Fade the Heat (18 page)

Reagan ached with the bone-deep realization that she was
gone
, utterly gone on this man, and that she would go to hell and back to help him through this.

“I thought…I just figured,” he said as he leaned forward to rest his forehead in his hands, “it would be better for her to have the truth all out at once.”

“You’re exhausted, Jack, and God knows you’ve got every reason to be stressed out. But this isn’t a tooth you’re pulling. It’s your sister’s business,” she said gently, though she would have liked to swat the side of his head with a rolled-up newspaper. Why did men always feel the need—in fact, the responsibility—to charge ahead, fixing everybody’s lives? Or maybe that was just a doctor thing, the result of having people come to him all day for solutions.

Still, she had to give him points for good intentions, so she kept her voice low and more or less free of exasperation. “You’re going to have to get past the fact that you helped raise her. She’s a grown woman now, one who’s made her own mistakes. You can still support her, be there for her if she’ll let you. But LuzMaria will
have to figure things out herself, the same as the rest of us.”

Aside from the questions of her miscarriage and relationship with Sergio, Jack’s sister was going to have to sort through some other issues, too. Reagan might have left out the incidents with Beau, but she had seen no way around telling members of the task force what she knew about Sergio, including the fact that he had been involved with Luz Maria. Reagan had been quick to add that Jack had seemed both shocked and appalled to learn that his sister’s boyfriend had ties to BorderFree.

But now wasn’t the time to bring up the legal situation. Not when Reagan couldn’t keep herself from leaning over and putting her arm around Jack’s shoulder. “Come on, champ. Let’s get you to bed.”

He looked up, a tired grin warming his handsome features and the devil playing in his dark eyes. “And here I thought you weren’t going to repeat the offer.”

She shook her head and stood, then helped hoist him to his feet. “If I ever do, I can assure you, you’re gonna need a full night’s sleep. Now, let’s go. I’ve learned a few things bringing patients here when I was on the ambulance. I know a place they’ll let you crash for a few hours.”

Trying to move him was like trying to tow an anchored barge.

“But what about my mother and my aunt? And what if there’s some change in Luz Maria?”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll go talk to your family—I’ll even take them home to rest and clean up if they’ll let me. And I’ll come and get you if there’s any news.”

“I thought you had to help out the Rozinskis.”

“I called over there a while ago. Donna’s already got more help than she can stand.” Reagan didn’t add that Beau had been there, and there was no way she wanted a scene with him to disrupt the preparations for their captain’s services.

Reagan’s words finally loosened Jack’s feet, and she had him moving him toward a room where she knew that bone-tired residents sometimes grabbed an hour’s shut-eye.

“And if the cops or the task-force guys come for me?” he asked.

She flashed him a quick smile. “Then I have absolutely no idea where you’ve gone.”

In spite of Jack’s exhaustion, not even the black chasm of sleep provided respite. At least it didn’t seem that way when someone shook him roughly after what felt like only seconds of sleep.

He looked up to see a huge figure looming over him in the dimness.

Jack shot out of the bed in record time. And felt his face heat at the realization that his “attacker” was one of the ER nurses, the heavyset black woman who had tried so hard to let him know his sister had woken up.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, sugar.” She flipped the lights on and dished up an apologetic smile to go with her deep Georgia accent. “Thought you’d best get up, though.”

“Is something wrong with LuzMaria?” He dragged his fingers quickly through his hair to push it out of his eyes.

“Not that I know of,” she told him. “But ’less I miss my guess, you got other trouble brewing. Your girl
friend out there, she’s got herself some temper. And I do believe she’s fixin’ to let it fly sufficient to get herself hauled out of here.”

It took Jack several moments to realize the nurse must be talking about Reagan. Had she finally lost patience with R.J. Lambert, Detective Worth, or one of the other investigators?

After thanking his informant, Jack hurried out of the room that residents had dubbed Motel 666. Glancing at his watch, he swore as he realized that instead of sleeping merely minutes, he’d been down for nearly four hours.

