by Lisa Harris
He held up a red rose in front of her. “This is for you. You told me Hannah loved roses. And if I remember correctly, so do you.”
“We did, and I still do.” She held the rose and breathed in the subtle, sweet fragrance. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Her heart stirred again. He wasn’t afraid to talk about Hannah, and he didn’t make her feel as if she needed to cover up her past.
“There was an update on the case,” he said. “I wanted to tell you in person, before I head out of town, but if this is a bad time, I could always call you later.”
Grace fought back the disappointment. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him—no matter how many times she’d told herself he wasn’t going to call and she needed to let go. They’d bonded under intense circumstances, but that wasn’t enough to hold a relationship together. He’d told her he needed time to work things out, and she didn’t think he expected her to wait for him.
This was just an update on the case before he left town. No matter how much she’d wanted to believe Becca, she’d been wrong. Nate—and their kiss—was something she was going to have to put behind her. She was going to have to let him walk away, for good this time. Something she knew deep inside. He wasn’t ready to make a commitment. It would require more of an emotional payout than he could afford. She knew that.
“Do you have time to wait a few minutes?” she asked, shoving her doubts aside. “We’re not quite done here, but if you give me another ten minutes I can give you my full attention—”
“Of course.”
“In fact . . .” She glanced at a table of children. “I could use your help. We’re making ornaments, and it looks like Micah over there could use some help with the glitter, if you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
“Glitter?” She caught the hesitation in his voice.
“You’re pretty multitalented. I think you can handle the assignment.”
Grace giggled as Nate sat down in an empty chair next to Micah, looking completely out of his element. For a man who spent his days chasing down the bad guys, how difficult could a handful of kids and a few bottles of glitter and glue be? Nate grabbed a piece of construction paper and a pair of scissors and began ripping pages out of a magazine. She saw one of the girls on the other side of the table laugh as he leaned forward and whispered something Grace couldn’t hear.
“Who is he?” Wendy asked, nudging up beside her.
“Just a friend.”
“Is he single?”
“Yes, but like I said. We’re just friends.”
“If you say so, but I saw your face when he walked into the room. It lit up. And so did his when he saw you. And on top of that he’s a natural with kids. Look at him. Looks like he’s cutting a Christmas tree out of those magazine pages.”
It was impossible not to notice. She watched as he finished cutting, then grabbed a stapler and proceeded to staple the stack of trees together in the center. With all the kids now focused on what he was doing, he started creasing the pages at the staples so they fanned out and formed a 3-D tree.
“You sound surprised, but look at him. He’ll make a wonderful dad one day.”
“Enough.” Grace busied herself with one of the tables, trying not to stare as Nate added glitter to his masterpiece.
She hadn’t remembered him being so good with kids.
One of the boys reached out his paintbrush and dabbed a blob of red paint on the tip of Nate’s nose. A tableful of giggles ensued.
“Hey.” Nate laughed, then returned the favor with a dab of green paint.
Wendy was right. He was going to make a wonderful father.
“Why don’t the two of you go talk,” Wendy said. “You deserve a break, and there are plenty of parents to help out.”
“I still need to clean up—”
“Go. And don’t worry.” Wendy shot her a smile. “I won’t forget that you left me with the cleanup.”
Grace grabbed two wet wipes and walked over to the table, wondering why she suddenly felt so nervous. “Looks like a couple of you have paint on your noses.”
The kids all giggled as Grace handed Nate and the young instigator a wet wipe.
“I’m free, if you’re done having so much fun.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Definitely.”
He wiped the paint off his nose, then followed her.
“It looked like you were having as much fun as the kids,” Grace said.
Nate laughed. “I have to say you’re right.”
“We try to give them something normal while they’re here. Something to smile about.” Grace grabbed her bag as they slipped out of the room. “There’s a garden just off the first floor. It’s quieter there.”
She walked down the hallway beside him, wondering if the garden had been the best idea. The last place she needed to be was alone with him. Because that meant dealing with her emotions.
“The kids loved you,” she said, trying to fill the quiet between them. “You’re great with them. And that tree . . . It was adorable.”
“That was one crafty thing I remember my mother teaching me how to make. But if you’re expecting to see an artistic side of me, that was all I’ve got.”
She let out a low laugh. “Well, I’m still impressed.”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m good,” she said as they turned down another long hallway. Most of the children had gone to the party, leaving the rooms empty and quiet. “Mainly just glad I can put all of that behind me.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
How had things become so . . . awkward between them?
What she wanted was for him to say something personal. Wanted him to gather her into his arms and kiss her like she’d dreamed the past few weeks. Wanted to hear that his heart was finally healed. And yet her head knew that wasn’t going to happen.
They walked past a nurse in snowman scrubs. “Merry Christmas, Grace.”
“Merry Christmas, JoAnn.”
