Break My Heart (The Heart Series Book 2) (14 page)

“See, what’d I tell you, kid! You owe me twenty bucks,” Charlie teases and Adams’s face blushes, his mouth gaping as he tries to explain.

I can’t help but chuckle smugly. “You bet against me Adams? Your own partner? You’ve been had.”

“I tried to warn him,” Nelson adds, as we both shake our heads at Adams like disappointed parents.

Charlie is gloating. “Pay up, kid.”

Adams reaches into his wallet and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill.

Charlie is giddy and pumped. You’d think he just scored a touchdown. “She’s back, baby!” he yells, bringing up his hand for a high-five, which I happily return.

Let’s just hope the lead pays off. Still, I can’t stop grinning. I’m recharged with enthusiasm for my job. I join Charlie’s celebration by doing our little “score” dance: high five up top, back down, a jump and hip-bump, like we just crossed the goal. Then he starts dancing around me to imaginary house music. I laugh, as does Nelson, and Adams just watches us, probably wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

I glance at the two-way, and the suspect is squinting at the mirror, probably wondering what all the noise is about. With an extra bounce in my step, I exit the interrogation room with Adams. Charlie walks behind us, yelling down the hall for the entire office to hear, “She’s back, ladies and gentlemen. Agent Harper is back!”

Charlie’s right. I am back.

CHAPTER 13

Ileana

I’m starting to feel like my old self again.

Working full-time assisting Nelson and Ryan with their case, I got Adams up to speed.

He’s been fully immersed since arriving two weeks ago. They traced the mysterious name and number we got during questioning to a possible alias that’s on the radar. Then the fun began: paperwork to get approval for twenty-four-seven bugging and surveillance on the suspect’s apartment building in order to find the real source.

Adams and Nelson are two geeks in a pod. They get all riled up over their tech-talk while Charlie and I stare at each other, wondering how we got saddled with the two of them. Today, Nelson and he are engrossed in something on Nelson’s computer when my phone alarm goes off. Shrink time.

“Adams, I’m heading to the—out for the day. You need anything before I go?”

He doesn’t move his eyes from Nelson’s screen, completely absorbed with what they are working on. “No thanks, I’m good.”

I gather my gear and leave for Dr. Matthews’s office. I’ve been opening up a bit more with each session.  So far we concentrate on whatever plagues me at the present time. These visits have become routine and that worries me. I know of agents that have a standing appointment for years and years. I don’t want to be one of them. I finally got cleared for field duty last week so the way I see it, they’re a means to an end. I want to stay in the field, I have to continue to cooperate.

“Ileana, come on in.” Dr. Matthews welcomes me at the door as soon as I arrive.

No waiting for me today.

“Thanks, Doctor Matthews.”

At first, she insisted I call her Evelyn, but that’s just too chummy for my taste. The more professional we keep our relationship, the better.

I walk over to her trusty light beige couch, or antique white, or whatever fancy name it is. As always, everything is in its place, including her cheerful disposition and physical appearance. Today she’s wearing a violet satin blouse with perfectly matching violet high-heeled pointy-toe shoes and white slacks. Her hair is up, not a strand out of place, and her lipstick looks freshly applied, not a faded edge or smudge in sight.

She takes a seat across from me in her high-back leather chair, grabbing her clipboard and pen as she greets me officially.

“So, how are you doing?” she asks with her perfect smile.

That’s a loaded question if I’ve heard one. How am I doing?

“I’m here,” I answer, and give her a tight smile. Clamping my hands together, I try to visibly relax, even though my insides are wound up tighter than a mummy. This, being here alone with her and talking about what’s going on inside my head, is as close to intimacy as it gets for me—outside of my bedroom and alone time with Tommy.

We discuss my dream about Sarge again. How I felt that day I had to leave with Sophia and couldn’t stay with him. What my life was like without him as a constant.

But I keep the rest to myself.

I don’t tell her about the few summers I visited him. How I had to beg Sophia to let me go, and when I was eleven, she finally caved. How one summer I overheard his new wife arguing with him, telling him he had to choose between their kids or me. How Sarge pleaded with her to understand I had no one. I don’t tell her how I lied to Sarge the next morning, packed my bag, and told him to take me home because I didn’t want to see him anymore. How that day, I had to make the choice to let him go.