What had happened in that time?

His heart sank when he spotted the answer near the waiting area in the form of Paulo Rodriguez, who was nearly chest-to-chest with Reagan. And shouting down at her as if she were a puppy that had piddled on his carpet.

“You got handed your free ticket out, so why don’t you take that tight white ass of yours back up to the suburbs where the little blond
chicas
belong,” he told her.

Reagan didn’t back off, not a hairbreadth. Instead, she balled her fists and snarled up at him, “Because this particular little
chica’s
about to kick your flabby ass.”

Hustling toward them, Jack was quick to interrupt. “How about the two of you tone this discussion down a little? Unless you want security to throw you out.”

Both gazes jerked toward him, then blinked in apparent surprise, not only at Jack, but at the number of people in the waiting area who were staring in their direction.

“Come on,” Jack told them. “Let’s take a walk outside and cool off. There’s a little park across the street where we can talk.”

Getting outside had been an excellent idea, Jack decided, not only for the two combatants but for him as well. There was something about the fluorescent glow and antiseptic odors of hospitals that drained away his spirit, something that only nature had the power to counteract.

The sun had descended behind a nearby building, and the day’s warmth was slowly ebbing from both the sidewalks and the air. Yet he was comfortable in his shirt-sleeves, and his spirits lifted at the sensation of a light breeze against his skin and the sight of a live oak’s branches stirring with the progress of a squirrel.

Both Paulo and Reagan appeared calmer, too, Paulo looking at a mother walking twin toddlers on a pair of leashes while a tiny puffball dog ran loose at her side. Reagan, for her part, was staring at the pale disk of the rising moon.

“You two shouldn’t be allowed in the same zip code,” Jack told them. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to step between you.”

The illusion of peace evaporated as Reagan turned to glare at Paulo. “Yeah, well, he’s still a bush-league bully.”

Paulo grabbed the lapel of his expensive suit and snarled back, “You better watch who you call bush league. I never got a goddamn break my whole life, but I could buy and sell your ass three times over.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Paulo. But unlike your girlfriends’ asses, mine’s not for sale.”

Jack felt a stab of irritation. “Why don’t you knock it off, both of you? We aren’t kids anymore, for God’s
sake. Now, either tell me what’s going on, or take this little lovefest somewhere else. Because, frankly, I have plenty of other things to worry about.”

“My Mustang,
por ejemplo
,” Paulo tossed back at him.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Jack told him. “If I hadn’t let Luz Maria borrow it, she never would have been hurt, and your car wouldn’t have been—”

“I was sad to hear about your sister,
compa
,” Paulo told him, though he darted a glance at Reagan as he spoke. “I’m glad she’s gonna make it.”

Reagan nodded almost imperceptibly, and Jack suddenly got it. The two of them must have argued after Paulo strolled in demanding to know who was going to pay for the damage to his car. No doubt, without a word concerning Luz Maria.

“Who did it, man?” asked Paulo. “That’s all I want to know. Who messed with what was mine and what was yours? I heard about that racist shit they found all over the walls around your sister. If that bastard Winter had something to do with it—”

There was a promise of violence in the words that detonated cold shocks in Jack’s gut. Much as he hated Darren Winter, the sort of retribution he’d grown up calling “street justice” wasn’t going to fix this mess.

“I’ll take responsibility,” Jack offered. “I may not have much else, but I have some insurance.” With all the disasters, both physical and financial, that wandered into his clinic day after day, insurance had seemed a necessity, one he hadn’t fully appreciated until he’d called his agent earlier.

Triggered by the dusk, the park’s automatic lights kicked on, and the diamond stud at Paulo’s ear winked brightly.

Paulo shook his head and pinned Jack with a hard look, then thumped an index finger against his chest. “I tell you this straight up,
amigo.
Somebody’s gonna pay. And it fuckin’ won’t be you or me.”

