by Kay Marie
Her eyes narrowed as she fought to understand.
Nate sucked in an uneven breath, opening the lock on that door he’d slammed in the back of his mind, over and over and over, burying the memories as deep as he could, which was never deep at all, really, but always there, simmering beneath the surface, informing his every decision. He’d given that day so much power. Too much power. And it was time to let it go. To face the horror and release it. To free himself of nearly twenty years of pent-up pain. If he didn’t do this, here, now, with Jo, he wasn’t sure he ever would.
“You know my father was an agent,” he started slowly, but after that first sentence, everything came tumbling out. “You must know he died on the job. But that’s not all, not by a long shot. He worked in the organized crime unit, which back then, was even more dangerous than it is now. The criminals were bolder, less afraid. The Russians were only just getting started in the US. They weren’t established like the Italians, but they had ties to the homeland that made them brash and well-armed and eager to cement their place. My father, he went undercover on an operation. He was supposed to retire from fieldwork the year before, but they pulled him into one last job. He was gone for almost eight months. We only saw him twice when the bureau was able to smuggle him away. And then he got the evidence he needed, had one of the kingpins on a recording, more than enough to put him away for life. So the Feds got him out. My family was moved to a safe house, and my father was supposed to join us there until the trial was over. But something happened. No one ever understood how—if the Russians had a contact on the inside, if they managed to break into our databases, if they tortured someone for information. But they knew our location. They knew where we were. And— And—”
God, Nate could see it so clearly.
Like he was twelve again.
Like he’d gone back in time.
Nate was sitting on the grass, throwing a baseball with his younger brother while their sister was napping. She was only a toddler, a little girl, and their mom had wanted them out of the house. When a car pulled down the street, he remembered shouting for his mom.
Dad’s here!
Dad’s back!
He and his brother dropped their stuff and ran around the side of the house, toward the driveway. The car pulled to a stop. Their dad got out, stood up, and waved with the biggest grin on his face. Nate didn’t notice the other car, didn’t even see it, not until his father’s face snapped to the side, and his eyes widened in horror, but by then, it was too late.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
Three shots to the chest, just like that. No time to move, no time to run. His entire body flinched as each bullet sank in, red spray exploding into the air like a gruesome firework display. And then he dropped in what felt like slow motion, wobbling on his feet, falling to his knees, then teetering over, off balance as his shoulder hit the pavement and he rolled onto his back, twitching. And then pop! One final shot, just to be sure. That one caught Nate’s attention. He whipped around, staring the stranger in his face as he rolled his window up and sped away. Those dark-brown eyes. That coifed black hair. That pale skin. That scruff. That scar on his left cheek. Nate catalogued it all, stored it for safekeeping.
His mother released a bloodcurdling scream.
The man sped off down the road.
Nate ran to his father’s side and covered the wound with his hands, but there was no stopping the bleeding. He gripped his father’s shoulders. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. His father opened his mouth, but there was only the gurgle of death as the life slowly slipped from his eyes. Nate leaned down, pressing his lips to his father’s ear, to make sure his spirit would hear. I’ll get him, Dad. I promise. I’ll make him pay. I’ll make them all pay. And then he sat in the blood, holding his father to him while his mother shouted his name. But Nate didn’t leave until his father’s partner finally came and ripped him free.
“They shot him,” Nate confessed, sounding like a boy—the boy he no longer had the chance to be. He blinked. The image of that day slowly faded, replaced with Jo, with the worried curl of her lips, the deep sympathy in her eyes. Her fingers brushed his cheek, catching a tear he didn’t know he’d cried. He cleared his throat, trying to force back the knot lodged in his neck. “We weren’t supposed to talk about it to anyone. The bureau covered it up, made the file confidential, need-to-know. Because they’d failed him. They’d failed us. And the hitman got away.” Nate released a bitter laugh. “I knew exactly who he was. I could identify him. I promised my father, I promised him, I would make the bastard pay. And he got away, because no one, not even my mother, wanted the truth getting out. She was afraid someone would come after me next. So, we buried my father, and we buried the truth with him. And the Russian? He rose in the ranks.”
