He’d made that promise to his wife, too, when they’d gotten their first house. They’d just moved off his family’s property and into their new home in the suburbs to make room for the baby. The neighborhood had been new, quiet, well-to-do. In one of their discussions about things to add to the house, Rachel had asked if they could get an alarm system put in since she’d heard some news story about a rash of break-ins one town over.
Grant had thought she was being paranoid about living in the “big city” after country life, had playfully teased her about it. She’d always been the overly cautious type, and pregnancy had put that trait into hyperdrive. He’d assured her that they were safe. If anyone ever broke in, he had a gun and knew how to use it. He would always keep her safe. But a few weeks after they’d settled in, they’d become the next victims. He’d woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of breaking glass and had shoved Rachel into their closet—a fatal mistake. He’d been stupid and prideful. The fucking man of the house protecting his own.
When he’d reached the bottom floor, he’d caught the thief in the living room. Pulling the gun and thinking he had everything under control, Grant had confronted him. But the guy had been hopped up on drugs, fearless, and had launched himself at Grant, stabbing him in the shoulder right before Grant pulled the trigger.
The knife slash had been a nonfatal blow; the robber hadn’t been as lucky. And Grant had thought everything was going to be okay. He’d won.
Only then had he heard Rachel’s shriek and realized he’d failed to consider the most crucial thing of all—the thief may have not been alone.
Grant had propelled himself upward on adrenaline alone, but it’d been too late. The man’s partner had dragged Rachel down the stairs after he’d heard the gunshot, had seen his brother dead on the floor of the living room. And had lost it.
Rachel’s wide, terrified eyes had met Grant’s a moment before the man had pressed a gun into her back and pulled his own trigger. Grant had fired back, getting the guy in the chest, but all had already been lost.
Grant had cradled his wife in his arms, telling her it was going to be okay, begging her not to leave him. But by the time the police had arrived, she’d lost too much blood. Rachel and their unborn son had died at the bottom of the staircase. Because Grant hadn’t taken her seriously, hadn’t protected her like he promised her he would.
If not for his mistake, they’d probably both still be here today. Rachel would’ve opened her craft store by now. His son would be in school, playing sports, maybe learning how to ride horses with his daddy…
Grant pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, the grief threatening to bust through every pore. He hadn’t cried since the funeral. Part of him believed he’d cried so much when it’d happened that his lifetime allotment of tears had been used up. But as he sat there in his truck, moisture touched his cheeks. He swiped at the tears, gritting his teeth as he tried to reel in the waterfall of emotions pounding him.
He couldn’t afford to lose it right now. He had a job to do. He forced his attention to the clock, trying to focus. Charli had said five minutes and it’d been ten. Her car still sat a few spots away, so he knew he hadn’t missed her come out. She was probably caught up in finishing her notes. But Grant wasn’t in the mood to take chances. Five more minutes. If she wasn’t out, he was going back in.
He hadn’t failed a mission since that night with his wife, and he didn’t plan on doing so now.
Charli quickly jotted down a few more notes from her interview. Rodney had given her pay dirt. Not just an admission that he’d received cash payments while playing for the university but names of who he knew to be involved—including some pretty prominent businessmen and politicians in the area. But more important, he’d told her he suspected the university’s dean had known the cheating was going on. The dean was well liked and a local celebrity. If those people could be implicated, the story was going to be huge. A career-making kind of scoop.
Finally. She was going to get her shot.
“Mind if I join you?”
Charli’s head snapped up, the familiar voice startling her. “Pete? What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ll take that warm greeting as a yes.” He gave her a cat-who-ate-the-mouse smirk and slid into the other side of the booth. He nodded toward her notebook. “Got some good stuff today?”
Instinctively, she dragged her notebook closer to her on the table, and glanced over to where Grant had been sitting. But of course, he wasn’t there. She’d sent him the signal to go outside a few minutes earlier. “Just working on the piece about Valley High School.”
“Bullshit,” he said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table. “I saw Rodney walking out of here. You finally got him to talk, didn’t you?”
Her stomach turned sideways, a sick feeling rolling over her. How would Pete even know what story she was investigating or why Rodney was important? Unless…
“You fucking prick.”
“Always so crass, Beaumonde. Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?”
It took everything she had not to jump across the table and throttle him. “Yours didn’t teach you breaking and entering is a crime?”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s not breaking in when you leave a spare set of keys in your drawer at work. It was just…entering.”r: Roni Loren
“That’s not—”
“I’m falling in love with you and you can’t even kiss me,” she said, cutting him off. “How stupid am I? I knew better and did it anyway.”
He reached out for her, turning her back toward him. “Charli.”
She shrugged away from his touch, feeling as if her emotions were being held together with duct tape. One wrong move and she’d bust wide open. “Please don’t. Don’t coddle me. And don’t pretend you weren’t just going to lie here until I fell asleep so you can go sleep on the couch.”
His gaze shifted sideways, confirming her suspicion.
“Look, I get it, okay? You’re used to separating your emotions from this kind of arrangement. I’m just another woman who enjoys what you do in bed.” She pulled in a deep breath, refusing to let any tears fall, refusing to crack in front of him. “But I don’t have that kind of practice. Every time we’re together, it breaks down another piece of me, strips away another row of fencing. And after tonight, the defenses are downright decimated. Nothing is left standing. Hell, I’ve even found myself entertaining thoughts of what it’d be like to be a real submissive to you. To not just play the game.”