All recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich, I'm just playing.

Chapter 7

RPOV

The door is loud when I close and lock it behind me. Anger is still simmering just below the surface, but curiosity has me wanting to know how Steph plans to proceed almost as much as I want to go beat the shit out of the cop and remove him from her life once and for all. I should grab the bag that undoubtedly has some clothes for us and put some damn pants on. Instead, I stand there, watching her unpack food from the cooler. There's no telling what my cousin told Ella when he requested food and supplies for this getaway in the woods. I pinch my nose in frustration. Everything being out of my control is a foreign and unwelcome feeling. Steph keeps glancing my way, waiting for some reaction from me. She pauses in emptying the cooler to reach into the other bag, pulling out a package of face wipes and sliding them over to me. Silently, she waits for me to step forward and take one and wipe the blood off my face. There's no point of going to the bathroom when there's no longer a mirror, so we stand there awkwardly while I clean up. "Why his brachial?"

Steph shifts her weight from foot to foot before crossing her arms over her chest, trying to look anywhere but at me. I know my nudity is messing with her head, just another reason I haven't rectified the situation. "I couldn't sleep one night and was watching some stupid movie where a biology teacher gets kidnapped. To escape, she slices his brachial artery and then apologizes, telling him that he's got about 2 minutes until he bleeds out. I was curious if it was true and looked it up."

I pause in my clean up. Just when I think we can't descend any further into bizarro world, we do. "A movie. You learned to sever a man's artery from a movie?"

She shrugs and bites her lip. "Where else should I have learned it? Not all of us have super soldier training."

It pleases me more than a little that some snark has creeped its way into her voice. I'm learning that a quiet Steph is scarily unpredictable. And Christ, she shouldn't need super soldier training, or god damn movie ninja moves. She was never meant for this kind of trouble, and yet she always ends up in the middle of it. If I were smart, I'd stop focusing on what she's already done and start thinking of how to get us out of this mess. I need to get out of here and get back to Haywood and work the problem.

Accepting that the conversation is done, she goes back to unloading the bags. When she turns around to put a casserole dish in the fridge, I spy not her phone, but the telltale outline of a pair of handcuffs tucked into her waistband at the small of her back. I hold back a smirk. Turn a bout's fair play, Babe. I inch closer to the kitchen island. "What was Lester laughing at?"

She watches me, warily, before answering. "He wanted to know why you were half naked. Said a gentleman would have taken all his clothes off. I told him the truth."

"Which was?"

"Taking your pants off was quicker than going through all your pockets. Not my fault you're allergic to underwear."

How very mercenary of her. I can't help but push the issue, despite what an ass it makes me. Maneuvering women where I want them is a skill I've honed and one I'm not afraid to deploy when it suits me. I nudge a little closer to her. "That the only reason you took them off?"

She keeps her eyes on me as she shrugs. "The only reason today."

The way she works hard not to flinch when I touch her shoulder is just another thing on the list of crap things this day has brought. Her pulse is hammering hard in her neck and as mad as I am, my need to make sure she's ok overrides everything. With a muttered Babe, I pull her in for the hug that both of us need. She's stiff and reluctant at first, keeping her lower body canted away from me. She relaxes by measures, and I continue to rub her back in aimless circles while my own pulse slows, and I feel some of my control begin to return. I'm not sure how it's possible to love someone so much and yet be so epically pissed off at them at the same time.

Once her nose goes to my neck and she breathes deeply, I know she's feeling a little more centered, too. Both of us seems to be ignoring the biohazard mess on our clothes between us as we scoot a little closer together. My hand comes up and gets lost in her curls as we both lean in for the kiss that seems to be happening despite both our feelings to the contrary. I take her mouth hard and fast before backing off and slowing things down. Just like in the alley this morning, she gives as good as she gets, making me feel like a bastard for what's going to happen next. I back her up against the refrigerator, running my hands down her sides and hips before palming her ass. She's lost in the sensations and doesn't react to me gliding a hand up her left arm while the other snakes behind her back. Giving myself a moment to enjoy what could be our last kiss, I feel a twinge of regret when I have the cuffs out of her waistband and her shackled to the refrigerator in seconds.

