Break My Heart (The Heart Series Book 2) (16 page)

“It’s not the same and you know it. We used to tell each other everything.”

Fuck
. She’s pacing and shaking her head, muttering through clenched teeth in outrage.

“Let’s talk. Why don’t we meet for dinner? We can talk then,” I press on.

She stops pacing, instantly pinning me with a glare. “Dinner? When, Tommy? Next week? Next month?” Each word is a stab to my gut. “Or would you rather text me when you’re available? No, wait. Better yet,” her volume increases with each word, “why don’t we catch up when you feel like showing up?” Her cynicism is not lost on me.

“I’m here now. Talk to me!” I just want to shake her, bring her to her senses. We’ve been through too much shit.

“When, Tommy?” she shrieks. “When? When you’re fucking me? Because, let’s face it, that’s the only reason you show up anymore. You fuck me, then leave.”

I recoil at her words. My heart throbs as if someone ripped it out, stomped the shit out of it with a big fucking boot, and then poured alcohol directly onto the wound.

“Christ, Lil, that’s not true.”
She can’t think that, can she?

She laughs mockingly. “Oh, right. Remind me what we were doing this morning. What would you call that?”

“I love you, Lil. I came home to love you. To be with you.” Pain crushes my chest, it’s hard to breathe.

“Like there’s a difference,” she snaps, thick with disdain.

Bitterness covers her beautiful face. Her accusation soils everything I feel for her. I let my greatest fear get the best of me, and I have no one to blame but myself.

My chest heaves, and I try to contain my fury. “There is a difference. There is,” I spit out defensively. “Right now, you’re the only real thing in my life. You’ve always been the only
fucking
thing that is real and good in my miserable life. So, excuse
me
for wanting to come home and for wanting to feel you.”

The bitterness slowly melts from realization, to dread, to pain. “What are
you
doing, Tommy?” It’s nothing but a ragged whisper. She knows me too well. Her face contorts, as if I reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.

“Nothing, I swear. It’s work, that’s all,” I mutter, but I can’t hide the shame.
Shit
.

Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes snapping shut to block me out.

Goddamn it! I didn’t want it to go like this.

She inhales deeply, like she’s fighting for composure. I want to rush to her, hold her and kiss her, but I know better.

“Please, Lil,” I plead, but she just shakes her head and straightens her shoulders.

“So, let me see if I understand,” she says, icy and analytical, dissecting and examining. I’m frozen to the spot. “So, you come here to ‘love me,’ as you put it. Does that mean you consider what you’re doing at work ‘fucking around’? Why else would you accuse me of it, unless it’s something you’d do?” Her eyes, like her words, are cold and harsh.

She sounds like Agent Harper. Calm, rational, calculated.

My Lil is disappearing.

“It’s complicated, Lil.” I try to stay calm, but the monster swirls inside me. “I have not been with anyone, not since you, I swear.”

Leaning on the granite counter, she nods like she’s pondering my answer.

“All right,” she says coolly. “I need to go for a run, if you’ll excuse me.” With her businesslike attitude, she pushes off the counter and gathers her running gear.

No, no, no…this is far from over. I’ve gone from utter bliss to utter dread and loss in less than twenty minutes.

“No, I won’t excuse you. We’re not done.” She’s not getting off that easy.

I want her to yell at me, tell me I’m a bastard, tell me who this
Will
is—something.
Anything
. I don’t want to leave it like this.

“We’re done. I’m sure you’re already late for
work
.” Doubt mars her heart-shaped face.

I can’t speak. I’m so angry I could kill someone. I want to punch the fucking wall. I want to scream at her, toss her over my shoulder, and drag her to the bedroom. I want us to stay there until we figure this out.

“Dammit!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Fuck!”

She barely flinches, avoiding my gaze.

The monster is out. I grab my empty coffee cup off the counter and smash it into the sink.

She’s a statue. No emotion, no reaction. The walls are up, and the base is on lockdown.

My Lil is gone.

The battle is over. Without a word, I grab my keys and slam her door as hard as I can on my way out.

CHAPTER 15

Ileana

“So, how will we get inside?”