Reagan stared after Paulo as he stalked off toward the parking garage. She’d seen his ugly face plastered in the papers often enough to know he’d built himself a business and glad-handed the right people, but she’d never trust the jackass as far as she could throw him. To her way of thinking, kids who took pleasure in tormenting anyone younger or smaller didn’t magically grow into sainthood, no matter how much time they spent polishing the halos they fashioned out of stolen hubcaps.

“Friends like him will make your enemies obsolete,” she mused.

Jack pulled a face. “Someone should tell that to the crowd gunning for me. It would be a hell of a lot more convenient if I could consolidate my troubles into one man. But at least Paulo’s popped out of the woodwork with offers of support. It’s more than any of my other friends have done.”

“Last I noticed,
I’m
here.” She felt peevish saying it,
but being unfavorably compared to Paulo brought out the worst in her.

To her utter astonishment, Jack took both her hands in his and looked her in the eyes. Something in his dark gaze made her stomach flutter, just the way it had when they were kids. Only now, she understood that the feeling was attraction. It was dead stupid, ill-timed, and probably disastrous as well, but that realization did nothing to diminish the reality.

“You certainly are,” he said, “and it means more to me than I can tell you.”

He was going to kiss her; she saw it in his face, heard it in his voice.

Desperate to throw a damp towel on this lunacy, she started babbling. “Your sister was awake again. Your mama and your aunt saw her. They didn’t get much out of her. She didn’t want to talk, they said.”

“She’ll speak to me,” he murmured, but his face still hadn’t lost that look, and his hands still held hers firmly.

The contact felt so warm and safe, it was almost impossible to focus on the downside, or even to remember that there was one. The fine hairs on her neck rose, and a hot tingling started in her lips, only to spread to places she had no business thinking of in public. She sucked in a deep breath in the hope that some of the oxygen would make it to her brain.

“I took your family home,” she said, “to get a little rest and eat. Your mama’s car’s still here, though—she told me you picked it up from my place earlier. She thought you could drive it to the house if you’d like—but if anything more happens, you’re to call her
instantáneamente.
”

“Hey, that’s pretty good for a blond
chica.
”

“One of my many talents.” Apparently, the deep breath hadn’t helped, for her voice had gone all raspy, a surefire sign of estrogen impairment.

Wise up
, screamed her better judgment.

His thumb caressed her knuckle, and she felt her willpower ebb away. In a last-ditch effort, she warned, “Those cops are probably watching, and the FBI.”

“Let ’em watch
this
, then.” Rebellion crackled in his words as he let go of her hands and dragged her into his arms with the desperation a drowning man usually reserved for a life ring.

For a split second, she thought the two of them had been struck by lightning, despite the fact that she hadn’t seen a single cloud. What she did see was the electric flash of blue-white arcing at the outer edges of her vision. And she could swear she felt the soles of her shoes melting to the sidewalk.

But as the current running through her strengthened, it came to Reagan that Jack Montoya was
kissing
her, kissing her for all he was worth. Which to her way of thinking was about a million bucks…and climbing steadily.

Just as she was really settling in and beginning to enjoy herself, the rational part of her mind got the upper hand. Pushing herself away from him, she felt an almost painful jolt as his lips left hers.

“You—you want to commit suicide, you leave me out of it,” she stammered.

He drew back to look at her as if she’d landed a right cross to his heart.

“Think about it,” she said. “You know, WWYLD?”

“
What?
”

“What Would Your Lawyer Do? Or
say
, in this case?”

Jack smiled ruefully. “He’d probably say he wished
he had a bighearted, beautiful, brilliant woman of his own to kiss.”

She hooted. “If I’m so smart, what am I doing kissing you back?”

Raising his brows, he ventured, “You just can’t help yourself?”

Before she could come up with a suitable retort, something in Jack’s pocket beeped. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open, then shook his head, his expression sobering. “Sorry, Reagan, but I’m going to have to get this voicemail.”

She meandered toward one of the benches and told herself she should be grateful for the interruption. So why, then, did a rush of disappointment overwhelm her?

Before she could begin to order her thoughts, Jack rejoined her. Whatever he’d heard had swept the last fragments of lust—or lunacy—from his expression.