Jo gasped, shaking her head.
But Nate needed to say it out loud.
All of it.
Everything.
“He’s the person your father is working with, Jo,” Nate said slowly, deliberately, not a single waver to his voice. Because she needed to understand. “And you are my last chance, my only chance, to do good on the promise I made to my father. To nail him.”
Jo opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it. Paused. Licked her lips. “I—I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t expect you to,” he said, dipping his head, bringing their faces closer together, forcing her to look at him. “But I do expect you to do the right thing. Not just for me. But for you. For the world. He’s a bad man. And he needs to be caught. And you, your father, it’s the only way I see that happening.”
“I will do the right thing. I will.”
Her voice was firm. And he wanted to believe it.
But there was a kernel of doubt, an evil little whisper, murmuring that if he took Jo in right now, he wouldn’t have to have faith in someone else. He would know. The cards would be in his hands. The power.
“Please, Nate,” she pressed, fingers gripping his shoulders, trying to make him see, make him hear the honesty in her words. “I know you have no reason to trust me, we have no reason to trust each other, not when I snuck out in the middle of the night and you feigned sleep, not when we were both working our own agendas. But I’m not anymore. I promise, I just need time, and the space to do things my way. But I will do what’s right. I promise you, I will. I just need you to trust me.”
For some reason, against his better judgment, he did.
“Go.”
Jo blinked, not understanding.
Nate tightened his hold on her cheeks and pulled her closer. He captured her lips with his, greedily, hungrily, taking his fill. Her arms slid around the back of his neck. Their bodies molded together. They kissed like two people in love who didn’t care if the world caved in around them. Because they didn’t. And maybe it already had.
“Go,” Nate spoke against her lips, as his grip on the back of her head tightened. He didn’t want Jo to move an inch, not a breath farther away, but he tore their faces apart and stumbled back. Because time was running out, and they’d been hiding in this alley too long already. The window of opportunity was closing with every passing second. And he knew, deep in his heart, this wasn’t goodbye. He trusted it not to be. “Go.”
Jo held his gaze.
For a moment.
Two.
She reached up and traced the edge of his jaw with her thumb.
Then she ran past him.
She ran away.
Nate turned around just in time to see her leave the alley and hang a right. He took a deep breath.
It’ll be okay.
I can trust her.
It’ll be okay.
Nate didn’t know how long he stood there before a shout jolted him back to life.
“Hey, Parker, all clear?”
Leo.
Of course, Leo.
Nate sighed. He hated to lie, but this, even Leo wouldn’t understand. “All clear.”
His voic
e sounded convincing, even to him.
“Come on, we’re searching the house. So far, nothing. But maybe they left a fingerprint or some DNA behind.”
Nate nodded and walked out of the alley, following Leo down the street, toward the townhouse at the far end. An itch on the back of his neck made him pause. Nate turned, scanning the shadows, for what, he didn’t know. Regardless, there was nothing there. Just emptiness. A void to match the hollow feeling within.
“Parker, let’s move,” Leo called, a jibing tone.
Nate turned to face him. “What? A few minutes apart and you can’t live without me?”
Leo slammed his hand against his chest, wounded.
Nate snorted and shook his head. He’d promised Jo time, he’d promised her space, he’d promised her trust, so she’d have it. Nate rolled his shoulders and followed his partner down the street to rejoin his team.
- 27 -
Jo
Jo was desperate for sugar.
Desperate.
She was a wild animal on the hunt as she stalked her way through the airport, a snarl on her lips, eyes wide and alert, the ache of an empty stomach propelling her forward. People stepped out of her way. Literally. Which for New York, was really saying something. But she couldn’t be stopped. A woman with a sugar craving was a beautiful and terrifying thing to behold.
