Not My Heart to Break (Merciless World Book 3)

by W. Winters

  At the realization, I turn back to look at my front door. Questions are ringing in my head. I’m sure she’s long gone, so instead of chasing her, I merely purse my lips and open the box.

  Long-stemmed flowers. Their soft floral scent hits my senses just as quickly as the smile on my face and warmth up my chest.

  With my bare feet padding on the floor and water still dripping from the tips of my hair, I trace the petals of the blush buttercup ranunculus and the white anemones. It’s a full bouquet and given that it’s fall, I imagine it wasn’t cheap.

  Grabbing the step stool so I can reach the top shelf, I take out my expensive vase, not the basic clear ones that are on the bottom shelf.

  I cut each stem, remembering when Seth gave me a similar bouquet. It was our first year anniversary. I think it’s the first real gift he ever got me. Technically we never gave ourselves a date. But every year, on the date of our first kiss and our first night together, Seth gave me a bouquet, and this one was the first. These flowers and these colors. Much smaller and not quite as fancy as these are, but the same flowers.

  I can’t believe he remembered. Men never remember details like this.

  I leave the vase in the center of my coffee table, and when I’m done cleaning up, I lie down on the sofa, still in my robe, and question everything I thought up until yesterday.

  What am I doing? The question nags at me. More importantly, I hear Seth’s voice in my head from only weeks ago, asking me how I thought this would end.

  Seth

  “The notebooks are mostly ramblings. But there are drawings of where Marcus took her.” The woman, Delilah, likes to sketch. I wondered how accurate they were until I drove past one of the streets she referred to. She’d drawn a park, specifically Lincoln Park. It was the first place she’d met Marcus according to the notebooks. It’s the place that started it all. It was like she’d taken a photograph. It was that detailed and that accurate.

  “Drawings?” Jase questions from where he sits behind his desk. Declan’s occupying the chair next to mine, on the opposite side of the desk. I answer, although Declan knows just as well as I do.

  “Some in New York, where she’s from, but she came down here years ago for a case and that’s apparently where she met Marcus. She drew the locations.”

  “Maybe it’s something she did back when she was a lawyer?” Jase surmises.

  “More like she learned it from a cop,” Declan speaks up and steals our attention. “I’ve been going through Walsh’s computer. He’s uploaded his old cases and in his files, he drew the sites. Quick sketches.”

  “Maybe she learned it from him? She was a lawyer, right? Did they work a case together?” This is the first time Declan’s telling me this.

  “Could be,” he says then shrugs and sits back in his seat. The leather groans and with the turn of the clouds, Jase’s office darkens. He has to get up to turn on the lights as the day shifts to night behind the large window to the back of him.

  “She was with Walsh and Marcus. She has information on both of them. She met Walsh first.”

  Sitting forward, I nod as I clasp my hands in my lap. My thumb runs along my knuckles as I tell him, “There’s a lot in these notebooks that could be useful if the information is still accurate. Like how Walsh used PO Boxes to communicate with informants. He used them to send her letters too. It’s a safe place for an information exchange. Or at least he considers it to be since they’re purchased and paid for by an LLC that’s run through the Cayman Islands.”

  “Our surveillance shows he’s still using them,” Declan adds.

  “Good, let’s see who he’s still talking to and if there’s something sensitive we can use to our advantage.”

  It shouldn’t surprise me that the information Laura gave us is already paying off.

  “Do you think he’s still seeing her?” Jase asks and I look to my right, waiting for Declan to speak up. I gave him the latter half and the first one I’d already read, and I took the earlier portion. “Declan has the most recent entries of her diaries.”

  “It appears she still occasionally has contact with him and she’s made it clear she isn’t over him. What they went through, it certainly changed her career path and mental state.”

  “An up-and-coming lawyer, to an in-and-out resident at a mental institution… I’d say so.”

  “Anything in there about Walsh?” Jase questions.

  I thumb through the pile of papers in front of me as I shake my head. “Not anything after the first year of entries. She hasn’t written anything about him recently.”

  “It’s possible that she may not know Walsh is looking for her?” Jase says and I can feel the steady tapping of the heel of his foot under the desk. His ass is riding on this just as much as mine is.

  “Is he?” Declan asks.

  “He mentioned her at the very least. So she’s on his mind.”

  “As far as we know,” Declan answers, “he hasn’t contacted her.”

  I add in my thoughts. “It’s odd that he hasn’t. He’s obviously not over what happened years ago and it involves her. She was a key piece in whatever happened in New York that led to him leaving the FBI.”

  “He has to know where she is. It’s only a matter of time before he contacts her.” Jase sounds confident and I’m confident he will as well.

  “Maybe he’s waiting for something,” I suggest and that gets Jase’s gaze pinned to mine, eager to know what I think after reading the diary entries.

  “For what?”

  “For Marcus to be out of the way.” Declan nods in agreement with me.

  It’s quiet for a moment, the room still and the only sound the click of the HVAC system and the low hum of air as the heater’s engaged.

  “We wanted something to barter with. I don’t think information on Delilah is enough. If it was, Walsh would be there already.”

