Bring Me to Life

by Kira Sinclair

  * * *

  ONE GOOD THING—the only good thing, really—about being in Charleston was that Evan had been able to do a little recon on the low-level thug from the cartel who had shown unexpectedly in the area.

  Turns out, he really had been coming to see his family. The guy was nineteen, and when the cartel was dismantled, he’d managed to get through unscathed and hightail it out of Colombia, straight to a cousin on his mother’s side.

  It was just dumb, bad luck that the cousin lived in Charleston, something no one had bothered to discover beforehand because the boy wasn’t in the roundup.

  It was probably going to be a very long time before Evan felt completely free and clear, but at least he’d finally stopped looking over his shoulder, waiting for a bullet to be buried in his back.

  Although that was a small consolation considering he no longer had a job, a home or a wife.

  He’d resigned from Special Ops, and no one had fought him on the decision. He thought the powers that be were probably secretly happy because now they didn’t have to worry about what to do with him.

  Nope, that was his concern now.

  He’d rented a small apartment, though he had no intention of staying long-term. Maybe he’d go back to Detroit.

  He probably should have done that immediately, but he wasn’t ready to leave South Carolina just yet.

  He wouldn’t admit it was because of a certain dark-haired, green-eyed beauty. And while he’d caught himself dialing her number several times, he’d stopped himself from following through. Barely.

  He was honoring her wishes.

  The peal of his doorbell rolled through the small apartment. It sounded sick, stuttering halfway through and kind of petering out before actually finishing. Maybe tomorrow he’d take a look at the damn thing. Not that anyone ever stopped by.

  Lock was the only person who knew where he was.

  “I’m fresh out of beer, asshole,” he yelled at the closed door as he jogged toward it. “So unless you came to replace what you sucked down last night, you can turn around and go back home.” He finished the statement just as he yanked on the knob.

  “You know I’m more a wine than beer girl.”

  Evan tried to suck in a deep breath and choked. The sound gurgled through his chest.

  How had she found him? Why did it matter?

  He stared at Tatum for several seconds, blinking rapidly and hoping desperately this wasn’t a hallucination. Reaching out, he registered in some dim corner of his brain that his fingers trembled. But that wasn’t important when he connected with the soft, warm satin of her skin.

  A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Do you mind if we talk?” she asked.

  Talk? “I suppose that depends on what you want to talk about.”

  Because if she was there to ask him for a divorce, he wasn’t ready to deal.

  But surely that was something she could have handled through lawyers without driving several hours to his front door.

  Stepping back, he let her in. “Who’s watching Petals?”

  He had no idea why those were the first words out of his mouth. They were useless. He didn’t care what the answer was.

  “Willow’s watching the store for me.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  “Hmm.” She stared at him, unblinking, out of those mesmerizing green eyes. God, he loved her eyes.

  “Evan, I want to apologize for the way I acted after you got shot. I was scared. Watching your blood pool on the floor...it brought back some terrible memories for me.”

  There was a space between them, not just physi cally but emotionally. And Evan hated it. He refused to let it sit there anymore. Even if she pushed him away, he needed to touch her. Comfort her. If only for a second.

  He pulled her into his personal space and tucked her tight against his body.

  He expected her to stiffen, to wiggle away, fuss and growl. Instead, she melted. Her fists curled into the front of his shirt and she clung to him, as if she was afraid he’d vanish in a puff of smoke if she let go.

  A small curl of hope unfurled deep in his belly, like the first sprouting flower of spring fighting against the cold.

  She buried her head in his chest, and for several moments they stood together, unmoving.

  Eventually, her fingers unclenched. Leaning back, she smoothed the wrinkles she’d put in his shirt. He could have told her he didn’t give a damn, but didn’t. He was too fascinated with watching her.

  “Losing you was the worst moment of my life, Evan.” She blinked back tears. “Worse than walking in and finding my father. Worse than watching my mother waste away from a disease that should have been curable. You were my rock through every difficult moment in my life, but when I needed you most, you weren’t there. I know that wasn’t your fault, but there was a part of me that obviously blamed you for it anyway.”

  “I understand,” he whispered, the words hard to push through his constricting throat.

  “No, that’s not fair of me. I knew what you did as your job. I told you it was okay, that I’d be strong and handle the consequences, but I didn’t. Not really. If I had, I would have welcomed you home with a cry and tackled you to the ground the minute you returned.”

  Scooping her into his arms, Evan walked the few steps to his sofa and sank onto the sagging cushions. Tatum burrowed deep, welcoming his arms around her.

  This was the woman he remembered, the wife he’d longed to have back in his arms. His Tatum. Not the face she showed the world, strong and smart and a little prickly.

