Broken With You Page 9

  “Maybe,” I say. I don’t mention that the lot is currently owned by the bank. So there’s no owner who could be wandering it at night.

  “Peter said it was probably a coyote and not a man at all,” she adds, a blush rising on her fair skin. “But he said I should call you if that would make me feel better.”

  I grin, amused. “Peter?”

  Her whole face lights up at the question. “He’s fabulous. We’ve been seeing each other on and off for a while, but now…” She trails off and sighs happily. “Well, I think he wants to get serious.”

  “That’s great,” I say. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” She hooks a thumb toward the kitchen. “Do you want some wine? I’d just opened a bottle before you got here.”

  We agree, and she returns a moment later with three glasses hung by the stems in one hand and a bottle of red in the other.

  “To you and Peter,” I say after she pours.

  “And to tightening up your camera array,” Jack adds.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she says after taking a long sip. “I’m meeting Peter tonight at Westerfield’s. I told him all about how you worked with me to get the house security set up, and how I feel so much safer now, and we thought it would be fun if you came, too.” She looks at Jack. “Even better now that you’ll have a date.”

  “Ah, well…” Jack looks at me, his expression decidedly uncomfortable. My stomach does that unpleasant flipping thing again, but why wouldn’t I be a little nauseous at the realization that my own husband is disgusted by the idea of going out with me?

  I stiffen as I say, “I don’t think we—”

  “Of course, we’ll come,” Jack says, talking boldly over me. “We’d be thrilled.”

  10

  I parted ways with Jack after we returned to Liam’s so that I could go home and change. Now, I arrive at the West Hollywood club alone. The line, as always, is down the block, but mine is one of the names permanently on the VIP list—a perk of working for Damien Stark, who owns the popular hotspot. Not that he comes often anymore. With two little girls, I don’t think he and Nikki frequent the club scene.

  I step inside, then pause, letting the music wash over me. I glance around for Jack, but don’t see him. I do, however, catch sight of Cass. With a grin, I head that direction.

  “Hey, stranger,” I say, letting her pull me into a hug. “Am I interrupting a date?” I look around for a girl who might be with Cass, hoping that she’s moving on after the bullshit with Siobhan. But she shakes her head and gives me the look.

  “I’m not even playing the field,” she says. “I only came for the awesome company.”

  “So this isn’t a coincidence?” At the same time I ask the question, Quince and Eliza approach, and I actually clap my hands, delighted.

  Quince is carrying two drinks, one of which he passes to Cass before hooking his free arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze.

  “Hell of a way to start the weekend, eh?” His British accent is more pronounced than usual, so I figure this isn’t his first drink of the evening.

  I look between the three of them. “This isn’t a coincidence, right? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Cerise called,” Cass says simply. “Said she’d invited you and Jack and that I should come down, too. Then she asked me to invite Syl and Jamie and their guys, but obviously Syl’s already left the country.”

  “So Jamie and Ryan are coming?”

  “That would be big, fat no.”

  She’s grinning when she says it, and I narrow my eyes, wondering at the joke. “Well?” I prod.

  “Oh, right. Jamie’s exact quote was that she already had Ryan naked, and that while we were all a lot of fun, he was better.”

  I slam my hands over my ears in mock horror. “I did not need to hear that about my boss.”

  “You asked,” Cass says.

  “And I should have known better,” I admit. I love Jamie, but the woman has no filter at all. “Where’s Cerise?”

  “Around here somewhere,” Quince says. “She’s got her boyfriend with her, so you might check dark corners.”

  Beside him, Eliza gives him an elbow nudge.

  “What?” he asks. “You know I’m right.”

  Cass laughs, then points at Quince and Eliza while still talking to me. “I didn’t know they’d be here. So I consider them a perk. And a comedy show, too. All rolled into one.”

  “Funny girl,” Quince says, making Cass grin.

  Quince drags over an extra chair, and we all squeeze in around the small cocktail table. Cass slides her drink my direction. “Want to share until we can get a waiter’s attention?”

  I take it, ready to start Friday right, but just the smell of the whiskey makes my stomach roll, and I decide to stick with water, hoping that whatever bug has taken up residence in my stomach gets bored and moves out quickly.

  Still, probably best to stay sober, especially since Jack should be here soon.

  As if he’s reading my mind, Quince says, “How are you coping?”

  I shrug. “I disarmed a nuclear weapon once. Did you know that?”

  He shakes his head.

  “That was easier.”

  “Denny…”

  I manage a half-smile, feeling even more sorry for myself at the sound of my name on his lips. Not that I mind Quince adopting the nickname. But it was Mason who first started calling me Denny, and his are the lips I want to hear it from.

  Beside Quince, Eliza leans forward. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say, and I mean it. But at the same time I don’t want to talk about how hard it is. Because that just makes it harder.

  In an effort to deflect the attention off me—and because I’m legitimately curious—I ask if they’ve heard from Emma. Eliza’s sister was at the center of the case Quince and I just wrapped. Now she’s in Europe, returning a kidnapped princess to her monarch father.