And I don’t tell her about the last time I saw Sarge. Hell, I’ve never talked to anyone about that day.

“When was the last time you talked to your mother?”

My eyes cut to her at the mention of Sophia. The woman has a folder on me the size of a textbook: my FBI profile, not to mention possibly all my psych evals from the Army. Hell, my entire mental history is laid out on paper, documented for dissection. She knows the answer to that.

“It’s been a while,” I mutter, my tone more defensive than I expect.

She puts her pen down and rests her elbows on the arms of her chair, clamping her hands over her notepad.

Here it comes. No, no, no—

“Have you talked to your mother about your family history or who your father is?”

Shit. Shit. Here we go. “Yes, I have.”

“And?” she prods, her eyebrows shooting upward in question.

“And, nothing.” I’m not going there. I’m not discussing the things my mom has told me about my grandmother. The way she talked to me as a kid. No way. She’ll make me come see her every damn day of my life.

I pick invisible lint off my clothes. Tap my foot. Dammit, she’s getting to me. Not much gets to me. Self-disclosure? That is one beast I haven’t been able to defeat, another mountain that will remain unconquered.

“I want you to go see your mother.”

What the hell?

“Excuse me?” I’m trying to control my temper, keep my voice even.

Breathe, Ileana.
I haven’t seen my mother since my high school graduation.

“Your mother, go visit her. Have a chat,” she suggests casually, as if I could meet Sophia at the corner cafe for a quick latte.

Every muscle in my body tenses, and she immediately registers my reluctance.

She leans forward, her tone softening. “There is a reason for these dreams, Agent Harper. The only way to move forward is to get to the bottom of them. You know this well. It is your job to get to the truth, to follow the breadcrumbs, collect the pieces and solve the puzzle.”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to bring some relief to my tensed and stiff muscles. A huge headache pounds in my temples, blood roaring inside my ears. The rubbing doesn’t help.

She’s right, and she knows it. Hell,
I
know it. She knows I want to stay in the field, and I’m not going to fight her on this.

What could be more unpleasant and painful: getting shot, getting stabbed, or talking to Sophia?

Definitely talking to my mother.

“All right.” This is going to be the highlight of my year.

“Good. Our time is up.” She stands to walk me out. “See you next week.”

Before I can think about it too much and lose my nerve, I turn to her. “I’ll make arrangements to go see her this weekend.”

The sooner I get this therapy shit over with, the faster I can go back to my life.

قلب

I don’t get back from Miami until late Saturday, reaching my apartment building well after eleven p.m. It was the quickest, most emotionally draining trip I’ve ever taken. But I’m glad I went.

The elevator reaches my floor, and the ding announces my arrival to an empty, quiet hallway. I pass Mrs. N.’s apartment and pause by her door. All seems quiet, so I proceed to my own apartment. I’m greeted by silence and loneliness.

Everything inside is as it was, including the note I wrote for Tommy before leaving yesterday.

Tossing my keys on the counter, I drop my overnight bag by the door, and peel my clothes off once I get to my bedroom. 

After showering for an eternity, I get ready for bed.

Exhausted, I crawl under my down comforter, and shut off the bedside light.

Sadness slowly works its way inside me at the memory of that little girl who used to cry herself to sleep, wondering what she’d done wrong because her mommy wouldn’t tell her she loved her. Sophia was never abusive, at least not physically. Sometimes I wished she’d yell, or hit me, something; after all, some feeling, whether love or hate, is better than indifference. Being ignored as a child chips away at you, eats you up, makes you wonder what you did to entice such a reaction from the one who gave you life.

But I’m not that little girl anymore.

Damn counseling. Stirring the slime at the bottom so it rises up, soiling everything around. I’m through handing Dr. Matthews a giant stick to stir my shit up. I’m scraping it out, shoving it away, and getting rid of it for good.

Tommy’s mantra rings inside my head.
You’re not your mom. You’re not your grandmother.

“I’m not them,” I tell myself.

