I pull out my lockpick and knock out the final hurdle without breaking a sweat.
My phone rings as I open the door.
I answer it. “Your security sucks, man.”
“You know, I would have given you the code,” Fox says.
“My way is more fun.”
I glance around the foyer. Various movie posters hang on the walls inside frames that probably cost more than my rent back east. Dani stares back at me from every one. Damn, she’s pretty. Natural blonde hair — although, I hear she keeps it black nowadays. Bright, blue eyes.
Fox is one lucky bastard, but I’ll never tell him that. He’s smug enough already.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask.
“A concerned neighbor called Dani to tell her about a strange man in glasses climbing our fence.”
“Don’t you rich bastards have anything better to do than spy on your neighbors all day?”
“Apparently not,” he answers. “You’re going to fix it, right?”
“Of course. I just needed… a distraction.”
“Ahh, jeez,” he mumbles, recognizing my tone. “What’d you do?”
“What’d I do?! You mean what’d Caleb do?”
“What happened? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So am I, by the way, since you’re so full of concern.”
“Please, tell me you didn’t do something stupid.”
I pause to admire their giant kitchen. Stainless steel appliances. Hardwood floors. I could definitely move in here for a while. Damn place is so big, they probably won’t even notice I’m here.
“Define stupid,” I say.
“Tell me what you did and I’ll tell you if it was stupid.”
I check the refrigerator for something strong and alcoholic. “I kind of… slept with her.”
“Already?” Fox asks. “It’s been like two hours.”
“Hey, there’s no one more surprised about that than I am, dude.”
“Whatever happened to never give a second chance to a girl with a boy’s name?”
“I never said…” I pause. “Actually, that sounds exactly like something I’d say.” I find something imported stashed in the door and grab two bottles of it. “Where’s your bottle opener?”
“Top drawer, left of the fridge,” he answers. I slide open the drawer and snatch the bottle opener off the top before shoving it closed. “Although, you probably shouldn’t be drinking right now considering the circumstances.”
“She said the same thing,” I say. “Didn’t stop her from tearing my pants off.”
“And how exactly did that lead to you sulking around my kitchen?”
I plop down onto the couch in the living room, once again scanning the unfamiliar surroundings of their quiet, yet echoey, home.
“We got married,” I say.
There’s a long, heavy pause.
“It’s been two hours…”
“No—” I shake my head. “Not today. Before.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I know, Box.”
I raise a brow. “You know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“How did you know?”
“I worked for the most dangerous criminal organization in the world. I had more than enough means to check in on you two every so often.”
“I feel so violated…” I joke.
I spot a familiar picture nestled in a frame on a short end table across the room. I push off the couch and wander over to get a better look.
“Two years ago. Right after you died…” I mutter. “They shipped us both back home and they dropped us off at the airport in Vegas, of all places….” I chuckle. “I thought it was a sign. She thought I was an idiot, but she said yes anyway.”
I grab the frame, overwhelmed with crippling nostalgia at the desert sand surrounding the three of us. It’s a silly photo — completely unprofessional given the setting — but I can think of plenty of times overseas when that was the norm. Fox stands in-between me and Caleb with his arms wrapped around our shoulders, holding the three of us together like he always did.
“I dunno, without you around, we just kind of panicked. Needed something to cling to, so we chose each other.”
“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” he asks.
I set the frame back down. “Three days later, she kicked me out. Three days after that…” I sigh. “I haven’t seen her since.”
“You’re still married?”
I smile. “Technically, yeah. She wanted to divorce, but… I’ve been avoiding that.” He says nothing as I roam the room with restless feet. “Fox, I need to ask you something. It might sound weird but just bear with me…”
“Go ahead.”
“What are you scared of? Like — worst-case scenario, worst nightmare you can think of. What is it?”
“Well, that’s easy,” he says, his voice low.
“Dani?”
“Yeah. Losing her — or even worse…” He pauses. “Even worse would be the thought of putting her through losing me… again.”
“But still, you stay with her even though you know that could happen any day now?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve cheated death once already,” he answers. “That doesn’t happen twice.”
I bite my lip. “Right…”
“Box, we don’t get a lot of time in this world,” he says. “Especially people like us. You live the life you can while you can.”
“If only Caleb thought the same way, man.” I chuckle. “She’s got it in her head that she has to push me away.”
“Then, you go to her and you convince her otherwise. Dani and I have our fair share of problems, believe me, but… I live each day with her as if it’s my last. You two should do the same.”
Christ. He’s right. As usual.
Caleb Fawn might be a high-maintenance and downright frustrating woman but she’s my woman. Always has been — whether she cares to admit it or not.
“So, tell me, Fox…” I say, “did I do something stupid?”
“Only if you don’t fix it.”
I chug the rest of the bottle and set it down on the table beside the old photograph. “Your house kinda sucks, dude,” I say. “I’m a little disappointed.”
“Have you found the theater yet?”
I pause, impressed. “You have a theater?”