  “I talked to her this morning,” Eliza says. “So far, the trip’s gone smoothly.”

  “Has she decided what she’s going to do?” Emma’s a private investigator with a seriously badass covert ops background. Basically, my job is as boring as alphabetizing an old-fashioned card catalog compared to some of the stuff Emma has handled in the course of her career.

  Which means she’d be a hell of an asset to the SSA, and I really hope she decides to come on board.

  Meanwhile, I look around for my not-covert, not-badass client, and finally see her talking with a guy on the far side of the room. They’re in shadows, so I can’t see his face, but something about him looks familiar. I’m about to stand up and go talk with them when I catch sight of Jack heading my way from the other side of the room. And, of course, the sight of him erases every other thought from my head.

  I’m not even exaggerating. Nor am I surprised.

  The first time I saw Mason, I’d been walking into an NSC briefing at the Pentagon. A room full of the most powerful people in the country, including me, newly-anointed to go out into the world to fight terrorism at its root.

  But did I act the part of the well-trained badass?

  Well, actually, I did. That’s where the “well-trained” part comes in. Because the moment I saw Mason sitting at that table, all rational thought left my head. Suddenly, I was just a girl in high school crushing on the cute guy. The smart guy. The clever guy. The perfect guy.

  And when I found out that he felt the same way about me…

  Well, for Mason and me, there was no slow burn. We were combustible from the first moment we were together. And it kills me—absolutely slays me—that he can walk so casually across this club, sidle up to me, and say nothing more engaging than, “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Honestly, it’s not even that cute a line.

  Where’s the man who could make me come with a heated look?

  Who’d tug me into a dark corner for stolen kisses or even naughtier moments?

  The
man who could shut that all down during a mission, then release every trapped desire the moment we wrapped, fucking me for hours in our bed until we were both exhausted and sated?

  I want that man back as much as I want the guy who’d drink wine with me on the sofa while we watched reruns of Firefly. The guy who’d bore me to tears spending hours in Home Depot comparing paint colors for the bathroom. The guy who knew how to grill a steak better than any five star chef.

  In other words, I want my husband. Mason, not Jack. The man who remembers he loves me. The man with whom I’d shared a life. A history. The man who knew my secrets and my fears, my hopes and desires.

  But Mason is gone, and it’s Jack standing beside me. Jack with whom I have to play a role, when all I want is to go home and cry.

  “Denise?” He’s peering at me, his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

  “Tired,” I say. “And sober. I’ve got a stomach bug or something and alcohol is not sitting well.”

  He flashes a grin, revealing his dimple. “That is a tragedy. How about I take the edge off and—”

  We don’t get to the and.

  Instead, we’re interrupted by the arrival of Cerise and her companion.

  He isn’t in the shadows now—in fact the whole club fills with wild, flashing lights. The beams bounce with the music as they crisscross the dance floor, illuminating every inch of his all-too familiar face.

  “Peter,” I squeal as I throw myself into his outstretched arms.

  “Denise!” He hugs me tight, then pushes me away so that his hands are on my shoulders and I’m grinning up at him like an idiot. “I had no idea you were in LA.”

  “Same,” I say. “This is amazing.”

  “I’m sorry,” Cerise says. “You know each other?”

  Peter and I exchange glances. And with perfect timing, we look back at Cerise. “Nope,” we say, then start laughing all over again.

  11

  I’m still grinning when Jack approaches, but my smile fades when I see the way he’s rubbing his temples. Peter’s hand rests on my shoulder, and I slip out from under his touch, then approach Jack, lightly brushing his arm as I try to read the expression in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  He gives a little half-shake of his head, his expression one of mild annoyance. Not at me, I don’t think, but at his own discomfort. “I think it’s the damn lights. They started flashing, and it’s like needles to my eyes.”

  “You’re not prone to migraines,” I say.

  “Aren’t I?”

  I bite back a wince, realizing how close I came to giving away too much. But it’s reasonable that I’d know if my partner suffered from migraines. Still, I need to be more careful.

  Now, though, I just shrug. “Not that I’ve seen before.”

  “Probably a symptom,” he says. “My already battered brain doesn’t like the crazy disco lights.”

  “Trust me,” I say dryly. “It’s not just you. Welcome to Friday at a club.” I sweep my arm out to encompass the entire room, noticing as I do that Cerise has moved a few feet away and is laughing with a group of women I’ve never met before.

  “Speaking of welcome,” Peter says, waving for Jack’s attention. “It’s great to see you again, M—”

  “Jack,” I say firmly, speaking loudly on top of Peter before he can announce Mason’s real name. “Jack, this is Peter.”

  “Am I missing the joke?” Peter asks, looking between the two of us.

  “Jack’s having a little trouble with his memory.”

  “Which is the polite way of saying that I’m a blank slate,” he puts in. “And we’re sharing this information why?”

  “It’s okay. Peter and I worked together for about a year in Washington before I moved over to the SOC.”

  “Obviously, I don’t remember you,” Jack says. “Sorry about that.”

  Peter shakes his head. “No worries. I would say your little problem is an occupational hazard, but the truth is that I haven’t seen this before. Heard of it. But I always assumed the stories were urban legend.”

