Heat It Up Read Free Page B

distract me? Talk to me about something.” Becker fought a wave of discomfort. Wonderful. If there was one thing he sucked at, it was talking.
    Especially to women.
    “Please,” she added, obviously seeing the reluctance in his eyes.
    “Talk about what?” he finally asked, caving in.
    “Anything. Tell me about the bullet wound in your arm, your favorite movie, your pet peeves. I don’t care.” Another shaky breath.
    “Um, okay.” He paused. “Well, bullet wounds fucking hurt.”
    Her lips quirked, and Becker was startled by the little spark of pleasure he got from knowing he’d made her smile. “What does it feel like? Is it like a knife wound? Because I know what that feels like.”
    “When the hell did you get a knife wound?”
    “College. I was a reporter for the school paper and I went to interview this meth addict for a piece I was doing. Only he was super high and thought I was a narc.” She offered a small shrug, as if to say no biggie .
    Despite himself, Becker grinned. “Remember earlier how I said you were persistent? Well, correction—you’re nuts.”
    “It was an important story. Getting knifed added some color to the piece.” Her blue eyes twinkled.
    “So, the bullet…?”
    “Right. Well, to be honest, I didn’t even feel it at first. Adrenaline running too high, you know. I was too focused on getting your sister into the chop—” He narrowed his eyes. “All this is off the record, right?”
    Jane made a face. “Unfortunately. But I still think you should let me interview you.”
    “Not interested.”
    “Fine.” She gave a little pout, which brought another smile to his lips. “At least finish the story.”
    “Yes, ma’am. So, like I said, didn’t feel a thing at first, not until I climbed into the chopper. Then the pain hit me, like a streak of lightning. Arm started throbbing, head spinning from the loss of blood.
    Felt like someone stuck a live wire straight into my bone.”

    “Is that the first time you’ve been shot?”
    “First time I’ve had a bullet in me, yeah. I’ve been grazed a few times, knifed, slashed by a machete once…” His voice drifted, and he smiled at the horror in her eyes. “Part of the job.”
    “I could never do it,” Jane said frankly. “A job where I’m constantly getting injured? No thank you.
    I’d way rather interview people in the comfort of their homes.” He shot her a curious glance. “What kind of stories do you write?”
    “Whatever I get assigned. Last issue I had a piece about insider trading, the one before that was a story about human trafficking.”
    “And now you’re working on a story about your sister?”
    She nodded then released a long breath. To his relief, this one didn’t sound shaky. She was evidently calming down. “I was so worried about her, Becker. When her office called and told us she’d gone off the radar, I thought she was dead.” Jane swallowed. “I always tell her not to take such risky assignments, but she never listens.”
    He arched a brow. “Would you ever turn down a story because someone told you there might be some risk?”
    The corner of her mouth curved. “No. I guess it runs in the family, huh? Pigheadedness is probably the only thing I have in common with them.”
    “You don’t get along with your family?”
    “No, I do. I love them to death. But sometimes I feel like the odd man out, you know? My mom, Dad, Liz, my brother Ken—they’re all so similar. Look alike, think alike. Hell, they all chose the same career. Photographers, all of them!” She shook her head, looking baffled. “Journalism is a related field, I guess, but I know squat about photography. We have dinner together every Wednesday night, and the four of them drone on and on about new techniques they’re using or what not, and I just sit there, twiddling my thumbs.” She halted suddenly, her cheeks reddening. “Sorry, I don’t mean to complain.
    You’re probably bored by my rambling, huh?”
    Actually, he