She couldn’t stop touching the necklace, not as they passed stands with hand-woven scarfs, not as vendors hollered out their goods. She only dropped his hand when they reached a stand that was selling a sweet fried dough.
Jock ordered enough for both of them—well, enough for an army, to be honest—and by the time she was finished, her stomach was full and she was drowsy.
Something felt different, and it took her a minute, with her hand linked in Jock’s, to discover that she was…happy. Relaxed. The normal tension she carried in her shoulders and in her neck was gone. She appreciated the way Jock remained alert to their surroundings in his effort to protect her, and maybe that was why she was able to let her guard down.
She’d downed a water as well as some sort of frozen concoction, so the urge to relieve herself was strong. “Hey, I need to go to the bathroom.” She pointed to a pizza store where the doors stood open. “I’m just going to run in there.”
Jock led her over to the restaurant and glanced around. He didn’t let go of her hand, and she shifted restlessly. “Is that okay? Do you need to come in with me? Hold my dress up?”
He didn’t roll his eyes at her but his expression conveyed the same emotion. With a squeeze, he dropped her hand. “I’ll wait right here.”
She ran inside and used the bathroom. She glanced in the mirror and didn’t even recognize the woman who’d left her apartment an hour or so ago. The eyes that stared back at her were bright, her face flushed with happiness. God, she looked younger. She wasn’t even thirty, although she sure felt double her age some days. Amazing what a little freedom did for her skin.
She washed her hands, and as she made her way to the front of the store she saw bodies pressed to the glass. A band was parading down the center of the street, and most of the patrons were crowding the sidewalks. Trumpet wails and drum beats filled the air. She didn’t see Jock, but she was sure he wasn’t far.
The sound grew louder as she reached the front of the pizza store, and a small fissure of fear slid down her spine. The crowd was immense now. So many people packed together. She took a step out onto the sidewalk just as loud cracks of sound rang out.
Bang. Bang Bang Bang.
Gunshots. That had to be gunshots. Oh God, where was Jock? What was happening? She whirled around but all she saw were faces of strangers. Just a sea of strangers and no one she knew, not one. She didn’t want to see blood, or hear the moans of the injured.
Bang. Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang.
She began to scream, covering her ears with her hands and crouching into a huddled ball. She waited for the bullets to pierce her flesh. And she hoped no one else was caught in the cross-fire. If any bystanders were hurt…This was all her fault. She knew it. They were after her. She’d left her apartment, and this was all her fault…
Hands gripped her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “Fiona.” Her name sounded a mile away. Someone shook her. “Fiona!” The voice was more insistent now. Her screams dropped to whimpers. Where was the pain? Was anyone hurt?
She blinked her eyes open to see Jock staring down at her, blue eyes filled with fury. She glanced around to see that a crowd had gathered, curious eyes staring at her. There was no blood. No one was panicking.
She began to shake, her body going into flight mode. “What—?”
“Fireworks,” Jock said sharply. “Just some motherfuckers with fireworks.”
And she’d…she’d fucking lost it. On the street, in front of these people just trying to enjoy their festival, and she’d lost her mind. Tears filled her eyes. She wasn’t past this. How could she have thought that Jock’s confidence would rub off on her? She was fucked up. Tainted.
Jock picked her up with a swift curse as the first sob racked her body. She clung to his shoulders, crying into his brand new shirt as he walked the short distance back to her apartment. Back to where she felt safe and protected. Her own prison.
CHAPTER FIVE
Fiona sat on the stone bench in her small courtyard, watching Sundance sniff around. There was a book on her lap but she hadn’t opened it yet. She had an article due, a list of the best nudist beaches—she couldn’t have been assigned something to write about that was further from her actual life—and it’d been a bitch to focus.
It’d been a week since she’d lost her shit at the festival. A week of Jock watching her warily, like she was fragile, like she was going to break any minute. She hated it. For a short amount of time, she’d once again felt like a normal, desirable woman. And now she was back to feeling like a scared deer. This man awakened feelings in her she hadn’t thought possible, but now he treated her as if she was a child. Why would he treat her any differently? She was a job to him—he wasn’t actually trying to date her. Ugh.