Her eyes are glazed over when I step back and it's not until she tries to follow me that she realizes her predicament. Her stunned gaze swings between me and her handcuffed arm. My voice is colder than I intend when I point out, "At least you're not half naked in the trunk."

Her head dips at that and her apparent easy acceptance of the pendulum swing gives me pause. Until she looks up, that is. For the first time today, she has tears forming and I harden myself to them. She makes a face and looks at the floor before she stomps her foot, angry at her show of weakness. "Please don't run off. Tank is working on the Grizzolli problem and he's going to call tomorrow. Stay here, with me. Stay safe."

She doesn't look at me the entire time she speaks. I know she doesn't really expect me to sit here while someone else solves my problems, but she had to try. I reach into the bag that the guys left her with and pull out a new pair of cargo pants. With luck, my boots and utility belt will still be in her car. "Where's my gun?"

She stares at the cabinet in front of her instead of answering. "I'm not playing, Stephanie. Is it still at the other cabin?"

"No."

That's all I get. No. I do a quick check of the couch and love seat, shoving the cushions onto the floor. Closet doors slam and drawers get shoved closed as I search the cabin. When I'm back standing ten feet from her, she says, "I don't care about Joe. It was already over between us, and I was happy to keep it that way. I always knew we were just using each other and weren't endgame. That he's a worthless little shitball that chose to kowtow to Vito and had no problem with you being killed is new. Choosing you over him isn't. I'm afraid you'll go after him while running on adrenaline and not think it through. You have options, but you won't if you just go kill him. He's not a threat to me right now. I went about this all wrong, I know that. There are so many things I would have done differently if I'd had time to stop and think but keeping you from going after him isn't one of them. I finally understand why you do the things you do, and I just wanted you to know that before you walk away."

She won't look at me, and I don't know what to say, anyway. This morning I conceded that we were at a shit or get off the pot junction, but so much has happened since then. Turning on my heel, I head to the door. I refuse to look back at her, knowing that if she's watching me, I might not have the balls to leave her here while I go take care things with Grizzolli and the cop. Her phone's probably in her car, and I'll have Tank tell my jackass cousin to turn around or send some other men up to get Steph and take her to a Rangeman safe house.

The door latching behind me is loud and it echoes in my head. It feels bigger than just locking her in the cabin and leaving her behind. It feels a little like I've carried through with my threat to end things between us. Then I realize I'm marching to the car in my fucking socks and anger rears its head again. I'm not surprised to find the door unlocked and the keys sitting on the floor by the gas pedal. Groaning as I lean down to fish them out, I take another minute to decide if I really want to do this. Resigned to what I have to do, I spy my utility belt, pants, and boots on the floor of the backseat and take the time to put on the belt and boots. I quickly transfer the contents of my cargo pockets before sliding into the driver's seat.

I move the seat back and crank the key, but nothing happens. Shit. I give it a few more tries with the same result. My head drops to the steering wheel while I pull in a deep breath and pop the hood. Not one fucking thing is going my way today. Her car's not even from this damn century but it ran…until I needed it to. Getting out, I give the tire a swift kick on my way to the front of the car and push the hood up, anchoring it in place. I give the engine a quick once over, stopping when I realize the god damn distributor cap is missing. It's the same thing she did to Morelli's SUV that she commandeered on her first case, and only possible now because of how old her car is. Solid move, Babe.

Once again, I've underestimated her. As her Henry Higgins, I should be pleased. As the man she keeps cutting off at the knees, I'm not. I'm pissed. With jerky movements, I tear through her car, looking for my gun, phone, the distributor cap, anything. It's probably the cleanest I've ever seen one of Steph's cars. Popping the trunk, I approach it cautiously, not entirely convinced she won't manage to shove me in there again. I find some old newspapers, an empty Tasty Pastry bag, and some make-up still in its packaging strewn about. Just another useless dead end.

Slamming the trunk shut, I clench my fists and look around. The driveway is about twenty feet deep, and there's nothing here but Steph's car. There are a few potted plants in front of the cabin, and I give them a thorough search, unearthing the fake rock that likely held the key for the front door. There's no furniture on the porch and it will take forever to search the forest around the place. Livid, I grab the doorknob and scowl at it being locked, even though I'm the one that did it. Pulling the picks from one of my pockets, I drop the car keys in their place and set to work letting myself back in.

