“Don, seriously, I’m—”
“Just go with it, Jo,” he interrupted, reminding her that chafing at the restrictions wouldn’t help. “This is an easy assignment, but an important one.”
“Just keep an eye on him, and keep a low profile—or try to. I know it’s not your strength,” he said dryly.
“Fine. If you could send me dossiers on a couple people he has working here, that would help.”
She gave him Charlie’s and Lisa’s names. She would feel better once she knew more about the people around Callahan. You never really knew who the enemy was in these cases.
“Will do. You’ll get them electronically. Check in when you can. We don’t have any backup out there for you in the immediate vicinity except for local law enforcement, so if you see trouble, let us know ASAP. Don’t try to handle it yourself. Do you hear that, Jo?”
Hearing a squeak in the boards outside her door, she turned, and changed her tone to a whisper.
“Same as I’ve heard it the twenty other times you said it,” she responded smartly. “Gotta go. I’ll be in touch,” she said, hanging up and walking closer to the door, listening.
She didn’t know if she had just imagined the noise or not.
It could just be the musicians setting up downstairs. Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays the roadhouse had live bands playing, and she’d seen the guys drive in and unpack their gear while she was on the phone.
Her apartment would not be quiet until well past midnight tonight, or for the next few nights, but if the music was good, maybe she’d go downstairs and enjoy it.
A thudding sound, and then a hard, loud knock had her stepping back in surprise, bumping into the table and knocking over the lamp on the small table by the door, her heart hammering. The lamp didn’t break, and she picked it back up, settling it on the table.
“Joanna?” she heard Callahan’s voice on the other side. “What was that? Are you okay?”
She grimaced, standing and setting her phone on the table before she opened the door to find him standing there, a boxed air conditioner at his feet.
“Everything okay in there?” he asked, peering past.
“Fine. I just upset the lamp on my way to the door,” she said, her pulse calming somewhat as she looked back down at the AC unit.
“Here’s the air conditioner. I can get it installed in just a few minutes. Where do you want it?”
Joanna watched appreciatively as he bent to pick up the appliance, which wasn’t small. She enjoyed watching the strong play of muscles in his shoulders and back as he did so.
Swallowing hard, she hoped her warm cheeks didn’t give her away as he met her eyes again.
“So, where do you want it?”
“I’m fine, actually. The place is great with all the windows open.”
He shook his head doubtfully. “Supposed to get up over one hundred again tomorrow.”
“You didn’t need to go to so much trouble.”
She was screwing this up, she knew, and chastised herself for arguing with him. Any form of connection she could forge with Callahan would help her do her job, so why was she rebuffing him? Something about him just made her … itchy.
“Okay, if you say so,” he said, shrugging muscular shoulders as if the air conditioner didn’t weigh a thing.
He turned away, and she closed her eyes, blowing out a breath and sucking up her natural self-reliance. Joanna Wyatt, the U.S. Marshal, didn’t need a guy to take care of her or worry about her, but Joanna Wallace, the waitress without a penny to her name, would not refuse this kindness. And it was hot in the apartment, even with the windows open.
“Wait,” she said, stepping out onto the small, square landing in front of the door and putting a hand on his back to stop his progress.
They both stilled, and she paused a moment before taking her hand away. He turned, his eyes seeming a little darker, a little hotter.
“Yes?”
“Listen, thanks. It would probably make nights more comfortable. I just didn’t want you doing me any special favors.”
“It’s just an air-conditioner.”
She nodded. Callahan was a stand-up guy. A nice guy.
She was being ridiculous. This was about her and her hormones, not about him.
“Uh, this is getting heavy,” he said, interrupting her train of thought. “I thought the bedroom might be the best idea?”
Her heart rate skyrocketed. “What?”
“It will keep it cool at night. For sleeping,” he said, not seeming to notice her reaction.
“Oh, right, that makes sense,” she agreed, stepping back into the apartment and holding the door open for him.
“Bedroom it is,” he said, and walked past her and then back to the bedroom.
Holding her breath and praying he would leave before she gave in to her baser instincts, she followed him into the small bedroom, ignoring every warning bell that was ringing in her head.
Joanna turned out of the room and went back to the kitchen, pacing, as she listened to Callahan in her bedroom wrestling the air conditioner into the small window. When she heard profuse cursing, she gave in and went to see if she could help. Surely she was not so pathetic as not to be able to stand in a room with the man, was she?
“Everything okay?” she asked from the doorway. “Do you need help?” Was that her voice sounding a pitch higher and slightly breathless?
“As much as it dents my masculine ego to admit it, I could use a hand with this window,” he said with a short laugh. “The sash cord seems to be broken, and I nearly got my hand caught in there on the last try,” he said. He was squatting on the floor in the small space between the bed and the window, wearing a chagrined smile.
She nodded, crawling over the bed, the only way to get to the other side of the air conditioner without crawling over him.
She wasn’t trying to be enticing, but as she crawled on all fours over the fresh linens that Lisa had brought up, she saw a muscle tick in his jaw as he watched her.
It made her want to lick the spot.
He might let her, too. She’d been around enough men to sense that particular sort of tension in their bodies, that look that said they wanted to get naked as soon as possible.
She was here in a small, overly warm bedroom with a sexy hunk of a guy who she was pretty sure could make her sleep well tonight. Or not sleep at all.
A noise from below, the strong strum of a guitar chord made her jump, and she looked up, seeing him smile.
“Forgot the band was warming up.”
“They any good?” she asked, making small talk as she swung her legs over and squatted down on the opposite side of the AC unit, pinched between the wall and the bed’s frame.
“They’re good. One of the more popular bands around here. Helps the draw on Thursdays,” he said, and her hand brushed his forearm as they wrangled the unit into position.
The idea of being wrapped in Callahan’s powerful arms, keeping her warm all night long, flooded her mind. She had sexual fantasies about guys—who didn’t? But she never thought about them holding her through the night as she slept. She’d never been one for romance novels or lovey-dovey fantasizing. Still, tripping over her thirtieth year a few months before, and thinking about that bullet drifting an inch in the other direction made her wonder about what she might have been missing in her life.