They got close because I paused to figure out which way I wanted to go, but as they started pushing their way through the crowd, I went over and up on tables. The hotel security was helpful as they started to yell, and someone said to call the police. I was vaguely aware of my name being shouted, but I ran on, down a hall, the lights changing around me from low and elegant to bright and harsh as I went through the kitchen. I swerved, leaped as pots and pans fell, but

  I was matched stride for stride, the space between us shrinking with every added movement I was forced to make.

  I wanted to see who was chasing me, but it would take precious seconds, so I fought the urge and ran on. Bouncing off walls, someone had a hold of me for a moment before I careened around another corner and wound up back in the lobby. There were stairs to the street, and I bolted into traffic. I heard the crunch of metal, the squeal of tires, but I ran on, and so did my pursuers. It was dark in the alley I ran down, but I knew they were still there because I could hear the panting and finally a roar of frustration.

  I flew out the other end and went across another street. A car almost hit me, and I had to stop, swerving around it, losing precious seconds. The drizzling that had wet my hair and track suit suddenly turned to heavy rain, and I was running through a downpour. I pushed harder and almost went down before I felt my stride even out and the speed kick in.

  Chairs and tables set up for an outdoor bistro, freshly abandoned, proved too difficult for me to push my way through. I fell and someone was on me. We crashed together into wood and steel, and there was a hand on my throat and another on my jacket. I pulled and twisted, but he was bigger, stronger. I felt a lift and then I was falling hard, fast. I smashed onto a table, but it didn‘t break, it held, and I rolled off and hit the solid, gritty concrete. It was dark for a second, and then I felt water splashing my face. I got my hands under me, pushed up, but the ground tilted, and I couldn‘t steady myself. I saw him in pieces, backing away, staggering, seemingly hurt, and swaying as he regarded me.

  There were only the two of us, everyone else had given up, and I was glad. My legs supported me, and I was up, but my head hurt, like someone had put an ice pick through my right eye, the pain instant and excruciating. But it receded fast enough for me to regain my balance and bolt. I had to get safely to the train platform. I had to see Sam. I had to make sure he was okay.

  "Jory!"

  Not a roar, a call.

  "Jory!"

  I pulled up and saw the awning across the street, and under it, Fallon and Shane. I charged back across, nearly got hit by two cars, but reached them and dove hard. At Shane.

  "What the hell?" he yelled even as he clasped me tight.

  I slid down his body and crumpled to the cold damp ground.

  "Jory, what‘s going on?"

  I pointed across the street, and they saw the four men there now, standing, waiting. "They think I know something about a case Sam is working on."

  "Your boyfriend the cop?" Shane asked me, still clutching me tight.

  I nodded.

  "Call the police," he ordered Fallon.

  "Already dialing," he said, phone at his ear.

  "He‘s calling the police!" Shane yelled across the street, kneeling down beside me, and putting his hand on my chest. "It‘s okay, Jory, we‘re here, you‘re safe."

  And when I rolled my head to look up at him, I smiled. "Thanks, Shane."

  Fallon put his hand on his boyfriend‘s shoulder, and when I looked up at him, his smile was enormous. Apparently, by choosing Shane to barrel into, I was collecting all kinds of brownie points. It was like I told people, a lot of times my brain actually did work, and I made conscious choices. It was just that no one ever believed me.

  Chapter Eleven

  "YOU‘RE lucky I speak Jory!" Sam fumed at me. "Fuck!"

  When I said earlier, in front of Eddie Liron, that I was going to go see my friend Joe, that had been code for Sam to meet me at St. Joseph‘s Hospital. And he had understood it, so I had no idea why he was mad. It turned out that even though Eddie had volunteered to take Sam, Agent Calhoun had insisted on bringing him alone.

  "But how did you guys ditch Eddie?"

  "Everyone was chasing you," Agent Calhoun told me. "By that time no one was paying any attention to us."

  "So I was a diversion." I smiled happily. "Good."

