The older of the two cops was already on his radio, calling for an ambulance. “. . . we have a suspect down and request immediate—”
“We have a federal agent down,” Jessica told him, then turned back to John.
Blood trickled down the side of his face, coming from a gash near his hairline. Bending, she put her cheek close to his mouth. “He’s breathing.”
Next to her, the younger cop—in his late twenties—looked shaken. “I heard you say that you were FBI, but with the mayor yelling about guns and shooting, I didn’t want to take any chances.” He pointed to John. “I just wanted to restrain him until we figured everything out. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
The scene around them was beginning to quiet down, with several remaining restaurant patrons keeping a respectful distance back.
Jessica didn’t want to move John in case he’d hurt his neck when he’d hit the table. Instead, she put her hand on his shoulder. “John.”
He didn’t respond.
She glanced at the cop who’d radioed for assistance. “How long before the ambulance gets here?”
“They’re on their way,” the cop said.
Jessica tried his name again. “John.” She gently squeezed his shoulder this time.
Nothing.
Wake up, baby. Every second that passed felt like an eternity. What if he’d broken his neck? What if he never came to? What if she never again got a chance to talk to him, or tease him, or be annoyed by him, or hear him laugh, or—
He opened his eyes.
Thank God. Jessica smiled gently at him. “Hey, you. That was some hit you took.”
He stared at her blankly.
Say something, she silently pleaded. Anything.
Then he blinked.
“How do I keep ending up on the ground in front of you in the stupidest ways possible?” he groaned, lifting his head up.
Tears sprang to Jessica’s eyes as she choked back a sob of relief. “Just my dumb luck, I guess.”
When he started to push himself off from the ground, she protested. “I really don’t think you should move until—” And . . . he was doing it anyway.
All around them, people were clapping and cheering as John sat up and leaned against a chair. Jessica grabbed a napkin off the nearest table.
She moved closer to him and pressed the napkin against the gash on his forehead. “You’re bleeding.”
He winked. “Adds to the authenticity of the scene.”
Seriously.
He grinned at her unamused look. “Give it time. That joke will be a lot funnier in a couple hours.”
Jessica checked the cut on his forehead. “You might need stitches. How bad does your head hurt?”
“Not as bad as my pride,” he said dryly. As she pressed the napkin to his skin once again, his expression turned cheekier. “Although it certainly helps having you—”
She cleared her throat pointedly, glancing at her chest. She still wore the microphone in her bra.
“—here to wipe the blood off,” John finished chastely. He pushed himself off the ground and stood up, then held out his hand to her.
She tossed the napkin to the ground—apparently, they were done with the taking-care-of-the-man-who’d-just-been-knocked-unconscious portion of the day—and slid her hand into his. He helped her up.
“Any dizziness?” There was more she wished she could say right then, if (a) they hadn’t been surrounded by a crowd of people, and (b) she hadn’t had a microphone in her boobs that was transmitting her every word.
Not exactly a private moment.
“I’m okay. What happened to Blair?” John asked.
From behind them, a familiar voice answered that.
“He must’ve escaped out the back door.” Wearing his FBI jacket, Leavitt stepped around a pile of broken glass and made his way over to them. “Todd has twenty agents and two SWAT teams looking for him. Blair won’t get far.”
“You should be with them, too,” John said.
“What? And miss all the excitement here?” Leavitt reached out and clasped John’s shoulder, his tone turning more serious. “You had us worried there, Shepherd. Hell, even Jessica sounded nervous. I didn’t think that was possible.”
John looked at Jessica.
She blushed and went for a joke. “On the upside, John got to catch up with one of his old Army buddies.”
“You should’ve seen me and Todd in the car when that happened,” Leavitt chuckled. “I looked at him and said, ‘Holy shit, did somebody just yell John Shepherd?’”
They went through the postgame analysis, all of them needing a little levity after the high intensity of the last several minutes. More FBI agents arrived on the scene, and more police officers, too, both from the Jacksonville Beach Police Department and the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office—including the sheriff himself.
“Who the fuck is responsible for this shit show?” the sheriff demanded, storming through the front door with the undersheriff at his side.
Leavitt looked at Jessica and John. “I believe that’s my cue.” He headed over, all charm. “Sheriff! Special Agent Ben Leavitt, Federal Bureau of Investigation. How are you today?”
Jessica watched Leavitt walk away. “I have never been so glad to not be the case agent in my life.”
John turned to her, with streaks of dried blood along his face. “Yes. Thank goodness we got the easy job.”
Jessica smiled—God, she’d missed his dry sense of humor. Feeling all sorts of emotions, she reached up and touched his short hair. “You look like you should be on a Wheaties box with this haircut.”
His expression softened for a moment just before the paramedics hurried in through the front door. Then he sighed. “Are you really going to make me do this? Can’t you just drive me to the hospital?”
“Humor me, big guy.” She’d seen how hard he’d hit his head against the table, and she wasn’t taking any chances.