The memories flooded back now, assaulting her, dredging up images she only visited sometimes in her nightmares. The dirty rooms, being tied to a bed, the drugs they’d jammed into her arm to keep her compliant. The men. The red light of the camera. The hands on her skin.
She didn’t dare close her eyes because she knew that would make the pictures in her mind multiply, filling her skull until she thought her head would explode from the force of it all.
Sundance lifted his head, sensing her distress, and he trotted over. He nudged his nose under her hand, forcing her fingers into the fur on top of his head. She rubbed his ears, thankful for her companion.
Here in Brooklyn, she’d felt safe for a while, blending in to the bustling New York City life. Until Jock showed up. Until she’d spoken to Wren. Until everything she had tried to forget was once again in the forefront of her thoughts.
Sundance whined and she shook herself. She needed to get inside, feed the dog, and then herself. As she stood up and walked to the door of the apartments, she wondered what Jock was doing. Would he eat with her? Meals with him were…nice. She’d forgotten how pleasant it was to eat a meal with someone. She’d given up dating years ago, and although she had a neighbor or two she’d befriended over the years, she didn’t make it a habit to invite anyone over for dinner.
As she walked up the stairs to her apartment, she heard a voice. It was Marlene. She was an older Jewish woman who loved to feed Fiona and ask her questions. Fiona didn’t really want to answer questions but she did love Marlene’s food, and the woman seemed lonely. Her son visited sometimes, but he didn’t live in New York City so Marlene was alone a lot. Like Fiona.
Marlene’s door was open, which was unusual. Fiona slowed as she neared it and then peered inside.
She couldn’t see Marlene because Jock was taking up most of the small foyer. He wore a pair of jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt. Marlene was still talking. “I asked you a question,” she said, her voice demanding in that way old women had when they had nothing to lose.
“All due respect, ma’am, you shouldn’t open your door to strange men,” Jock answered. His ma’am made Fiona smile.
Marlene scoffed. “I can take care of myself. But I’d like to know why you’re sniffing around my Fiona. She’s lived across from me for a year, and I’ve never once seen a man who wasn’t a delivery driver hanging around her door.”
Jock didn’t answer, probably because he didn’t get a chance. Marlene’s pale bony fingers wrapped as far as they could around Jock’s massive bicep before she pulled him farther into her home. Or at least, she tried. Jock’s boots didn’t move.
“Come on, young man,” Marlene was saying. “We’ll talk over some tea.”
As much as Fiona would have paid to watch Jock sit with Marlene over tea, she needed to end the man’s misery. “Marlene,” she called.
Jock’s head turned at the sound of her voice. He did that head-to-toe scan thing and then angled his body toward hers to reveal petite Marlene behind him. She wore a blue and yellow housecoat and slippers. Her hair was neatly curled, and she had on dark lipstick. “Fiona,” she said with a smile. “Just interrogating Jamison here. Please tell me his attentions are invited or I’ll call up my son. He’s FBI,
you know.”
Marlene loved to talk about her FBI agent son. Also, Jock’s real name was Jamison? Huh. Fiona focused on Marlene’s question. This was when she had to play her part. “Yes, his attentions are…invited.”
Marlene narrowed her eyes, and Fiona hated lying to her but this wasn’t a game. Fiona stepped forward, Sundance at her side, and slipped her fingers into Jock’s. He stiffened for a brief moment before he squeezed her hand back. Fiona pressed into his side, placing a hand on his stomach. She was not prepared for the rock-hard abs beneath her palms. Good God, this man was jacked. “He’s my boyfriend,” Fiona added. “It’s new.”
Marlene’s gaze shifted from Fiona to Jock and then back to Fiona. “Hmmmm, pictured your type a little different. Not so…big. He good to you?”
This was so awkward. “Yes, Marlene.”
“Guess no one messes with you, if you take him out by your side, huh?”
Fiona smiled. “Yes.”
Marlene held up her hands. “Fine, fine. As long as you’re safe. I worry about you, Fiona. Over there all alone.”
