Under different circumstances, I’d come clean. Not just to Regan but Kristin as well. Obviously, my knee wasn’t the only thing that got shattered in that field all those years ago. Apparently, my integrity was destroyed right along with it.
When did I become this man?Was it when I lied under oath to save a woman I didn’t know? Or whenI pledged to Dane I’d never stop hunting the man responsible for his injuries knowing he was sitting directly across from him, vowing revenge?
This weekend, I thought I regained a part of me I had missed the most. Now I’m realizing all I did was half unmask him. I’m no better than I was five years ago or six weeks ago. I’m broken. Fractured. Fucking lost.
I’m drawn from dangerous thoughts when the creak of a door sounds through my ears. Cranking my neck, I spot a man approximately mid to late twenties standing at the entrance of my office. Well, I shouldn’t saymyoffice. The damp, sooty basement the Bureau seconded for Theresa’s team doesn’t have any internal walls, and the dusty windows lining one side only peer out to a derelict warehouse that houses just as many rats. It is a bunker that represents Theresa’s operation to a T—bland and boring as fuck.
Noticing the unnamed intruder is standing next to an industrial-sized vacuum, I gesture for him to enter. He does—albeit hesitantly. I understand his unease. Usually, the instant the clock strikes six, a mass evacuation occurs from this floor. The techs don’t put in the same hours we agents do. They’ve got women to go home to. Kids to bathe.Sheets to mess.
If I weren’t seeking evidence to take Isaac down without Regan’s help, I would have left hours ago—although sleep would be the last thing on my mind. Who needs rest when you have a woman like Regan waiting for you?
Not anyone sane.
When my eyes return to the stack of evidence in front of me, a few hours of shuteye doesn’t seem as impossible as it did seconds ago. My sleep deprivation must be making my vision blur, because if I were to believe the reports in front of me, Isaac is a brilliant business man who is filthy fucking rich, but not corrupt.
If that isn’t a clear sign for me to call it a night, I don’t know what is.
When I stand to gather my jacket from the back of my chair, I notice the janitor is still loitering by the door. He has dropped to his knees, the large vacuum cleaner he’s wrangling as uncooperative as my heart has been the past seventy-eight hours.
“Did you check the fuse? Relics like her still have the original equipment they were designed with,” I ask, stopping at his side.
He mumbles something about it not being the fuse. His sharp grumble reveals his disinterest in my help, but if that didn’t, his quick change in position is a sure-fire indication.
Must be asshole appreciation day today—everyone is super moody.
After taking in his sandy blond hair, the part of his face not hidden by a cap, and dainty hands, I head for the door. I’d wish him luck, but he’s not the only one struggling with anger issues today. I have plenty of them—in abundance.
Halfway to the door, my pace slows. His hands were dainty,dainty—almost feminine. I don’t know why it bothers me—his girly hands are more a problem for him than me—but recalling that fact has my heart rate kicking up.
Just before I exit, I scan the notch in the wood the janitor’s frame reached when he entered. It is inches below my line of sight—making him a good head shorter than me.
Once again, his small stature is no concern of mine, but yet again, it has my heart rate soaring. His age, height, and lithe frame must make his position difficult. He’d barely hit 130 on the scales. The vacuum he’s trying to fix weighs nearly that much.
I don’t know whether to laugh or groan when my polished dress shoe snags a cable on the ground. The cord from the vacuum cleaner is sitting halfway out the door—nowhere near the closest electrical outlet.
“Might start if you plug it in.” My deep timbre is hindered by annoyed laughter.
I don’t have time to tell others how to do their job. I’m having enough trouble maintaining my own work ethic.
Bobbing down, I pick up the cable before spinning around to face the janitor. Halfway there, a glimpse of silver flashes before my eyes.
Then all I see is blackness.
6
My eyes stray from the screen of my phone to Isaac when his throaty cough rumbles through my ears. He doesn’t have a cold; he’s merely announcing he’s noticed my disturbance without words. I’ve been a little preoccupied the last half of our meeting. By a little, I mean a lot. Alex never said he’d make contact before arriving at my apartment tonight; I’m just hoping he will. Isaac works odd hours. Considering he is my sole employer, I bend my schedule to fit him. I forgot to factor our meeting in when I invited Alex over to share a bottle of wine, so I’m worried I’ll miss his visit.
I freeze as fear hardens my spine. I’ve become one of them: those needy, clingy women who stare at their phones for hours on end, willing for them to ring.
Ugh! I’m going to be sick.
Is this why Alex hasn’t made contact in over eighteen hours? He said he’d be late, but I didn’t realize he meant this late. If he is loitering because of my forwardness, he doesn’t need to fret. Asking a man to share a bottle of wine is the equivalent of slipping him my hotel room key. It doesn’t equal a lifetime commitment. It means I’m horny.
Mostly.
Somewhat.
Not even.