He was absolutely right. Just like Tommy isn’t his father. He barely remembers his mom, just bits and pieces. Sandy hair, sad smile, how she cried sometimes.

Tommy. God, my soul aches for him. The urge to see him is overwhelming right now. For him to hold me tight, lie next to me, fill me with life, love, and energy. My world is complete as long as he’s right by my side.

I won’t let the past become my future. It’s different now. I have Tommy.

Listening to the rain pelting the window while the wind howls outside my apartment, I drift off into oblivion.

قلب

The shutters are different. Newer.

Everything else looks just as it did that October morning.

Yellow, orange, and red mums overflowing from massive flowerpots adorn the large wrap-around porch. The old tire swing hangs like a pendulum from a thick branch of the oak tree. The smell of dead leaves littering the ground caresses my nostrils, while the cool wind plays with my curls.

As I take it all in, calmness flows through me. The beautiful white siding, clear pane windows, and manicured landscaping stir a sense longing inside of me for a home.

Approaching the wide porch steps, I notice small chips in the paint and slight cracks in the wood of the otherwise perfect facade.

The front door opens and Tommy steps onto the porch. Stretching his arms wide, his taut muscles straining. The moment he spots me, he graces me with that smile. The smile that I love.

His grin of pleasure, contentment, and happiness falls as I get closer, leaving a frown of puzzlement in its place.

“Can I help you?” he calls, gazing at me curiously.

My smile vanishes and my feet falter mid-step. “It’s me, Lil.”

His confused expression mars his beautiful features. “I don’t know anyone named Lil.”

With that, he goes back inside and closes the door.

“Tommy?” I yell, running up the steps. I bang on the door as day becomes night, the bright exterior marred in darkness.

A chill creeps up my spine and the back of my neck prickles. Goose-bumps rise in dread as I spin—

My eyes fly open; my heart is pounding so hard I fear it might burst. As I slowly come to, warmth cocoons me, pushing away the panic. It takes me a minute to sort my thoughts, realize I’m in my bed, and Tommy is wrapped around me.

He’s holding on to me, keeping me from disappearing. I’ve never been so grateful for his presence, my heart bursting with joy.

“Hey,” he says huskily, his breath warming the back of my neck. My jolt must have stirred him awake. His strong arms anchor me, his frame engulfing mine. I don’t need to speak. Instead, I turn to face him without breaking our contact.

Burying my face in his neck, I inhale his scent. It rejuvenates me, the trip to Miami a bad dream.

This is heaven, right in Tommy’s arms.

“You’re home,” I whisper, afraid the world might hear us.

“I missed you so much. I’m sorry I can’t stay long,” he whispers back, both afraid to disturb our own private haven right here in the darkness of my bedroom.

I raise my gaze up to his. Shadows dance over his features, sway around his beautiful emerald eyes. Pure love and affection pour over me.

Tommy’s gaze accomplishes what the shower couldn’t: I matter. I am loved. I am wanted.

Right now, in this moment, I am this man’s entire world, and he is mine.

Bringing my mouth to his, I show him how much I long for him. He releases a groan, and I catch it with satisfaction. His kiss is tender passion begging to be unchained, which I gladly welcome. After peeling my clothes off, his hands lovingly trace my body, from my neck to my backside, ending up threaded through my hair as our tongues tangle urgently. Our composure slips away, leaving nothing between our bodies.

I gently urge him onto his back and sit astride him, pausing to admire this amazing man.

His hair is shorter, seems darker in the moonlight. Raindrops trickle down the window, casting shadows over his bare skin. As my eyes adjust to the unlit room, I regard his hard chest, tight abs, and the subtle dusting of hair over his pecs and torso.  

I bring my lips down to his chest, placing a kiss above his heart bearing his declaration of love for me. As my tongue touches his skin, a slow exhale escapes his lungs as he stretches against the mattress.

“Lil,” he growls, low and guttural.

My hands outline every sculpted muscle, every contour of his powerful arms, shoulders, and chest, all the way to his hips. My lips follow the path until I find my target. Slowly, I take him into my mouth. I love every inch of him. He’s perfect, and he’s mine to worship as I wish. Nothing can taint that.