Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (6 page)

Before she could chastise herself for the sinking in her stomach at the thought, her cell phone rattled from the depths of her bag. She rifled through the contents—ace bandage wrapper, tracksuit, car keys—as the insistent buzzing drove her nuts. Why was it that whatever she needed most was the last thing she could set her hands on in this damn duffle?

“Got you.” Her grin morphed into a frown when she unlocked the screen of her Droid and read the message waiting there from Nobody.

Don’t get too cozy with the cop. I’m watching.

Another buzz.

Nice ass, btw. I’ll keep texting if you’ll keep bending over like that.

She whipped around, her frantic gaze flying from window to window. It was no use, their training space faced no less than four high-rises huddled around a central courtyard. Each towered above their spot on the third floor. There had to be dozens of vantage points in the neighboring properties.

The creeps tingled along her spine as her breath sawed out in unregulated gasps.

When a tap rocked her shoulder, Isabella yelped. She almost jumped out of her skin.

“Ohmygod!” She stumbled from Razor, who cocked his head, a mix of amusement and concern in his gaze.

“Sorry.” He scrubbed his knuckles over his creased brow. “Shit, I wish I didn’t have to keep saying that.”

Her heart slammed in her chest, preventing her from responding.

“Look, I didn’t mean to get so riled up before. Hell, I went outside in that nasty alley without putting my boots on. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” He reached out to her when she stood there, shaking. “Sit down before you fall, Izzy.”

She slapped his helping hand then crashed to the floor, her legs curling beneath her.

“You have a right to be annoyed. I acted like an ass.”

Tears stung her eyes so she closed them, afraid to let him see—afraid she’d permit him to gather her close and soothe her where her secret observer could note every detail. No matter what happened between them, Isabella swore she wouldn’t tangle this man in more trouble than he’d already had.

“Son of a bitch, your face is beyond pale. I never knew what
ashy
meant before. Breathe, Isabella.”

Razor’s tender caring only made things worse. She bit her lip hard, a technique she’d perfected to distract herself with the small pain when she couldn’t afford to show her emotions in public. Malcolm had taken sick pleasure in insulting her where she couldn’t hide during their relationship.

In the beginning, she hadn’t understood why he goaded her, almost as though hoping she’d swipe at him. It took a while but she’d figured out it happened at events her father also attended. The power must have gone to his head each time she heeled.

Why had she stayed so long? What if he never granted her freedom? Was she putting Razor at risk? If he suspected what she’d seen…

“Maybe we should call it a day. If we lose this week, you’ll be home free.” She cursed the tremor undermining her authority.

“Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Great.
Now
he tapped into the stubborn determination she’d sensed in him from the moment they’d met.

“This is important to you. It is to me too. I need to show the community they can rely on me. I’m going to continue to serve them—to make our city safer. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I’m willing to earn their trust. Your trust.”

If her thoughts weren’t racing a million miles an hour, trying to maneuver them both to the safety he claimed to uphold, she might have delved deeper into his compulsion to reassure her of his commitment. Why did he look at her so intently?

Did he suspect all she hid from him?

Suddenly, she could no longer stand to peer into his warm eyes. She broke their too-intense connection as she struggled to her feet. When his hand landed on her arm, she shook it off.

Isabella caught a glint of a reflection across the way. At least she thought she had, in either the eighth or ninth floor of the black-glass building. But when she peered at the spot, nothing shone in the sunlight. Wishful thinking and the shimmer of tears had manufactured the flash.

She heaved a sigh.

“That’s it, Izzy. Take another deep breath. Calm down, okay? I’m not angry with you. I’m not going to hurt you. Shit, you must think I’m a total asshole to flinch like that.” The soothing timbre of his speech did help some.

Her brain kicked in again as adrenaline receded. The message had warned her off getting too cozy. It hadn’t instructed her to drop out of the competition. If she did, whoever Malcolm had sent to pester her might become equally angry. God only knew what they wanted from her. Better to play it safe. Keep on as she had been while ensuring Razor kept his distance.

That she could do. Malcolm hadn’t attempted to touch her in months.