The paramedics agreed to let her ride with John to the emergency room—not that she gave them much choice in the matter. Leavitt followed them out to the ambulance, promising to update them as soon as they’d found Blair.
Before climbing into the ambulance, Jessica reached into the front of her dress, pulled the microphone out of her bra, and handed it off to Leavitt.
Ashley and Dave were officially retired.
34
At the hospital, once they were in a private room, the doctor did a thorough physical examination before removing the cervical collar the paramedics had insisted John wear around his neck as a precautionary matter.
“Finally.” Sitting on the examination table, John tilted his head to stretch out his neck.
“Well, you’re not showing any symptoms of a concussion.” The doctor looked at Jessica, who sat in a chair across from the table. “How long was he unconscious?”
“About three minutes.” One hundred eighty seconds that had felt like a lifetime.
“Was he dazed or disoriented when he came to?” the doctor asked.
Jessica felt John’s eyes on her as she answered. “He didn’t seem to recognize me when he first opened his eyes. But as soon as he started talking, he was lucid.”
The doctor nodded, turning back to John. “I’d like to do an MRI, just to be certain there’s no concussion. As for the cut on your head, I don’t think stitches are necessary. I’ll have the nurse put a skin adhesive on it—that should do the trick.” He smiled. “All in all, from the sound of things, you’re a very lucky man, Agent Shepherd.” After scribbling a few things in John’s file, the doctor headed out.
Leaving Jessica and John alone for the first time that day.
Jessica exhaled, feeling shaky now that the adrenaline was wearing off. “The doctor’s right. You are very lucky.” She met John’s gaze. “I saw what you did when the cops point
ed their guns at us. You moved toward me.” She paused meaningfully. “So you could block me, if they fired.”
His expression was momentarily unreadable, and then he shrugged. “Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Getting up from the chair, she walked over to stand next to him at the examination table. “If I believed that patronizing explanation for one moment, I’d be even more pissed at you,” she said, without any real heat.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re pissed because I wanted to protect you? Before, you said that was cute.”
“No, I’m pissed because you got hurt trying to protect me.” She looked him in the eyes. “If you hadn’t moved closer to me, you would’ve cleared that table when you fell with the cops. You hit your head because of me.”
His expression softened. “Jessica . . .”
“Don’t ‘Jessica’ me.” She pointed. “Do you have any idea, John Shepherd, how close you came to turning my life into a Nicholas Sparks book? I never would’ve forgiven you for that.”
John laughed hard at that. “I have no clue what that means. But if I had to guess, I’d say that what you’re trying to tell me—in your saucy, Jessica Harlow way—is that you would miss me if I were gone.”
She threw him a look. “Of course I would miss you if you were gone.”
His expression turned more serious, and he cocked his head. “So . . . do you miss me?”
The air between them suddenly seemed to stand still.
She could make a joke. That was her thing, after all. But after seeing him hurt, after being this close to potentially losing him forever, she no longer felt like joking. Or avoiding the truth, even if it was scary and invited questions to which there were no easy answers. Because she’d known the truth, in her heart, the moment he’d walked through that restaurant door.
Her feelings went way behind warm fondness at this point.
In fact, she’d dare say she was in love with John Shepherd.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I’ve missed you every day you’ve been gone. So much that it hurts.”
He went still.
And just looked at her.
Okay . . . that was not the reaction she’d been hoping for.
There was a knock on the door, and a nurse with a bright smile strolled into the room. “Mr. Shepherd . . . or I guess I should say Agent Shepherd. It’s time for your MRI.”
John held Jessica’s gaze for another moment, then looked at the nurse. “Right.” Taking a deep breath, he stood up.
“He’ll be back in about forty-five minutes,” the nurse told Jessica, before smiling at John again. “Right this way.”
After John left the room, Jessica sank against the examination table.
Oh God.
Her hands shook as she ran them through her hair. Okay, he obviously didn’t feel the same way, but she could salvage this; they could at least still be friends. She could lie—she was damn good at that—and tell him she’d gotten swept up in the moment.
“Sorry. Could you hang on for a second?” she heard John say to the nurse, his deep voice carrying in from the hallway.
Jessica looked over.
When John appeared in the doorway, her heart began to pound.
With hope.
He stepped into the room and strode toward her, determination etched on his face. Then he grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.
His mouth swept possessively over hers, hot and fierce. Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him back, all the emotions she’d been trying to hide these last three weeks—hell, probably longer—pouring out right then, in that moment.
When they finally pulled back from the kiss, he touched her cheek.
“We need to talk,” he said huskily.
She nodded, finding herself uncharacteristically overcome right then. “Yes.”
He traced his thumb over her skin. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to look at me this way?”
She assumed he was teasing her. “What are you talking about? You didn’t even like me for most of the time we’ve known each other.”
He bent his head before turning to go, his voice low and confident in her ear. “Or maybe I’m just that good of an undercover agent.”