I'm already marching over to the kitchen before it dawns on me that Steph is no longer handcuffed to the refrigerator. I spin around, surprised to see that she's not only changed into jeans and a Rangeman t-shirt, but she's replaced the couch cushions and is now sitting on it with her arms crossed, her own impressive blank face in place.

"Where's the distributor cap?"

The shrug she gives works my last nerve. Anyone else would be pissing himself from the look I'm giving her. My jaw is clenched when I grind out, "I want my phone."

She shrugs again before leaning forward and grabbing one of the magazines from the coffee table like she's got no cares in the world.

"How did you get out of the cuffs?"

She looks past me to the refrigerator and then back at me. "I've been practicing. And I pocketed the handcuff key off your belt the same time I stole the cuffs."

Fuck. That's not supposed to make me want to smile. I give her another hard stare. "What exactly is your plan?"

"We stay here for a day or two while Tank, Bobby, and Lester check out the Grizzolli situation and then we make a plan, together."

It's not that it's not a decent strategy, I just don't like it. "You can't sideline me from this, Stephanie!"

Her gaze is unflinching. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

I probably deserved that for when I handcuffed her to Tank and all the times I tried to send her to a safehouse. Pinching my nose again, I contemplate what currency I have in this situation. We both know I'm not going to physically hurt her. She's already acknowledged and accepted my threat to end any relationship with her. It's unlikely to work after the scene in the kitchen, but I'm going to need to finesse the situation. "Fine. We'll wait for Tank to call tomorrow."

She gives me the side-eye when I move closer to the couch, still the bastard willing to use our sexual attraction if it gives me an edge. Blowing out a long sigh, I give her a heavy-lidded half smirk that has her watching me and biting her lip before she looks back to her magazine. "Babe, if I'm going to stay here, I might need something to keep me occupied. Might need a distraction. Think we could come up with something to work off this excess energy you're so worried about?"

Normally she's putty in my hands, but she's got anger on her side and barely spares me a glance. "Pass. Been a long day and you've already left me hanging. Twice. If you want to get off as a distraction, you'll have to go through self-checkout because customer service is out to lunch. Maybe you could go rub one out in the shower." She says it without a single blush, or any other reaction. She doesn't even look my way, simply continues to stare at her magazine, although her slightly shaking hands bely her nervousness. "Shower might not be a bad idea, since I bought that car from Donnie's Wheels and Deals down on Clinton and there's no telling what was in the trunk before your naked ass. And you've got that asshole's blood on you." The last part comes out on barely a whisper as she calmly flips to another page in the magazine, like she'd actually read Field and Stream. It's a good thing I finally have my pants back on, because her defiance has caused a reaction that's making a shower a good idea. Once upon a time, I told her that I might have all the muscle, but she has all the power. I'm fucked now that she's figured it out.

Without admitting out loud that I'm retreating, I stop by the kitchen and grab a new t-shirt and the bodywash she loves so much. Thanks to my actions earlier, I have to rethread the shower curtain onto the rod. I strip and set my clothes on the toilet and let the water in the tub start heating up while I twist the rod back into place, wincing the entire time. Having my arms over my head for so long tweaks my shoulder, like my body's reminding me it's been through some shit today. Steph brought in one of Bobby's first aid packs. The bullet hole in my shoulder stopped bleeding long ago, but it probably should be cleaned out properly.

Turning off the water and not bothering with a towel, I stride out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen island where Steph had stacked everything. She's in the kitchen and turns around when she hears me. Her eyes go wide as she sees me standing there and a jar of peanut butter falls from her hands. Her head snaps sideways and she stares at the toaster on the counter rather than me.

"You've seen it all before, Babe."

She lets out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, back when you still liked me and weren't visually measuring me to see if I'd fit in the freezer."

"I'd have to break a lot of bones to get you in there where the door would stay shut."

She looks over at me in shock, and her eyes drift down to my dick before she darts her head to the side again. "Good to know. Did I fry too many brain cells for you to remember that showers happen in the bathroom and not the kitchen?"

