy blond lady. The moniker he leveled on her when she got on a roll. She laughed…well…a quasi-sob-snort-laugh that came out as a honk. Extremely attractive, that.
He hit her with the smile. The sexy shark Gabe smile that turned her a little gooey. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
“You’re apologizing for apologizing?”
Yes. As nutty as that was.
But he hugged her again, running his big hands over her back, dotting kisses down her shoulder while water continued to flood the place. “We’re both okay. No harm done. The bikers never saw you. The two that followed me, I took care of.”
She nodded. “Wes told me. They arrested the one guy, right?”
“Yeah. He’ll be out soon enough, but we’ll deal with it. As soon as you’re done in here, we’re swapping out the rental.”
“Why?”
“A precaution. In case he got the plate number. I don’t put anything past these idiots. We’ll get ahead of it.”
Good. She needed that. Getting control back, at least some of it, would settle her. She eased her arms from his and turned back to the falling water so he wouldn’t see the damage she’d inflicted on herself. “I’m almost done. I felt…dirty.”
“It’s okay to feel dirty. Why do you think I sometimes take three showers a day?”
He knows. She thought back on all the times she’d teased him about using too many towels and instantly regretted it. Before today, she rolled her eyes at his sudden announcements that he needed a shower. Somehow, she’d never made the connection that those multiple showers came on days when the depravity he faced had been particularly brutal.
She was so dumb. The showers were his coping mechanism. He didn’t talk. He bathed. Tried to wash it all down the drain. Just as she’d done. “I never realized,” she said.
“Some people disassociate, I take showers.” He stepped back, glanced down at the flooding floor and his soaked clothes. “I’m gonna get this cleaned up. Take your time.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless you want me to scrub your back?”
Reset button. She’d just had a world-class meltdown, showed more vulnerability than she’d known she’d ever had, and had done it in front of Gabe. And she didn’t feel…embarrassed.
She felt safe and nurtured and loved.
So this is what it’s supposed to be.
She twisted the shower off, stood in the tub naked and dripping while Gabe stared at her, clearly wondering what she was about. Rather than keep him guessing, she grabbed his soaked shirt and went up on tiptoes, kissed him in that aggressive way he liked and he slid his arms around her, lifting her out of the tub.
Reset button. Jo and Gabe style.
They devoured each other. Feasted like never before as he carried her over to the bed, and her pulse slammed in anticipation of world-rocking sex from a man she adored and loved beyond reason.
If she had anything to say about it, the big, bad ESU sergeant would be in a wheelchair by the time she got done with him.
He set her on the bed and went to work ditching his wet clothes. He sat down, got rid of his shorts and Jo shoved him backward, straddling him and discovering, without question, Mr. August was ready for her.
“I’m in a hurry,” she said, hoping they were on the same page there.
“Yes, dear,” he cracked.
He gripped her hips as she slid over him, as always loving the feel of him inside her. She shifted her hips, silently begging him to move with her, to pick up the damned pace already because, wow, her body ached for this. He closed his eyes again, angled his head back and let out a soft breath.
Then he flipped her. Just like that—bam—she was on her back with Gabe still inside her, but moving oh-so-oh-slow and it drove her to madness, her mind absolutely frying from the tension. But she knew what he was doing. Sure did. This was Gabe’s own little brand of torment so he could make the euphoria last.
He kissed her neck, nibbled the skin there, that extra sensitive spot and… I’ll kill him later. He’d discovered that little secret their first night together and had since been using it against her. She’d never complain though.
She loved this man.
Maybe too much. If that was even possible. All she knew was it hurt, a physical ache that bore into her and swarmed when they were apart. If he broke her heart, he’d need more than his ESU team to save him from her wrath. She reached up, ran her fingers into his hair. He’d let it grow an extra half inch since she’d left New York and the strands glided over her fingers.
“Speed it up, Gabe.”
“What? You’re still in a hurry, Counselor?”
Fwap. She smacked his bare back. Hard. But laughed too because this was them. The interplay. The annoying, playful banter. The challenge. “You’re such a smartass.”
“Ow,” he said, his voice flat, almost taunting in that twisted way that amused him.
But enough of this slow quasi-punishment that made her want to beat on him, just throttle him senseless. From under him, she bucked her hips. If he wouldn’t pick up the pace, she would. “We can play later. Now, I need this. Sergeant.”