  His Tatum was soft and vulnerable. And that vulnerability meant more to him because he knew it was something she gave to very few people.

  “I love you, Evan. I never stopped. I’ve loved you since I was seventeen, and I want you to come home. We’ll figure out a way to make it work. I’ll figure out how to make it work. I just want you in my life.”

  Raining kisses over her face, he finally found her mouth and dove inside. The warm, hot recesses welcomed him in the way only his wife could.

  “There’s nothing to make work, Tatum. I resigned. They’re letting me out of my contract.”

  Pulling away, she stared at him. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Before he’d even finished the single word, she was already shaking her head, silky strands of hair flying around them both with her vehemence.

  “No. I don’t want you to give up something you love—a job you’re good at, and is important—just because I freaked for a minute. I’m a big girl. I’ll deal with it.”

  “That isn’t why I resigned. I...can’t do it anymore. It isn’t just you. I thought I lost a piece of myself in Colombia. I could feel my humanity slipping away. You were the only thing keeping me sane and tethered to reality. I don’t have the nerve to go back into that again. Not anymore. I’m too damn old for that shit now. There are plenty of hungry young guys champing at the bit to take my place. They’ll be fine without me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He shrugged. “Before I left town, Sheriff Grant offered me a position in Sweetheart. Apparently, he wants to cut back his hours and is looking for someone who could take over in a few years.”

  He watched Tatum’s face for a flicker of reaction. She didn’t give him one.

  “But I turned him down,” he said slowly.

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t think you’d want me in Sweetheart.”

  “What if I told you I do? That I need you there?”

  Evan’s heart sped up inside his chest, thumping a little erratically. Could it be this easy?

  “Sweetheart is a quiet town,” he said, “but the job still has its dangers.”

  Grasping his face between her palms, Tatum leaned close. “You’d make a fantastic sheriff, Evan. Sweetheart would be lucky to have you protecting its citizens. It’s more than what you do. It’s who you are.” One hand drifted down, stopping over his galloping
heart. “And I love the man you are. I admire my husband and the selfless way he puts the needs of others before his own.”

  A beautiful smile bloomed on her lush lips. Her arms snaked around his neck, drawing him back to her mouth and she punctuated her words with an exclamation point of a kiss.

  Breaking free, Evan murmured, “I love you, Tatum. You saved me, gave me something to live for. Brought me back to life.”

  “No, Evan, I’m pretty sure, that’s what you did for me. I was alone without even knowing it.”

  “Luckily, neither of us will be alone ever again.”

  He kissed her, pouring every ounce of love and heat and need into their joining. His hands roamed, wanting the feel of her smooth skin tingling across his palms.

  “There is one thing we have to talk about,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Mmm,” he murmured. “What?”

  She fished in the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a simple gold band and the solitaire diamond engagement ring that went with it. When they’d married, he’d barely been able to afford the band. It had always bothered him that he hadn’t given her what other women had, a diamond.

  She’d never complained, but on their five-year anniversary, he’d surprised her with one anyway.

  Tonight, it was her turn to surprise him.

  Holding the rings out to him, she asked, “Will you put them back where they belong?”

  “Absolutely.” Taking them from her, he couldn’t stop the lump from expanding in his throat as he slipped both rings onto her finger. Holding her hand steady, Evan watched the light catch the gold and diamond. “Perfect,” he whispered before scooping her into his arms.

  He headed for the bedroom and placed her on the bed, making quick work of her clothes. Kneeling beside her, he stared at his gorgeous wife. Her skin glowed. A fire lit her brilliant emerald eyes. But it was the love shining back at him that nearly broke him.

  They’d been through so much—together and separately.

  Though his body had survived the nightmare in Colombia, Tatum had been the one to bring his heart and soul back to life. And he would spend the rest of his days showing her how much he appreciated every moment in her arms.

  Starting right now.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from WILD HOLIDAY NIGHTS by Samantha Hunter

  Ten years ago one devastating night changed everything for Austin, Hunter and Alex. Now they must each play their part in the revenge against the one man who ruined it all.

  Austin Treffen has the plan… Hunter has the money… Alex has the power!

  Read each of their stories in the captivating Fifth Avenue trilogy, only from Harlequin Presents:

  Avenge Me by Maisey Yates

  Scandalize Me by Caitlin Crews

  Expose Me by Kate Hewitt

  And don’t miss the Fifth Avenue prequel that started it all, Take Me, by Maisey Yates!

  Order your copies today in ebook format.

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  1

  CALLA MICHAELS NEVER wanted to see another holly leaf or berry ever again. She’d always loved the dark green holiday plant, with its pointy leaves and ripe, red berries. But after hand-shaping two hundred of them from gum paste—accented with twenty-four-karat gold leaf—for the holiday wedding cake she was decorating, she was over it.