“How long have you been volunteering here?” he asked. “Everyone seems to know you.”
“Maybe not everyone, but I started right after moving back here. When Hannah was in the hospital, I saw what a difference all the special activities made. Art therapy, pet therapy, holiday parties . . . Sometimes she was too sick to participate, but when she could, it was always the highlight of her day. There are dozens of volunteers who make it possible. I’m just one of them.”
“It’s got to be tough, I’d think. Spending time with families and children has to bring back your own memories.”
They stepped through glass doors into the empty garden with a koi pond in the center. The well-kept space with sunlight streaming in from the windows gave patients a quiet place to enjoy outside the sterile feel of the hospital.
She dropped her bag on the ground and sat down on the narrow wooden bench overlooking the pond.
“It was pretty hard at first, but this is a place where people understand what I’ve been through. And if in the process I can help them, that makes it worth it. Honestly, though, I’m convinced that I get more out of it than they do.”
“I’m glad it’s helped.”
“You said you had some news about the case?” she asked, changing the subject. “I haven’t seen anything about this on the news.”
He sat down next to her. “I’m not surprised, but that doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. In fact, this morning, the last of the team Macbain had working under him was arrested. And Stephen’s program will actually end up helping security measures for the grid.”
“So the case is closed?”
“There are still a number of unanswered questions that the FBI has. They believe that both the driver who ran us off the road and the attack in the parking garage were organized by a man named Rafael Bauer. He’s connected to the men who originally hired Macbain. Bauer believed that Macbain was double-crossing him and working with the police. They’re hoping that he eventu
ally leads us to whoever was financing the actual takedown of the grid.”
She listened to his explanation. There was nothing personal in his words or in the sound of his voice. It was as if he was simply following up on a case before he moved on to his next one.
“I appreciate your letting me know,” she said. “Though you didn’t have to come all the way here. Especially if you’re leaving town.”
“It’s just for a few days of training in Houston.”
“I know you’re busy, but I have something to give you before you leave. I just wasn’t sure when I’d see you again.” She hesitated, then pulled the gift out of her bag. “Go ahead and open it.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Nate slipped off the paper and opened up the box. “Gracie . . .”
“It’s a Hamilton pocket watch that was manufactured around the turn of the twentieth century. I know it isn’t exactly like your grandfather’s, but I know it was special to you. And after you lost it, well . . .”
“Wow.” He glanced up. “I don’t know what to say.”
This time she caught the emotion in his eyes.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said. “I saw it and thought of you.”
“Actually . . .” He ran his fingers across the back of the watch, then looked up and caught her gaze. “I do know what I want to say.”
She looked up at him and felt her heart stutter.
“Gracie, I’ve been so wrong.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What do you mean?”
“I really am leaving to do some training, but I’ll be honest, coming to see you because of the case was an excuse.”
“What do you mean?”
He moved closer to where she was sitting, then took her hand. Her breath caught at his nearness.
“I’ve never met anyone like you. I thought I could run away after all this mess, because I didn’t want to lose someone again. So I just pulled away. I didn’t want to lose you, and yet that’s exactly what I’m letting happen. I haven’t figured everything out. I lost my team that day and failed to stop them from dying. You were a reminder of losing something I care about. I’ve tried to run. And yet everything leads back to you. I can’t just walk away from you. Because . . . well, as crazy as it seems, I love you.”
“Nate—”
“Maybe I’m completely wrong and I’m going to walk out of here feeling like a fool, but I don’t care anymore. If there’s even the smallest chance in the world that you might feel the same way I do—”
“Nate.”
“What?”
“I love you too.”
“Really?”
“Do I need to convince you?”
Nate laughed as he reached down and brushed his lips across hers.
“What happens next?”
He smiled at her. “We don’t know what the future holds, but as long as we’re together . . . that will be enough for me.”
Prologue
Josh Solomon had barely slept in thirty-six hours. The call had come in while he’d been eating dinner with his wife. The body of a seventeen-year-old had been found in a dumpster on the north side of town by a store owner taking out the trash. It was days like this when he wondered why hadn’t chosen a different career. But a decade of investigating homicides had given him one thing. A feeling that he was responsible—at least in part—for cleaning up the scum littering the streets.
Still, he was exhausted.
He flipped off the radio on his car dashboard as the news came on, relishing in the silence. The last thing he wanted to listen to right now was another depressing news cycle. Olivia wouldn’t be home until tomorrow, which meant a night of playing the role of a bachelor. Not that he minded the time alone. As much as he enjoyed coming home to his wife, after the day he’d just had, he could use a couple hours to wind down, watching some brainless movie and falling asleep on the couch.
Five minutes later, he pulled into the driveway of their two-story home, reached up to open the garage with the remote, then paused. Two figures wearing dark hoodies ran out of the side door of his house. His headlights illumined the men as they hesitated, then took off running across the neighbor’s lawn and down the street.
