Break My Heart (The Heart Series Book 2) (5 page)

I brush errant strands of hair from my face, my eyes downcast. I examine Charlie’s boots as well as mine; his are worn and scuffed, probably scratched up from riding his bike. Cigarette smoke mixes with the scent of damp dirt and earth, bringing my attention back to Charlie. His hair looks a little longer than normal, the back nearly touching the collar of his jacket. His jacket that fails to hide part of the tribal tattoo on the side of his neck.

That reminds me. “Do you have a tattoo artist in the city?”

“Yeah. Getting inked?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I can give you his name when we get back to the office.” Charlie is gazing out at the horizon, as if contemplating the sea of grass and a whole bunch of nothing. He brings his cigarette to his thick lips, puckering as he takes a drag and softening them as he exhales the smoke.

“Does Colton know?” Nelson chimes in.

“No, and I want to keep it that way,” I warn. “So no blabbing to your wife.”

“You’re surprising Colton with ink?” Charlie grins, sucking in a breath through his perfect teeth. “Damn, Harper, that’s sexy shit.”

“You don’t even know what I want or where on my body I’m thinking about getting it,” I respond with a tinge of annoyance.

“Don’t matter. You’re getting ink for your man.” His gravelly tone complements his arching eyebrow. I’m glad his eyes aren’t visible due to his sunglasses because if his body posture and sly smile are any indicators…like Tommy, a one-track mind.

His stretched-out, cotton Henley is tight across his chest, a look only topped by that leather jacket. Classic Charlie, complete with faded jeans and combat boots.

“It’s nothing dirty, and it’s none of your business,” I say, flustered. “Forget I brought it up.”

“How can I forget, Harper? Now I’m thinking all kinds of things,” he taunts, low and seductive, the dimple on his cheek making an appearance. A full-fledged grin adorns his face.

“Ry, come on, cut it out, Colton is going to kick your ass,” Nelson warns.

It’s not Tommy he should worry about. I’ll kick Charlie’s ass myself if he doesn’t cut it out.

The three of us are leaning against the car, and I’m sandwiched in the middle. Nelson towers over me, Charlie’s large muscular frame no less intimidating.

Chills run through me; perhaps the morning air is colder than anticipated, changes in atmosphere happen all the time. Right? Just in case, I pull my coat tight against my body, shrugging my shoulders up on instinct. I miss my knit cap. For some reason, Tommy won’t give it back.

No humming, magnetic pull?
Nope.

“Okay, I’m ready,” I announce quietly, as if preparing to enter a lion’s den.

“Let’s do it.” Charlie tosses his cigarette butt on the pavement and squashes it with his big boot.

And just like that, I’m heading into the grassy field once more.

The big difference? This time, I am not alone.

قلب

Dragging my feet along and clutching my coat tightly against me, I regard the dried up field, dreary from the fading season. The ground is soft and forgiving, the remnants of winter being absorbed by the land. I keep my hands tucked under my arms because I don’t want to touch anything out here. The sooner we do this and get the hell away from Bloomingfield, the better. We reach the spot from the new report, and I brace myself.

“Does anything look familiar?” Nelson asks, reaching for his pocket and retrieving his notepad.

Everything looks the same
…
except for the eerie high-pitch noise piercing my eardrums and that humming vibration burning me from the inside out.

I shake my head. “Not really.”

Nelson’s features drop in disappointment.

“I’m going to take some pictures.” Charlie motions to his camera, and I nod. I walk alongside, afraid to wander off. I don’t trust myself. Every day it seems more and more difficult for me to distinguish what is real and what is not.

Charlie sits on his heels and snaps some pictures close-up. I can already tell the marks don’t resemble the ones I remember or dream about. A section of the ground is charred in a capillary-type pattern, fanning out.

“The report says there was a flash of lights and that a big storm passed through,” Nelson reads off his notes as Charlie keeps taking pictures.

But the more I focus on the wet ground, the more anxiety infiltrates my system. It swirls through my bloodstream, reaching my heart, my lungs, my legs.

I don’t want to be here. Thin, cool droplets of sweat form around my forehead and upper lip. My hands are cold and clammy, and my stomach is rebelling. My breathing becomes shallow and before I can stop myself, I’m pacing around the patches of slushy mud.

