Chapter Nine
M?RTEN’S brEATHING WAS labored as he pounded up the hill behind Summer.
Jesus Christ, this girl could run. M?rten was fit, but not nearly as fit as her, it seemed.
Even his police training didn’t come close to covering conditions for triathlons.
The only good thing about the past half hour of pure torture was the view of her gorgeous ass encased in black lycra shorts as she ran in front of him.
And the way her long ponytail flicked jauntily down her back as she moved was also doing strange things to his insides.
He knew she was going to punish him for pulling away from that kiss, and she was succeeding.
He might even have to call a halt soon, before he passed out.
He was no judge of how well Summer might be doing in the triathlon world, but if this run—and it could be called nothing less, there was no jogging going on here—was anything to go by, Summer must be very competitive.
They crested the slight incline, and Lake Washington came back into view.
They’d been following the shoreline off and on, as Summer snaked her way through the suburbs, M?rten trusting she knew where she was going because he would not admit he was completely lost. The sun was just coming up, with a delicate mist rising off the calm water and the sky tinged a pale pink above.
A grassy verge led down from the path to the edge of the water, bordered by pretty shrubs and even a flush of summer flowers.
It was quite beautiful, and it reminded him of the lake near his hometown where he sometimes went hiking whenever he had a day off.
Seattle wasn’t a terrible place to live, he decided.
M?rten was just about to call out and ask Summer to stop—ostensibly to admire the view—when she slowed so that he nearly ran into the back of her and had to pull up short.
“I thought we should pause before you keeled over and died,” she said tartly, flicking him a haughty look over her shoulder.
Even while he was trying to hide just how much he was struggling to breathe, an urge to kiss that smart mouth of hers overtook him.
But she took off at a light jog toward the water’s edge, and he followed, his retort stuck in his throat as he gasped for breath.
She stopped, studying the view unfolding before them, and he took a moment to appreciate her shape outlined against the luminous water.
Long legs, the jut of her hips and then a dainty waist that he longed to wrap his hands around so he could pull her to him.
She was tall and athletic, muscular and strong.
Everything that he appreciated in a woman.
No wonder he was so drawn to her. But it was her feisty temperament, and the fact there was clearly lots going on inside that quick mind of hers, that intrigued him as much as her body.
She turned to stare at him as he stepped alongside her.
A hint of perspiration and a slight rosy glow around her cheeks were the only suggestions that she’d run five miles at a breakneck pace.
While M?rten was sweating heavily and his chest burned from the unusual, arduous exertion.
He knew his face was as red as a beetroot, but he stood up taller, pretending he was fine.
The thought that he now had to run at least five miles back to Nikki’s again was pushed to the dark recesses of his mind.
He was here to keep Summer safe. And if she wanted to run ten miles, twenty even, then he’d just have to keep up.
His muscles were going to scream at him tomorrow, but that was a price he was happy to pay.
Maybe he should take up running when he got home.
Just to increase his cardiovascular fitness. That was all; no other reason.
“So, you compete in triathlons then?” He asked when he finally had his breathing under control.
They’d already touched on this subject, but perhaps it was an opportunity to find out more.
Triathletes were a special kind of person.
From the little he knew, it took dedication, lots of time, and sheer unwavering grit to be any good.
And he wanted to know if she was any good.
Her gaze remained fixed on the view, and he wondered if she was going to answer. At last, she said. “Yes. I like to keep busy when I’m not working. And owning my own photography business, I can usually schedule my jobs around my training timetable.”
That made sense. “And you’ve been doing this for a while?”
She nodded slowly, but the stubborn turn of her lip told him she was considering not answering.
Then she let out a sigh of capitulation.
“I started when I first moved to Seattle about six years ago. My friend, Serena, got me into it. She was born in Namibia and was lucky enough to be relocated here as a refugee when she was young. She got into the modeling business and started doing triathlons as a way to stay fit and trim. But now she’s shifted to the other side of the camera, and she takes the photos instead of posing for them.
She gave up triathlons a few years ago to concentrate on her photography, which was good for me, because she’s one of the best runners I’ve ever known and I could never beat her.
