I just have to see her face and it’ll all come out.
“Caleb?”
I reach for the doorknob and twist it, feeling a sudden bolt of shock as the thing pushes open. Sure, Caleb is the only person who lives in this building, but I doubt she’d leave her door unlocked, especially with the street access at the bottom of the stairs. I step inside and look around as another stab of guilt plunges deep.
The room is exactly as I left it. The bedsheets are still flung about. The pillows are ruffled. My nose fills with the very scent of her, enough to make me halt in my shoes and take notice. Just like it always did since the moment I met her.
“Caleb?”
I check the bathroom, but she isn’t there either. She could have gone out. If not, there’s only one other place she would be and that’s downstairs in her shop. I smile, remembering that there’s only one thing that never failed to relax her. If I were a betting man, that’s exactly where she’d go after what just happened between us.
I head for the back of her loft to the staircase leading down to her shop.
“Shit…” I mutter, looking around. “Shit.”
Broken glass. Toppled merchandise. Bullet casings.
Whatever happened here, it wasn’t good.
And worse, it’s my fault.
“Caleb!”
I look up, scanning the corners for a security camera. There’s one in each corner and two more that cover the cash register and the front entrance.
I rush to the management office in the back, biting my cheek in the hopes that they aren’t just dummy cameras to deter theft. Caleb’s just stubborn enough not to invest in a system and given the state of her bank accounts, she probably justified the non-expense of not having one.
The old office has two desks, one with the most ancient CRT monitor sitting on top. The monitor blinks as I flick it on, almost puttering out completely. It eventually kicks on, along with the VHS player connected to it with a tape inside labeled Sunday.
I shake my head, promising to install something a hell of a lot better than this when this is all over.
I rewind the tape and there she is.
Lilah Hart.
Every ounce of air dispels from my lungs. My heart expands several sizes, ready to explode with anger.
From what I can see, Lilah managed to break in through the alleyway exit behind the building just minutes after I walked out.
Goddammit.
I should have stayed.
Why didn’t I stay?
I fast-forward the tape, watching as Caleb enters the back of the shop. Lilah confronts her at the counter. Every second brings me closer to despair, knowing that I’m about to see one of two possible conclusions: A — that Caleb was defeated and kidnapped, or B — that Lilah made me a widower. Neither option will make me happy, but one will definitely make me more pissed off than the other.
The fight begins. I can’t help but smile at the reminder that Caleb is a fucking badass. Sure, she’s beautiful and feminine and all that good stuff but that’s not what made me hard for her in the first place. It was the warrior in her that did that. There’s something undeniably sexy about a woman who can pin a full-grown man against the wall and make him beg for his mommy.
My heart sinks as a dark shadow enters in through the back and sneaks up behind her. Caleb had Lilah on the damn floor and Elijah just swoops in — that fucking bastard.
Fuck. I should have stayed. This would have been a fair fight if I had.
Caleb collapses into his arms and my rage wins.
Fuck this shit.
I’m getting my wife back.
Chapter 16
Boxcar
I’ve got the drive. I’ve got the determination.
Most of all, I’ve got Caleb Fawn’s secret back room to arm myself with.
The Harts probably didn’t even realize it was here and Caleb was smart enough not to draw Lilah’s attention toward it during their fight.
I walk inside and breathe in that old, nostalgic smell of assault rifles and gunpowder. I flick on the light to see guns lined along the walls.
A lot of guns.
Oh, Ms. Fawn. You haven’t changed at all, baby.
The alleyway door opens and closes.
I freeze, sensing hard boots tapping against the hallway floor. I scan for the nearest available weapon and my lips twitch at the sight of Caleb’s “special occasion” gun: her Model 60 Smith & Wesson revolver, obviously returned to her since Fox and Dani’s cross-country excursion a few weeks back. She never let me even hold it before and there’s no way I’m going to pass up the opportunity now.
I grab it off the wall and confirm it’s loaded as the boots step further inside the shop.
The Harts must have come back. Maybe they saw me go inside and decided to come finish me off. I won’t make it that easy, that’s for sure.
As I prepare to leap out, my heart stops in my chest. Every man has imagined themselves in this situation before. Guns drawn with the villain in their sights. A very grateful damsel hanging on their arm.
But no one really thinks about how terrifying it is.
Crap, I’m gonna die.
I take a breath, forcing the crippling doubt away before standing up and pointing my gun at the dark figure lingering around the shop.
“Hold it.” I lock my body, refusing to let it tremble. “Let me see your hands.”
The man pauses and his arms slowly rise in surrender. He’s much too tall to be Elijah Hart. He’s dressed very differently in a bold leather jacket and black jeans.
“Turn around,” I tell him.
He obeys and shifts to face me while I ease forward to get a better look at him. He’s clean-shaven with trimmed, blond hair and bright, blue eyes like he’s out of a goddamn fairy tale or something.
As I step closer, he sighs and drops his hands.
