Dark Blue (South Island PD Book 1) (34 page)

“I have extra pillows you can prop your leg up on, and I can bring you back here in the morning.”

“Whatever works for you.”

There was a pause, during which he could feel his heart beating, pumping relief through his veins.

“I know what I just told you makes it all seem creepier,” she said, “but we’ve done everything we can so far, right?”

He wracked his mind for any measures he hadn’t taken and came up with nothing. “Yeah.”

He still hated to admit it.

“Let’s forget about it for a little while then, okay?” She flattened the hand she’d pressed against his chest, rubbing a slow trail down toward his hips.

His cock hardened again despite his frustration – despite everything.

Her touch did that to him – made everything else melt away in a haze of pleasure.

“Yesterday felt like the first time I’d touched you in forever,” she said.

He fought a groan as his dick pushed his gym shorts up and out. “Likewise.”

She rocked up onto her toes and brushed his jaw with her lips. “I love you. Come on…”

When she pressed a hand against his shaft, he couldn’t hold back that groan anymore.

“Careful,” he said, “you’ll knock me flat on my ass.”

“Why don’t we take this to bed, then? Or the couch – your choice.”

The couch was closer, and Elijah was at work, so they didn’t have to worry about being interrupted. Jackson chose the sofa. Moments later, the place where he’d spent so much time bored out of his mind became a temporary heaven.

It wouldn’t last – they had a lot to worry about – but damn, was it good.

* * * * *

Belle slept as close to the edge of the bed as she possibly could, leaving space between her and Jackson. Though she longed to feel the heat of his body, she couldn’t risk sleeping too close and possibly rolling into him and hurting his leg.

She slept like that for hours, and when she woke up in the dark, she almost fell off the edge of the mattress.

Gripping the bedclothes instinctively, she jerked and willed her suddenly racing heart to slow. The near fall had given her an adrenaline rush though, and her pulse kept pounding.

It wasn’t her proximity to the edge of the bed that had woken her up. No, there’d been a sound – a sound that came again as she listened.

“Damn it. Fuck!”

Jackson. Belle reached over to his side of the bed and felt nothing.

Throwing the covers aside, she hurried toward the door, hit the light and stepped out into the hall. In her mind’s eye, she could see him lying on the floor, fallen while navigating her dark apartment on his way to the bathroom.

He wasn’t there, though. She found him in the living room, sitting on her couch and glowering at the coffee table as if he wanted to put a fist through its glass surface.

“What’s going on?”

He looked up, his frown deepening. “Stubbed my toe on the coffee table – my left one. Hurt like a bitch, but it’s nothing.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “What are you doing out here? It’s three in the morning.”

“Heard a noise.”

Her gaze was drawn toward the door, and her heart gave a fast, lurching leap.

“What kind of noise?”

His frown faded halfway. “A couple of horny cats, apparently. Woke me up with their screeching. I was still half asleep and thought there might be some psycho out in the parking lot murdering someone. Realized what I was hearing by the time I got out here, and then…”

He indicated the coffee table.

For the first time, she noticed the Glock lying on its surface. She also noticed that something was missing.

“Where are your crutches?”

* * * * *

“I couldn’t use the crutches and carry a gun at the same time,” Jackson said.

“I didn’t realize you could walk without them already.”

“Turns out I can.”

“Are you sure you should be doing that?”

 “I’m fine, Princess.”

Except for his fucking toe. It hurt almost as much as his leg, and that was saying something.

She yawned, pressing the back of a hand against her mouth. “If you’re fine, then why do you look so pissed?”

He looked down at himself: the leg that was still thicker than the other one, thanks to swelling, and the bandages that flashed white beneath the gym shorts that had become his couch potato uniform.

“If there’d been some creep out there, I probably would’ve wasted so much time tripping over my own ass that they’d have gotten away. Maybe even hurt someone.”

“Tripping over your own ass? Now that’s just impossible.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her shoulders bowing beneath her cami’s tiny straps.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said. “There’s nobody out there.”

“Tonight, anyway. That we know of.” The knowledge that someone had targeted Belle – for what, he didn’t know – seared the back of his neck like a bad sunburn. He couldn’t shake the feeling, and he all but expected his skin to start peeling away in layers, exposing raw nerves.

She uncrossed her arms and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come back to bed. I’m so tired, and I won’t fall back asleep without you there.”

He stood and followed her gracelessly through the apartment, carrying the Glock. She flipped the lights off along the way and he shuffled through the darkness, feeling useless as the nerves in his leg fired pain signals to his brain.

The pain intensified with every step, and the high of reconnecting with Belle was tainted by the realization that he wasn’t able to protect her to the best of his abilities.

By the time they reached the bed, he was limping like a peg-legged pirate and had to stifle a sigh of relief as he sank down onto the mattress. Biting his tongue, he exhaled silently instead.

* * * * *

“What’s up, Belle?” Zackary ambushed her as she rounded a corner in the office, carrying a fresh cup of coffee.

“The usual.” She enjoyed her work, but it wasn’t exactly a wild ride. “You?”

He shrugged. “Not much going on so far this morning. You planning to go to the financial aid director’s retirement party?”

“Sure, I guess so.” The invitation had been waiting in her inbox when she’d gotten to work a couple hours ago. “Were you invited too?”