Without stopping to think about the consequences, Josh slammed the car into park, jumped from the driver’s seat, and took off after them.
He snagged his phone out of his pocket and put in a call to dispatch. “This is Detective Josh Solomon. I need backup immediately at my residence. Two suspects just came out of the side door and are heading north up Washington Street.”
He gave the operator his full address, then glanced back at the house, now second-guessing his decision to take chase in the dark. There were always risks with following on his own, and he had no idea if the men were armed. Reacting without a plan—alone—was always dangerous, but this was his house that had been broken into this time. Over the past couple months, nine houses in his neighborhood had been burglarized. So far no one had been hurt in the process, but these guys needed to be stopped.
His internal debate ended. As long as he could maintain visual contact with them, he’d stay in pursuit. He’d ensure they knew he was behind them and let them tire out. If they tried to engage, he’d back off. He had no desire to escalate the situation, but whoever these guys were, he wanted them locked up. They’d messed with the wrong home owner this time, and he was going to ensure that their string of luck had just run cold.
The streetlight exposed their position halfway down the street. He quickened his pace. Unless he kept up with them, the odds of losing them were high. There were a dozen places they could hide, or even turn the tables and come after him. Five seconds later, they vanished.
Josh stopped at the street corner to catch his breath, while he studied the surroundings for movement. A dog barking in the distance, but there was no sign of the intruders.
He’d lost them.
His phone rang. “Quinton?”
“I just heard your call go through. What’s going on?”
“Two thugs were coming out the side door of my house when I pulled up. But I’ve lost them.”
“What about Olivia?”
“She left yesterday for a medical conference. Won’t be back till tomorrow night.”
“Don’t try to go after them on your own. Go back to your house. See what kind of damage they did. I’m heading to your place now.”
Josh started back for his house at a jog, adrenaline still pumping. Something had been nagging at him ever since he’d arrived home, but what? He stopped in the driveway and stared at the front of house. The upstairs light of his house was on. Which wasn’t possible. Thieves breaking in probably wouldn’t turn on lights. Olivia wasn’t due home until tomorrow, and he knew he hadn’t left it on. Maybe she’d come home early and had decided to surprise him. Or maybe he’d missed her call. He’d been working on paperwork since five, trying to wrap up the case and get home.
He checked his phone. No messages. No missed calls. He grabbed the garage door opener from the car visor, clicked it open, and felt his heart go still inside his chest. Olivia’s silver Prius was parked in the garage.
How was that possible?
He ran into the garage, then opened the door into the house. “Olivia?”
No answer.
He rushed toward the kitchen. Her coat was thrown over one of the breakfast nook chairs where she always left it after work. Chinese takeout sat on the kitchen bar, still in the plastic bags. He breathed in the smell of garlic and seared meat and felt his stomach heave.
Why hadn’t she told him she was coming home early?
“Olivia?”
The faint sound of sirens whirled in the background through the open garage. The cavalry might be on its way, but all he could think about right now was finding his wife. He hurried up the stairs, while fear swept through him. If she’d been here while the house had been broken into . . . If she’d walked in on the burglars . . . Either way
, why wasn’t she answering?
Unless . . .
He couldn’t work through the scenario in his mind. He’d worked too many cases. Seen too many deaths. People who died because they’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Who’d died simply because of someone else’s greed. But not his family. Not his wife.
He stopped at the threshold of their room. She lay in the middle of the bed like she was sleeping. Fully clothed, her hair spread out across the pillow. A red stain seeped from her abdomen. His mind automatically played out the scenario. She had been home when they broke in. In their bedroom. And they’d shot her.
He fumbled for his phone as he rushed to the bed. He needed to make sure they sent ambulance. Needed to know if she was still alive.
“Josh . . .”
His heart stilled.
“Olivia . . .”
He caught the pain in her eyes.
“I . . . I came home early . . . I thought I’d surprise you . . . They must have already been in the house. I came upstairs to change . . .”
He grabbed a shirt from the edge of the bed, found the wound, then pressed it against her side.
“Don’t try to talk. You’re going to be fine. I promise.” With his free hand, he punched in 911, praying he’d somehow be able to keep that promise.
“I need an ambulance,” he said once the operator answered. “My wife . . . my wife’s been shot.”
“Sir, can you give me your name and address?”
Numbness spread through him as he gave her their address.
“A squad car and ambulance have been sent to your address. Where’s your wife right now?”
“I’m upstairs with her, in our bedroom. Third door on the . . . on the left.”
“Can you tell me where she was shot?”
“In her abdomen. There’s blood everywhere.”
“Were you there when it happened?”
“No. I . . . When I got home, two male intruders were exiting the house from a side door.”
“I want you to stay on the line with me, but keep pressure on the wound. The ambulance is about two minutes out.”