Hold My Heart (7 page)

“Where are you going, Harper? Come on, live a little.” He starts gyrating around me, and I can’t help but smile and shake my head.

I sigh and mouth, “You’re an asshole.” He throws his head back and laughs, but I can’t hear him over the loud thumping of the music. I try to look casual, dancing with my partner while watching the suspect. The young man remains in the same spot, seeming somewhat distracted, his attention diverting from his present company.

I don’t want to keep turning my head, since the suspect is almost behind me, but I see Tommy has a good view. I move my hips to the music, much slower, and turn my back to Tommy so I can keep the suspect in my line of sight. I scan for the nearest exit. We’ll have to be ready to go whenever he makes his move.

I’ve been glancing over other men as well. Most, if not all, look like Tommy: well dressed, groomed, and in their late twenties to early thirties. This guy does not fit in here. He seems younger, out of place—not to mention I have a feeling about him I can’t shake. Shit, what is it? Something is floating through my mind, but I can’t put my finger on it.

As I’m submerged in my thoughts, a hand grabs my waist from behind. It’s Tommy, pulling me back toward him. I let him, trying to stay in character. I keep waiting for him to talk to me, but he doesn't. Instead, he presses me to his solid chest. We continue to move, slowly swaying in sync, and I lean my head back against his chest, feeling his warm breath against my temple. The mixture of alcohol and his unmistakable cologne is making me dizzy.

He brings a hand all the way around my waist to my stomach, his strong palm pressing me closer still. With his other hand, he lightly traces my left arm from my wrist all the way up to my shoulder, burning a path with his fingertip, then softly sweeps my hair aside, leaving my neck exposed. Seductively, he trails the curve of my neck with the tip of his nose as if inhaling my scent, his warm breath searing my skin. My eyes close and goose bumps prickle my arms. I anticipate him whispering against my ear, but he doesn’t. All I hear is the pounding of the music, right along with my heartbeat, as we sway as one.

Caught up in the moment, I tilt my neck to the side to give him better access. As if on cue, he brings his soft lips down, placing them on my pulse, and hugs me against him, burying his face in my neck. As he embraces me, his hardness presses into my lower back. My core pulses with arousal and my nipples harden, my entire being coming to life. I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in a very long time. He’s holding on to me for dear life as if I'm the only thing keeping him anchored, preventing him from drifting away in the sea of bodies.

Perhaps because of this place or the drinks, my subconscious turns on the alarm. Blaring, my brain reminds me this man holding me is no ordinary man. This is Tommy. The dance floor is very crowded, so Tommy probably wants to keep us from being separated, and the physical contact is triggering involuntary arousal. I shouldn't read anything else into his actions. Our relationship is clearly defined and this is just blurring the lines. I need to stay focused on work because right now, I’m intoxicated by his close proximity, his touch, his scent.

Opening my eyes, I realize we just lost the suspect. I yank away from Tommy and nervously look around.

“Shit, where did he go?” I turn to Tommy, his hazy stare fixed on me as if he’s in a trance. His eyes are dark and smoldering, but he snaps out of it once he sees my reaction. I scan the crowd for our suspect and finally locate him by the exit as if he’s ready to bolt. Why did I let Tommy distract me?

“Christ, Colton, we’re on duty!” I yell, and even though he can’t hear me, he can tell I’m downright pissed off.

His jaw clenches as he glowers at me. Demanding, he grips my hips and pulls me into him. He whispers against my ear, “Come on, Lil, you need to relax.”

What
? I’ve had enough. We are here for work. No way in hell would I ever come here to ‘relax.’ I put my hands on his chest and shove him away, but he doesn't budge. Instead, his stare burns through me. He's completely immobile, looking straight at me as if trying to convey some kind of silent message.

I'm not angry as much as I'm confused. Something isn’t right. I grab a hold of his face, meeting his haunted stare. I need to get him to snap out of it.