• • •
Unfortunately, when John returned from his MRI, he found half the damn population of the thirteenth-largest U.S. city waiting for him with Jessica. Or at least, it seemed that way.
Among his visitors were the public corruption squad leader and the Special Agent in Charge of the Jacksonville field office, both of whom had dropped by to personally check on John and to let him and Jessica know that Blair had been apprehended.
“We caught him at a marina on the Intracoastal Waterway, with the keys to a friend’s boat and a duffel bag of cash. Apparently, his plan was to make it all the way to Cuba,” the SAC informed them. “Agents Leavitt and Todd have the mayor in custody now and were quite pleased to inform him that the FBI will be adding ‘incitement of a riot’ to the list of criminal charges against him.”
Also there to check on John’s status were the two police officers who’d tackled him, both of whom seemed extremely relieved to hear that John was doing okay.
“No offense, but even though you were saying you were FBI, you had this look on your face, like—” The younger cop made an angry face, demonstrating.
John held out his hands innocently. “You told me to keep my hands in the air and get down. That’s exactly what I was doing.”
The older cop cocked his head. “Yeah, but when you do that, you somehow still give off this vibe that’s particularly intimidating.”
Jessica smiled from her corner of the room as John glared.
Yeah, he’d heard that one before.
Next to knock on John’s door was Dan Frazier, his Ranger friend who’d unknowingly blown his cover at the restaurant.
“How’d you know where to find me?” John asked, after the two men exchanged back slaps and man hugs.
“They said on the news that a federal agent had been brought to the emergency room here.” Dan pointed to Jessica. “Your partner spotted me in the waiting area, asking about your status, and told me where I could find you.” His expression was filled with guilt. “I can’t believe how bad I messed that up for you, Shep. I didn’t even stop to consider that you might be working undercover.”
Jessica made her way toward the door. “I’m going to step out for a few minutes. Let you guys catch up.”
No. John resisted the urge to growl and block her way as she walked out. He knew she didn’t want to intrude, and he appreciated that. Just like he appreciated that Dan and everyone else simply wanted to make sure he was okay. And on any other day, he’d be more than glad to catch up with one of his Ranger buddies and shoot the shit for old times’ sake.
But if he didn’t get Jessica alone soon, heads were going to roll.
Dan watched, too, as Jessica left the room. Then he turned to John with a sly expression. “By the way, your partner? Wow. Is she from Jacksonville? Any chance you could help an old friend out by hooking us up for coffee or something?”
Whatever “particularly intimidating” look John must’ve displayed right then made Dan smile sheepishly. “I’m thinking maybe I should just stop talking today.”
• • •
Twenty minutes later, after Dan left, Jessica walked into John’s room carrying two cups of coffee. “It’s from the cafeteria, so drink at your own risk.”
Without saying a word, John walked over and took both cups from her. He set the coffee down next to the sink, then drew the privacy curtain closed.
Jessica raised an eyebrow. “That’ll look suspicious to anyone who drops by.”
“It’ll look even more suspicious if they see us doing this.” John hooked one arm around her wai
st and pulled her in for a long, hot kiss.
“We’re leaving,” he said, in no uncertain terms, when they finally pulled apart.
Her lips curved. “Not until the doctor clears you.”
Her concern for him touched something deep inside him. Sliding his fingers through hers, he lifted her hand to kiss it. “You’re cute when you’re protective.”
There was a tentative knock at the door.
“Um, Agent Shepherd?” the doctor said, on the other side of the curtain.
Jessica yanked John’s shirt out of his pants, covering his erection. Moving just as quickly, he adjusted the skirt of her dress so that it lay straight again, and then they stepped apart.
“Come on in.” John smiled casually when the doctor pulled the curtain open. “Sorry. There’s been an endless line of visitors. Figured the curtain would buy me a few minutes of quiet.”
“I think we can buy you more than a few minutes,” the doctor said cheerfully. “You’re free to go. I got the results of your MRI back, and there’s no sign of a concussion. Nevertheless, I strongly advise that you have someone monitor you tonight and wake you up every two hours.” He turned to Jessica. “All you need to do is ask him a couple questions, just to make sure he’s lucid.”
Jessica blinked. “Oh. Uh . . . I think you misunderstood the situation here. I won’t be with John tonight. No.” She chuckled, gesturing between them. “He and are I just partners.”
The doctor smiled. “Sure you are.” He looked at John on his way out the door. “If you need something for the headache, stick to acetaminophen. No ibuprofen or aspirin.”
After he left, Jessica shook her head. “That’s the worst cover I’ve ever done.”
“You do seem a little off your game.” John’s tone turned teasing. “I heard you were even nervous earlier.”
She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I knew that was coming back to haunt me.”
• • •
During the short drive to the hotel, John switched his return flight to Virginia to the following day.
“What time’s your flight tomorrow?” he asked Jessica, who was driving.
“Four forty-five P.M.” Originally, she’d been booked on an early flight, but she’d moved it back while John had been getting his MRI.