4. Ransacked
FOUR
RANSACKED
JACKSON
When we arrive at the red door of her light blue-painted craftsman house, she glances down at herself as if something essential is missing.
“Where’s my purse? I had a crossbody bag with me when I went to the warehouse. Where did it go?”
“You didn’t have anything on you or nearby where you fell,” I reply.
“Oh, my God. Call your people and find out if anyone picked it up from the scene. That purse contains my life: my phone, keys, wallet, notebook,” she exclaims in panic.
The entire time I’ve known Gigi, she was never without a precious notebook. She took copious notes in classes, but as an adult and a journalist, her notebook contains details for her articles.
“On it,” I say as I dial up Davis, tapping my phone while she bends over to retrieve a key from under a planter. “Seriously, Gigi—that key isn’t exactly a secret anymore. I’m pretty sure half the neighborhood knows you hide it there.”
“It’s a quaint, small town, remember?” she snips, echoing my own words as she unlocks the door.
“Yeah, until I busted that cartel for trying to launder money here. Things change. You should be more careful?—”
Before I can finish, she swings the door open to reveal a chaotic mess inside.
“What the hell? Someone broke in?” She stares, unmoving.
I spring into action, shoving the phone at her. “Tell Davis. Stay here until I give the all clear,” I hiss.
Drawing my gun, I step in front of her. I methodically sweep the place room to room—every closet, nook, and cranny—unable to risk any further harm coming her way. With drawers upturned, furniture scattered, and debris everywhere, I make sure the scene is secure. Only once I’m satisfied that it’s safe, do I return, noting the whites of her knuckles while she clings to the door frame and her eyes widen with shock.
“Either someone was searching for something or they were trying to intimidate you. How long have you been digging into that illegal fishing ring?” I ask cautiously.
My gut tells me there’s more to this.
“Off and on, for a while now,” she admits, finally stepping into the doorway and scanning the ruined space. “My house… I feel so violated.”
A thousand thoughts race through my mind. “Are you sure you don’t want to divulge your source now? They might’ve set you up last night to keep you quiet.”
She shudders visibly, rubbing her arms. “No. No way. I—I need to find my laptop somewhere in this mess.”
“You shouldn’t touch anything. This is an active crime scene. I need Davis’ team here to dust for prints.”
“What am I supposed to do, then?” she asks, massaging her brow, clearly exhausted as the painkillers begin their work.
“Get in my truck and rest,” I order as the sound of approaching sirens grows louder. Of course, she fights me on this, stubborn as always. A part of me feels terrible for her.
I understand why chasing this story is important to her though, wanting to prove herself to the world, to the citizens of Love Beach, and her father. When I enlisted in the Coast Guard, I did it to get out of this small town and see the world. Initially, I took none of the military seriously, barely made it out of boot camp, always the good time guy looking for a party.
Eventually, at my post in Texas, something clicked for me and I wanted to prove myself that I could reach for more. I worked hard and got noticed by the higher ups, eventually getting promoted into Officer Candidate School.
After I graduated, the men and women I led often said they respected me more than a traditional officer because I’d started at the bottom and earned my rank. My last unit called me Captain Badass for it. But I can’t stand the bureaucracy of the military sometimes.
When I got chosen for this interagency task force, it was like a higher calling. I found I could thrive in covert operations. I still answer to the brass, but I have to rely on myself to get through any situation, which appeals to me as a self-made badass.
As the officers work through Gigi’s home one room at a time, she leans against the living room wall, watching, yawning, wary. The physical and emotional toll wearing on her face. When I think she’s had enough, I march over, hoist her over my shoulder, and carry her to my truck.
“Jackson, please,” she protests weakly, “I can’t just leave my house.”
“Quiet, G. You’re coming with me.” I buckle her in and go around to my side.
As I start the truck, she rubs her eyes and asks, “Where?”
“My place. You’ll be safer there with me. And no more arguments—you’ll lose this fight,” I warn.
True to form, she tries to argue, a few more words escaping her mouth, until her head lags as the painkiller takes full effect.
“Close your eyes, darlin’,” I whisper. “Trust me. I’m the hero you need right now.”
For the next six hours, Gigi slept in my bed. I woke her up twice to check on her, as per the doctor’s orders, only to be met with grumbled retorts telling me to go screw myself. Apparently, her mild concussion hasn’t softened her attitude toward me much.
I take a call from Davis, keeping me updated. His officers lifted the prints and were rushing them through the system. They’d photographed everything, but couldn’t determine who was behind the break-in yet. On a hunch, I ask if his crew could find Gigi’s old notebooks and search for any mention of her current investigations.
When I mention her research into the illegal game fishing ring, he laughs. “There’s nothing there. Believe me, if there were, I’d devote resources to it—but our small town’s budget is already stretched thin, and my officers have more pressing concerns here in Love Beach. Especially now, with Spring Breakers flooding in soon. You grew up here; you know how wild it gets. I’m not sure how much longer I can have my guys help you in the case.”
“I understand.” I force my mind to skip past the good times Beau, and Davis and I had with hot spring break chicks in our younger days. Although I could stop and reminisce with him about it, I don’t. “Do you get many leads about illegal fishing, though?”
“Any strong ones we get are sent off to the local Coast Guard. They handle the rest.”
“Okay, man. Thanks.”
“Hey, how’s Gigi holding up?” he asks.
“Sleeping like a baby. Gotta go.” It’s time to wake her up, so I head to the bedroom. If I don’t, I fear she’ll never get to sleep later tonight. Although the damn painkillers would probably knock her out again.