But I could always catch her in the swim leg,” she added with a wry twist to her lips.
This was the most Summer had revealed since he’d met her, and it was fascinating finding out more about her life. M?rten kept his gaze directed forward like hers, not wanting to break this fragile truce. She might not have forgiven him, but at least she was talking.
“It becomes a bit addictive, you know,” she added thoughtfully.
He wasn’t sure he agreed with that. To him, exercise was merely a means to an end. He couldn’t say that he enjoyed the endless hours of sweating. And if they ever brought out a pill that meant you never had to work out again, he might well take it.
“You must train most days then?” He said, not letting on to his true thoughts.
She looked at him for the first time since they had stopped, then quickly averted her gaze. “Yes, most days. I swim twice a week, run at least twice a week, and train on my bicycle at least twice a week.”
That left scant opportunity for rest and relaxation, he decided, and he looked at her with renewed respect. “It sounds like you’re quite competitive.”
“I guess so. There’s a big event coming up in the last week of June in Pontevedra, Spain.
If I do well there, then I’ll qualify to join the US team to go to the World Championships.
I’ve just moved up to the 30 to 35 age group, but the competition is still fierce and…
” Summer stopped, then grimaced and shot him a look from beneath lowered brows, clearly wishing she hadn’t given away that information.
M?rten had already guessed she was in her late twenties and was a little surprised to hear she was at least thirty.
That made him only four years her senior.
An age gap like that was nothing; why, he’d dated women way younger than him before.
Wait…what? Why was he even thinking this?
He wasn’t about to date Summer, so the difference in their ages was irrelevant.
“The end of June is only a couple of weeks away,” M?rten commented, pushing thoughts about dating out of his head.
“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s why it’s so important I don’t lose any of my training momentum.”
“I can imagine,” he replied. “Do you often travel to events?” He’d never considered when or how these kinds of things were organized; it was interesting.
Plus, he was enjoying talking to Summer.
Her guard had dropped now that she was discussing something she was passionate about.
It made her light up, made even more attractive, if that was possible.
“Yes, I’m often overseas at least two or three times annually. Sometimes I can work a job into the destination if I’m lucky. The meets are always at a different location every year. Last year—”
The sound of M?rten’s phone ringing cut her off. He had half a mind to ignore it so he could continue this discussion. But when he saw it was Jacob, he decided to take it. He could have a new lead from his FBI sources.
“M?rten, get back here, now.” Jacob didn’t even wait for M?rten to say hello. His tone was tight and gruff, immediately putting him on edge.
“Why, what—”
“Someone tried to set fire to Nikki’s house. We’re okay. Nikki’s very shaken up. But the guy got away.” Jacob cut him off again before he had a chance to frame a sensible question.
Holy shit. M?rten couldn’t keep the fear off his face, and as Summer read his features she reared back, shock widening her eyes.
“What’s happened? God, please don’t tell me Nikki or Jacob have been hurt,” she said, both hands coming up to cover her mouth.
“We’re on our way,” M?rten said into the receiver, ushering Summer up the hill as he spoke.
“We should be there in ten minutes. We’ll catch an Uber home.
” This wasn’t the time to be running, and for once he had no disagreement from Summer as she turned and went obediently in the direction he was pushing her.
“Tell me what’s happened,” she pleaded over her shoulder as she jogged up the hill in front of him.
M?rten looked up from tapping his details into the ride-share app. He couldn’t keep this from her; it was too big. “Someone attacked Nikki’s house. Both Jacob and Nikki are fine, though.”
She shook her head, stopping dead and then taking two steps away from him. “Oh God,” she moaned. “This is because of me, isn’t it? I was afraid this would happen.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to look into his eyes. He could feel the agitation thrumming through her, like she was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
“We don’t know that yet,” he said, keeping his voice calm and neutral.
He didn’t need her any more spooked than she already was.
“The main thing is Jacob and Nikki are fine. Let’s just wait and see what the FBI decides when we get back.
This could be completely coincidental,” he soothed as he returned to punching buttons on his phone.
But inside, his guts roiled with a tornado of emotions.
Because he knew his words were hollow. This attack was definitely connected to Summer. There was no doubt in his mind.