  "Not good!" Sam yelled. "Come here so I can look at you!"

  When I was close to the bed, he grabbed me and put his hands on my face.

  "What the fuck did you think you were doing?"

  "Stop yelling," I soothed him, looking down at him, at the bruises on his face, at the eye that would be black and blue. "I‘m fine.

  Tell me what the doctor said."

  "Did anybody hurt you?"

  "Sam." I hardened my voice. "Talk to me."

  From the way he was looking at me, tilting my chin up, smoothing a hand down my throat, I knew that he wasn‘t going to spill.

  But it turned out that I didn‘t have to wait for Sam to give me splotchy details, and that was good since he was terrible with them on a good day. The doctor showed up, and once I explained who I was— civil union, my ring, and that I was the emergency contact on file with the Chicago Police Department—I got the rundown on Sam‘s condition.

  It wasn‘t as bad as I had thought. The ribs were not cracked, his kidneys, even though they had taken a few punches, were not bruised, so he would not be peeing blood. That had happened in the past, and it scared the hell out of me. His concussion was mild, but he would still be staying overnight in the hospital since there was no one at home to look after him.

  "Why aren‘t you coming home?" I asked, hearing my voice rise, hating it but unable to stop it.

  "I‘m still undercover," he told me.

  "How?"

  "My cover‘s not blown. You were amazing."

  And only then did I realize that maybe I should have just come clean.

  "You did the right thing."

  But it didn‘t feel right. I wanted to be at home, watching him sleep, checking to make sure he was fine, and just for a second, the feeling washed through me of how much I wanted my life back, and I felt faint.

  "Gimme your hand," he told me.

  My fingers laced in Sam‘s, held against his heart, comforted me.

  "Soon. It will all be back to normal very soon."

  But soon was taking forever.

  "I‘m gonna be fine," he told me.

  He needed to rest, have lots of fluids, and basically stay away from people who wanted to use him for a punching bag.

  "He‘ll be fine," Dr. Allen Maruya promised me.

  "Thank you." I smiled at him.

  "Jory!"

  I turned, and there was Agent Calhoun and another man I didn‘t know, but they were both wearing their badges on chains.

  "Is this him?"

  "Yes, sir."

  The man I didn‘t know thrust his hand out to me. "Jory Harcourt, Crosby Holt, FBI, pleasure to meet you."

  "And you, sir." I smiled, taking the offered hand as another man joined us.

  "Mr. Har—"

  "It‘s just Jory."

  "Jory." He smiled at me, turning to present the man to me. "This is Lieutenant Ramon Diaz from the Federal Police in Mexico. We‘re working this case with them."

  I lifted my head and was greeted with very warm, dark brown eyes. "Hello, sir," I said, offering him my hand.

  He took it in both of his, holding tight. "You have been a blessing, Mr. Harcourt, keeping this operation afloat, but now it is time for us to close this case on Señor Liron."

  I nodded. "So you‘re a federale, sir?"

  "It‘s not a term we use, Jory. It‘s American slang from the movies."

  "Oh."

  He smiled and the laugh lines in the corner of his eyes crinkled.

  "You look disappointed."

  "I am, just a little."

  "Hollywood creates many myths," he told me, patting my shoulder. "And now we need to speak to Detective Kage. I must tell you, Mr. Harcourt, that we could not account for his whereabouts last evening, and so when Cristo Liron took him today, and we found out why he was being beaten, we were all very concerned with the choices he might have made in putting this investigation, as well as his own life, in jeopardy."

  My eyes flicked to Sam‘s.

  "To simply go and seek you out when he knew that Cristo Liron was watching you would have been a very foolish decision for a mere rendezvous."

  There had been nothing "mere" about it. Sam knew I was losing my mind. Space and time away were no good for me. I didn‘t do it well. I gave all the people waiting for the return of soldiers so much credit. I would have fallen apart. And it wasn‘t even the time itself that was murder, it was the uncertainty. If I knew where Sam was, what he was doing, I was fine. But the whole he could be in mortal danger—that was the part that got me.