And still, he moved at his maddening pace, his big body surrounding her, consuming her, loving her in ways that, before him, she hadn’t known someone could. He propped himself on one arm and inched his free hand down her thigh before hooking it around her knee to push her leg up.
Oh, that’s good. “There you go, fella.”
This had become the game. One of them offering up torture in the most exquisite form until the other begged for mercy. And then, invariably, their greed took over and they couldn’t resist the lure of an astounding orgasm.
Gabe exhaled sharply—now—his cue that he’d given in. He pumped harder and she moved with him, faster and faster until her mind splintered and her body did the reverse, somehow coiling and tightening and…so close. She brought her hands up, slid her fingers over the perfect curve of his cheek, down the column of his neck and over the bunched muscles in his shoulder, letting the warmth from his body sink into her. He met her gaze, holding it for a few long seconds until his body tensed up. He was right there. That perfect edge he loved to ride as long as possible.
She loved these seconds, those precious few blinks, before the explosion tore through him. Magic. A drug-free high that came with loving each other. So beautiful. Him, the lovemaking, the way their bodies fit together, all of it brought calm and a wistful happiness.
He pushed her leg higher, getting so deep inside her she gripped the sheet, yanking it right from the edge of the mattress because—wow—it had never been quite this intense before. Never. She focused on that feeling—so perfect and extraordinary. Familiar and…well…different.
“Gabe?”
“What?”
A dozen thoughts swirled in her head, each of them smothering whatever naughty thing she was about to say. Forget it. She slammed her eyes closed. “So close,” she said.
There. The incredible squeeze happened low in her belly and stole her breath. She fought it, exhaled sharply, then pulled air back in again, slowing her body down, forcing the little explosions of light behind her eyes to last. She glanced up at him and ran her hands over his massive chest, along the hard curves he worked so hard for.
The orgasm ripped into her and her body stiffened for a split second before everything broke apart.
Blown away. Completely.
This was life with Gabe. Everything to the limit. Pure totality. She reached up, held onto his shoulders, her gaze on him as he threw his head back again, gritted his teeth and focused on his own body’s release.
“I love you,” she said.
And that did it. He gave in and let go, crying out, allowing himself to finally lose control as she braced herself for the collapse of two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle on top of her. Wham. He dropped, their bodies, still joined, sinking into the mattress. Eventually, he’d worry about crushing her and would roll off, but she held on an extra few seconds, letting him know she was okay.
Too late.
His weight lifted and a shock of cold air hit her, all that amazing heat gone.
Snuggling in to recapture the heat, she kissed his shoulder. “I hated being gone from you these past weeks. I’ll try not to do that anymore.”
“That’d be good. Otherwise, Counselor, I’ll be trailing you.”
“I wouldn’t mind that, Sergeant.”
Not in this lifetime would she mind that.
* * *
After swapping rental cars, Gabe’s body reminded him he needed fuel. They hadn’t eaten since that crappy burger five hours ago and Jo always said he ate like a dinosaur so he might as well chow down.
He pulled into the underground parking for their hotel and contemplated food options. After the day they’d had, he didn’t necessarily want Jo traipsing around outside. Staying inside, out of public, might be the better option. Paranoia aside, he was damned tired and could use a nap.
“How about we order room service?”
From the passenger seat, she shook her head. “I knew you’d bring up food before we got back. Your body is like clockwork and you didn’t have your afternoon side-of-beef. Ordering in sounds good though. I’m beat after my ugly freak-out earlier. I don’t know how drama queens do it. All this emotional upheaval is exhausting.”
“You’re a force, Jo. A strong woman who takes no crap.”
“I must have been a man in a prior life.”
“Hokay, then. I don’t need that picture in my head. Thanks though.”
He found a spot close to the elevator, parked, and did a quick scan of the area before getting out. As soon as this incident got cleared—whenever that might be—they were going somewhere. Somewhere warm and away from LA where they could have a real vacation. At this point, he’d rent a damned island and make sure there were no stores there. No threat of knockoffs. Anywhere.
They rode the elevator up to their room where Jo perused the room service menu while Gabe took a call from Bardin, the DEA agent they’d met with that morning. Just in case, he wandered out to the balcony to avoid Miss Big Ears listening in.
“Hey,” he said into the phone. “What’s up?”
