CHAPTER 1
Corinne
My life has been a mixture of highs and lows.
Great joys intertwined with profound sadness.
Good interwoven with evil.
When I notice Clay Brandeis standing at my office door, a wave of pure happiness washes through me. It’s been nine long years since I’d last seen him, and I had long ago given up any hope we’d cross paths again.
And now to find him here—in my place of employment—it’s just too surreal to understand. His expression says he’s as shocked as I am.
“Corinne?” he says, more like a question than a statement. As if he just can’t believe the fates have deposited us in each other’s presence.
And I also hear a hint of regret.
Not regret that it’s been so long since we fell out of touch, but that he’s stumbled upon me. I think Clay is the type of man who could have gone the rest of his life without seeing me again, and that hurts.
Still, no matter our history together, my joy in seeing him surpasses all else. I rise from my chair. “Clay?” I also say his name like a question, a bit fearful that perhaps I’m imagining this.
“It really is you.” He punches his hands into the pockets of his pants in a nervous reflex. I try to dismiss that thought. Try to stop myself from automatically shrinking him.
Even though that’s my job… to shrink people. I’ve been working for Jameson Force Security for about nine months as their resident psychiatrist. My job is to evaluate potential new agents as well as provide counseling to others who come off harrowing and sometimes soul-breaking missions. I also help profile bad guys, a certain talent I’ve honed over the years, and much of that is due to the man standing inside my office door. Let’s just say he helped develop that particular interest.
Keeping my tone light, I say, “Been a long time.”
“Nine years,” he murmurs, staring at me with a neutral expression. But I know he’s hiding his emotions from me.
And I don’t like that, so I decide to press. I move past my desk, straight into his personal space, and slide my arms around his waist to hug him. I have no choice but to do it that way, as he’s far too tall for me to go above his shoulders and pull him down to my level. Besides that, I’m pretty sure he’d resist.
But he can’t when I turn my cheek, laying it against his chest. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
And that is no lie. This man, who has been so influential to my entire adult life, means the absolute world to me, and he probably has no idea.
Clay’s hands come out of his pockets, going to my waist, and he gives me a slight squeeze before stepping back. He runs his fingers through his thick blond hair, which he’s always worn a little too longish for FBI standards. “Yeah… good to see you, too.”
Smiling, I sweep my hand toward the interior of my office. “Want to come in? Have a cup of coffee and catch up?”
I notice Cage Murdock—one of Jameson’s best agents—watching us. I assume Clay must have been here to see him, although I have no clue why. I have no idea why Clay is even in Pittsburgh.
Clay shakes his head. Without an ounce of true regret in his tone, he glances at his watch and says, “Actually… I’ve got a meeting I need to get to.”
It’s a lie.
An absolute one. I know this because, for a time in my life, this man fed me nothing but the hard truth about things. It’s one of the reasons I respected him so much.
“Oh.” My heart drops, my gaze lowering to the carpet. But I rally, paste on another smile, and lift my eyes up. “Maybe some other time?”
“Yeah… sure.” Another lie that makes my happiness melt away. Right then, I consider stuffing Clay back into that little part of my heart where I’ve kept him all these years. Lock him up and throw away the key before I get bitter feelings.
Clay turns his back on me to address Cage. “I’m sorry, Cage. Maybe I’ll take that tour another day.”
“Anytime, man,” Cage replies easily, and they shake hands.
My eyes follow Clay to the elevator. When he disappears, I start to turn back into my office.
“You two know each other, huh?” Cage asks genially.
“Yeah,” I murmur, offering no other explanation. I close my office door behind me, making it clear I don’t want to discuss Agent Clay Brandeis of the Federal Bureau of Investigations any further.
By the time I take my seat at my desk again, my shoulders are heavily weighed down with disappointment and regret. I almost wish I hadn’t seen him because my life would be inherently easier if I kept his memory locked away in that corner of my heart.