Lisa Desrochers - A Little Too Hot

“No!” I scream. My towel drops to the floor, forgotten, as I run toward them.

Blake and Marcus are tangled together on the floor. I don’t see any blood, but they’re wrestling for the gun.

“Get to the panic room!” Blake barks.

My heart feels like a trapped rabbit. “I’m not going without you.”

“I said go, Sam,” he groans as Marcus grabs for his family jewels.

I lunge for the hair spray can as Blake cries out. I aim for Marcus’s face and spray.

He lets go of Blake’s junk and claws at his face. Blake yanks at the gun, but Marcus’s huge paw stays wrapped around it.

“Go, Sam! Now!” he shouts at me. “I’ll come for you.”

Marcus swings out with his free hand and catches Blake across the jaw, so I spray him again, then give him an elbow to the nose for good measure.

“Get the hell out of here!” Blake shouts, yanking the gun from Marcus’s hand as he cries out. He plants a knee in Marcus’s chest and points it at his face.

I start to grab for my towel, but Blake stands and shoves me toward the door. “Leave it! Panic room! Now!”

He’s got the gun. He’s okay. My eyes plead with him to come with me, but his expression hardens and he jerks his head toward the hall.

So I go. I run down the stairs and yank open the door behind the pool table. Once I’m inside, I pull it closed and tug the lever. I hear the metal dead bolts of the bullet-resistant door clank into place as a fluorescent bulb flickers to life overhead.

I slide down the wall, shaking, and rest my head on my knees. I’m hyperventilating, but I know if I pass out, I won’t hear Blake when he comes for me.

Blake. Blake, Blake. Please be okay.

It’s a long time before I can even calm my thoughts enough to think about anything else. Finally, I lift my head and look around. There’s a chest in the back corner. I stand and move to it. There’s a case of drinking water inside, a dozen or so cans of food, and a flashlight.

I’m naked in a panic room with nothing but food. A blanket would have been nice. Or a phone.

I sit on the chest and stare at the door. How long has it been? Shouldn’t Blake have come for me by now? Should I go out there? What if Marcus got the upper hand? What if Blake’s dead?

I crumple into a ball, my forehead on my knees and my hands over my head.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

He has to be.

God, it’s been hours! Or minutes. I have no freaking idea how long I’ve been in here.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I have to know what’s going on.

I pull the lever and the dead bolts click back. Slowly, I crack the door open.

“Hello, Jezebel. You gave us a scare.”

My heart kicks. “Cooper?”

“The one and only.”

I breathe a relieved sigh and peek around the door. He’s there, coming around the pool table toward me. “Blake? Is he okay?”

“Casanova is fine,” he says, but there’s something heavy in his tone.

“What’s wrong?” I say, unable to hide my panic.

“Come on out. We have some things to sort through.”

“Um . . . do you have a towel or something? I’m kind of naked.”

He blows out a sigh and hangs his head, then pushes away from the pool table. “I’ll be back.”

I tuck behind the door and wait, my heart pounding.

“Jez,” Cooper says a few minutes later. “I got you something.” His hand juts through the crack in the door with my robe in it.

I take it from him and slip it on, then tie the sash. When I step out, Cooper has this paternal disappointment on his face. “Come upstairs,” he says, turning and crossing the room without waiting for me.

“Where’s Blake?”

He shoots me a glance over his shoulder but says nothing.

When we get to the top of the stairs, I start for my room, but Cooper grasps my arm and leads me into the family room . . . and my heart stalls.

Perched on a bar stool, her legs crossed, is a woman in a smart blue pencil skirt and a white blouse, with dark hair wrapped into a clip on the back of her head.

I listen for any sound from my room, but the house is quiet. I turn to Cooper. “Where’s Blake?” I ask again.

“He’s been taken down to the office to be debriefed,” the woman answers.

“Who are you?”

She steps toward me and holds out her hand. “I’m Special Agent in Charge Navarro.”

I tug my robe tighter with one hand as I shake hers with the other.

“This morning’s events demonstrate that you’re still not safe,” she says. “We need to relocate you for a few days until we’ve sorted everything out.”

“How did Marcus find me?”