I twitch. “Hey, put them back up—”
“I’m not here for you, mate,” he says, his voice sharp with a thick, English accent. “You can drop your piece.”
I keep it pointed at him. “Who are you?” I ask.
“What happened here?”
“I said, who are you?”
“Nevermind,” he says. “I’ll figure it out myself—” I pull back the hammer with my thumb and a laugh spills off his lips. “Mr. Carson, please. Don’t embarrass yourself here.”
“How do you know who I am?”
“Because I’ve been tracking the same pair whose been tracking you across the country.” He holds his hand parallel to the floor and slowly brings it down with his words. “Lower the gun and we’ll talk.”
I let my arm fall to my side, but I keep my finger hugged around the trigger. “You’re after the Harts?”
“I’m after a Hart,” he says. “Fellow by the name of Dante.”
I recall the name. Lilah and Elijah’s big brother.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because my client is offering a lot of money if I bring him in alive.”
I pause, glancing the man up and down. “You’re a bounty hunter?”
“In layman’s terms, yes.” He extends his hand to me, flashing a quick, polite smile as he moves. “My name’s Archer Allen.”
My trigger finger relaxes as I shift the gun into my left and reach out to shake his hand. “Boxcar,” I say.
He nods as if he already knows that and steps back to glance around the shop. “What happened here?” he asks again.
My tongue weighs heavy in my mouth. There’s no way for me to verify anything this guy says right now, but I don’t have time to mess around.
“The twins broke in and kidnapped the owner,” I answer.
Archer looks at me with a wrinkled nose. “What would they want with him?”
“She knows where they can find their target.”
“I thought you were their target.”
“No, they’re looking for a friend of mine.”
“Who?”
I close my mouth. I’ve
already told this guy as much as I’m comfortable with. There’s no way in hell I’m name-dropping Fox Fitzpatrick right now.
“A friend,” I say instead.
He shrugs. “And how do you fit into all this rubbish?”
“I’m her husband.”
“Ah.”
He gives his smooth chin a quick scratch and walks away from the counter, glass crunching beneath the heel of his boot.
“So, the Harts show up looking for you and snatch up your wife instead, is that right?”
“Pretty much,” I say.
“And she knows where they can find this, uh… friend of yours?”
I slowly move out from behind the counter, keeping on my toes as I watch him for quick, sudden movements. “Yeah.”
“That’s a pickle, mate,” he says. “I don’t envy you right now.”
“Thanks.”
“Did they leave any evidence? Anything that’ll tell me where they went?”
I stare back at him as my mind twirls with fresh information and surging adrenaline. “No,” I answer. “Not that I’ve seen yet…”
“Hrm…” He fishes into his jacket for his phone. “Well, maybe little Lily has used Granny’s card again…”
I step closer. “What?”
He pauses, falling silent as he regards me with apprehension.
“Hey, you said we’d talk,” I say. “I answered your questions.”
“Mostly.”
I give him a little space, drifting backward toward the busted counter again. “Who hired you to find Dante Hart?” I ask.
He smiles for a split second before exhaling a short, defeated breath and dropping his phone back into his jacket pocket. “Antony Zappia.”
I search my memory for the name, quickly landing on that night in Denver with Fox. Sipping beers, telling tales of time gone by.
“The mob family?”
His eyes shine with surprise. “You know ‘em?”
“I’ve heard a few stories.”
“Well, big brother Dante up and pissed them off,” he continues. “About half a year back, Zappia hired him as his own personal hitman completely unaware that the man was an undercover Snake Eyes agent.”
“Why was he undercover?”
“Didn’t ask, don’t care,” he says. “The family found out about Snake Eyes along with the rest of the world and Dante put a bullet in Antony’s son’s face on his way out of town.” He waves his palms along his cheek. “Fucked the boy up real good.”
“So, Zappia’s looking to track down Dante. Why are you going after the twins instead?”
“Because Dante disappeared into thin air, but his little brother and sister have not.”
“You catch them, you draw him out?”
“Exactly.”
“Sounds like a decent enough plan — assuming he gives a shit about his baby siblings.”
“He does.” Archer shifts on his feet, changing direction toward the back of the shop. “And if I can find a clue for where they buggered off to, I can get on with it. Is there security footage?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
He takes another step toward the office.
“Wait…” I hold up a hand. I’m constantly full of bad ideas but again — I don’t have time to wonder whether this one will come back to bite me in the ass. “We can help each other.”
“Sorry, buddy,” he says, grinning. “I work alone.”
“And as a perpetually single married man, I can respect that — but you’re not going to catch the Harts all by yourself.”
“I only need to catch one.”
“Then, even your odds,” I say. “Help me get my wife back and I’ll help you track them down.”
His eyes bounce from my head to my toes. I cringe inside. I know exactly what’s going through his head right now because they’re the same thoughts the other soldiers in Fox and Caleb’s unit used to have years ago. Who is this chump? What use is he? Ditch him. He’s dead weight.