“I’ve got to get away from here,” he said. “I’ll check in on my sister, and then—”

“What is it, Jack?”

He hesitated, the wind ruffling his dark hair, tugging wisps of it in front of his eyes. She longed to brush it off his forehead, but she didn’t dare touch him. Not if she wanted common sense to rule the day.

“I have to leave for a while,” he told her. “It’s about—one of my patients.”

One of his
illegal
patients
, she decided.

A thought occurred to her, so dangerous and ugly that she had to warn him. “Have you stopped to think that someone could be setting you up? I caught some of the news in the waiting room, and I can tell you, the media’s all over this, right down to the so-called ‘hate crime’ committed at my house. They couldn’t be more
thrilled if someone had burned a cross. Just think of the fun they’d have if they could catch you doing something shady. Or what about the authorities? From what I hear, there’s a hell of a lot of heat on that task force. This could be a sting, right?”

Jack didn’t deny anything. “The party that called—I know this person, Reagan. She would never trust the authorities, or the media either. She can’t afford to.”

So his patient was definitely a foreign national. Was it a mother calling for her child? Or did Jack’s illegal acts of compassion extend to adults as well?

She decided it would be better not to ask, better not to know any more than she did already. WWYLD, she reminded herself, even though, so far, she hadn’t bothered to consult an attorney.

Considering the tightrope she was walking whenever she spoke to investigators, it might be time to change that. Even if she already could guess—but didn’t want to hear—what any first-year law student would almost certainly tell her.

Stay as far away from Doctor Jack Montoya as you can.

As Jack walked back inside the hospital, he was already working through the logistics, his mind running through the precautions he would take as he moved pharmaceutical samples from the clinic to his mama’s car, then took the new inhalers to the mother who had called about her little girl. It wasn’t strictly an emergency—the child wasn’t currently in distress—but she needed more medication to keep her wheezing under control. Since the girl’s asthma tended to peak in the hours before dawn, Jack wanted to get the inhalers to her this evening.

But Reagan walked beside him, her presence pulling
at his attention with the gentle insistence of the sea tugging at a wader’s legs. Turning toward her, he noticed the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes. “You should go now, Reagan. Grab something to eat and get a good night’s sleep.”

He struggled to steady his voice, though he wanted more than anything to take her home, to lay her down and kiss her until the dam broke and all their grief and tension could spill free…

No, that wasn’t right, he realized. He’d been lying to himself to think he wanted Reagan as some anonymous release from stress. He simply
wanted
her, as he hadfromthatfirstmomentshehadsetfootinhisoffice.

She nodded. “Home sounds really good now—even if I can’t sleep in my own bed.”

“Are you allowed to get it cleaned up?”

She nodded. “I’m going to call a company that does that sort of thing. Insurance ought to cover most of the work.

“But I can’t worry about that now,” she added. “All I can think about is getting through the services tomorrow. I still…I still can’t believe Joe’s gone. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the services.”

Her grief cast a pall over his thoughts. How could he have thought of making love to her while she was in such pain? “I wish I could go with you. I’d like to pay my respects, for one thing.”

“Bad idea,” she said. “Really terrible right now. Just pray for Donna, will you? And pray the task force finds the bastards who caused her husband’s death.”

“I plan to do more than that. I mean to get them to stop wasting their time on me and put everything they’ve got into finding Sergio—or whoever set that fire.”

Her blue eyes glistened. “I hope to God you can.”

Fighting the impulse to gather her in his arms again, Jack quickly changed the subject. “I know you’re eager to get home, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you stayed somewhere else until you’ve had new locks installed and an alarm put in. I’d like to pay for—”

She shook her head. “Forget about paying, Jack. You’ve lost everything you own, and I can handle my deductible. Besides, I’ve been meaning to put in an alarm ever since I moved into the house.”

She’d lost so much because of him: her captain and close friend, as well as her sense of security. Jack’s mind replayed the gut-freezing moment when Sergio had pressed his gun against her head—and he thought of how she still had more to lose.

