She pulled open the door, fully intending on making him wait in the kitchen while she not-so-subtly told Lola to go get her man. Which, considering that she was looking at Jacob Simmone instead of Zac Murphy, was going to be a lot easier than she had initially thought. “May I help you?” she asked, acting completely ignorant even though her pulse picked up perceptibly.
The tick, tick, tick in her throat could only be the result of two things: One, Jacob Simmone’s pictures did not do him justice. Yum. And two, every time that she saw a cop, the same thought ran through her head. They know who you are.
“Sarah?”
She deliberately clouded the wariness in her eyes, choosing to mask it with tepid curiosity instead.
“I’m Jacob Simmone…with the LAPD.”
Allowing the slightest thread of recognition into her eyes, she angled her head and waited silently for him to continue.
“Is Lola here?”
“She is.”
“May I see her, please?”
Stepping aside, she left him plenty of room to come into the house. He took a deep breath and stepped fully inside, his eyes scanning the foyer. “Down the hallway, in the lounge,” she said. “I’m going to make myself scarce.”
“Thank you.” Glancing down the hallway in the way she’d directed, he asked, “Any advice?”
“Don’t wait too long,” she said instantly, thinking of her best friend. She could still be wary of the fact that Jacob Simmone was a well-known, well-respected police lieutenant while acknowledging that he might be the best thing for Lola. “Fear of rejection is Lola’s biggest weakness and you’re already pushing her limits.”
He looked at her, his emerald eyes wide with surprise as if he hadn’t been expecting her to reply. She shrugged and, with one final glance, left him standing in the hallway.
Lola had finally calmed down enough that her tears had stopped and despite a throbbing headache, she was already feeling a lot better. When she heard footsteps in the hallway, she knew that they weren’t Sarah’s. The weight and speed of the determined stride rang a bell in her head, and she sat up, straightening her spine before Jacob came into her line of sight.
When he did, her heart gave an unsteady jolt, and she chastised herself for being so susceptible to a particular pair of green eyes. She so badly wanted to run and throw her arms around him, apologize for overreacting, but she didn’t.
“Lola,” he said, his shoulders tense, ready for battle. “Please come home so that we can talk about this.”
The way he said ‘home’ sent the dozen butterflies that had been sitting in her stomach aflutter. “I just need a few hours to myself, Jake.”
His eyes went from calm and calculating to dangerous instantly, and she wanted to smile as frustration radiated off of him in pulsing waves. She would never have guessed that Jacob Simmone had an impatient bone in his body. She’d have been wrong.
“This isn’t the time for games,” he said. “I can’t protect you if you’re here.”
“Then don’t.”
“Do you realize that we just figured out your connection to a. Serial. Killer. This morning? This isn’t a game.”
“I. Know. That.” She parroted his tone. “Trust me. I just need a few hours to center myself and then I’ll come back.”
He growled, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. She thought he must look fierce to anyone who didn’t know how soft those hands could be, but she found it interesting that she wasn’t scared of him. Instead, her body pulled tight in direct opposition to what she’d told him.
She thought she had won for a small moment when his gaze flickered down the hallway, but then he turned back to face her, his eyes set in steely determination.
Oh, no.
He strode forward and in three fast strides had come to stand in front of her. When she scooted back onto the settee, he simply reached forward and pulled her to her feet before tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, his arm pinning her thighs against his chest.
What the fuck!
“Jacob!” she shouted, her face against his back. “Put me down!”
“Nope. We’re going home to talk about this. Right now.”
“I. Will. Walk,” she spat out, her cheeks flaming red.
“I gave you your chance.”
She cursed him a thousand ways to Sunday as he started walking, eventually ending in pirate curses that she’d learned watching the show Black Sails. He didn’t flinch and, instead, carried her through the house to the front door.
Sarah must have come out from the kitchen because Lola heard her ask, “What are you doing?”
“Taking her home. We’ll pick up her car tomorrow. Thanks, Sarah.”
“Wait!”
Jacob turned at the sound of Sarah’s voice, and, for just a moment, Lola thought, Ah-ha! Pushing at Jake’s back, she managed to lift her torso just enough that she could see Sarah. Why is she smiling?
“Let me get her purse.”
“Seriously!” Lola yelled, her voice carrying through the large foyer.
“Sorry Lol,” she heard her yell back. Lola could have forgiven her right then if the next words out her mouth hadn’t been, “Kinda!” Seconds later, she practically skipped back through, and, handing Jacob her purse, added, “I think this will be good for you.”
Lola didn’t reply, didn’t say anything when Jacob pulled open the door and came to an abrupt halt. Because she was currently looking down at a very nice ass, she couldn’t see what he was looking at, but he said, “Murph,” then turned slightly and, looking back into the house, added, “I think we all need to talk. Soon.”
“Simmone.” The deep, laughing voice sounded familiar to Lola, but it was only when Jacob strode down the steps that she saw Zac Murphy standing at Sarah’s front door, a laugh in his eyes.
Great. Someone to witness this…humiliation. Still, through her flush of anger, she wondered how Jacob knew Zac. He was a childhood friend of Sarah’s, who, as far as she knew, worked in private security or investigating…or something.
Sarah had even tried to set them up one time, but aside from acknowledging that he was a solid one zillion in the looks department, with jet black, unruly hair and blue eyes that looked nearly violet, there’d just been no zing between them. Instead, they’d fallen into being mutual friends via Sarah.
When Jacob came astride of his SUV, she lost her train of thought. Pulling open the door, he put her on her feet, essentially caging her in, her only option to get in the car. Glaring at him, she briefly calculated her odds of being able to get past him.
“Don’t even try it.”
Huffing out a single breath, she turned so that she could get in. Her only consolation was that Sarah’s driveway was long and her rich, snooty neighbors wouldn’t be able to see the embarrassing debacle that she’d just subjected herself to.
She strapped in and looked forward as he walked around the front of the car and got in on the driver’s side. “I don’t appreciate being manhandled,” she said, making sure to keep her tone icy.
“I’m sorry.” He glanced at her as he started the car again, and she noticed that his eyes were no longer angry. They were calm, centered.