“Sort of. I know I’m just a student worker, but Keira said I can be her plus one.”

“That’s nice – you’ve been working here for a while now.”

He nodded. “Who are you bringing?”

“As my plus one? My boyfriend, if he’s feeling up to it.”

Zackary nodded, his mouth turning down at the corners. He knew about Jackson being shot. All the college staff seemed to know, and co-workers Belle was barely acquainted with asked about him regularly. Apparently, they’d all been duly impressed by the hero cop article.

“How’s he doing lately, anyway?”

“Getting better every day.”

“Well, it’ll be cool to meet him. He’s basically a local celebrity now.”

“I have a feeling he’d consider that a bit of a stretch.” She thought of Jackson bored at home in his gym shorts and knew he’d scoff at the idea.

Zackary shrugged. “All the college staff are pretty impressed. You think he’ll feel up to coming?”

“The party is still a couple weeks away. I’m hoping he’ll be feeling good enough for an evening out by then.”

“Good luck. And even if he can’t come, you’ll have me and Keira to hang out with.”

She nodded. If Jackson wasn’t feeling well enough to go to the party, she probably wouldn’t stay long, if she made an appearance at all. She didn’t bother saying so to Zackary. Ever since he’d found out she was dating Jackson the “hero cop,” he’d been less flirtatious toward her. Friendly and a little awkward, but he hadn’t made any amorous overtures in weeks.

It was a nice change, and she didn’t want to rock the boat.

* * * * *

“Hey.” Belle’s heart lightened when Jackson answered the door, standing on his own two feet without the aid of crutches.

“Hey.” He stepped aside – slowly but steadily – to let her into his apartment.

“You’re moving pretty good now that the stitches are out. How’s it feel?”

“It could definitely be worse. I can stand getting around the apartment on my own. Elijah picked up a cane for me at the drug store, but it makes me feel like an old man.”

“You’re anything but. Surely it’s more comfortable than the crutches, though?”

“Yeah.”

“So, I was debating whether to ask you, but since your recovery is going so well…”

“What is it?”

“We’re having a little party at work, about two and half weeks from now. Someone in the financial aid department is retiring. Anyway, I’m allowed to bring a guest. Would you like to come?”

“Sure.”

She smiled. “Great. It’ll give you a chance to get out of the house for a little while without exerting yourself too much. It’s just dinner.”

“What, no dancing?”

“Ha ha. They reserved a room at Moreno’s, and I know you like the food there. Should be fun.”

“Sounds good.”

His voice was at odds with his words – heavy, with a note of discontent she could’ve heard a mile away.

She glanced down at his leg, looking so much better now that the swelling had gone down and the stitches had been removed. Was he pushing himself to stand longer than was comfortable?

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

For a moment, he said nothing.

“Lieutenant Aldred called just before you got here.”

“And?”

“She’s coming back to work next week.”

“That’s good – she’ll be there when you get back.”

“Yeah. Whenever that’ll be.” He raised a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. “She said she’s been in some pretty heavy conversation with the chief lately. She wants Sanders fired, and it’s looking like it might happen.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” Why did he sound so troubled by it? It was exactly what he’d wanted.

“Yeah. If me taking a couple bullets loses him his job, it’ll almost be worth it. But he’ll go home and take it out on his wife – I know he will.”

Her heart sank. What Jackson had seen that day at the Sanders’ house had stayed with him, and it seemed as if it was always going to be that way. But what could he do? What could anyone do, if Kate Sanders wasn’t willing to leave or hold her husband accountable for his crimes?

“I keep thinking of her and the baby stuck at home with him 24/7. They’ll never catch a break.”

“Maybe it’ll spur her into action – maybe she’ll leave.”

“Doubt it.”

She touched his arm, tracing the swell of his biceps. “It’s rough to think about.”

He nodded. “She might be the next Marissa Brewer.”

Belle grimaced. Marissa Brewer was the name of the woman he’d rescued on the night of the shooting – the one he’d shielded from gunfire with his own body.

The thought made her blood run cold. She was so, so proud of him for what he’d done – the sacrifice he’d made. But the thought of him facing a situation like that again was terrifying.

“Next time she calls 911, it might be too late,” he said. “I can see Sanders going off the deep end in an alcoholic rage if he’s fired. Hell, I practically feel clairvoyant, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

She removed her hand from his arm and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “Have a seat. I’ll make some coffee, okay?”

She wanted something hot to dispel the chill his words had stricken her with, and it was also a convenient excuse to get him off his feet.

He sank down as she busied herself at the counter, dishing rich grounds into the coffee maker and inhaling their scent.

“You should voice your concerns to Lieutenant Aldred,” she said. “If anyone will understand, she will – don’t you think?”

“Already have.” He pressed his hands flat on the table, his brow creasing.

She nodded silently, then deliberately changed the subject.

“Will you be staying over at my place again tonight?” He’d been doing so ever since the night he’d banged his foot on her coffee table. Nothing strange or threatening had happened since then, but being there made him feel better, and that made her feel better in turn.

Besides, she liked having him around.

“As long as you’ll have me.”

“I can’t imagine kicking you out of bed.” She flashed him the warmest smile she could muster.

“Good. Being there is just about the one damn thing I can do for you – or anyone – right now.”