“We’re not. We’re going to check the camera inside the elevator,” I patiently answer Adams. “I have to wait for Ryan and Nelson to get here. I can’t do it alone.”

He gives me a skeptical glance, a bit of resentment gleaming through. “Oh,” he replies curtly, as if to say, “
What am I, chopped liver
?”

I’ve been cooped up inside this apartment for three days straight. The stench of testosterone is getting to me—and that’s just from Charlie.

On Monday, we finally got the go-ahead to install surveillance equipment inside the building entryway and elevator, but we still don’t have access to the suspect’s apartment.

We track who comes and goes, take pictures, ID potential suspects, and keep a log of what we observe. Two days into surveillance, a visitor to the apartment popped up on the no-fly list. Charlie’s hunch about this case extending to cyber terror might be on point. The flagged visitor has been over almost every day. Teague wants us on this twenty-four-seven, but we need eyes and ears inside that apartment. Whatever is going down, it’s going down in there. Yet, here we are, trying to gather enough evidence to get inside. And people complain about their civil liberties? They watch too much TV. The FBI can’t legally eavesdrop inside their residence anymore than their neighbors down the street. We have to build a strong foundation for each case. Laying out each brick, securing it, and making sure it’s going to withstand scrutiny from the defense.

Letting out a resigned sigh, I reach for my coffee.

Rancid, stale air has me glancing longingly out the window, wishing it was me out there enjoying the fresh summer breeze and beautiful warm, sunny day.

Instead, I am stuck in here with three men who are quickly taking their lives into their own hands by annoying the shit out of me. I’ve noticed that the older I get, the less patience I have. I’m sure my situation with Tommy at the moment is not helping.

I don’t know where I fit anymore. Then Tommy starts with the inquiry into my overnight bag. No way was I rehashing my short trip to Miami. He doesn’t need that shit, and neither do I.

Are you screwing him?

Tommy’s accusation rings inside my head, bouncing aimlessly around like an echo of his own actions.

That’s why he’s never home. That’s why he never talks about work. Maybe he’s back to his old habits.

If he’s fucking around, I have to break it off. I’m not that girl. I don’t care if it’s work. I don’t care if national security is as stake. No way will I share him with anyone.

Anger drowns me along with hurt and frustration. I let down my guard and opened my heart, knowing full-well I was letting in a Trojan horse. Now, the enemy has taken over, and I’m left destitute.

Dr. Matthews didn’t beat around the bush yesterday. First on the agenda was my visit to Sophia. I told her I said my goodbyes and got closure. I told her I was ready to move on. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. I didn’t mention my fight with Tommy, nor the fact we haven’t spoken since.

“Agent Harper?” Adams pulls me from the pit of doubts.

“Yeah?”

“I was just saying, I’m looking forward to dinner at the Nelsons’.” Adams’s lips quirk up in apprehension.

He’s still trying to maneuver his way around our team. Nelson, Ryan, and I have a rhythm going. Like a moving carousel, Adams is waiting for his window to jump in and join us. Nelson has taken the kid under his wing—including a dinner in his honor hosted by Chris Wednesday of next week.

Due to our current work schedule, Chris will be cooking us dinner, complete with a view of Navy Pier’s fireworks over Lake Michigan on Wednesday night. I’m planning on going for the sole reason I don’t want to suffer Christina’s wrath, but I’m flying solo.

“Right.” I’m so far from small talk, I might as well give up. Monosyllables it is.

“Everything okay?” Adams treads carefully, his tone soft along with his expression.

“Yeah. Just have a lot on my mind.” Not to mention lack of sleep, I’m dragging today.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Tommy heard me call Will’s name. Those fucking nightmares are trying to escape that place inside me where I keep them under lock and key
. I’m tempted to spill it all, just to see his face. I just take a long sip of my second cup of coffee and settle back on the sofa.

I finally glance at Adams. “Not really.”

Adams is on window duty for the next hour. I’m monitoring the building cameras through a laptop screen, with a view of indoor hallways and elevator. The wide angles also give us eyes on the parking area, the adjacent buildings, and the alleys surrounding the building.