  "But as you selflessly gave so honest an account of your activities the previous night, no one can doubt the validity, even Cristo Liron."

  I looked back at the lieutenant.

  "Because of you, the cover of Detective Kage and Agent Calhoun, as well as many others, remains intact, and again, we thank you."

  I took a breath. "So you guys let Sam get beat up, huh?"

  "We could do nothing else, or the cover would be blown. To save him from it would have been tipping our hand."

  I nodded and walked to the window. Yelling would serve no one, but I was mad.

  "It would be best, Mr. Har—Jory, if you went out of town for a few days. This would give Cristo Liron time to calm and get back to business and—"

  "Agent Holt."

  We all turned to the man who had just come through the door.

  "Cristo Liron is in Emergency looking for Detective Kage—or for Jason Bradley—so everyone needs to clear out of here."

  I stayed where I was.

  "Jory?" Agent Calhoun sounded worried.

  "You‘re gonna take care of Sam, right? I mean, like, really ‘cause he‘s hurt."

  "Yes," the agent in charge, Crosby Holt, promised instead. "I‘m quite pleased with how he‘s handled himself, and he‘s going to be a deputy US marshal, Jory, so yes, we‘ll take very good care of him.

  You have my word."

  I crossed the floor fast, bent, kissed Sam, and rubbed my nose along his. "Please be careful, please."

  "I love you," he said softly under his breath, clutching at my shirt. "I‘m sorry for everything, but I‘m not sorry for yesterday. It was stupid, but I‘m not sorry."

  "Good." My breath caught as I kissed him.

  "Don‘t come back."

  I nodded, and without looking, ran out of the room. I did what I always did and took the stairs up two flights and then took the elevator all the way down. I went out the front and was on the street and in a cab minutes later.

  I HAUNTED my own house, and finally, after two in the morning, my phone rang.

  "Hi," I sighed deeply. "How do you feel?"

  "I feel like I got run over by a truck, but I‘m okay. I‘ve taken worse beatings."

  "I‘d rather you took none from now on."

  "Well, that‘s never gonna happen since I‘m an officer of the law and all, but I promise to work on it."

  "Try hard."

  "Yes, baby."

  I took a breath.

  "I‘m okay, J, really."

  It was so good just to listen to his voice.

  "And I have no regrets, like I said. I was stupid. It was stupid but inevitable."

  He was talking in generalities just in case someone was listening, I was sure. Not, as I was always reminded, that he was good with details. He was completely horrible with them. I would ask,

  "How was the wedding?" and be told that they, whoever, had gotten married. Big deal. I would ask, "How was your day?" and get a shrug of broad shoulders before I was pinned down onto the couch or pulled into his lap.

  "I want you to go out of town for a bit. Can you do that?"

  "To where?"

  "I called Dane, and he said he has a timeshare in Waikiki."

  "You want me to go to Hawaii without you?"

  "Not really, but it‘s as far away as you can go and still be in the United States."

  Bulletproof | 133

  "No," I told him. "I‘d rather wait here for you."

  "J, I‘m done in the field. I‘m stuck at the hospital, and then I‘ll be riding a desk for the rest of this investigation."

  "Why don‘t I believe you?"

  "You should. It‘s the truth. When have I ever lied to you?"

  He hadn‘t. The man didn‘t lie.

  "What did Cristo want when he came to your room?"

  "He apologized for letting things get so out of control and told me that we could still do business if I wanted."

  "What did Agent Calhoun say?"

  "He put on a good show, told Cristo he was a psychopath and insulted him a little."

  "And then Cristo apologized some more."

  "Yep, he had to make it better, or he would have lost face with everybody."

  "So after the groveling, you guys let everything be bygones and shook hands."

  "It was nowhere near groveling, but yeah, we patched things up."

  "Did he say anything about me?"

  "Nothing flattering."

  "Lemme guess, I‘m a whore and trash and all that good stuff."

  "Uh-huh," he said tightly.