“Are you okay?” Nelson’s sharp tone snaps me back.

Get a grip, Harper.
It’s all in your head.

They’re both staring at me. “Yeah, can we get out of here?”

They don’t answer. They just continue to watch me, and it’s unnerving. I don’t wait for a response—I bail. Long, purposeful strides lead me away from them.

“Harper, wait up!” Charlie yells.

I can’t. Marching hurriedly out of the field, I try to escape before some unseen hand grabs for me, pulls me under—

“Harper!” Charlie reaches for me, clutching my arm. A jolt hits us both.

“Jesus!” Charlie gripes, yanking away, and I flinch. He checks his hand and blinks at me. “Damn static, are you okay?”

“I need to get out of here.” 

“Okay, okay,” he whispers, but I head straight toward the car.

Charlie is hot on my heels. He blows past me, opens the car door, and urges me to get inside. Now he’s the one treating me like a helpless vic. 

“I’m fine,” I shoot his way dryly.

Tense silence hovers around us, knowing that something happened out there. This can’t be easy for Charlie. He was the first to arrive on the scene that January day.

We’re waiting for Nelson but I can’t just stand here. So, I continue to pace.

“You all right?” Charlie looks like a spring ready to uncoil.

“Just want to get out of here.”

“That makes two of us,” he mutters back.

قلب

After conferring on the way back to the office, we all agreed it was lightning. Nelson took samples, because he’s like me: logical and rational. He’s trying to make sense of the markings at the scene of my reappearance.

I don’t remember being so relieved to get back in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Once I saw the Chicago skyline, I finally exhaled.

I knew I needed to go back there eventually, confront the shit that plagues me in my sleep, and to me, this is as close to closure as I’m going to get. Whatever the hell it is, I’m boxing it up and shoving it away. I’m not going back there again.

The guys picked up a late lunch from a drive-thru and opted to eat at their desks. Meanwhile, I’m concentrating on the amount of paperwork stacking up from the cases I’ve been assisting.

Charlie’s been watching me like a hawk since we left the field. It’s like he sees something he can’t put his finger on.

My desk phone rings, and I welcome distraction. “Agent Harper.”

“Could I see you in my office?” Teague’s request is not really one, but an order.

“Yes, sir, be there in five.” I hear the click before my receiver reaches the cradle.

Excusing myself, I head for Teague’s office. We have a once-a-week check in, but it seems he’s moved it up.

I’m required to attend therapy and talk about my feelings, or rather, lack thereof with Dr. Matthews twice a week. Since I told everyone I don’t remember shit, there’s nothing to tell. So, the times that I’m required to grace her with my presence, I sit there like a statue and give monosyllabic answers. There’s no point rehashing the past. The fragments remain in my shoulders, and I’m dealing with it the best I can.

Reaching the door, I find Teague hard at work.

As soon as I enter his office, I feel better. Sounds crazy, but the sight of him brings me comfort and familiarity. I’m glad he’s still here, that he’s my superior, and that he’s so supportive.

Always looking like he stepped off the cover of
Fortune
magazine, he sits behind his massive desk as we exchange pleasantries. His neat, fade hairstyle and manicured goatee are maintained like clockwork.

The butterfly bandage over my eyebrow musters a sharp, inquisitive glance from those obsidian eyes. Shit. It looked better in the mirror this morning, as did my cheek.

“Middle of the night bump on my way to the john,” I remark dismissively, and it seems to do the trick. If he thinks otherwise, he doesn’t show it.

“I approved that personal day for next month. It will be good for you, Harper,” he says, squinting slightly, smiling at my request for a day off due to Christina’s incessant demands for a girls’ day out.

“That’s easy for you to say, sir. Christina Nelson would make one hell of an interrogator.” If I don’t comply, she won’t stop. So, might as well embrace it and make plans.

His full lips lift on one side in a knowing smirk. “She’s good for you
and
Agent Nelson.

“So,” he gets to the point, “how is it going with Dr. Matthews?”

Shrink talk.

“Fine, sir.” I return his tight smile, my back automatically straightening as I wipe my palms on my slacks.