“I’m fine. You’re over here alone, too!”
“But I’m an old woman. No one cares about me. You? You’re a pretty young woman.”
“I have Sundance, too,” Fiona said.
Marlene pressed her lips together. “Let me feed you two.”
Jock looked alarmed. “That’s not—”
“I have some brisket. I made too much for me so you both will join me.” She waved them inside. Fiona felt Jock’s boots drag on the floor with reluctance before he allowed Fiona to tug him inside past a beaming Marlene. The older woman then scooted around Jock to shut her door. Fiona could feel Jock’s gaze boring into the side of her head, imploring her to get them out of this situation, but Fiona knew there was no getting out. Marlene wanted to feed them, and feed them she would.
So Fiona turned to Jock with a bright smile. “How nice! A home-cooked meal.”
Jock’s gaze dipped to her mouth before his shoulders slumped slightly. Ah, defeat. Fiona grinned wider, and Jock’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Come,” Marlene said, leading them into the kitchen.
“Jamison?” Fiona whispered.
“Told ya Jock wasn’t my real name.”
He had. She just hadn’t thought about what his real name would be. Jamison. She liked it.
They entered the kitchen to find Marlene puttering around a huge pot. “Jamison, be a dear and grab the pinot noir down from my wine rack.”
Jock’s eyes cut to Fiona. “Get you back for this,” he muttered.
“What was that?” Marlene asked.
Fiona held back her laughter. “Thanks again for the invite, Marlene. Jamison said he loves brisket!”
Marlene clapped her hands, Jock glared, and Fiona knew this would be the best meal she’d had in years.
* * *
Jock decided that the old woman’s questions were tolerable if it meant he got to see Fiona like this.
Her cheeks were flushed pink from the wine, and her laughter was long and loud. She came alive with her belly full of brisket and her head full of good conversation. Well, he assumed it was good conversation. He didn’t really know what that entailed, but Fiona and Marlene seemed to be enjoying it. They chatted about the corner bodega, the recent changes to the local park, and the weather.
The brisket was fucking delicious. Jock hadn’t eaten this well in weeks. The meat was so soft that it fell apart on his plate. The sauce was tangy and full of flavor, with large chunks of onions, carrots, and heavy on the garlic. Also eating kept his mouth full, so then he wasn’t called to participate in the conversation.
“So how did you two meet?” Marlene asked as she pushed her empty plate away.
Fiona paused with her second glass of wine halfway to her mouth. Her gaze shot to him, and he had just swallowed. It would have looked awkward to eat more just to avoid talking.
“I was dog sitting for a friend of mine,” he said. “Saw Fiona at the dog park and thought she was beautiful. I heard her laugh once, at something Sundance did, and I decided I wanted to hear her laugh more often.” That last sentence was true, but she didn’t need to know that. She stared at him now, her wine glass still clutched in her hand, eyes round in her flushed face. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, the neck wide so it hung off her shoulder, exposing a tank strap. Even wearing those casual clothes, she was a fucking vision.
“I was done dog sitting but I kept asking my friend if I could take his dog to the dog park just to get an excuse to see Fiona. Finally asked her out, and she said yes.” He met Fiona’s gaze steadily. “Now I get the privilege of hearing her laugh whenever I want.”
For a moment, a brief moment, he wanted that to be true. He wanted their lives to be that simple, for them to be other people who could meet at a dog park and date. Get married, and have kids and a normal life.
But they didn’t. Neither of them did. He didn’t think they ever would. Too late for that now.
Marlene was quiet for a moment, and then finally she stood and began to pick up their empty plates. “That’s good. That’s really good. Fiona should laugh.”
Jock didn’t take his eyes off Fiona as Marlene carried the plates to the sink. He wanted to get up and help Marlene but couldn’t look away from the woman staring at him from across the table. Maybe there was too much truth in what he’d said. The thing was, he hadn’t said enough. There was so much more he wanted to say—that he loved seeing Fiona smile, relax, and look over her shoulder less. That she seemed better rested since he’d made his presence known to her.