God, I love when she refuses to show me fear and instead pulls the tiger's tale. "Need my shoulder cleaned up. Think you can handle it?"

She swallows and glances at the bloody mess before nodding. "Where do you want to do this?"

Instead of answering, I go and sit down at one of the remaining chairs at the table. Squaring her shoulders, again, she grabs the first aid pack on the way to me. Once she's got it rolled open, she takes out some antibacterial wash, gauze, ointment, and tape. Her motions are economical, but her touch gentle. She's obviously cleaned up her own wounds before and it doesn't take long before she has it cleaned and butterfly bandages holding the edges together. It amuses me that she's done it all while purposely not looking at my crotch. I watch as she heads back to the kitchen for a food storage bag and painstakingly cuts out a couple squares with the safety shears in the pack. Once she's gently taped the gauze in place and covered them in plastic, she rests her hand over it and quietly says, "I'm sorry."

She walks away with her head hung, and I watch her putter in the kitchen while I head back to the bathroom. Just before I'm out of sight, I ask, "Are you going to be here when I get out of the shower?"

She tilts her head to the side. "Why would I leave without you?"

There's so much confusion in her voice that I feel like an ass for even wondering, let alone the fact I did try and leave without her. In the shower, I let the hot water rain down over me, metaphorically letting it wash the day off me. Away from Steph's eyes, I let myself have a moment of weakness and sag against the wall, exhaustion and emotions swamping me. From the annoyance of the morning, to the fear of Steph being hurt, to the confusion and anger toward her actions, it all hits me. Steph's right, there are any number of things she could have done differently, and I don't even know the full story. But it doesn't escape my attention that she had my back better than most of my guys, multiple times, even if I didn't appreciate it. By the time I'm cleaned up, I've regained some control but am left with the problem I teased Steph about. Eyeing the erection that won't go down, I squirt a little body wash into my hand and do like she suggested, remembering the last time she wore the distraction outfit. It's not long before I'm groaning and spilling into my hand. It only marginally helps, but at this point, I'll take it.

Back out in the main room, Steph has heated up one of the dishes from Ella and we sit for a quiet and tension filled dinner. She pushes the food around her plate, taking a small bite here and there. Hard to believe it was only this morning when I invited her to dinner, and this clusterfuck is not what I had in mind. We both finally give up the pretense of eating and clear the table in companionable silence. When there's nothing else left to do, she reaches into the bag of clothes and pulls out a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. "I'm going to go shower."

She doesn't wait for me to answer, doesn't ask if I'm still going to be here when she gets out. She's resigned to whatever I decide. I wish I knew what that was. While she's in the bathroom, I prowl around the cabin some more, searching for the distributor cap and my phone. I still haven't found it by the time she's out. With a glance, I notice that she, too, seems to have lost some of the brittleness that she's carried all day.

It's late, and with nothing else to do, she apologizes once again before admitting that she's going to bed. She stands in the middle of the room, looking vulnerable as she asks me if I want her to sleep on the couch. She shows no reaction when I tell her no and she disappears into the bedroom, pushing the door closed but not latching it. Leaning back in the chair, I breathe out a sigh. I should have been asking questions tonight, but I didn't want to break the fragile peace we'd settled into after she dressed my wound. There'll be time enough for questions tomorrow if I'm still here.

I give her an hour, and then check on her. She's dead asleep, curled around one of the pillows and nearly falling off the edge of the bed. Dried tear tracks stain her face, and the sight of them feels like a stab to my chest. Backing out of the room, I quietly do a more thorough search of the main room, still not finding anything. Shoving my feet into my boots, I hold my breath as I open the front door and step out onto the porch. I have no idea where to look, but the distributor cap has to be out here somewhere. It takes two hours to look everywhere that seems obvious and my energy is flagging by the time I once again concede defeat. The car's not moving until Steph wants it to.

Quickly and quietly letting myself back in the cabin, I toe off my boots and get ready for bed. The couch doesn't look even remotely comfortable, so I head to the bedroom and crawl into the empty side of the bed. Steph has turned away from the center and is fidgeting in her sleep, no doubt caught in a nightmare. Without thought, I pull her to me, and she settles. After a minute, one of her hands finds mine and my heart clenches when she murmurs, "Love you, you stubborn ass."