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“Shopping?” I question, and he rolls his eyes as I start walking. This habit of mine started only a week after I was discharged from the hospital. Everywhere just felt so crowded, even our spacious apartment with only two of us living there. But when Ollie would get home from work, the suffocating feeling would overwhelm me. So I’d come here. He found me on numerous occasions when I’d go missing, roaming the aisles.
I arrive at the checkout and place my wine on the belt, and Ollie grabs a bag and flaps it open, slipping the bottle inside once the lady’s scanned it. “Let me get this,” he says, pulling out his wallet.
I smile, but it’s sad. I should never have had that coffee with him. Should never have fallen apart on him. Definitely shouldn’t have let him take me back to the apartment we shared. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to. It’s been a long time since I could buy you a drink.”
I don’t have the energy to fight him, offering a small smile instead. He’s just an additional element to my ever-increasing mindfuck.
He pays and we walk toward the exit together. “So are you going to tell me why you look like a drowned rat?” he asks, looking me up and down.
I reach for my shirt and pull the cold, wet material away from my stomach. “I went to see Mom. I got caught in the downpour.”
“It’s not rained since three o’clock.” He looks down at his watch, as if checking it’s as late as he thinks it is.
I don’t bother explaining. “Anymore dead bodies at scrapyards?”
“Stop it,” he warns, giving me a playful nudge. “Just think, if you go back to work, we could talk all day long about the mutilated remains of various wanted men.”
“So he was wanted?” I ask, ignoring everything else.
Ollie rolls his eyes. “One of The Bear’s men.”
I blow out my cheeks. “There’s gonna be no more bad guys for you to lock up soon.”
“Hmmm,” he hums, thoughtful.
“Are we talking serial killer?”
He sighs, and I see him cave under my questioning. And perhaps just his need to keep my attention. “Do you remember hearing about The Enigma?” he asks, and I nod, knowing the name well.
“Assassin. Mom’s nemesis,” I confirm. “She swore she’d catch him before she retired. Or at least find out who he was.”
“Yeah. He went quiet for a while. After your Mom . . .” Ollie looks down at me, pensive. Nervous. “Well, the last three bodies suggest he’s back. Or has been resurrected. Or that we’re now finding the bodies given one was a few years old.”
“Wow,” I breathe, my mind racing. The Enigma. He was top of Mom’s list. What would she think if he was caught? If it was me who caught him?
Shit.
“You sound like you have a lot on your plate,” I say, getting my thoughts back under control. Nothing could make me return to the MPD. Nothing.
“Coffee?”
I slow to a stop, as does Ollie, and I hate the hope I see in his brown eyes. “You don’t want me back,” I say evenly but softly, because I just know where this is leading. “Really, you don’t.”
“Don’t tell me what I want, Beau. You did that when you left me at the church too. That was twenty months ago, and I still want you.”
“I’m a different person.”
“You mean bitter? Twisted?”
I look away.
“I still love you despite that.”
“You shouldn’t.” I return my eyes to him. He was a popular guy at the force, with his male colleagues, and definitely with the female ones. I can’t imagine that’s changed since he’s moved on to the FBI. He could have had the pick of the bunch. And he chose me. Mistake. I tried so hard to see our wedding through. I sat by Mom’s graveside in my dress, a mess of a woman, willing her to give me the sense and courage I needed to marry Ollie four months after she was taken from me. She didn’t speak to me. I couldn’t go through with it.
I sigh and loop my arm through his, getting us moving again. “How many women have you dated since we split up?”
He scoffs. “None. You know I’m shit at dating.”
I smile. He obviously hasn’t improved since our first date. He was so nervous, and the nerves made him clumsy. It was endearing and hilarious all at once. And aside from his fine build and handsomeness, it was one of the things that attracted me to Ollie. How together he was as a cop, and how utterly disastrous he was as a date. The two sides of him were contrasting and lovable. “How many women have you slept with?” I ask, wincing at the mere thought, wondering why the fucking hell I’m asking such stupid questions.