Such as her life, which he had come to feel was more important than his own.

“The best one you can buy,” he told her. “I’m telling you, it’s on me.”

“We can argue about that later,” she said in a tone that told him it wouldn’t do him any good. “And I’ll be fine tonight. Peaches has offered me her guest room as long as I need it, and she’s already defrosting one of her supposedly world-famous chicken jalapeno casseroles.”

“That sounds like a great idea.” Whatever the state of Peaches’s gender, she—or was it really
he?
—seemed to be a true friend. The casserole sounded good, too, especially since Jack was likely to grab a fast-food saturated-fat bomb on his way to the clinic.

“You want Peaches’s number?” Reagan asked. “I’d like to hear if there’s any change in Luz Maria.”

She gave him the phone number, and Jack started programming it into his cell phone’s memory. Halfway through, he paused, his finger hovering over
the keypad. “About what happened across the street before,” he said, “I’m sorry, Reagan. I have no business dragging you into this any deeper.”

Ever so gently, she took the phone from his hands and punched in the remaining digits. Passing it back, she nailed him with an unflinching storm-blue gaze. “Nobody drags me anywhere, Montoya. I’m here because I want to be. For you.”

It took everything he had not to pull her back in his embrace. He wanted—needed, really—to believe what she was saying and to believe in what he’d felt between them as they’d touched. But there was something else, too, something hard and cold that glittered in those eyes of hers.

The hunger to find Joe Rozinski’s killer.

Jack couldn’t stop wondering, did that explain the rest? Was Reagan’s interest in staying close to him motivated by her need for revenge?

And would that revenge destroy his sister, who had already suffered so much for her errors? His mouth wentdryatthethoughtthathemighthavetobetheone to tell LuzMaria. About her lost pregnancy. And perhaps about Sergio as well, for Jack knew that, with her head injury, LuzMaria might very well not recall the events that had led up to her accident.

Including who had run her off the road.

But at the moment, Reagan was looking at him, her declaration still hanging in the air.

“Thank you,” he said simply as he pushed the button for the elevator. “If you don’t hear from me before then, I’ll call you after the services tomorrow.”

“That would be fi—”

“Montoya,” someone called from behind them. “Dr. Montoya, may I have a word with you?”

Jack stiffened at the voice, which he’d been hearing in his nightmares—as well as on his answering machine—for the past two weeks.

As Winter stalked toward him, the first thing Jack noticed was the permanent set of scowl lines engraved in his long face. Which made sense, considering the man was perpetually pissed off about the sorry state of the country—or the fact he didn’t run it, at least for the time being.

The radio commentator’s frown deepened, and he loosened the knot of his red tie as if the thing was choking back his anger. “I just wanted to
thank
you, Dr. Montoya”—venom dripped from every syllable—“for robbing this city of its best shot at a decent mayor—”

“You mean Thomas Youngblood’s dropped out of the race?” Reagan interjected. She might be playing dumb, but malicious glee shone in her eyes.

Winter’s face flushed, the red contrasting with his sandy hair and sun-bleached brows. But he spared Reagan no more than a dismissive sneer before returning his attention to Jack. “I don’t know how you orchestrated these…these
stunts
of yours with those murdering radicals, but I swear to you I’ll find out, and I
will
clear my name. And see you in prison—or better yet, deported, you filthy, connivi—”

“I hate to interrupt you mid-tirade,” Jack said dryly, “but they don’t deport Americans.”

“Whose idea was it to paint quotes you’d heard on my show on those walls?” Winter demanded. “You knew damn well the media would be chomping at the bit to link me with this bullshit—”

“It’s hell, isn’t it?” asked Jack. “Having irresponsible broadcasters tell lies about you on the air.”

“If they
are
lies,” Reagan added.

Winter glared at her. “Who the hell are you? Another of those goddamned radicals? Or just one of their whores?”

Jack knew the man was upset, but the insult to Reagan stunned him—and sent his temper rocketing past the boiling point.