He won’t send me out on field duty until Dr. Matthews gives the all-clear. I’ve attended my sessions without fault. She should have declared me fit by now.

“Can I speak frankly, Harper?” Teague’s tone activates the battle station signals in my brain. Hushed whispering by Assistant Special Agent in Charge Teague is never a good sign.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve known you for, what, over four years?” His brow goes up, as he silently waits for confirmation. Once I nod, his large frame leans forward. “You attending counseling and you talking are two different things.”

Dammit. I’m busted.

“Here’s the bottom line. According to Dr. Matthews’s? reports, you’re making very slow progress, which in turn,” he continues, without giving me a chance to speak, “might reflect a lack of cooperation on your part and”—he raises a finger to me—“puts me in a very difficult position.”

He emerges from behind his desk and heads toward his wall-to-wall window, staring out over the city view. His facial features are hard, marred by the weight of this office.

Tucking his large hands in his pants pockets, he adds in a somber voice, “I already lost one good agent because of his lack of cooperation during counseling.” He’s still looking out the window, his back turned to me. “I don’t want to lose another one.”

I know he means Tommy.

“Are we clear?” He sighs, glancing over his shoulder at me.

Dread sits in the pit of my stomach. This is it. I have to shape up or ship out. “Crystal, sir,” I reply meekly.

“That is all.”

Springing from my seat, I shoot him a quick nod, and I’m almost out the door when his commanding tone stops me. “Harper?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I need you in the field. We’ve got agents transferring out and new agents coming in, so it’s all hands on deck.”

A new partner.
I’ve been dreading this since I came back.

“Sir, about that,” I clear my throat and brace myself, “would it be possible for me to continue to assist Agent Nelson and his team?”

Alone
goes without saying.

His wide shoulders straighten. He returns to his desk, retrieving some files like he might be getting ready to head out. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, Harper. You’ll be getting a new partner, and I need you field ready.”

“Yes, sir.” I nod in compliance then flee before he can read the truth on my face. I’m not ready, and I never will be.

There was only one partner for me, and he’s not coming back.

CHAPTER 5

Ileana

I check my watch, quickly finish straightening out and filing away paperwork, and then shut down my computer. Tommy and I are meeting at a restaurant about fifteen minutes north of my place. He’s been really busy, so he wanted to grab dinner together. Last time we made a dinner date, he got held up with work. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. It bothers me, but I understand. He’s finally getting into the action. The FBI was all right for him, but it didn’t allow him to showcase his many “skills,” so to speak.

I pull on my coat, fish my keys from my purse, and I’m out the door, glad to be away from my desk for the weekend.

I’m still trying to get used to driving around the city on my own. My apartment is only a twenty-minute walk from the FBI building, so I never saw the need to own a car. If necessary, I just borrowed Tommy’s or used a bureau-issued car for work. Tommy insisted I get one and came along to “help” me shop. I ended up buying something he wouldn’t be mortified to drive while still getting a sensible, practical mode of transportation: a BMW 325i.

I have my iPhone close in case he tries to call. I texted to let him know I was leaving work but haven’t heard back. Earlier when we decided on dinner, he asked me to go home and change after work—into a dress, no less—and I have no idea why. Fuck that noise. I’m still wearing the pale pink blouse and charcoal gray suit I put on this morning. Besides, wearing a dress for me means formal, and I know this isn’t that kind of place. Just in case, I re-applied some lip gloss and let my hair loose before I left the office.

Tommy doesn’t know about my little excursion to Bloomingfield the other day and I’m keeping it that way. Partly due to the fact I haven’t seen him since that morning, but mostly because he was worried enough about my birthday mishap; no need to worry him more.

The restaurant parking is full, so I end up across the street at a pay-to-park garage. I hope I’m not making him wait. This area of town is packed, the street lined with cafes and restaurants. Not many places offer outdoor seating since spring weather is not quite here yet. The places with patrons willing to brave the chill have heating lamps and outdoor fireplaces going, and a smoky scent that reminds me of chimneys, cool evenings, and reading permeates the air. My ears and cheeks sting from the cold by the time I reach the door.