“Later. Now, you should go back to Caleb. I don’t like the idea of either of you being alone with the Harts out there looking for you.”
“She’ll be fine…”
“Box.”
I sigh. “All right. I will return to my wife.”
“Well, that sounds weird.”
“I don’t know.” I smile. “I kinda like the sound of it.”
Chapter 13
Caleb
My husband is a fucking idiot.
God, I hate the sound of that…
ILOVEYOU? I-fucking-LOVEYOU? Since when did we ever say that each other? Even on our wedding night, the L-word didn’t come up once and I liked it that way. Not that I never felt it for him, but I don’t waste time on redundancy. It goes against my training. Every second counts during times of war. One second wasted could mean your death and the deaths of everyone around you. If something is a given, you don’t take the time to express it because the ones that matter should already know and the ones that don’t probably aren’t worth the effort.
Then again, he’s right. We’re not out in the desert anymore.
The L-word doesn’t matter when nothing else works. I came from a family that looked perfect on the outside. Love this. Love that. But there was darkness lurking around every corner waiting to remind you it exists. For years, I thought that’s how the world worked.
Then, I met Fox. He had his own bit of darkness following him around but for the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to have a friend.
Then, Boxcar crashed into my life. Along with the L-word
.
I stare across the room at my television, but I haven’t managed to turn it on yet. I still can’t get past the way he said it. Head down, eyes barely open. He couldn’t even look at me, but I could tell he wanted to.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Why is that so hard for me to say?
I push off the couch, grab my phone, and slide on my shoes. It’s far too quiet up here and I’m starting to get tinnitus in my ears. There’s only one thing that’s always managed to calm me down and I’ve got a whole arsenal of weapons stashed downstairs in need of cleaning.
I bounce down the stairs, tying my hair back into a loose ponytail as I go. The back room of my shop is a little-known secret — one that I’ve managed to keep quiet for the most part. I have a few elite clients that pop in now and again to pick up the latest tactical gear and weaponry (the most recent being the newly resurrected Fox Fitzpatrick). It’s not the most legitimate of black-market business practices but when you’re in as much debt as I am, you play to your strengths. My military expertise makes me a hell of a lot more trusting than the street gangs around here.
I squeeze behind the counter of my shop with a dusting cloth wrapped around my hand, ready to attack my back room without mercy.
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
I pause, sensing the slow, quiet movement smack dab in the middle of my very closed pawnshop.
“Hello, Ms. Fawn.”
I scan every reflective surface around me, sizing her up before I even turn around. She’s petite like me but, also like me, not the kind you want to fuck with. Tight jeans, even tighter black shirt. Sporty hair the color of spilled fruit juice on white carpet. And her eyes. Knowing, experienced.
Deadly.
I turn around and she grins at me. “We’re closed on Sundays,” I say.
“I know.”
“Come back tomorrow.” I toss the cleaning cloth onto the counter between us.
“I’m not here for…” she points a finger and draws a line across the nearest shelf, “whatever the hell this stuff is.”
“Then, what do you want?”
She wipes dust on her jeans. “I’m looking for your husband.”
This must be Lilah Hart. My brain works in the background, calculating how fast it would take for me to secure a reasonable weapon. I’ll need five seconds minimum to get to the back room, but she could easily scale the counter in less than three.
“I don’t have a husband.”
“The state of California seems to think otherwise.”
I shrug. “We separated years ago. I haven’t seen him since.”
Her little cartoony eyes squint at me. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“He flew into town early this morning,” she says. “He didn’t stop by?”
“Nope.”
“Bummer.” She heaves a tiny, defeated breath. “Any idea where he’d go?”
“It’s a big city. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have some work to do and you’re trespassing, so if there’s nothing else…”
Lilah’s lips twitch to the side but she doesn’t move. “Actually, I didn’t just come here looking for Bartholomew Carson. There’s a much bigger fish I’m after.”
I point behind her. “In that case, I have a decent selection of antique fishing lures. Take your pick.”
Impatience coats her painted eyes, but it’s gone just as soon as it appears. “Caleb, where is Fox Fitzpatrick?”
I tilt my head, feigning confusion. “He’s dead.”
She rolls her eyes. “Try again, honey.”
“No, really.” I chuckle. “Two years ago. He was killed in action overseas. I was there.”
Lilah inhales all the way to the bottom of her lungs and takes a short step closer to the counter. She lays her fingers against the glass, leaning over in a decent attempt at intimidating me. “I know that’s bullshit, Caleb. I know he’s alive. I know your husband made contact with him in Colorado a few weeks ago. Now, I’m tired and I’m cranky and I’m getting really bored with this shit.”
“Sounds awful.”
“Tell me where he is, and I’ll let you walk away.”
“Glendale Avenue,” I say. “Forest Lawn Memorial. That’s where you can find Fox — his empty box, anyway. There wasn’t much left of him to ship back home.”