“I just saw one of my informants. Figured I’d ask him if he had anything on that 12th Street Crew.”
Gabe swung back to check on Jo. She was out of sight. Bathroom maybe. He leaned one elbow against the balcony wall and gazed up at the sun throwing shadows over the surrounding buildings. “And?”
“They’ve been hanging out at some place called the Last Chance. One of their members owns it. Apparently the guy’s mother left him money and he sunk it into the bar so he could run a legitimate business.”
“You think it’s a front?”
“I’m sure. But who knows? The guy is in his fifties, so he may be outgrowing his violent ways.”
Hmmm…maybe he’d hop over there. See if their guy with the skull tattoo showed up at the bar. If so, Gabe would call the detectives to get over there. That might be a plan. Might also get him in hot water.
Eh.
His antics today already had him partway there and he wasn’t one to do things half-assed.
“I’ll do that,” he said. “Thanks. You got an address for the place?”
“Not exact, but I’ll text you the cross streets.”
Gabe ended the call, looked up and—hello, gorgeous—Jo stood in the doorway eyeballing him. So fucked. “Hiya.”
She nodded at the phone in his hand. “Who was that? And don’t lie. I heard you say something about a front.”
There went plan A. Unless he could come up with a reason his mother had an interest in fronts. Plan B. “It was uh, Bardin. He had some info on a new biker hangout. He figured I’d want to pass it on to the detectives.”
“Excellent. Why don’t we do that right now? Because if I know you, which I’m fairly confident I do, you’ve got it in your head that you’ll get this thing moving and head over there yourself to check it out.”
A few months ago, he’d have talked his way around this. Easily. Now? He was toast. After all the months he’d spent railing on her about hunting knockoffs on her own, she’d give him a good beat-down if he went rogue.
His phone beeped. Incoming text. Must be Bardin. “Jo, relax. It’s nothing.”
He pushed by her and headed toward the bathroom, tossing his phone on the table on his way. Yeah, hide in the bathroom, chickenshit.
Leaning against the sink, he ran options. If he tried to leave the hotel for any reason, she’d be on him. And lying—Plan A—was definitely out.
Rather than admit she freaking terrified him when she got into this hyper-aware mode, he flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Just taking a piss, honey.
He swung the door open, found her sitting on the arm of the sofa, hands at her sides, fingers tapping and those fierce blue eyes pinning him. “What are you up to, Sergeant?”
Screwed. No way would he get out of this. He held up his hands. “Okay. Here it is.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Hardy, har. You stay here and I’ll cruise by the place. Maybe sit on it awhile and see if our guy shows up.”
“No.”
No? At that, Gabe snickered. She was dreaming if she thought that’d work. When had that ever worked in their relationship? For either of them.
“What if the bikers from this afternoon are there? They’ll recognize you.”
“Nada. I had a hat and glasses on and the only one who got a decent look at me was the one who got pinched. Besides, I just said I’d stay in the car.”
“And you think I believe that?”
This blowout, and it would be a blowout, would have to wait. They didn’t fight a lot. Maybe they got loud and disagreed, but they didn’t consider that a fight. A fight for them would be full-on war, complete with searing sarcasm, a lot of yelling, and Jo occasionally slamming shit. That didn’t happen all that much. When it did though, neither of them feared it. The tension spinning in his gut told him this would be one of those times.
Gabe waved her off. “I don’t care what you believe. And I’m not arguing about it.” He grabbed the car keys and his phone off the table. “I’m gonna make this quick run. You stay here.”
Assuming she understood, he nodded. “No argument. Excellent.”
She turned away from him, stared out the balcony door. “I try to avoid arguing with bullheaded people. Do what you want, Gabe. You will anyway.”
Please with the drama. As if she didn’t do what she wanted all the time? How many times had he warned her about shopping for knockoffs on her own? She was not pulling this bullshit on him.
“Jo, I’m not doing this. Later, we can discuss all the crap you pull when I specifically ask you not to.”
She scoffed. “Nice, Gabe.”
He waggled his finger at her. “I know what you’re doing. You figure you’ll keep me talking and I won’t go anywhere. It’s not working.” He turned back to the door, ripped it open. “Lock this behind me. And stay put.” He spun back to her. “Jo, I swear to God, if you leave this room, I’ll go crazy on you.”