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Two days later, Kate pushed back a stray curl that had escaped its French braid and shot an impatient look at the wall clock above the door. It still wasn't four o'clock? Was the blasted thing even working? She sighed.
Across the desks that butted against one another, a tall, lanky man looked up, an amused twinkle dancing in his brown eyes. Corporal Dave Jennings had been her handler when she'd worked undercover on a smuggling operation three years ago, and he'd been more than happy to welcome her as his investigative partner for the duration of her recovery. The arrangement suited Kate equally well. She could think of a dozen members in this section alone who would have driven her nuts if she'd had to share an office with them for the past few weeks. Being sidelined by that bullet still wasn't her idea of fun, but at least Dave's sense of humor made it bearable.
"Hot date tonight, Dex?" Dave leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "I thought you had a little more sparkle than usual the last couple of days."
Heat crept into Kate's cheeks. "I don't sparkle."
Dave snorted. "Sure you don't. Just like you haven't started clock-watching the second you park your butt in that chair every morning."
Her gaze slid away. She couldn't argue with that, because she'd noticed the tendency herself. And she still hadn't made up her mind whether said clock-watching—or the accompanying breathlessness—was due to anticipation or dread of quitting time and the return home. To her apartment. To Jonas.
She aimed a dark look at Dave.
"For your information, smartass, the only date I have is with a set of weights." Not a bad idea, now that she mentioned it. She hadn’t been to the gym in more than a week, and she was supposed to be doing those exercises the physio assigned for her shoulder at least every third day. Plus, maybe a good workout would wear off some of her frustration.
Fresh heat flared in her face.
Stress, she corrected herself. It would help alleviate some of her stress. Across the desks, Dave smirked.
"Sure," he said. "The thought of working up a sweat makes me sparkle, too."
Kate's lips compressed.
"All right, all right.” Her partner raised his hands in self-defense, but the smirk remained. “You're not sparkling. And you're as sweet as ever. Now, why don't you take that sunny disposition of yours home early today? I'll get twice the work done without you fidgeting across from me."
Kate made her shoulder muscles unclench through sheer willpower. She achieved an apologetic smile much the same way.
"Maybe you're right." She shot a rueful look at the paperwork on her desk. It didn't seem to have diminished much in the last couple of days, and it probably wouldn't diminish much more before Jonas was out of her life.
Five days he'd been with her now, four of them spent confined to the apartment, where his edginess had increased along with his strength.. If she had to listen to him pace the living room floor one more night, she'd—
She broke off the thought and sighed. She'd what? Go out there and give in to the fantasies that kept her awake as she listened to his steps? Find out what he wore to sleep in the sofa bed he'd insisted on taking? Anything? Nothing?
Heavy warmth unfurled in her belly. Man, oh man, she hoped he was leaving soon. Like tomorrow.
Next week, a little voice inside contradicted.
Today.
Next month.
Maybe he'd already be gone when she got home.
No.
The phone on her desk rang, startling her into knocking over her coffee mug. She sprang to her feet, frantically trying to rescue files and confine the spreading liquid. Dave reached across and snagged the receiver from its cradle.
"Customs and Excise, Constable Dexter's desk." He paused for a second, then asked, "Can I tell her who's calling?"
A slow grin spread across his face. "Hang on a second." He put his hand over the receiver and, with an exaggerated clearing of his throat, held it out to her. "I may be wrong, but I think your weights are calling."
Kate snatched the phone from him. "Dexter," she snapped into the receiver.
"Bad day?" Jonas’s rich, deep voice reached through the line to squeeze the breath from her.
She sank into her chair and sighed. "More of a bad mood," she admitted. "What's up? Do you need something?"
Dave propped an elbow on the desk and rested his chin in one hand, watching her with avid interest. She turned her back on him.
"You been out much today?" Jonas's words and tone were casual. Too casual. Apprehension crawled down Kate's spine.
"No. I've been in the office all day. Why?"
"It's probably nothing, but there's been a gray sedan parked in the parking lot across the street all day. It's the only vehicle that hasn't moved."
"Can you see a plate number?"
"Not from this angle."
"I'll check it out when I get home."
"Good. And Kate—watch yourself, okay?"
Kate's heart did a sideways skitter. Easy, girl, she told herself wryly. Concern didn't equal interest, and even if it did, she didn't want interest. Not from someone with as much baggage as Jonas carried. Not if she was smart.
"I'll be careful," she said.
***
Jonas replaced the receiver hard enough to make the phone jangle its protest. He jammed his fingers between the slats of the horizontal blinds and pried open a space wide enough to see the street three stories below. The gray sedan in the parking lot in front of the donut shop still hadn't moved.
It had been there yesterday, too.
And he felt like a goddamned sitting duck.
He let the blinds fall back into place and turned to stare at the living room. His gaze traveled the taupe leather sofa bed that dominated the room, its matching armchair angled nearby. A square, black-lacquered coffee table sat in the middle, devoid of the book of contemporary photography and vase of willow-twigs that Kate had moved to allow easier access to the sofa bed. In the far corner, beside a gas fireplace, hung the television he'd watched way too much of in the last few days.
A single piece of artwork dominated the wall over the fireplace—a rendering of a farm, with weathered-silver barns and sheds tucked in behind a white farmhouse. Two little girls played on a swing under a spreading maple in front of the house, and a litter of puppies gamboled around their feet. It should have been out of keeping with its cool, sophisticated surroundings. But it looked very right.
Very Kate.
Jonas scraped a hand through his hair, ripping his thoughts away from his hostess. Again. If he didn't get out of here soon...nope. Not finishing that thought. No way.
He flexed his thigh experimentally, pleased when the resulting twinge didn't even make him wince. The same trial for his gut wasn't as satisfactory, however, and wrested an involuntary grunt from him. One down, one to go. Damn.
He parted the blinds one last time. The car was still there. Still empty. He blew out a long breath and rolled his shoulders to ease their tension. It was probably nothing. Just his paranoia. Served him right for sitting around this apartment watching Columbo reruns.
About to turn from the window, he paused as a maroon minivan turned into the parking lot and claimed the space beside the sedan. The two front doors opened and a man and woman got out. They were too far away to make out facial features, but Jonas’s insides turned cold nonetheless. What if it was—
The woman removed a denim cap and tossed it into the van, shaking back bright red hair. Jonas released the breath he’d been holding. Carmen Ramirez's hair was black. His shoulders slumped. He needed to get out of here and deal with this so he could stop jumping at shadows.
It wouldn't be easy, and he still didn't have much in the way of a plan, but he wasn't worried. If he could make it to Jersey and his stash, he could disappear into the streets indefinitely while he rounded up the evidence he needed. It'd be like old times, only with higher stakes. Because survival would be a little trickier with the very people he'd worked beside gunning for him—and the law on their side instead of his.
If he could make it to Jersey.
He stalked toward the kitchen, gritting his teeth against the nagging discomfort in his side. One more night's rest. That should be enough. It had to be enough.
He'd leave tomorrow.