“Come on, Tommy, talk to me. What is it?” I yell over the pounding music.

He doesn't answer. The intensity in his eyes begins to fade away as he looks over my shoulder, shooting his chin up and pointing behind me. I turn around, realizing that he's looking toward our suspect. He's heading for the exit, and he has company. Alarm bells go off in my head. The skin on the back of my neck is burning to the touch, just like yesterday at the post office stakeout.

I rush off the dance floor as fast as I can in these freaking high heels. Reaching the end of the dance floor, I look back, thankful to find Tommy right behind me, and we follow them out.

Chapter 7

The suspect walks away from the club with the young woman, so I follow them on foot while Tommy retrieves his car. They proceed down the block to some vehicles parked by the curb. His baritone voice trails behind, nothing but a faint echo, as she throws her head back and laughs. He keeps his hands in his pockets, playing shy, while she tosses her hair. He
seems
safe—a far cry from
being
safe; sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference, and some pay with their lives.

As they reach a car by the curb at the end of the street, they stop to talk. Walking casually, I stroll up and down the sidewalk as if I'm looking for a cab or waiting for someone. Once I catch the pitch of her voice, it hits me—they're not talking, they're arguing. Within seconds, the suspect shoves the woman to the ground, takes her keys, and jumps in the car.
What the hell?
The car speeds away with a squeal of tires while I rush over to the woman.

“Are you all right?” I ask, kneeling next to her as I check for injuries.

“I'm okay, I think.” Wide-eyed and in shock, she nods.

She seems fine, just shaken up. I help her up off the hard concrete and to her feet, while wiping the dirt and moisture from the wet gravel off my knees. Tommy pulls in front of us by the curb, slamming on his brakes and jumping out of the car once he spots us. By then, there's no trace of the suspect but the faint smell of exhaust fumes and burnt rubber from the squealing tires on the pavement.

“I thought we hit it off, but once we got to my car he just told me to hand him the keys and wait here.” She shakes her head, still a bit stunned.

“Do you know him?” I ask, as Tommy and I exchange glances.

“Not really, I just met him today.” She looks at me as if she just realized something. “He took my car,” she says in disbelief.

“All right, sit tight, we’re here to help,” Tommy says, and she takes him in, nodding with a shocked look on her face.

This guy has to be running for a reason. I’m convinced this was not a coincidence. He’s the one, I can feel it. Just the sight of him sent a humming through my body, and not the good kind.

“Would you excuse us a minute?” Tommy asks the victim as he tilts his head up, signaling we need to talk.

She nods and we walk out of earshot.

“I saw him before, Lil. At the post office.” He keeps his voice low to ensure privacy.

My stomach drops. He’s seen him before?
Holy shit
. He looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him.

“The same guy?” My brows rise up in question. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I don’t know if we have visual confirmation. It clicked once I saw him outside, away from the crowd. I’ll have to check the camera to see if there’s a picture of him outside the post office.” He runs his fingers through his mussed hair and lets the air out of his lungs in a loud, puffed exhale.

“Shit.” This is huge. Tommy is one of those people that hears something and remembers it for years, same thing with people. The man never forgets a face.

“I know.”

قلب

Tommy takes the victim back to his car while we wait for Chicago PD to arrive. Meanwhile, I excuse myself and get busy. I call Teague and apprise him of the situation—about spotting the suspect at the post office and here at the club. He stresses yet again that we need the guy's DNA. We need to link him to the murders, but all we have from tonight is circumstantial and not cause enough for a DNA sample. Sure, the guy stole the car, but he can claim many reasons for doing so. It’s a huge leap from grand theft auto to three charges of first-degree murder. We have to do this by the numbers. Next call goes to FBI dispatch. I put out an APB for the woman’s vehicle and a description of the suspect, and request air support. We need to get some eyes in the sky if there’s any chance this is our guy.