Here I am, running on no sleep myself. But I’m used to long hours awake on a mission. If she’s up all night, then so am I. I can sleep when the mission is over.
There she lies on her back, the comforter barely covering her. My sweatshirt has ridden up, exposing her midriff thanks to low-slung jeans. I squint and blink, and notice a new piercing at her belly button. That’s hot. The view wakes up the beast in my pants. When was the last time I’d seen Gigi in a bikini? Far too long.
Her body was always awkwardly curvy in school, but this womanly version of her… she owns her curves.
Oh, to kiss her there on her midriff and head lower. I bite my tongue to stifle a groan. Hovering over her, I reach out and do something I’ve been longing to do for ages. A stray red curl has escaped her ponytail, falling across her forehead. I straighten it a bit, then let it coil back into place. She’s always had the wildest hair.
The scattering of freckles across her cheeks is fucking adorable, always has been. Then I realize her glasses are gone. Maybe knocked off of her face during the attack?
Back in school, I used to tug at her braids and she used to poke fun at my braces. Look at us now—nothing much has changed.
Except I’ve been fantasizing about her a whole helluva lot over the past few years since Beau married Addie, Davis’s sister. I returned on leave for their wedding, and although I’d had a crush on Gigi as a kid, as a man, those feelings have morphed into something hotter, fiercer, and dangerously enticing.
The way we argue always makes me think we’d tear each other apart in bed. And something tells me we’d be incredible together. Could there possibly be something more? As long as we don’t kill each other first.
I’m unapologetically cocky; getting women into bed has never been a problem for me. But easy conquests aren’t nearly as stimulating. When the time comes to settle down, I want someone who keeps me on my toes and ignites a fire in my soul.
Gigi has always done that.
My phone vibrates in my pocket—it’s from my commander—and I step out of the room to take the call.
“Alexander,” Commander Daniels addresses me formally. “I got your message. Fill me in on the details.”
I walk into the kitchen, set the call to speaker, and start making coffee as I explain how last night’s bust was interrupted—telling him about Gigi, the perpetrators slipping away, and even her investigation into the illegal fishing ring.
“So, you’re saying you both had intel that her attackers and your gunrunners were at the same dock last night? Coincidence or connection?” he asks, voicing the very question I’ve been mulling over.
“Not sure yet. I think she was definitely targeted—between the attack and her ransacked house.”
“Could this woman be hiding more than she lets on? Did she catch any detail during the attack that might help?”
“I haven’t pushed her for details, sir. Everything happened so fast. The pain meds are helping her rest now.”
“Make sure you get on her and press her as soon as you can,” he instructs.
“Yes, sir.” My lips twitch as my mind wanders to less professional thoughts—my superior’s orders to press her hard and get on her as soon as possible. I’d gladly comply—once I’m sure she won’t knock me out when I try.
“Until you figure out if there’s a connection, keep her close. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
I don’t plan to. “Babysitting duty. Got it.”
“Send me daily reports.” The Commander clicks off, and I hear a noise behind me. I swivel on my heels to find Gigi standing there in the doorway, mouth slightly agape.
“How much of that did you hear?” I ask.
“I don’t need a babysitter, especially not you, ” she retorts, squinting and complaining—clearly she only heard the tail end of it, thank goodness.
“Well, too bad, baby. You’re stuck with me.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.” She crosses her arms like a petulant child.
“So help me, Gigi. I’ll handcuff us together and throw the key into the ocean if you don’t cooperate.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she hisses.
It sounds like a ton of fun to me; I almost beg her to be a bad girl and try me. Instead, I cock a brow with an icy stare that strongly suggests she shouldn’t test me.
“You are the most irritating man, Jackson Alexander. I have work to do, you know. You can’t just follow me around 24/7.”
“Yeah, I can—and I will. If it means keeping you safe, nothing else matters.” I stand my ground, watching her reaction.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re awake. Come here,” I command, pulling a chair over to the sink and patting the seat. “Let’s change your bandages and wash your hair.”
“You… want to wash my hair?”
“Yep. And I promise to be careful—get any remaining blood the nurses might have missed, and clean the area around the wound.”
She chews her bottom lip, then slowly saunters over. “Fine. But don’t get soap in my eyes,” she grumbles.
“Wouldn’t think of it. You can trust me.”
“Hmph.”
As she sits, I can’t help but appreciate the sight of her backside—firmer than I remembered. Nice.
“Lean back.” I begin rinsing her hair. “Is the water temp just right for you?”
With a shrug, she doesn’t really give me an answer, still not giving me an inch despite everything that’s happened.
“I wish I knew where I went wrong with you, G.”
“How do you mean?”
“Most women seem to think I’m just fine. You, though, must be the only one in the world who isn’t easily won over by me.”
“Hurt your ego?” she smirks, and a part of me wants to grab the spout and douse her with water. But I hold back—I’m a grown man who’d think twice before doing that. I wouldn’t mind giving her bratty self a playful spanking, though.
“Nope. Just like any competition we’re in, it makes me want to work harder to win.” I wink.
“Win what?” She scowls. Why is it that every feeling Gigi has about me wears across her face a little too easily?
“ You, Gigi.” I lower my voice and fill it with every intention.
Her breath catches as I wash her hair. Our eyes meet, as if acknowledging the inevitability brewing between us. She fights it, though, recovering with her signature roll of the eyes.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, her arms crossing beneath her beautiful breasts. Tilted toward the ceiling like perky peaks, they’re on full display for me—the only man here lucky enough to admire them, and I plan on keeping it that way.