I was far from perfect, and I knew it.
“Just don’t catch the feelings for him. He has a lot of baggage.”
“What kind of baggage?” I asked. Jason’s bottle fell from his mouth, his lips slack.
“Not my story to tell,” she sang out as she left the room. She popped her head back in. “You can put Jason to bed, right?”
My heart swelled about four sizes larger in my chest. “If I must.”
Then I spent the next hour watching the baby sleep. I laid my hand on his chest and counted his breaths. And knew that I would never have a life like Lynn’s. I would never have a husband or a family, despite how badly I desperately wanted both. I wasn’t made for that kind of life, and nothing could change that fact.
Chapter 6
Clark
At almost two in the morning, I finally dragged my ass back to my office. My whole body hurt. I’d done some stupid shit during my years as a private investigator, but tonight I’d taken stupid to a whole new level. And I didn’t catch the person I’d been trying to find. He’d eluded me, right after waving and taunting me into jumping off a rooftop to get to him. I’d missed. And it hurt.
I stopped abruptly when I saw my office door was open just a crack, enough that I could see that the light was on. I’d turned it off before I left. My place of business was in an office building, and I only used it to store paperwork and meet with clients. The rest of my work was done in the field. On rooftops. In alleyways. Seedy bars. Where the criminals went, I followed.
Only now it looked like one had followed me, instead.
I reached into my jacket and slid my Glock from its holster, caressing its roughened grip against my palm. I held it out in front of me and stuck the toe of my shoe into the crack in the door, silently kicking it open. As it swung wide, I let my finger caress the side of the gun. My dad had always taught me you never let your finger tickle the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. I’d always stood strong with that advice. When I saw her, I almost wished I’d tickled the trigger, and then let it shoot.
Shelly Punter stood across from me, her feet spread wide, her arms lifted where she pointed a SIG Sauer P238 at me. My heart tripped in my chest.
She let out a breath, lowered her weapon, and laid it on the outside corner of my desk. “What are you doing here?” she barked. Then she crossed her arms and glared at me.
I lowered my weapon when I saw that she’d discarded hers, but I didn’t put mine away. This was fucking Shelly Punter, it was the middle of the night, and she was in my office.
“This is my office,” I reminded her, scratching the stubble on my chin. “How did you get in here?”
She glanced toward the doorknob and shrugged. “Oh, I picked the lock.”
I looked toward the same lock. “Why?”
“Well, you weren’t here.”
And for some reason, she thought it was okay to break in. “Where did you learn to pick a lock?” It was a dumb question and I knew it as soon as I asked.
She shrugged. “Here and there.”
I nodded my head. “So why did you pick the lock on my office door in the middle of the night?”
She looked around. “Well, it wasn’t the middle of the night when I got here. It was about nine o’clock, and you weren’t here and I knew you needed help in your office with filing and…other stuff.” She looked around and I finally realized that my office was neat and tidy, not at all like I’d left it. When I’d left, I’d had paper all over the place, littering every surface of the room, and file folders had been stacked on the corner of my desk.
“Where did you put all my papers?”
“Where they belong,” she chirped. She danced from side to side. I suddenly realized that her stocking-clad feet were buried in my carpet, her high heels discarded near the door.
“You’ve been here all night?”
“Only since nine. Once I got started, I couldn’t stop.”
I nodded and swiped a hand down my face. “Shelly—”
But she held up a hand to stop me. “I know what you’re going to say.”
I raised my eyebrows at her. “What was I going to say?”