There were no bakeries in the airport. The coffee shop had already sold out of their chocolate chip muffins. And Jo couldn’t bring herself to buy one of the plastic-wrapped cookies that had been sitting on the shelf for god knew how long. Call it snobbish. Call it picky. But after spending the past few days taste testing from some of the best bakeries in the world, she just couldn’t. Then, right as she was about to pick up her carry-on suitcase and hurl it at the doughnut advertisement she walked by three freaking times, she smelled it.
Jo stopped cold, a predator catching a scent.
Butter.
Ooh, lots of butter.
Cinnamon.
No, better—cinnamon-sugar.
And, yes, a tangy hint of salt.
She was instantly transported back in time, to those long-ago days when her mother would take her to the mall at the end of summer, right before school was back in session. They’d try on all sorts of clothes. Buy a new backpack for the school year. New sets of colorful pens. New notebooks. A special outfit for the first day, a dress, shoes, fun socks, a headband, everything. And at the end, when the exhaustion was ripe and they needed that extra little punch to get home, they’d make a final stop, at the pretzel shop near the exit. Jo would squeeze her mother’s hand, tugging with her enthusiasm, practically jumping up and down as they neared. And then they’d split a cup of nuggets, pinky-swearing in an unbreakable mother-daughter pact that neither of them would tell Father when they got home.
She hadn’t seen one of those places in ten years.
Not since they moved to the island.
Oh, please. Please. Please!
It was just what she needed to get through what she already knew would be a horrible flight, a horrible day, a horrible conversation waiting when she got home.
Jo spun on her heels, slow, trying not to get too excited, but she couldn’t help the squeal that slipped through her lips as her gaze landed on the shop tucked all the way in the back corner of the food court—Auntie Anne’s.
Jo made a beeline. The world faded. Everything was blurry aside from that bright, gleaming, oversized image of a soft pretzel hanging from the wall. All she could think was, Cinnamon-sugar? Or original? Or cinnamon-sugar? Or original?
Both excellent choices.
She couldn’t really go wrong.
Hmm…
Jo was still torn when she stepped up to the counter. “Can I please get a cup of cinnamon-sugar nuggets?”
“Su—”
“No, wait! Original. A cup of original nuggets.” She bit her lip. Yeah, that’s the right choice. That’s…
“O—”
“No, cinnamon-sugar. Definitely cinnamon-sugar.”
The guy behind the counter was doing that customer service glare—the one where he was trying to be pleasant, but his nostrils were slightly flared and his lips a little flat, and fire was shooting from his eyes. Yeah, he was doing that. “You sure, miss?”
Was she?
Was she sure?
Did she know anything anymore?
Okay, why is this starting to feel like maybe, it’s not about the pretzels…?
The guy lifted a brow, waiting. The woman behind her in line coughed. Jo tossed a glare—a real one—over her shoulder.
“Yes, I’m sure.” She nodded emphatically and pulled out her wallet. “Only…could you maybe put one original nugget on top? Just a little taster?”
He paused to swallow what she was sure would have been a highly frowned upon though probably epic retort. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Five minutes later, Jo stood by her gate, waiting for first class to be called as she munched on her nuggets. Her unnamed new best friend had given her an assortment of original and cinnamon-sugar, and the salty-sweet mixture was pure perfection to her taste buds. Jo pulled out her phone, eager for a distraction as she waited with the growing horde for boarding to begin, and snapped a pic of her nuggets.
@TheBakingBandit: Try not to be too jealous…
@Sprinkle-Ella: I tried…and I failed. I haven’t had those in FOREVER!
@TheGourmetGoddess: Okay, even my mouth is watering a little.
@Sprinkle-Ella: Do my eyes deceive me? What did I just read?
@TheBakingBandit: No one can deny the power of the cinnamon-sugar pretzel bite!
@TheBakingBandit: How’s the conference going, by the way?
@TheGourmetGoddess: Amazing! Exhausting, but amazing! Today is the last day of the food tents, I’m just finishing my setup now. There’s a place a few rows down with the most incredible coffee, so I’m walking over to get some much-needed caffeine before the doors open in an hour.