“Fine. Let’s continue where we left off. We have a lot of work to do if you’re going to be presentable by the day after tomorrow. Where’s the broom?”

“Izzy…”

Isabella stomped out the fuzzy glow his nickname lit in her belly. She cut him off with her best imitation of her etiquette coach, who’d had the most annoying method of lecturing out of all her snobbish teachers. “Next, we’ll focus on rise and fall as you memorize the opening sequence.”

She ignored the irritation etched into the grim set of his jaw and his grumpy mutter, which she would bet he hadn’t intended for her to overhear.

“Fine. If that’s how you plan to be. Probably for the best…”

Four hours later, Razor ached in places he’d never imagined could be sore. Of course, that was in addition to his not-quite-healed injuries, which throbbed like a son of a bitch. Physical therapy couldn’t compare to ballroom dancing. Hell, half the stuff Izzy had him attempting seemed more in the realm of contortionism than nobility, which—she’d informed him in what he was coming to think of as her hoity-toity voice—was what the freaking waltz had been designed to showcase.

She had morphed into a serious hardass since his outburst. He supposed he deserved it. Plus, it made resisting her easier. She felt like a board in his arms instead of the supple young woman he’d danced those initial steps with. Some unwise yearning urged him to recover a bit of their earlier closeness. Eight weeks of this could freeze his balls off.

If she were trying to sucker him, would she take this approach? It sure as hell didn’t sound smart, but what the fuck did he know of women, demented or not? He couldn’t figure out a damn thing. He’d toed the line too. Hell, he’d practically pushed her away when he needed to learn more for the investigation.

“Once more, from the top.”

“You said that five times ago.” Razor battled fatigue, but he worried more about the strain weighing on Isabella. Her shoulders slumped between run-throughs. Last time around she’d stumbled, crashing into his chest before snapping back as though burned. Lunchtime had come and gone. She hadn’t accepted any of the peanut M&M’s he’d scored from the vending machine in the lobby and their bottled water had run out over an hour ago.

“Do it right and we’ll call it quits for today.” She rotated her ankle while they waited for the music to begin again.

A handful of inches from her sweaty yet adorable face, he detected a chink in her stony façade. The vulnerability she finally relaxed enough to let him see had him spilling his guts in a flash. “I’m really glad you’re my partner.”

“Because you wanted more gossip associated with your name?” She sniffed, shaking her head. The reaction had him tucking her closer, no matter how bad he stunk.

“No, because I enjoyed spending time with you today.”

She grimaced as she massaged the base of her spine. The motion thrust her breasts at him. After hours of dancing, plastered together, he thought he’d be immune, but the mouthwatering sight derailed his train of thought.

“You relish being bitched at for hours when you’ve done a great job?”

He had to think twice about what she’d said.

“You think I did great?” Razor overcame the resistance in her hold with minimal effort. He reached around her dainty waist to rub out her cramp.

Both of them ignored the music they knew by heart now anyway when it droned out the waltz once more. He anchored her to his side until she practically rode his thigh. At least she’d gotten used to his hard-on bumping into her, because he had no chance of hiding it.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “You’re amazing.”

The primal side of him cheered when she went lax in his hold. For the first time since morning, she rested against him. Pliant, warm, tired and sexy as hell, she conformed to each plane and ridge of his body. Just like he’d known she would.

“You’re not doing too bad yourself, teach.” Before he could consider the consequences, Razor’s palm cupped her jaw, tipping her face up to his as his other hand continued the slow circuit over her spine.

The dazed look in Isabella’s striking eyes beckoned him. He leaned closer as his thumb traced her high cheekbone.

“Mmm,” she sighed. “You smell like chocolate.”

“Probably taste like it too,” he whispered a hairsbreadth from her lips.

The racket caused by something smashing on the floor had them jumping apart like startled jackrabbits. Razor shoved Izzy behind him with one arm while he reached for the gun he wasn’t wearing with the other.
Fuck.

He’d gotten so caught up in the moment he hadn’t heard anyone approach. Two shadows flickered in the hallway as he prepared to defend Izzy from the intruders. He crouched, calculating the best line of attack, when a freckle-faced kid stumbled into the room.