  “We could kidnap her, trade her for it, but I don’t see that ending well. And we don’t know where she is right now. She’s a ghost until she needs help and meds. Should be soon though.”

  “He’d lie, get her back, then put us away with a copy of the recordings he didn’t give us.”

  “Agreed. We have to play it another way.” Jase sits back in his seat, staring past us and at nothing in particular. “If things go wrong, we take her. As an insurance policy. But for now, we play it differently.”

  “At least we know our next move, steps ahead.” Declan is the least tense of the three of us. “I’ll have the team keep eyes on her. Just in case.”

  “Good.” Jase still doesn’t look at either of us. He’s thinking. The wheels spinning, all the possible moves playing out. I can see his thoughts clearly, easily reading him after all the years of getting to know him.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask him when the tapping of his foot stops.

  “We have two things on Marcus.”

  I name the two, completing his thought. “A list of men who work for him that we’ve been following and journals of a woman he seems to have affection for. Although we don’t have her location. She goes off the grid, but always goes back to the Rockford Center eventually.”

  “As well as the knowledge that she’s been seeing Marcus,” Declan adds and Jase nods, the two sharing a look. “The question is, which do we give to Walsh?”

  “If Walsh wants something in exchange for the recordings, I say we don’t let on to the woman. Being in between the two of them is a risky move and she’s our fail-safe.”

  Jase’s gaze drops and his nod is nearly imperceptible.

  I continue, “We don’t want to get deeper into it. We just need the evidence he has on us to vanish.”

  “You think he’ll really hand them over?” Declan asks.

  “If he trusts us.” I explain, “I think trust would be easier to get if we keep the information about the woman and Marcus to us. Keep it business.”

  “We give him a list of Marcus’s men that could lead him to Marcus. In return, he gives us th
e recordings,” Jase says as if he’s testing how he feels about the deal.

  “It seems like a fair trade to me,” I respond and sit back in the seat, attempting to relax but every muscle in me is tight, knowing Marcus knows about Laura.

  “I don’t trust him,” Declan pipes up.

  “We don’t have a choice but to trust him.” Jase answers before I have to.

  The sky darkens by the minute behind Jase.

  “I’ll give him the list,” Jase decides. “I’ll leave it in his mailbox at the station. We keep the intel on her and eyes on her just in case Walsh wants to fuck us over, but this way he can find Marcus.”

  Gripping the arms of the chair, I nod, letting go of the tension and uncertainty. It’s out of my control. All I can do is hope this is enough for Walsh and that he keeps his end of the deal. And that he finds Marcus. I want him—and everything he knows—out of the picture.

  Just as I’m about to stand and leave, Jase asks, “Any other updates?”

  I eye him questioningly, feeling my expression show my confusion. “On what front?” I ask him.

  He cocks his brow and when I glance down at Declan, he’s smirking, pulling the stack of papers in front of him into his lap. He’s highlighted a few things, but most of them appear to be drawings. Locations where Marcus may be or go to often.

  “Did you ask Laura about her dad?” Jase asks and coldness sweeps along my skin. Any confusion, any ease, vanishing in an instant. Dread is a prickly fucker, crawling along my skin.

  “No. No updates.”

  “We aren’t…” Declan clears his throat, his posture shifting and humor leaving at my response. “We’re not trying to piss you off.”

  His explanation doesn’t mean shit to me. “I told you—”

  “Yes, she’s yours,” Declan says, interrupting me. “Very possessive male of you.” Declan’s joke doesn’t help. All I can think about is what Laura would do if she knew the truth about her father. What she’d think…

  “Just asking if everything on that front is all right?”

  “Just fine,” I answer Jase. Standing, I fasten a single button on my jacket.

  “I’d feel better about you seeing her if it didn’t turn you into a stone wall.”

  Jase and Declan look up at me, both waiting. I debate on telling them something, anything. A protectiveness overwhelms me when it comes to Laura. The less anyone knows, the better.

  Just like Delilah, Marcus and Walsh. Just the fact that we know anything at all about them, creates a weakness that anyone can exploit. I don’t want any more of that for Laura than there already is.

  “Bethany asked me how you’re doing last night,” Jase says and exhales audibly, standing to walk to the bar on the other side of the office. “She’s prying and wants information about what you’re thinking in regard to her friend.”

  “You can tell her you don’t know anything,” I suggest and then hold a hand up to signal no when he offers me whiskey. Declan nods though, so Jase pulls out two glasses and they clink as he shakes his head, his lips forming a thin line.

  “I did and she told me to ask.”

  “You sound pussywhipped.”

  “I’d like to make her happy, Seth. In case Walsh fucks us and I end up having to go away for a while,” Jase admits harshly, his words drenched with the fear of the unknown. He takes a swig of his own drink before handing Declan his and taking a seat once again. All the while I stand and watch the emotions play on his face.

  “You really like her? Is that something I could tell her?” he asks with a defeated tone.

  For a moment, for some fucked-up reason, I see Derrick sitting there instead of him. I see the man I left behind. The friend who defended Laura. My partner who I couldn’t look at anymore because he wanted Laura back just like I did, and he was man enough to admit it. Man enough to keep in contact with her and he had the balls to look me in the eyes and tell me.