Once the Chicago police arrive, we exchange as much info as we can before turning the victim over to them. After taking her report, the cruiser takes the woman home. I doubt the suspect will return to this victim but just in case, I call in for one of our junior agents to stakeout her place overnight, just in case. This guy has her car—which means he has access to her registration and knows her address. He could show up again. It’s a long shot, but I’m not taking any chances.

The pounding inside the club is a faint, constant thud as we try to figure out our next move. We are still waiting to hear from air surveillance. I also placed a call to Nelson and Ryan in case we need backup. FBI dispatch keeps me in the loop with local law enforcement in case they spot the car. While I wait for word on the APB, Tommy heads back inside the club to check the security footage. With Marcus’s help, he’s hoping the cameras caught sight of the guy and we can get a picture printed for the APB. Although there's a slim chance that spotting this guy twice in twenty-four hours was a coincidence, my gut tells me different. The way he looked at me inside the club, the way we locked gazes, it was like there was something connecting us. It was downright eerie. I hate when that happens. Like my stint in Afghanistan, this case is bringing back the weird into my life. I can’t let it get to me, I just can’t.
Keep your head straight, Harper.

Some late night stragglers trickle in and out of the club while I wait for word on the vehicle. Most patrons leaving are clearly intoxicated, groping each other, some laughing loudly, sharing cabs and hook-ups galore. Some people aren’t wasting any time. They are making the most of the night by leaning against the brick wall right outside the old warehouse, making out, tangled in each other’s arms as they wait for a cab.

My breath comes out in puffs, the mix of frigid air with the smell of cigarette smoke from those lighting up outside burning my nostrils. The night chill is taking its toll on me; it's getting colder by the minute, the temperature gradually dropping as the night progresses into early morning. We need to get this guy. I can’t end up at some woman’s apartment again, taking pictures of her dead body, invading her privacy while she lies there. We come in and go through victims’ things, search for secrets, touch their belongings, all as part of the job.

I run my hands up and down my arms, seeking warmth and comfort to no avail. My teeth are beginning to chatter, my nose and cheeks numb by the cold. As I wait for Tommy to join me outside, the call comes in. The car was spotted, abandoned on a country road near a farm field, and there's no sign of the suspect.
Dammit
.

I type the directions on my phone and text Tommy, who’s still inside the club.

Car has been found south of the city, abandoned outside Bloomingfield. We gotta go.

Less than five minutes later, Tommy is back and joins me outside the club.

“Got him on surveillance video and sent his picture out.” He straightens his jacket as he walks right past me, heading to the curb where he parked his car. “Let’s go.”

I don’t want to stay another minute in these clothes. I’m freezing my ass off, and the last thing I want is to launch into a manhunt on high heels and a short dress.

“You mind a quick stop at my place? I need to change my clothes.”

He stops dead and eyes me. “We need to head down to the scene,” he says in a clipped tone. He’s annoyed.

“Five minutes, Colton. I'm not staying one more minute in these clothes.”

“Fine,” he answers curtly.

I climb in the passenger side of his Charger. He jumps into the driver’s seat, and we’re off.

قلب

Once we reach my apartment, I rush upstairs and change. I’m comfortable in my skin for the first time tonight, wearing jeans, boots, a light sweater, and my pea coat. I trade my LC9 for my Glock, grab my wool cap, and run back out to Tommy’s car. As we head down to the scene, I call Teague again and update him on the situation. Yet again, Special Agent Teague voices what’s already on my mind.

“I don't have to remind you, Harper, by the book. We got no probable cause. He could have run for any reason.”

“We’ll need an emergency subpoena of previous footage, see if he shows on the tapes around the timeline.”

“Good idea. I’ll call in a favor and speed up the process. Meanwhile, keep me posted of the situation.”

“Yes, sir. I already put a request for Evidence Response to have the car processed. Maybe we can get something more there.”