  “A story they tell about bad little agents?” Jack quips, making Peter laugh.

  “Is that what you were?”

  Jack shrugs. “How the hell do I know?”

  Peter chuckles. “I see you kept your sense of humor.”

  “Did we work together, too?”

  Peter shakes his head. “No. We only met the one time when you two got m—”

  “Medals of commendation,” I interrupt, shooting Peter a sharp glance, in response to which he looks sufficiently contrite. We don’t actually have any medals of commendation, and even if we did I don’t know why Peter would have come to the ceremony. But thankfully Jack doesn’t seem interested in the point. Or in Peter or I for that matter. On the contrary, he’s looking at something across the room, his brow furrowed as if in confusion.

  “The lights still?” There’s no laser light show at the moment, but there is a colorful disco ball that’s casting moving circles of light on the walls and floor.

  “Mind if I borrow Denise for a second?” Jack says, to which Peter shrugs and says he’ll go freshen his drink.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, waving off Cass who’s started to head in our direction.

  “I’m not sure.” He nods toward the dance floor. “When the lights started, I thought I saw…”

  “What?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. A face.”

  “A face?”

  He meets my eyes. “A face.”

  “We’re in a club. There are a lot of faces.”

  “I don’t know why it struck me. I can’t even find it again in the crowd. I’m not even sure if it was a man or a woman, much less real. Maybe it was just a shadow. A mirage in the dark.”

  “But you don’t think so.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “I think it’s a memory. I think there’s someone here with us that I remember. Or that my mind is trying to remember.”

  “From your past? Or from your mission?” I’m assuming the latter. And I’m trying not to let my feelings get hurt because he’s semi-remembered a shadowy face before he remembered his wife.

  “From my torture,” he says flatly. “I saw that face, and my blood ran cold.”

  My hurt feelings are pushed away by guilt, and I take his hand. “We’ll find him. We’ll find him,” I repeat, “and we’ll get some answers.”

  “I’m going to make a few rounds through the club, then I’m going to head back to Liam’s. I know tomorrow’s Saturday, but I’d like to work. Maybe go over some of our old files. See if that triggers any new memories. Okay?”

  “Of course. Meet you in the office around ten?”

  “I’ll be there,” he says, then slips into the dark.

  I stand there for a moment, letting the beat of the music pound through me. I want to follow him. I want to take his shoulders and look into his eyes and tell him everything.

  But I can’t. And I hate how impotent I feel.

  I turn with a sigh, intending to go to the bar for a tonic and lime. Instead, I find Peter behind me. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Where’s Cerise?”

  “Ladies’ room.” He holds out his hand. “Dance?”

  I shake my head. “Not in the mood.”

  “A pity. I am.”

  “I’m sure Cerise will be up for it when she gets back. I like her a lot,” I tell Peter. “But she doesn’t seem to be your type.”

  “That’s because you were always my type.”

  I mentally kick myself. I should never have opened that door. Peter and I worked in the same field office and got along great. But the times we partnered for a mission together, I was never at my best. I could feel the attraction rolling off him. And while Mason’s interest in me never got in the way of our work, it was a distraction with Peter. The difference, of course, was that I wasn’t in love with Peter, and so I didn’t trust him the way you trust a true partner. And Mason always was a true partner, ev
en before we became involved.

  “Peter…”

  He holds his hands out in surrender. “I know. Just friends. Don’t worry. I’m over you. I’m just stating a fact. And Cerise is a doll. I really do adore her.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. She’s not just a client. She’s a friend.”

  “So why aren’t you telling him the truth?”

  It’s a total flip in the conversation, but I follow his thread easily. “You know I can’t give you details. Let’s just say it’s protocol.”

  He nods, then steps back, his eyes looking me up and down. I’m wearing jeans and a plain white tank top, and the heat in Peter’s eyes is the kind I want to see in Jack’s.

  His gaze stops at my wrist, where Mason’s name has been recently inked. “Who does he think that is?”

  I draw in a shaky breath. “My husband. Who may or may not be dead.”

  “Makes it rough for you, doesn’t it?”

  This time, I can’t follow his thoughts, because everything about my life and Mason is rough right now. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the way he looked at you. Guy’s hot for you. And looks to me like you want him, too.”

  I swallow. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Same place you are—nowhere. Because you’re too honorable a woman to cheat on your husband. Which means that you can’t cheat with your husband. No matter how much you want to.” He’s got about six inches on me, and he uses the tip of his finger to tilt my chin up. He locks his gaze with mine and flashes a wicked grin. “Or are you planning to fuck him anyway?”

  With effort, I resist the urge to reach up and slap his face. Instead, I say, “This is why you and I never got together. I prefer my men with a bit of character.”

  “What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

  “Try to keep it inside,” I say, then turn and walk away. I don’t see Quince or Eliza, but Cass is laughing with a cute blonde by the bar. I catch her eye, then point toward the door. She lifts her hand to her ear in a “call me” gesture, and I nod. I’ll give her a buzz tomorrow. Right now, I’m heading home.