Lisa Desrochers - A Little Too Hot

And I swim.

I beat my way through the water, the drag of my clothes making it a challenge to stay afloat. But I keep going. I don’t heed the ache in my shoulder, or my burning lungs, or limbs that are turning to lead. I keep swimming.

And when I can’t move another muscle, I sink to the bottom and just sit here. My lungs are on fire, but I don’t care. It’s quiet down here, even my thoughts muffled.

Down here is the only place I’ve found peace since this whole thing started.

Down here, everything else goes away.

THROUGH THE SPOTS  flashing in my eyes, I see a streak of white bubbles as a splash sounds from the surface. The next second there’s a strong arm clamped around my chest, and I’m pressed to a hard body behind.

Blake pulls me to the surface and onto the stairs, where he sits, holding my limp body against his, our limbs twisted together as I gasp for air.

“I’m sorry,” he says into my hair.

I barely hear him over the pulse pounding in my ears, but the ache in his voice as he says it tears at my soul. I claw at him, burrowing deeper into his muscled chest. His arms circle me, gently at first, then more fiercely as ugly sobs start to erupt out of me. He crushes me against his body, holding me together as I fall apart, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” over and over, his lips moving on my forehead.

My last thought is that I’m suffocating without him, and then everything goes dark and I float away.

I WAKE UP in my bed and I have no recollection how I got here. . . . I was in the pool. Blake came in after me.

And now I’m in my sleep shirt under my sheets.

It’s sunset outside my window, and my hair is barely damp, so the pool must have been a while ago. My head throbs, trying to piece it together.

I pull myself to a sitting position and my head protests again.

“How are you feeling?” I look toward the door and find Blake sitting in the armchair in the corner. He still looks a little pale, but otherwise okay.

My eyes are draw to the bandage on his arm. “Good. How about you?”

“Never better.” He leans so his elbows are on his knees, and his gaze is all concern. “I can get you some coffee, or tea, or . . . anything you need.”

I swallow and my throat feels swollen. “Coffee would be good, thanks.”

He nods and stands. “I’ll be right back.”

The way he says it, like he’s afraid something will happen to me in the minute it takes him, makes me look at him funny. “Okay . . .”

He vanishes out the door, and a second later I hear him rattling around in the kitchen.

I sit and look at myself, wondering how I got into my sleep shirt. When I stumble into the bathroom, I find my jeans, tank, and bra hanging on the towel hooks to dry. But I’m in the same underwear, and it’s still a little damp between the legs.

I lean on the counter, trying to remember. Blake pulled me to the stairs. Then what?

I head out to the kitchen and nearly run into him on his way back to my room with my Alcatraz mug.

“You’re up.” He hands me the cup and I take it.

“Did you change me out of my clothes?” I demand.

He rubs his neck and turns back toward the kitchen, avoiding my eyes and my question, and that’s all the answer I need. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” I say, following him.

He ducks into the fridge, and when he comes out with a bowl of fresh strawberries, his eyes flick to mine. “We have counselors . . . at the agency.”

“Are you going to talk to them?” I ask, slipping onto a stool and setting my mug on the counter.

He tips his head in a question. “I meant for you . . . if you need to talk to someone.”

I pluck a berry from the bowl and bite it. “About . . . ?”

“About . . . what happened. You’ve been through a lot this last month, and . . . if you’re depressed, or . . .”

“I’m not depressed.”

“Sam,” he says, fixing me in a concerned gaze, “you tried to drown yourself.”

My eyes widen as I get what he’s thinking. “What? Hell, no! I’m not suicidal, Blake! I just . . . it’s all kind of overwhelming, you know? I just needed to turn off my brain for a little while.”

His gaze turns skeptical. “By swimming yourself to exhaustion and nearly drowning in the bottom of the pool?”

I shrug. “Yeah . . . I guess.”

He shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair, grabbing onto a fistful as he breathes out a frustrated sigh. “Christ, Sam. You scared the shit out of me.”

“If I ever get out of here, I’m going swimming in the ocean.” It’s a totally random thought, but I feel the sudden need to do it. Maybe I need to prove to myself I’m tough enough to handle anything, even sharks. Even Ben.