Adams frowns, shoulders heavy with defeat. His tight tee and faded designer jeans make him look even younger. No one knows we’re a surveillance team, so we need to come and go as if we’re residents. Which means casual clothing only, and groceries and overnight bags are a must since surveillance is twenty-four-seven.

Letting out a sigh, I decide to make an effort to be civilized despite my inner despair. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

I’m still wearing my running outfit from this morning. The crisp summer air felt good in my lungs, and the beaming sun and green leaves were the brightest part of today, second only to my beloved coffee.

“Maybe that’s it,” he muses, those baby blues at glancing me. “You look sad, is all.”

He’s good. He’s attuned with nonverbals. A great trait on a good agent.

I give him a smile that confirms his observation. “I’ll be fine,” I reply earnestly.

He’s a good guy, and being tied to a partner with the amount of baggage I have is no picnic. “So, have you met Mrs. Nelson yet?”

“Not yet, but I’ve talked to her on the phone. She seems really nice.”

“She is.” She’s a pain in the ass, too, but I keep that tidbit of info to myself.

“So, Agent Nelson says you were the one who introduced him to his wife,” Adams says, keeping an eye out the window.

“Chris and I were college roommates.”

Adams glances at me in interest. I guess Nelson didn’t go into too much detail.

The rattling on the door pulls me to my feet. Nelson is back from meeting up with Chris for lunch. We’re not too far from Northwestern Memorial, so he’s been sneaking over to see her whenever he can.

“I brought you guys a pepperoni pizza.” Nelson is sporting his best attempt at regular Joe. He’s got on a polo shirt and jeans, which are still too pristine, but at least he’s wearing sneakers instead of loafers.

“I’m starving. Thanks,” Adams says, but stays put, not leaving his post.

“Go ahead, Adams, I’ll take over.” I walk over and tap him on the shoulder, relieving him from window duty.

He springs up and goes straight for a slice. Nelson heads to the kitchen and rustles up some paper plates and napkins.

“Where’s Ryan?” I peer through the camera and adjust the zoom of the long lens pointing at the apartment building’s main entrance, keeping the guys in my peripheral.

“He’s on his way. He’ll be here shortly,” Nelson answers, handing Adams a bottle of water.

Taking a seat on one of the worn-out counter stools, Adams murmurs his thanks with a mouthful of pizza. The aroma alone makes my stomach grumble. He takes another bite, a strand of hot, melted cheese stretching as he pulls the slice away from his mouth, chunks of tomato sliding down his hand. He moans in the process. The animal. I shake my head. Sacrilegious.

“
Wha
?” he muffles through his chewing.

“That’s not just
pizza
. That’s Gino’s deep-dish pizza. You eat that with utensils, you brute.”

Nelson chuckles at Adams’s expression. His deer-in-the-headlights look screams, “WTF is happening?” It’s comical.

“You’re fine. Ignore her.” Nelson appeases him, putting out a roll of paper towels since a mere napkin won’t do.

I can always count on work to keep my mind occupied. The sense of routine is all I have right now.

“Hmm
.” Adams quickly swallows as if remembering something. “Hey, is Agent Ryan married?”

Nelson and I eye each other. Our matching frowns mirror our thoughts.

Nelson beats me to the punch. “Why would you think that?”

“Mmm.”
Adams swallows the residual feast in his mouth. “I saw this woman pick him up at work and they seemed…
friendly
.”

This time, Nelson and I stop what we’re doing. Friendly? I glance at them from the corner of my eye. There’s only one woman that comes to the office to see Charlie…
Oh
. This is going to be good.

“
Uh
, no, he’s not married. He’s not seeing anyone either. What did she look like?” Nelson asks, glancing between Adams and me.

“Long, silky, reddish-brown hair, pearly white smile, great rack—sorry,” he amends, “figure. Great figure.”

I smile knowingly, returning my focus out the window. Yet, I can’t resist temptation. “Well, I’m sure Ryan would be more than happy to give you her number. Why don’t you ask him about it when he gets here?”

Adams’s giddy voice grows eager. “You think so? Great.”

Nelson seems ready to deliver the blow. “You’re describing Julia,” he says. “She’s Agent Ryan’s mother.”

Adams’s swig of water comes back up, choking him along with his bite of pizza.