@Sprinkle-Ella: What are you making?
@TheGourmetGoddess: Felt like my table was lacking a little yesterday, so I stayed up all night putting together a chocolate display of the New York skyline—thank god I brought some molds with me! Finished it off with some spun sugar and some edible glitter, looks great. Pastries are the same as yesterday, mini crème brûlée, assorted macaroons, and éclairs—my favorite! Wanted to go traditional French with a flair, shifted some of the flavors around so they were more surprising, but with so many reviewers and masters in the room, I didn’t want to go too far outside of my comfort zone.
@Sprinkle-Ella: Yum! Sounds amazing! I know they’ll all be impressed!
@TheBakingBandit: Ugh, your éclairs! I still can’t get that freaking recipe you sent me right even though I’ve tried a million times. My inside always ends up too runny.
@TheGourmetGoddess: Send me a pic next time you make them! You might not be poking the hole right to let the steam out. Took me forever to get that part just so.
@Sprinkle-Ella: Send us some photos from the conference! Sounds so exciting! I have to go. Meeting with some clients. Woman wants a perfect princess wedding cake overflowing with buttercream flowers. My dream!
@TheBakingBandit: Welcome back to the land of color!
A call for boarding jolted Jo from her phone, pulling her back into the real world. She quickly finished saying goodbye and shoved another nugget into her mouth before sliding her ticket from her purse. First class boarded, well, first, so it wasn’t long before she was at seat 1A, getting situated. Jo always loved the legroom of the front row. The only downside was it meant she had to put her bag in the overhead compartment, so before she sat, she took out everything she thought she might need for her flight—her computer, her charger, the flash drive that still felt hot to the touch, a bag of M&M’s, a Snickers bar, a diet Coke, and the rest of her pretzel nuggets.
With a deep breath, Jo sat down, unable to stop her legs from bouncing, her heart from pounding, her insides
from twisting into tightly bound knots. The click of her seat belt sounded more like a lock sliding into place. The curved walls of the plane closed in. There was nowhere else to run, nowhere else to go. The computer on her lap might as well have weighed a thousand pounds for how thoroughly it held her down, held her trapped. Jo arranged the items on her lap. Rearranged them. Her fingers twitched. Her movements jerked. Her entire body fidgeted with unease.
Stop.
Jo curled her fingers into fists, clenching for a moment, before gently flattening them against the leather seat. She lifted her gaze and turned her head, searching for some sort of distraction. Almost immediately, she locked eyes with the man sitting across the aisle, judgment etched into his features. He’d been staring at her. Legit staring. Thick brows. Dark hazel eyes. Cleanly shaven cheeks. Hair buzzed close to his scalp. All of it turned on her with unabashed disapproval…unless she was just imagining the slight curl to his lips, the subtle sneer?
Jo held his gaze and lifted a nugget to her mouth, careful to lick every speck of sugar from her lips as she took her time chewing.
Go ahead and stare, asshole.
I paid for my seat, same as you.
And I’ll do whatever I damn well please, especially when I’m in a crisis.
Jo narrowed her eyes, not at all in the mood.
He coughed and looked away, straight ahead at the gray wall.
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
“Can I get you anything?” a flight attendant asked, holding a tray of water, wine, and orange juice.
The man just grunted, his deep voice resembling tires on gravel, rude and gruff. Jo looked up, meeting eyes with the flight attendant, sharing that look that only two women could possibly understand when a man was being a complete jerk. Jo rolled her eyes. The stewardess tried to stifle a smile. And then Jo took a glass of water from the tray—hydration was key when consuming the amount of sugar she’d planned on consuming to get through reading these files.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The man was still staring as the flight attendant walked by, but this time it was subtler, out of the corners of his eyes, just creepy enough to make Jo’s hackles rise. His arms were crossed over his chest and he hunched low in his seat, legs stretched as far out as they could go. His gaze was cast low, locked on her lap, on her carefully arranged selection of sweets.