He leans on his elbows across the counter. “I thought you were galeophobic?”

I take my mug and go to the sofa, sinking into the corner and curling my legs under me. “But life is about facing your fears, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

He gives me a slow nod, the worry in his gaze shifting to something brighter—something that might be admiration. And I realize I want it to be. I want him to have a reason to think I’m something other than a babysitting job. I want to be someone worthy of his time.

“Are you going to get him?” I ask with a sudden determination to do anything I can to help.

He moves around the counter and settles onto the sofa next to me. “Our search of Arroyo’s records didn’t turn up the smoking gun we were hoping for. We haven’t been able to find anything to directly connect him to the disappearance of that girl, and we’ve come up nearly empty-handed with physical evidence from the club that would implicate him in Weber’s murder. They did a really good job of keeping the scene and the body clean. The only thing we’re sure about is you were the last person to see Weber alive. That means he didn’t leave Arroyo’s office on his own two feet. Arroyo most likely had his goons carry the body out.”

His goons.

I know he means Marcus, but I can’t help remembering how he always had my back. He wasn’t a goon; he was my big, scary guardian angel. There was genuine concern on his face when he came out of Ben’s office that night and saw me in the hall, shaking up against the door after I’d let Blake touch me.

There’s a jolt through my body as the image forms in my head. Grease on his hands.

“Could that have been blood?” I muse out loud.

Blake leans closer, a spark in his eye. “What? Did you remember something?”

I tip my head back onto the sofa, feeling a little sick. “Do you remember hearing anything, like a bang, when we were in the VIP room together that night?”

His ears flush and for the first time he looks truly embarrassed. “I don’t really . . .” He rubs the back of his neck, chagrin settling over his features. “My memory of that night isn’t as clear as it should be.”

“I heard something outside the room, which is what made me . . . it sort of snapped me out of . . . whatever,” I say, working really hard not to let my mortification show. “A few minutes later, when I went out into the hall, Marcus was just coming out of Ben’s office. He was wiping something off his hands. I thought it was grease. There was a towel. He threw it on the floor near Ben’s door.”

Blake’s face becomes suddenly animated as he gets what I’m saying. “Was Arroyo with him?”

“Ben was yelling something at Marcus through the door . . .” I close my eyes and try to think. “He wanted him to get Devin, the other bouncer, I think.”

The elevator door clanks, and I turn just as Cooper steps out. I’d forgotten that Blake said he was coming this morning.

Blake ignores him, all his attention focused on me. “But Arroyo was definitely in the room. You’re sure of that?”

I nod.

A smile breaks over his face as he moves off the sofa. “We’ve got him.”

He relays the information to Cooper as I refill my coffee, nearly spilling it because of my shaking hands. I take it to the counter, slip onto a stool and pick at the bowl of strawberries there, even though I’m not really hungry. They shoot me a few more questions, and once Cooper has all the details, he dials Jenkins and disappears into the elevator, apparently deciding that following up the lead is more important than babysitting Blake and me.

Blake is exhilarated. “This could be our smoking gun, Sam.” He shakes his head, and I see that look of admiration in his eyes again. “I never thought it would play out like this.”

I slip off the stool, licking my strawberry sticky fingers. “How, exactly, did you think it would play out?”

There’s a full ten seconds where he just stares at my lips, but then he clears his throat. “Your prostitution charge was just to get into Arroyo’s club records. I never thought we’d be able to put him away for murder. And I never in a million years thought you’d be the key.” He steps closer and his eyes spark as he sweeps a lock of hair behind my shoulder.

“It was because of you,” I say, my shaking, amplified by his proximity, showing in my voice. “You freaked me out in the VIP room. I was in the hall trying to pull my shit together when I saw him.”

He bites his lips between his teeth and stares down at me, the spark in his eyes becoming a slow burn.

We’re less than a foot apart and I can’t stop myself from touching him. I lift a hand and trace my finger along the edge of the bandage on his arm. “Does this hurt?”

His breathing becomes shaky at my touch and he leans forward a fraction of an inch. “Not much.”