“Damn it, Freddie!” A rotund dude in a garish Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, despite temps in the low fifties, followed two steps behind. “How many times have I fucking told you? Take the lens shade off
before
we get inside. You don’t need that shit in here and now we missed the shot. In this market I can hire a new intern anytime I damn well please. Make yourself useful for once. Buy me some donuts while I tape the commercial clips. That shit’s all you’re good for.”

Razor wanted to pound the dickhead twice. Once for his treatment of Freddie and again, harder, for the leer he flung in Izzy’s direction.

“Man, you’re my hero. Half a day in and you’re scoring some of that fancy pussy.”

Razor snarled as he prepared to set the man straight.

“No, James.” The combination of Isabella’s gentle plea and her arm wrapped around his waist stopped him dead in his tracks. She cuddled up to him. His blood boiled when she murmured into the nape of his neck, out of sight, “The camera’s recording.”

“Jealous? It’s not like you’d know anything about that, shithead.” Okay, mouthing off was immature. But the slam made Razor feel a little better when the weasel squinted in an overweight version of his Aunt Maria’s evil eye. “You could only dream of a woman like her.”

“Come on.” Isabella lurched from behind him to fling her belongings into her giant purse. “We’re finished here.”

“Uh, uh.” The cameraman grunted. “We gotta can some shit to use for the show.”

“How’s this?” Razor flipped the man off. He knew better than to stoop to this level, but the grueling day of endless frustration—both in learning something so novel and being trapped in such close proximity to a woman he wanted desperately and could never have—ate at him, finally finding a place to vent.

The bastard laughed. His lurid attention migrated from Isabella’s sweet ass to scope out her headlights beneath the damp white T-shirt she wore. That’s when Razor’s fingers curled into a fist. He believed in the law, in doing things the right way, but sometimes a good fight solved problems with less paperwork.

“I’m leaving. If the producers need a sound byte, they know my number.” Isabella brushed past his posturing and strode from the room, forcing him to choose between rearranging the dirtbag’s greasy nose and making sure she was okay.

“Fuck with her again and I’ll have you downtown for harassment before you can blink. She’s not a toy, made to amuse any man eager for a cheap thrill.”

“What else do you think a broad like that sees in some work-a-day cop? You’re more pathetic than me if you think she’s looking for anything other than a rebound fuck. You’re in the right place at the right time, bro. Live it up.”

Afraid there could be some truth to the man’s venom, Razor stormed from the studio, racing to catch Izzy. Damn, the girl could move quick when someone fired her up.

He burst into the lot as she collapsed into her Ferrari. He cringed when he imagined their current sweaty state meeting the supple Italian leather. She hadn’t had a chance to put on the spare clothes she’d brought.

She slammed the door, making him wince again, as he neared. He scowled when the snick of the locks engaging reverberated through the deserted lot. Was she afraid of him?

He crossed the last couple yards at a more sedate jog to tap on her window. When she refused to turn her head, her blatant dismissal couldn’t have been more obvious. The tinted windows made it hard to tell for sure, but he thought she might be crying. The possibility drove him nuts.

He refused to budge when she revved the engine. Finally, she cracked the window then begged, “Please. James, let me go. I’m fine, okay.”

“No, it’s not fucking okay. You shouldn’t have to put up with shit like that.” He didn’t mention their almost kiss. If it had a tenth of the effect on her that it’d had on him, her insides probably felt like they traveled in a dinghy over rough seas.

“I’m used to it. It happens all the time. I ignore it. Please, back off. People will see us talking.”

His head snapped back as though she’d roundhoused him. “Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I…” But she didn’t continue. Really, what else was there to say?

When he spun toward his bike, itching for the open road, she raised her voice so it would carry. He didn’t turn around, but he slowed.

“Practice isn’t scheduled until the afternoon tomorrow. I’d like to spend the morning buying you the proper attire. Meet me at the Pyramid Mall, outside Wrightman’s, at eleven?”

Two minutes ago, he’d have granted her whatever she asked for. Now… why should he? Oh, right, it was his job.“Not afraid someone will spot us together there?”