“I come from sturdier stock than your last patient. I’m sure I’ll manage to stay awake.” From his experience questioning witnesses and from his innate understanding of crime victims, he realized that if he let her continue on a tangent, she would. It was normal to want to focus on everything but the danger she was in.
He would have loved to let her push aside her fears, but he needed her information too badly. He squeezed her hand. “Go on.”
She sighed. “Well, after the sedative kicked in and she fell back to sleep, I called Marc. Then I came in here for coffee. Sharon brought me the flowers that were left at the desk. I thought the flowers were from you.”
“They were poppies,” he said.
She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Really? I had no idea. I’m a city girl, remember? I wouldn’t know one flower from the next.”
“Normally I wouldn’t, either.” But poppies were associated with narcotics, something any cop would know. The flowers themselves weren’t used to make drugs but the sap of an unripe seedpod was the source of heroin, opium, morphine, codeine and more. The flowers had been Ramirez’s calling card, something the slime knew Jake would recognize.
Brianne stared at him curiously. “Even a Neanderthal would know roses, but you recognize poppies? I’d never have guessed. The only thing I know about poppies is from The Wizard of Oz and the deadly poppy field…”
Her eyes opened wide, and Jake knew the minute she put two and two together, even before she verbalized her thoughts.
“You got shot trying to arrest a drug dealer. I saw you in the hospital yesterday on the same floor as the patient who overdosed.”
He inclined his head. Jake hadn’t realized she’d seen him yesterday. He let out a groan. He should have known better than to think he’d gotten off easy. With Brianne, nothing was simple.
“Today’s delivery of flowers wasn’t a coincidence, was it?” she asked, dread showing in her face.
Even though her voice was strong, her cheeks had drained of color. His gut twisted tight. He only hoped she’d continue to hold it together when he revealed the rest, but given her history of anxiety and well-founded fear, he was concerned.
He hated causing her pain and drew a deep breath for courage. “It’s no coincidence,” he agreed. “And we’re talking about the same dealer that shot me.”
A visible shudder rippled through her. “And this involves me how?”
She narrowed her eyes, and Jake knew this was it, the time to level. No backpedaling, no ducking out. It was also, he realized, the defining moment in their relationship.
He took her hand in his and looked her in the eye. “You’re being targeted by a drug dealer named Louis Ramirez, probably because he’s figured out what you mean to me and sees you as a way to get to me.” His growing feelings for Brianne had caused exactly what he’d wanted to avoid from the beginning—she’d become a valuable commodity to his enemy.
If anything happened to Brianne, it would kill Jake. Ramirez obviously knew enough to play a cat-and-mouse game—a game Jake didn’t appreciate. From the shocked, then angry look on Brianne’s face, neither did she.
“I’m in danger because of you?”
He heard the betrayal in her voice, and it struck him like a blow. He nodded. “Indirectly, yes. It looks that way.” Technically she was in danger because she’d accepted his sister’s offer and moved into the pent
house. But he wouldn’t upset her further by clarifying the situation.
From the moment Jake had heard of his sister’s meddlesome plan, he’d been filled with dread. He’d just never envisioned Brianne being hurt in any way. If he had, he’d have thrown her out that first day, despite her having accepted Rina’s job in good faith. No matter how much she’d tempted him. Jake glanced down at their intertwined hands and felt as if he was viewing his last link to the woman he cared so much about.
“This Ramirez. He has an accent?” she asked through clenched teeth.
Once again, Jake nodded.
“He…He said on the phone that I could thank him for the flowers in person.” She yanked her hand free, and Jake felt a loss that went far deeper than the end of physical contact. “How did he know where to find me?”
“He’s been watching you.” He let his guilty gaze dart away from hers. “For a while now.”
“The guy outside the coffee shop?”
“Yes.”
She began to clench and unclench her fists, the only outward signs of the anger and betrayal he felt sure were simmering inside her.
“What makes you so sure it’s the same guy?”
As a cop, he appreciated her deadly accurate questioning, but as the man who’d violated her trust, he wished she wasn’t so quick to put the puzzle together. “The tattoo, for one thing. He’s also been seen around the streets outside the hospital.”