“Special Agent Montgomery is convinced we’ve got someone on the inside helping Arroyo’s men, and if that’s the case, we need to determine who and how. We also need to know if Arroyo is still after you, or if this Marcus was acting alone.”

“But the murder charge has been dropped. Why is this happening?”

“Pissing off a mob boss is never a good idea,” she says. “Put some clothes on and pack your things.”

I turn and step cautiously into my room. The bed is just how Blake and I left it, a tangle of sex-ravaged sheets.

What’s happening to him?

I look at the floor where he wrestled with Marcus. There’s no blood, so I hope that means he’s okay.

I tug on clothes and fold everything else into the roll-away suitcase someone left inside my door, then sit on the bed and smooth my hand over the spot where Blake laid on top of me only a few hours ago. Finally, I stand and drag the suitcase out to the elevator. Tears prick my eyes as I step into it and look back at the place where I fell in love with him. And I realize as the doors close, this was the only place I’ve really felt welcome in a long time. Blake made this home for me.

IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS   since I last saw Blake. They moved me to a house inside the Presidio, waiting for it to be “safe” enough to let me go. It’s gated, so I guess they figure between the private security and Jenkins, no one will get to me here.

I’m pretty convinced I’ll never be safe.

Since there’s no pool, I stay in my room most of the time. There’s just enough floor space in here that I can work through my kata. So I do. A lot. It’s the only thing keeping me sane.

Every time I ask Jenkins what happened to Blake, he gives me the evil eye. Every time I ask Jenkins how long I have to stay here, he gives me the evil eye. Every time I ask Jenkins what’s for dinner, he gives me the evil eye. So I’ve stopped asking him things. I don’t think he wants to be here any more than I do.

A cool San Francisco breeze wafts in through my open window, drying the sheen of sweat on my neck and face as I work through my last series of kicks. I stand and bow, then flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling.

The knock at my door surprises me. Jenkins usually leaves me alone.

“What?” I yell, sitting up.

The door cracks open and he sticks his ginormous head through. “There’s someone here you’ll want to see.”

My heart leaps. It’s got to be Blake. There’s no one else I want to see who they’d let in here.

I spring off the bed and nearly knock Jenkins over pushing past him out the door. I bound into the living room.

“Jezebel,” Cooper says.

My eyes dart around the room, but there’s no one else. The air is knocked out of my lungs.

“Have a seat.” He waves me into the sofa and sits on the coffee table across from me.

I sit, petrified. I can’t force words up my throat, because the only thing I can think to ask is if Blake’s okay, and I’m terrified of what his answer will be.

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “Special Agent in Charge Navarro has decided Arroyo is no longer a threat. We’re sending you home.”

My eyes spring wide. “Home?” But as I say it, I realize I have no idea where home is. I can’t go back to Mom’s . . . at least not until I sort some things out. All my stuff is still at Jonathan’s, but I truly hate myself for thinking the worst of him when all he was trying to do was help. How can I ever apologize for that? I can’t go back to Katie’s. Izzy? Last time I saw her, we’d just gotten shot at. She was pretty shaken.

I belong nowhere.

“Sam?” Cooper says, and the sound of my actual name coming from his mouth shakes me out of my scrambled thoughts.

“Where’s Blake?”

He stands and rubs his palms down his slacks. “It’s a nice day out. Why don’t we take a walk?”

I gain my feet and find they’re numb, cement blocks at the end of spaghetti legs. We pass Jenkins, who’s standing in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, and he starts to follow us to the door.

“You know, Jenkins,” Cooper says, flashing him a look, “I think we’re good. Why don’t you stay here and pack your stuff?”

Jenkins gives him a narrow-eyed look and turns for his room.

We slip through the door into rare San Francisco summer sun. There’s a stiff breeze off the ocean, but it’s not cold for a change.

I watch the sidewalk unfold as we stroll toward the water. “Is he okay?”

Cooper walks next to me, his head down and his hands in his pockets. “He’s on administrative suspension.”

“Because of me.”

It’s not a question, but he nods anyway. “In a manner of speaking, but not for the reason you think.”

“What do you mean?”

Out of the corner of my eye I see him lift his head and look at me. “Blake needs your help, Sam.”

I stop walking and look at him with wide eyes, my heart galloping a mile a minute. “What does he need? I’ll do anything.”