  It’s been years since I’ve said a word to him. In this moment I want to tell him. I want to tell him I have her back.

  “I’ve missed her and I don’t plan on letting her go so easily this time.”

  Jase nods, again his focus drifting to nothingness behind us before he asks, “Was that so hard?”

  He has no idea how much it fucking hurts to say that I missed her out loud to anyone. Telling her is brutal, telling anyone else? Agony.

  “We don’t know the history. But if you need to talk,” Declan offers, leaving the suggestion that they’re there for me implied.

  A question nags in the back of my head. “Did Bethany tell you anything about me and Laura I should know?”

  “Nothing apart from her thinking that Laura still loves you but she’s afraid you don’t love her back.”

  His statement hardens me. Love is a word and nothing more to Laura.

  You don’t leave someone if you love them.

  With my jaw clenched I debate on saying just that, but it shows more about me than anything else. Parts of me they don’t need to know about. My phone pings and I’m grateful for the distraction until I read the text.

  My blood turns to ice and I have to read it again.

  “What’s wrong?” Declan asks.

  “Laura just thanked me for the flowers.” I’m not even cognizant that I answered him until he speaks again.

  “Then why do you look like—”

  I cut off the question and do my damnedest to keep my expression from showing how close to the edge of recklessness I am. “I didn’t send her any flowers.”

  Laura

  I felt eyes on me the moment I got out of my car and walked into the doors of the Rockford Center. It’s a weird prickling sensation that claws at me from behind.

  Even now, as I pick up the tray with the last two cups of pills on it, I swear I can feel someone watching me. It’s an eerie feeling. As I slowly turn, just peeking over my shoulder toward the elevators, I truly expect someone to be there.

  This late at night, most of the patients are settled into their beds. Visiting hours are over. I tell myself no one is here, but I can’t help but feel that I’m wrong. Call it my gut instincts.

  I anticipate someone staring at me, but all I find are the simple silver doors, closed and the night hall quiet.

  Letting go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I make my way in my favorite scrubs, a pair of white ones with deep red roses on them, to my last two patients.

  They were supposed to get their pills five minutes ago, but the patient I checked on before them refused to take his. It took me a while to convince him the pills are helping, not hurting. Schizophrenia is a bitch.

  That patient comes and goes as if this place is a revolving door. He never keeps up with his medication when he leaves. His symptoms get worse and he finds himself back here. Self-admitted or because his addiction and lack of employment lead him to a judge ordering him a sentence that includes a term here.

  It kills.

  With the thought settling deep in my gut, and the vision of that man’s face in my head, I have to close my eyes just before the 3F on the door greets me. It’s a calming breath that leaves me. And then another after a deep inhale.

  My eyes slowly open when the prickle at my neck comes back. There’s no one but me at the end of the hall. A door to my right, and across it, a door to my left. No one else is here. Aiden is in the back with the paperwork, Mel is on a smoke break. She’ll be outside for at least another twenty minutes since her patients are all accounted for and sleeping. She’ll do her last round, checking on their breathing, and then switch off, just like I will. We only have forty minutes left until the end of shift at 1:00 a.m.

  Maybe I’m just coming down from the high I was on with Seth. The realization is sobering. That’s what the odd feeling is. It’s the reminder of all that happened and the fact that I was ignoring it.

  The tray takes both of my hands to hold, so I have to balance it before turning the doorknob, and using my hips to bump open the door to E.J.’s room
.

  We weren’t given her name, only initials.

  Yet another thing that makes me feel uneasy. We’ve never had a patient whose information was guarded. We only have her medical history. Nothing else. Not a name. Not an address.

  Aiden never should have accepted her in here under those conditions. With that thought resonating inside of me, I set the tray down and then look at her.

  Really look at her.

  Her brunette hair is matted as she lies lifeless on her side on the mattress. Her bed is made neatly, it always is, and she lies on top of it, rather than under the sheets. I know she’s cold because of the goosebumps on her skin; hell, even I’m cold in this place at night.

  A horrid guilt rolls through me; how could I ever think of turning someone away?

  “E.J.,” I say as I swallow the previous thoughts and pick up the small paper cup containing three colorful pills. And then a cup of water. I don’t sit on her bed like I do with some of the other patients. I keep my distance with her, she’s more receptive that way.

  I sit in the chair in front of her nightstand. It hasn’t moved from the last time I was in here. She doesn’t like me to move it though.

  It’s a rare moment when I see someone in here who truly wants to die. This woman’s only thirty-two, and I have no idea why since it’s not in her charts and she hasn’t spoken to anyone, not that she could now anyway, but she doesn’t want to live another day. She has a bandage at her throat from recent surgery. The antifreeze destroyed her esophagus and she nearly died. Death’s door was only a minute away from her and not for the first time either. That attempt was made in this facility and that knowledge will never leave me.

  She blinks slowly and then her deep brown eyes look up at me. Rolling onto her back, she accepts the pills and then the water, downing them without thinking twice.

  When she closes her eyes as I check the bandages, tears fall down her cheeks and land heavily on the bed on either side of her head.