  Still, while she was tired of Christmas themes, she was doing the work she loved. Good thing, since she had one more wedding cake to make before she was done. Spring and summer would bring much more variety, she mused as she applied the last berry to the delicate edge of the pristine white cake before standing back to assess her work.

  Perfect. Absolutely gorgeous. The decoration wasn’t the only thing that was custom—the inside of the cake had to be as special as the outside, and Calla often created flavor profiles requested by clients. This one was a butter-mint cake with white chocolate filling between the layers. The next cake would be rum-pecan.

  All she had to do was load this one into the truck and get it to the restaurant downtown. They would store it for the wedding the day after next. Then she could take a short break before she started work on the final cake, which was needed for Christmas Day—only ten days away.

  It didn’t escape her that she still had a ton of shopping to do. If she couldn’t be home for Christmas this year, the least she could do was to send some gifts from the Big Apple. It didn’t make up for her not being there, especially not for her mother, but Calla really had no choice.

  She had to work straight through Christmas Eve, then she would take Christmas Day off, sleep and get back to it the next day. She’d managed to contract for three New Year’s cakes, which was a lot to do in one week, so she had to keep moving. Those orders would give her enough to pay the rent and supplies through January.

  Her funky little storefront in Chelsea had been expensive, but it was a good location. One she could barely afford, but the eclectic local food scene helped her visibility. Still, she’d have to double her business in the coming year to stay alive, and she really needed to hire part-time help.

  That meant there was no way she could go home for Christmas. It was difficult getting her family to understand. Hers was a law enforcement clan—even her mother worked at the sheriff’s office. Her father and brothers all worked for assorted law enforcement agencies. Her sister was a firefighter.

  Calla baked cakes for a living.

  She could still hear her mother’s voice on the phone. Calla, I understand when your brothers or sister have to work a shift over the holidays, but how is it that you can’t ever seem to make it home?

  Her siblings saved lives, after all. Her mother hadn’t said that explicitly, but she might as well have. Calla knew her career choice puzzled them. They had no idea how competitive the big-city food scene was. But this was her dream, and it had taken everything she had to get here. It was going to take even more to stay.

  Calla’s Cakes was the result of arduous training at culinary school and graduating at the top of her class. That had been followed by internships at some of the best bakeries. Now she was trying to make it on her own in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world. Not an endeavor for the fainthearted. Unfortunately, it had meant missing several holidays along the way, but that was the cost of running her business.

  Her mother had suggested she come back to Houston and open a shop there, or in the small town near their ranch. That might have been a possibility if she had smaller goals, but New York was where Calla had always wanted to be. She missed her family, but this city felt like home.

  Being here pushed her to be at the top of her game—better than the best.

  She loved her family, and they said they were proud of her, but as she’d pursued her ambitions, the gap had widened. They just didn’t understand how she could be so passionate about her work.

  What she did was important to the people she baked for, though, and it was why they were willing to pay her a premium for something special. Something unique that would become one of their most cherished memories. It was
n’t life or death, but it was part of her customers’ dreams. Their happily ever afters.

  She smiled as she rolled the cart holding the cake to the back room. She’d load it into a refrigerated case for safe transport, and then she’d get a night’s sleep. She could do some shopping tomorrow, pack gifts off in the mail, before starting the next cake.

  Opening the back doors, she patted her pockets and realized she didn’t have the keys to the van.

  She went back in and found them on the counter, then returned to load up the cake. As she started to do that, though, the hairs on her neck stood up. She wasn’t alone.

  “Stay quiet and you won’t get hurt. Just show me the cash drawer now.”

  Equal parts fear and fury had Calla shaking from head to toe, and her voice shook, too, as she spoke.

  “Does this look like a doughnut shop? I don’t have a cash drawer. My customers pay by credit card, and there’s no cash kept on the premises. Not even a register, which you would have seen if you’d looked through the window first.”

  Something sharp jutted into her spine as hard fingers grabbed her shoulder.

  “I don’t believe you. A fancy place like this has to have some money around somewhere.”

  Tears stung as she wondered, for a brief second, if she would ever go home for Christmas again. If she had listened to her mother and closed for the holiday, maybe she wouldn’t be in this spot now.

  “I have some money in my purse. And my credit cards, too. That’s all,” she said as calmly as she could, hoping to placate her attacker—and hoping that money was all he was really after. He was welcome to it. There wasn’t much, and her cards were almost maxed out buying everything she needed for the shop.

  Suddenly, she wished she had taken more to the weapons and self-defense training her father and brothers had always tried to push on her.

  “Where?”

  “My purse is in my office. Go back through those doors and—”