The Heat Is On. Jill Shalvis

blocking off the shop, so she’d never opened for the day, disappointing their customers.

      All those delicious pastries and cakes, going stale…

      Ethan drove Bella home from the station. Home was, temporarily at least, one of the two small apartments above Edible Bliss.

      “You’re new to town,” Ethan said lightly, idling at the curb while Bella unhooked her seat belt.

      They’d been over this, but she nodded. “Yes.”

      “You planning on sticking?”

      “I don’t tend to stick, I never intended to stick.”

      “Are you…unsticking anytime soon?”

      “Not this week.”

      “Good enough,” he said. “Thanks for cooperating this morning.”

      She’d been raised right enough that she automatically thanked him in return, even though she had no idea what she was thanking him for. Asking intrusive questions? Plying her with bad cop coffee until she was so jittery she was in danger of leaping out of her own skin? He seemed like a good cop and a decent man, but she was on overload now, facing an adrenaline crash. “How long until we can go back inside?”

      “Another couple of hours, tops. Just long enough to let CSI finish. You’ll call me if you think of anything else you can tell me?”

      “Yes,” she said, then asked him the question she’d been wondering all day. “Are you Jacob’s partner?”

      “We work together sometimes, but not on this case.”

      Something in his voice had her taking a second look at him.

      “Conflict of interest,” he clarified.

      She hesitated, knowing that they both knew she was the conflict of interest. “Is he in trouble?”

      He started to say something and then stopped.

      “Is he?”

      “For being with you? No. For not being able to keep his nose out once he’s feeling protective about someone he cares about? Not yet, but give him a day or two.”

      “We’re not together. It was…just a one-night thing. You need to make sure your commander, or whatever he’s called, knows that. I don’t want Jacob to be in trouble over me.”

      “I’ll be in touch.”

      She nodded, ignoring the unease in the indent of her gut, and got out of the car. She looked at the front door to the shop. Edible Bliss, the cute little paisley sign read. The interior was just as unique. Done up like a sixties coffeehouse, the colors bold and happy.

      And just a little psychedelic.

      She loved it here.

      But at the moment, she also hated it.

      There was still yellow crime tape blocking the front door. Willow was sitting on the steps. She was forty, tiny, with a dark cap of spiky hair tipped in purple this week. Her eyebrow piercing glinted in the sun as she watched Bella approach with a worried tilt to her mouth.

      It’d been a while since Bella had stayed anyplace long enough to make friends, been a long time since she’d wanted to, but Santa Rey had snagged her by the heartstrings.

      So had Willow. They’d spent only a month together, but it felt like more. She sank to the step at Willow’s side. “I’m so sorry.”

      “Not your fault.” Willow had sweet, warm eyes and a smile to match, and she hugged Bella tight. “We don’t see a lot of murder in Santa Rey,” she murmured. “They asked me a bunch of questions and I didn’t get to ask any of my own. Do you suppose they have any leads?”

      “At the moment, I might be their only one.”

      Willow pulled back, clearly shocked. “They suspect you?”

      “I think it’s standard procedure to suspect everyone.”

      Willow was quiet a moment. “It’s probably not appropriate to ask, given what’s happened, but I never got to ask you. How did last night go? Date number eight?”

      In spite of everything, Bella felt herself soften. “Nice.”

      Willow blinked, then let out a slow grin. “Honey, a smile that like means a whole helluva lot more than nice.”

      “Yes, well, it got complicated.”

      “Uh-huh. Most good stuff is. Is he good looking?”

      “Yes.”

      “Good kisser?”

      “Willow—”

      “Oh, come on. I haven’t had a date in three months. Let me live vicariously through you.”

      “Yes,” Bella breathed on a whisper of a laugh. “He’s a good kisser. But—”

      “Oh, crap. There’s a but?”

      “A big one, actually. He’s the detective assigned to this case. Or he was, until it was established that he’d slept with the person who found the dead guy.”

      Willow stared at her. “Oh, shit, Bella.”

      “Yeah. That about covers it.”

      They stood together and walked past the yellow tape to the alley between the building and the one next door. It was narrow and lined with two trash cans. Passing through, they came to the rear of the shop, where there was more yellow tape across the back door.

      Bella took in the sight of the stoop and shivered. Willow hugged her, then they took the stairs to the second-story landing. Her boss moved to her door. “You going to be okay?”

      “Abolutely.”

      Willow blew her a kiss and vanished inside her place.

      Bella entered her own apartment, where she stripped, pulled on her bathing suit and headed back out, walking the block to the beach. The boardwalk stretched out in front of her, but she didn’t walk it as she normally did. Today she wanted to swim.

      Hard.

      This particular beach drew sunbathers looking to soak up the California sun, and fishermen seeking fish and crab. It was a popular spot, and not much of a secret, but this afternoon, there wasn’t a crowd. Standing at the water’s edge, Bella stared out into the waves, inhaling the warm, salty air. The scent was intoxicating. With a purposeful breath, she let loose some of the tension knotting her shoulders and neck, and kicked off her flip-flops. She dropped her towel to the sand, and then her sunglasses on the towel, and without pause, dived out past the waves. There, she swam parallel to the shore for half a mile, and then back.

      By the time she walked out of the water at the same spot she’d started, the sun was slanting lower in the sky, perched like a glorious burning ball hanging over the horizon.

      The beach had completely cleared. Instead of the pockets of families dotting the sand, there was only the occasional straggler. She bent for her sunglasses, slid them on, then straightened, coming face-to-face with Detective Jacob Madden.

      He looked her over slowly, taking in her dripping wet suit without a word. He wore the same loose jeans and the shirt she’d seen him in earlier, and still had his gun at his hip. The shirt was snug across his shoulders and loose across the abs she had every reason to know were flat and ridged, as she’d spent some time running her tongue across them.

      All day her thoughts had drifted to him.

      He was easy to think about. He looked great when he was smiling. He looked great when he was just standing there. Hell, he looked great naked and sweaty, and that was hard to do—no pun intended.

      He was wearing dark sunglasses and looked like a movie star. She squeezed the water from her hair, quiet as she eyed him. “Definitely Tall, Dark and Drop-dead Sexy.”