  I cleared my throat because I knew that was hard for him. Sam did not let anyone run me down, and so having to sit through Cristo Liron ranting about me had to have been difficult. "It‘s okay that you didn‘t defend my honor. I get it, you know."

  "I fuckin‘ hate this, and I‘m thinking that me being away from all of it is fine. I don‘t think I can look at Liron anymore without taking his fuckin‘ head off."

  "And how do you get away with not seeing him?"

  "Agent Calhoun told him that he‘s sending me back to Colombia."

  "Colombia," I said, chuckling. "Cool."

  "Shut up."

  I laughed at him.

  "Jory."

  Uh-oh, serious voice. "Yeah?"

  "Please go to Hawaii. This whole mess will wrap up in another week, week and a half, and then I‘ll take the first flight out and join you."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "I swear."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  "And you‘ll stay at least a week."

  "Two days."

  "Four."

  "Three."

  "Three," I sighed heavily. "Deal. Three days alone with you on a tropical island—I‘ll take it, Kage."

  He chuckled, and I heard the deep rumble that I loved.

  "Was Dane pissed?"

  "Not at me," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

  "You‘re the one who‘s running around saving the brothers of drug smugglers and not listening to him."

  "He told you that, huh?"

  "Yessir, he did."

  "Shit, you realize, of course, that he‘s gonna be here at like the buttcrack of dawn to throw me on an airplane."

  "Yep," he said, cackling.

  "Christ."

  "Hey," he breathed out. "Pack some clothes for me, okay?"

  Suddenly there was no air in the room.

  "Okay?"

  "Okay," I managed to get out.

  "I love you, baby, breathe."

  And I did.

  Chapter Twelve

  WHEN I got off the plane at the Honolulu International Airport, there was the boarding area and then immediately, to get to the main terminal, I had to walk outside. It hit me instantly—sweet, flower- scented air, sticky humidity on my skin, and a vision of the whole world bathed in bright, beautiful sunshine. It was like a painting, the turquoise-blue sky, the blinding white of the clouds, and the lush green of the palm trees. And that was just the airport!

  Inside, it was the same cluttered mess that every airport was, with the added touch of the lei sellers, and men in aloha shirts, and some women in muumuus. After I claimed my luggage, I made my way to the curb to wait in line for a cab. The trip to Waikiki from the airport was fast at two in the afternoon, and thankfully, since I had gotten on the plane at five thirty in the morning in Chicago, the driver didn‘t want to chat.

  The timeshare was in use, so Dane had basically just made reservations for me at a hotel in Waikiki. And because he was my brother and he never did anything small, the suite was much too big for one person. I could see beachfront from my lanai, and Kalakaua Avenue, named after the king who brought back the hula, and if I looked out to sea, I had a killer view of the sunset, which was truly breathtaking. Just the wash of colors that the sky became took my breath away. Standing there on the balcony, twenty-three floors up, locked in my lavish, enormous suite, I felt almost as safe as I did when I was in Sam Kage‘s arms.

  When it was dark, like a vampire, I went out.

  March in Hawaii was not the cold wet that Chicago was, so when I went out in jeans, a short-sleeve button-up, and sneakers, I wasn‘t worried that I needed a jacket. The sidewalks were crowded with people, and between the scent of the ocean and what I had thought was magnolia but had been corrected by the concierge—it was white ginger or pikake, that was carried on the breeze—I could not stop taking deep breaths of the air. When I walked by an outdoor restaurant, the smell of garlic and onions made my stomach roll with hunger. Inside, I was told that the wait for a table might be easily an hour, so I was ready to try someplace else, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, and when I did, I smiled.

  I was looking at my ex, Aaron Sutter.

  "Hey," I chuckled. "How are you?"

  He just stared at me with his always-gorgeous bright-blue eyes.

  The man was classically handsome, with chiseled features, broad shoulders and a lean, muscular physique. At that moment, in slacks and a muted aloha shirt, he looked amazing.

 

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