But he didn’t say those things because this was a job to him and he couldn’t be falling for her. He didn’t love anymore. He maybe liked and sometimes gave a shit, but more often than not, he just worked.
Fiona slowly set her glass down on the table just as Marlene began to hum from the kitchen sink, where she rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher. “Your laugh isn’t so bad either, Jamison,” she said softly.
He never used his real name and had surprised even himself when he’d blurted it out to Marlene. Now hearing it from Fiona’s lips was making him uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in a way that he had to fight from getting hard. Jesus, she was so goddamn beautiful, and he’d never in his life met a woman like her. He wouldn’t again. So he knew in that moment he’d lay down his life to make sure she kept on laughing.
Marlene returned with three plates, each holding a slice of cake. “Honey cake,” she declared. “Just made it this afternoon. I guess I have a sixth sense for company.”
“Marlene, this is so much. You don’t have to feed us all this.” Despite her words, Fiona stared at the cake like she definitely hoped Marlene didn’t turn them out.
“Hush,” Marlene said. “I’m only serving it because I want to eat it, too, and it would be rude to eat in front of my guests and not offer it.”
Fiona laughed, and the sound lit Jock’s blood. The cake was drenched in honey, moist and delicious. He could have eaten three more slices.
“Do you have family here?” Jock heard himself say to Marlene, wanting to thank the woman for the meal, for the peace for a couple of hours.
Marlene glanced up, seemingly surprised at the question. “No. My husband died a couple of years ago, and our son lives in Virginia with his wife. They visit as often as they can.”
“Have you thought about moving there?” he asked.
“They offered. I said no. This is my home. My city. I like having neighbors. I like the sounds and voices and smells. My son says I’m strange. He thinks I want quiet in a retirement community with bingo. I do not. I want this life. I’m too old to live how I don’t want to live.”
He respected that. Even though he felt the opposite—that he was too old to change his life to live the way he wanted. He lived the life now that he’d been dealt. It was only when he looked at Fiona that he wished that wasn’t the case.
Fiona stood slowly and a bit unsteadily. “Let
me help you clean up.”
“My dear girl, no,” Marlene said. “I don’t mind, and it’s only a few dishes. Go on over to your place and spend time with this hunk of a man.” Marlene speared him with a glance. “You take care of her. She’s feeling that wine.”
“I’m fine,” Fiona snapped without much heat.
Marlene grinned. “Sure you are.”
Jock stood and stepped to Fiona’s side, wrapping an arm around her waist and whistling for Sundance, who was dozing near the couch. “Thanks again for dinner, Mrs.…”
“Klein,” she said. “But call me Marlene.”
“Right,” he said softly as Fiona’s body melted against his. “Have a good night. You ever need anything, just let Fiona know, and I can come over. Run an errand for you. Whatever you need.”
“You’re sweet. All I want you to do right now is take care of our Fiona.”
“I’m not a child,” Fiona mumbled in his arms.
He smiled. “’Night, Marlene.”
“Good night, Jamison. Nice to meet you.”
With Sundance at their heels, Jock walked Fiona to her apartment. She yawned so widely that her jaw cracked, and her hand clenched his shirt over his stomach. “That was so good,” she said as Jock shut her apartment door behind them. “How did she snag you in the hallway?”
“I was checking your locks from the outside,” he said. “She saw me and the interrogation began.”
“Interrogation?” Fiona laughed. “Wow, Jock can be dramatic, I see.”
He grumbled, and she continued to grin. Her eyes were a little blurry and unfocused. She’d only had two glasses of wine, but they’d been large glasses, and he noticed she didn’t keep alcohol in her apartment.
“I’m going to change. I need to get comfy. Be right back,” she announced.
He went to call after her, to let her know he’d see himself out, but she was already in her bedroom, clothes rustling, and he kept his mouth shut. Which proved to be a bad fucking idea.
When she walked out she wore what he recognized as her pjs, aka a torture device for Jock’s dick: a tiny pair of cotton shorts and a tank top outlined every goddamn curve, and Fiona had a fuck of a lot of curves.
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