Nick stared down at him for a long moment, his expression icy. Finally, he looked over at Jordan. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes.” Hearing the tremor in her voice, she cleared her throat. “I think so.” She pushed herself up with one arm, holding her injured wrist to her chest.
“You’re hurt.” Nick shoved the gun against Xander, who half grunted, half whimpered. “Care to explain how that happened?”
“She tripped and fell.”
“Now there’s an original answer,” Nick said disgustedly.
Someone approached from behind them. Jordan turned and saw the agent who’d put the monitoring device on Kyle’s ankle. Agent Pallas, if memory served.
“I checked the cellar,” he told Nick. “No sign of Trilani or anyone else.” He raised an eyebrow at Xander’s position. “We’re good here?”
Nick eased his gun off Xander’s forehead with what seemed to be a great deal of reluctance. “Yes. We’re good.” With one hand, he caught a pair of handcuffs that Agent Pallas tossed over. He yanked Xander up by the lapels of his coat. “Please try to resist. It would make my day.”
“Fuck you, McCall,” Xander said. But he held his hands out complacently as Nick slid on the cuffs.
Agent Pallas walked over to the front door and unlocked it. “We’re clear.” Another FBI agent in a bulletproof vest and two police officers stormed into the store, guns drawn. Nick handed Xander over to the other agents, and then walked toward Jordan.
He bent down and took her hand. “Think you can stand?” he asked softly.
She was very aware of the five extra pairs of eyes on her, one pair of which belonged to the man who’d just held a gun to her head. “Get me out of here. Please.”
Nick nodded. He helped her up, being careful with her wrist. He led her toward the door, stopping to address the younger FBI agent. “Did you call for an ambulance?”
“It’s on the way,” the agent said.
Nick looked at Xander, whose face was strained with the pain of the gunshot wound. “Get another one for him. Tell them to take their time.”
As he led Jordan out of the store, she bumped her wrist against her chest and sucked in a breath at the flash of pain. “I think it’s getting worse.”
“It’s the adrenaline wearing off,” Nick said tersely. He led her over to his car and opened the door to the backseat. “You should sit here while we wait for the ambulance.”
“Just a heads up: I might throw up in your car from the pain.”
His eyes flashed, yet still there was no quip or sarcastic comment. He was acting very un-Nick-like.
“I can handle it,” he said. After he’d gotten her settled, he stood up and did the weirdest thing.
He began to pace next to the car.
Jordan watched him go back and forth, all intense strides and furious turns. At one point, he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. Then he stopped abruptly and knelt down next to the car.
“Still think you’re going to throw up?” he asked.
Jordan shook her head, baffled. “No.”
“Good.” Nick grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her.
Well, then.
She forgot all about the pain in her wrist.
Nick pulled back and looked her over, his face filled with worry. “One more second and he would’ve hit you with the gun. And who knows what else. When I think about what could’ve happened …” He gripped her shoulders determinedly. “I should’ve told you this earlier, Jordan. Now that I’ve got my chance, you’re going to hear it whether you like it or not. You came into my life and messed the whole thing up and now I’m screwed. Because I’m in love with you. As in balls-out, head-over-heels, watching-Dancing-with-the-Stars -on-Monday-nights , wine-and-bubble-bath kind of love. Hell, I think I’d even wear a scarf indoors for you.”
Jordan smiled, her eyes misty, as she touched his cheek. “That’s the best kind of love.”
She took a deep breath. “I have a few things to say myself. Mainly just one, actually. Don’t take this next undercover assignment. Stay with me instead.”
Nick’s eyes pierced hers, refusing to let her off that easily. “Tell me why.”
“Because … I love you.” She exhaled. No take-backs. The words were out there forever.
And it felt great.
He pulled her against his bulletproof vest. “About time you said it,” he said gruffly. “It’s been three damn weeks.” He kissed her, and just as his hand curled around the nape of her neck, someone behind them cleared his throat.
Jordan pulled back and saw a gray-haired man wearing a no-nonsense, FBI-type suit standing next to the car. She also saw that the once-quiet scene outside her wine store was swarmed with FBI agents and police officers.
Oops.
“First Pallas and now you,” the gray-haired man said, shaking his head at Nick. “It’s like I’m running a goddamn dating service around here.” He spun around. “Wilkins! Huxley!” he barked. “Next case that involves a single woman – you’re up.”
Standing at the sidewalk, Agent Wilkins pumped his fist excitedly. “Yes.”
Huxley adjusted his glasses with a grin, looking decidedly pleased.
“That was supposed to be sarcastic. I’m getting too old for this shit,” the gray-haired man mumbled under his breath. He turned to Jordan with a smile. “Ms. Rhodes – I’m Mike Davis, the special agent in charge. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see that you’re safe.” He nodded approvingly at Nick before walking away. “Good work, McCall. As always.”
Jordan thought of something. “Wait – how did you know I was in trouble?” she asked Nick. “The panic button calls the police, not the FBI.”
“The day after Xander’s party, I put taps on both your home and store phone lines,” he said.
“I don’t recall us having any discussion about you doing that.”
Nick grinned cheekily, looking like his old self again. “I told you I was keeping an eye on you, Rhodes.”
She heard the sound of an approaching ambulance. Her cue. “Not to play the needy girlfriend card or anything, but do you think you can come with me to the hospital? Because any minute, I’m going to freak out over the fact that I had a gun pointed at my head, and it’s not going to be pretty.”
She had no clue what she’d said, but from the sudden look of tenderness on Nick’s face, it seemed to strike a chord with him.
He reached up and stroked her uninjured cheek. “If you need me, I won’t leave your side. I promise.”
Thirty-two
THEY MADE HIM leave her side.
Due to so-called hospital “policy” and “safety regulations” – aka a load of bullshit – they wouldn’t let Nick accompany Jordan into the X-ray room. He was debating whether to pull out his gun or his FBI badge – figuring one of them ought to do the trick – when Jordan squeezed his hand.
“I’ll be fine. Maybe you could try to round me up a Vicodin or something for my wrist?” she suggested.
He threw her a knowing look. “You’re trying to distract me.”
“Yes. Because I see you making the don’t-fuck-with-me face. And if you start shooting people, they’ll get bumped ahead of me in the X-ray line, and then I’ll really be screwed.”
With a glare at the hospital staff, Nick reluctantly headed out to the waiting room. To distract himself, he called Davis. “Any idea yet how Eckhart knew we were on to him?”
“He’s not saying a word,” Davis said. “Except that he wants to talk to a lawyer, of course. How’s Jordan?”
“She’s getting some X-rays taken. Her wrist is definitely broken; I don’t know yet about her cheekbone. You can tell the U.S. attorney that I better see charges for assault, battery, and false imprisonment added to Eckhart’s indictment.” Nick paused. “And when I get back to the office, I want to speak with you privately. About the kind of work I’m going to be doing going forward.”