Finally, Archer takes another step closer, rolling his fingers into hard fists. “Get out of my way,” he says, his voice a deep growl.
I slide back, easing myself between him and the office door. “I can tell you where Dante is,” I say, drawing a twitch from his brow. “Their childhood home. They tried to wipe out any record of it, but they missed one. Odds are, that’s where you’ll find him.”
Archer darts closer. “Where?”
“You help me get my wife back and I’ll tell you.”
“Or…” He grabs my jacket with a tight grip, raising me an inch or two off the floor. “I could beat the hell out of you until you tell me.”
“For anything else that would probably be enough,” I admit, keeping his wild eyes centered, “but when it comes to this woman, rest assured that I will fuck you up.” I hold a hard, steady tone. “The Harts for my wife. That’s the deal.”
“All right,” he says with amusement. “Calm down, Sparky. You have my attention.” He loosens his flexed hands and lets go of me before taking a step back and reaching out to straighten my jacket down. “May I please see the security footage?”
I step to the side. “Knock yourself out.”
He passes around me into the office and I reach into my messenger bag for my laptop.
I officially have about sixty seconds to find out if this guy is who he says he is.
My ears perk, listening carefully to his every move behind the wall as I silently type his name into various databases.
I run a quick search through the Snake Eyes master file just in case. Thankfully, his name is nowhere on it — but then again, neither is Fox’s.
“Bloody hell—!”
I flinch and lower the laptop screen halfway. “What?”
“That’s your wife?”
My soul swells with pride. “Yes, it is.”
Archer’s head peeks around the door frame and he offers a slow nod of approval. “Not bad, mate.”
“Thank you.”
He slides back into the office and I hear the gentle whirring sound of the tape rewinding. I don’t blame him. I’d watch Caleb whack that bitch in the face over and over again if I weren’t too scared of her dying at any moment.
I tilt the laptop screen up again and watch the progress bar reach its end.
Archer Allen. Bounty hunter.
A damn good one, too.
Born in London. Former MI-6 agent. Dismissed from duty about five years ago but those records are sealed tight.
For the most part, he’s legit with the small exception of him being in the country on an expired visa.
I close the program as his feet come tapping back into the shop. He passes around the counter and his blue eyes scan the floors and walls for clues again.
“See anything?” I ask him.
His head tilts with disappointment. “Nothing on the monitor,” he says. “Not that I’d know if I did. The bloody thing is a hundred years old.”
I scoff with amusement. “Yeah, I’m going to fix that.”
“Is that what you do?” he asks. “Install security systems?”
“Not exactly.” I watch as he pulls his phone out again. “What was that about Granny’s card?”
Archer swipes it on. “Lilah’s got a credit card open in her dead grandmother’s name,” he explains.
“That’s not very smart.”
“She used it to gas up their bikes in Denver last week,” he continues, “I followed the trail from there to Iowa to Boston and now here.”
“The Harts went to Iowa?” I ask, my chest skipping.
He nods with confusion. “Can’t say why. I tracked them to an old farmhouse and all I found was a very old lady with a nasty case of dementia and a real bastard of a dog. I pissed off, thinking I must have missed something when Lilah used the card again outside of Indianapolis.”
I smile inside. Mrs. Clark must have picked up a few acting skills from Dani. At least I get to confirm to Fox that his friend is still safe and loyal.
“You said they had bikes?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“They had a car on the security footage.”
“Must be a rental,” he says, throwing his focus back at his phone.
“Or they stole it,” I point out.
“I prefer a bit of optimism,” he quips. A few seconds pass and he grits his teeth. “But still no recent charges...”
I spin back toward my laptop. “They drove off in a black sedan. I can check to see if any have been reported stolen in the last twelve hours.”
“Right.” Archer chuckles. “Let’s run a search for the most common type of stolen car. That’s sure to narrow it down.”
“If you have another suggestion, I’m all ears.”
I start my search and he says nothing to argue. It annoys me not knowing where to look. Information and intelligence have always been on my side but, right now, I feel absolutely hopeless.
Caleb is gone. I have no idea where they’ve taken her. I have no clue where to look. Granny’s credit card aside — the Harts are ridiculously smart. They won’t peek their heads out until they want to be found and by the time that happens, it’ll be too late to stop whatever it is they plan on doing to her.
“There have been three reported stolen in Los Angeles today,” I read. “Two were found shortly after and the other was a false alarm.”
Archer sighs. “I guess we wait for them to slip up.”
“I don’t have time to wait until they slip up.” My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it. “And did it ever occur to you that they’re using that card on purpose?”
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“You’re dealing with two world-class assassins and you think you’ve outsmarted them by tracking their dead grandmother’s credit card?” I shake my head. “Think about it, Archer. Who’s chasing who here? They’re leaving breadcrumbs and it isn’t to feed the birds.”
I finally reach into my pocket, angry at the persistent vibration against my thigh.
“You think they’re leaving a trail? Why?” he asks.
Broken Love Page 10