Body Heat (Simply 4)

“No. Last chance, Brianne. Promise me you won’t leave, and I promise I’ll be back soon.”

They were at a stalemate. “I want to but I can’t.” She grabbed on to the chair and started to rise. “Please understand.”

“I hope you do,” he muttered under his breath, and reached behind him. “Because I can’t risk something happening to you, like what happened to Frank.”

His dead partner, Brianne thought. And the next thing she knew Jake had snapped a pair of handcuffs around her wrist and shackled her other hand to the chair. Her gaze darted in disbelief between the cuffs and his pained face. “You wouldn’t.” But he just had.

“You left me no choice. You’ve already proven you’ll go off half-cocked if left alone. If you’d promised, I’d have taken your word.” He held his hand out in front of her in complete supplication.

He picked his keys up off the tabl

e and flicked on the small television in the kitchen, then handed her the remote control. He walked out, only to return a second later with a magazine that he placed in front of her on the table. “I’m sorry, but you gave me no choice.”

“Tell it to someone who cares,” she muttered.

She watched him leave, and betrayal lay like lead in her stomach. Brianne didn’t give a damn that he obviously felt bad or that he’d apologized. She also didn’t give a fig that she’d brought this on herself by refusing to promise.

If she had, she would have been lying, and she refused to lie to Jake. She yanked hard, but the metal cuffs were attached to a metal chair and neither would budge. Furious, she grabbed the magazine and began flipping through it, not really paying attention to what she saw. But when the minutes ticked by and Brianne realized he wasn’t coming back, she had no choice but to settle in for the duration.

From the mailing label on the front, Brianne knew the magazine belonged to Rina, and she hoped for some interesting reading. She glanced at the television. Trashy talk shows weren’t going to be enough of a distraction. She swallowed over the pain in her throat.

She crossed her legs and began to flip through the pages once more, stopping only when she reached the article entitled, “Sexy City Nights.” “Lovers in New York City.” “Hot Spots, Hot Nights, Hotter Sheets.” Brianne laughed despite herself, but when she caught a glimpse of the photos, she stopped and looked closer. In the first, dusk was setting around a couple outside an ice-cream shop, and memories of Brianne’s night at Peppermint Park with Jake came flooding back into her mind.

When she thought of that night, it wasn’t the sex that stood out, although it had been incredible. And it wasn’t the dessert, although the rich treat had been delicious. What stood out was how hard Jake had tried to pick a place that would mean something to her. How he’d attempted to give back what she’d been deprived of in the past. And how he’d believed her when she’d questioned him about being followed. He may not have revealed his suspicions, but he hadn’t discounted hers, either. Not the way her parents had, way back when.

Because he cared.

Not that his caring meant she’d forgiven him for cuffing her to this damn chair, but if his reasons mirrored hers for walking into The Eclectic Eatery in the first place, she could begin to understand.

Caring. Love. A future? All things she now knew she wanted. She couldn’t stand by and watch him walk out of her life without a fight. Losing him that way wouldn’t be as bad as losing him to a bullet—because he’d be alive—but he was worth fighting for. They were worth fighting for. She realized now that she could live with his risky life because she didn’t want to live without him. Not if she had a choice.

She studied the pictures on her lap. Interesting, erotic images of ecstasy. Without warning, Norton lifted his head and stood, then began barking and bolted for the other room.

“Traitor,” she muttered. “Jake?” she called. She rose and started to walk, but the chair and the cuffs held her back. “You’re going to pay for this,” she yelled out in frustration.

She heard the heavy tread of footsteps coming toward the kitchen. “Come uncuff me, will you?” Then maybe she could work on the forgiving angle. Maybe.

“My pleasure.”

Brianne turned toward the open doorway of the room in time to put a face to the voice—the accented voice of a man who couldn’t be anyone other than Louis Ramirez.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HE’D ACTUALLY HANDCUFFED Brianne. And guilt lay like lead in Jake’s stomach. He took the elevator down to the lobby. He waved to the doorman who followed him out, holding the door open as he exited the building. Jake turned right at the corner and headed for the subway, but the entire time his conscience and his heart told him to go back. So did the niggling in his brain that had begun when Vickers called and told him Ramirez was turning himself in.

Jake shook his head at his thoughts. He was just preoccupied with Brianne, as usual looking for any excuse to put her before this case. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t do something as simple as promising him she’d sit tight. And he reminded himself she wouldn’t be tied up now if he’d been able to trust her. Stubborn, headstrong woman. She’d already proven she’d take dangerous risks, given the right incentive.

The right incentive. Jake paused at the top of the steps leading down to the subway. When I love someone, I stick by them. Her words came back to him—Brianne’s incentive for making that trip to The Eclectic Eatery. When I love someone…

His heart squeezed tight in his chest, and Jake slapped his hand against the hard metal railing. How the hell had he let those words slip by him unnoticed? Because for the first time since meeting Brianne, he’d been a cop before a man. A detective before the man who loved her in return.

He’d turned a deaf ear to her words and her pleas. He’d cuffed her to a chair and left her alone…so he could watch Ramirez walk himself into a police station and willingly give up?

Not likely. Jake shook his head as reality reared its head. There wasn’t a chance in hell Ramirez would willingly admit defeat and surrender. No possibility at all. Which meant…the phone call to the cops had been a setup.

“Shit.” Jake turned and hit the street at a dead run. He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

A few minutes, but what felt like hours later, he re-entered the building—and the doorman was nowhere in sight. A quick glance behind the desk confirmed Jake’s worst fears. The man lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The whoosh of revolving doors sounded in his ear, and he turned around in time to see an unfamiliar couple walk in the door.