She reaches behind her, obviously to rest her hand on the weapon she’s got stashed in her belt. “You’re not doing yourself any favors protecting him, Caleb.”
I brace my toes, ready to move. “Feels pretty good, though, Lilah.”
Her white teeth drag across her bottom lip. “You know, I’m curious. Just between us girls...” Her brow crinkles. “Why Carson? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you could seriously do better.”
“Boxcar.”
“What?”
“His name is Boxcar,” I say. “And you picked the wrong morning to mess with me, Gidget.”
Her bicep flexes. I quickly snatch her shoulder and force her down against the glass but she’s much faster than that brutish man from last night. Lilah twists out of my grasp and draws her pistol to point it at my face.
I dodge behind the counter, reaching beneath it to grab the baseball bat hidden out of sight as two silenced bullets strike the wall behind me, followed closely by another that shatters the glass counter and pierces the floor near my head.
I swing the bat, striking her outstretched hand before she can pull of another shot. It connects with her knuckles and she growls in pain as the pistol flings across the room.
Instead of charging after it, Lilah leaps over the busted counter, swinging her trained feet in front of her to kick me hard in the chest. I fall off-balance and she plants herself between me and my back room.
I keep a white-knuckle grip on my bat as she charges forward and lands a solid punch against my jaw. Pain radiates through my face. It’s the first time I’ve felt pain like this in years and it instantly ignites all adrenaline in my body.
This fucking bitch is going down.
Lilah pulls back her arm, preparing for a second, even harder, punch. As time slows down, I wait for the perfect moment to block her attack. I grab her wrist out of the air with one hand. I drop the bat from the other and wrap my fingers around her little neck.
Surprise flashes in her eyes. She lets me shove her backward against a shelf. A set of novelty mugs tumble and shatter to pieces on the floor beneath us. She raises her knee and bashes it against my ribs. I keep my composure until she juts forward and hits me in the nose with a firm head-butt.
My grip loosens. She slips out of it and delivers a hard backhand against my cheek. I wobble again but scoop the baseball bat off the floor as I move.
Lilah raises her hands to block my swing but misses. The bat’s tip connects against her right eye. Her body twists and she falls to the linoleum, hopefully blinded by pain and white lights dancing along her vision.
I step forward and kick her hard in the torso, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She wheezes for air as she tries to claw her way out of my reach.
I raise the bat, ready to bring it down on her when a strong hand grips the back of my neck, followed closely by a sharp stab deep in the flesh above my collarbone. I spin around to see a man standing behind me with a depressed syringe held in his surgical-gloved hand.
It hits me quickly. I lose all feeling in my shoulders, all the way down to my fingers and toes. The man wraps his arm behind me and another beneath my legs to raise me up as gravity descends on me. I try to hold on, but I can’t keep the numbness from invading. Paralysis takes over.
I close my eyes, expecting to lose consciousness, but my mind stays alert.
The man sighs at Lilah. “Quit fooling around,” he says, his voice echoing through my ears. “You said you had this covered.”
Lilah lurches off the floor. “I had it under control,” she argues, tapping the fresh bruise taking over her fa
ce around her right eye. She winces as she pushes against it and fires an angry look at me.
“Apparently not,” he says, jolting me up to get a better hold on me.
I try to roll free of him, but I can’t move a muscle. Everything feels rock-solid and cold. My brain is still warm and lucid.
I’m trapped in my own body.
“You,” I say.
Lilah flinches in surprise. “I thought you knocked her out.”
“No,” he says. “She’s still in there. We need her talking, remember?”
She rolls her eyes and grabs her gun off the floor. “Whatever. Where’s the car?”
“It’s out back.”
I stare up at him as he carries me through the back hallway to the alleyway. He shares the same eyes as Lilah, along with the same cheekbones and nose. His hair is ash brown and a little too long with bangs hanging down over his eyes. He must be the other Hart twin, Elijah.
My vision blurs as he drops me in the backseat of their car, just barely cradling my head to keep it from jerking around. I can’t feel it right now, but I’ll probably have a twisted neck for weeks after this. Bastards.
Elijah slides into the back with me and sits me up as Lilah climbs into the driver’s seat. “Caleb,” he says, leaning into my line of sight. “Say something.”
I open my mouth — or, at least, I think I do. My throat tingles, the muscles clenching open and closed. “Fuck you…”
He smiles. “Colorful girl.”
“Pfft, please,” Lilah spits from the front seat.
“Lilah…” he says. “You had your shot with her. Now, it’s my turn.”
He points ahead, signaling her to focus on the road with his eyes locked on me. He studies my numb features with scientific intent. I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers against my face, holding my head steady as the car shakes back and forth on the street.
“Caleb,” he says, his voice calm and patient, “you managed to beat up my sister, and for that, you have earned my respect. You’ve proven to be a very impressive young woman. However, if you don’t start telling me something useful, I’m going to have to hurt you and I don’t like doing that as much as my twin does.”
“You gonna torture me?” I slur with curling lips.
Broken Love Page 8