After ending the call, I take a deep breath. We’re almost to the finish line. This is the part of the job that I like. It’s comfortable for me. I like dealing with facts. No impulse, no guessing. If we do what we need to do, the end result will likely be successful. If this is the guy we’ve been looking for, all of our hard work, worry, and sleepless nights will pay off.

By the book, follow protocol, and everything will fall into place.

Colton and I remain silent, the faint music playing in the background fills the interior around us.

Now that the adrenaline rush has calmed down, my mind is reeling over his little display on the dance floor. Tommy and I have never been intimate. Sure, we touch but always in a professional or friendly manner. Before tonight on that dance floor, he's only touched me in a sensual way once, over seven years ago to be exact. It is ancient history, and since then, it has been long buried.

“You think he was trying to head home? That’s an awful long way to come get some tail.” Tommy asks, breaking the silence.

I just shrug, staring out the window, watching the city lights pass us by, the pre-dawn traffic light but steady.

“You’re pissed. Let’s have it.” Tommy decides to bring up the subject, getting straight to it.

I remain stoic, still looking out the window.

Tommy sighs in frustration. “I'm sorry, all right. I wish you could just...never mind.”

He wishes I could just...so this is about
me
? Hell no.

“You wish I could just
what
?" I ask him in a curt tone. He doesn't answer so I press on. “Relax?” I mock, making quotation marks in the air around the word. “Not be myself? How long have you known me, Colton?” I turn to look at him, but he continues to stare straight ahead.

It's late, I have a headache, I'm out of patience, and I'm confused as hell. Old wounds split wide open, and his behavior tonight brings back the rejection I felt all those years ago—from those very hands touching me tonight. My ego can only take so many hits before hitting back.

“The club bullshit is your thing, not mine. I know what I looked like out there and trust me, I'm well aware that I made an ass of myself. I have no desire to fit in, let alone to hook up with some asshole, and worst of all, I don't need you to take pity on me and manhandle me on the pretext of—”

“Whoa, what is that supposed to mean?” His brow’s creased; he’s clearly pissed off at something I’ve said. “The club bullshit is
my
thing?” He's affronted. “
Manhandle
you?” he asks, tone downright incredulous, his voice steadily increasing in volume. His whole frame a cocked gun, locked and loaded—ready to be fired.

Unbelievable.

“Are you kidding me right now?” I yell. “You know exactly what I mean. You're on a first-name basis with the freaking bouncer for crying out loud. Are you gonna tell me you're not a regular there?”

“That doesn't mean anything!” His voice rises over mine, and now we’re both yelling.

I can't believe we are arguing. Exhausted, I exhale, the fight leaving my body along with the air from my lungs.

“It means everything,” I whisper to myself.

I have no idea what is happening right now. Even worse, I have no clue where this is coming from. Just like me to say the wrong thing, but I felt I had to. He made a choice about us a lifetime ago; he doesn’t get to change the rules. It’s like he’s fine one moment, and then withdraws the next. I don’t know which way is up with him anymore.

Tommy is livid. “Dammit, Lil!” he screams at the top of his lungs, punching the steering wheel, making me flinch.

My head is pounding and my chest hurts. I can't handle us fighting. We never fight. I lean my right elbow on the passenger door and rest my forehead on my hand.

Tommy sighs in frustration. “Can't you see...?” His voice falters. “You don't see it, do you?” His voice is full of shock and disbelief. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He runs one hand through his hair and briefly closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What, Tommy? I don’t know what you want from me.” My voice is devoid of any emotion. Whatever
it
is, I don’t know, but I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. I can't stand this. I don’t know what to do for him, other than focus on the job. His profile is barely visible in the dark, highlighted by lampposts and the headlights traveling the opposite direction. His strong jaw muscles clenched, his gaze fixed straight ahead, brooding.

“Let’s just drop it, all right?” he says sharply. “Forget it.” His hands are squeezing the steering wheel with such force, his muscles flex among the shadows.

I've never seen Tommy like this before, because of us. Not about the job—
us
. I really want to know what is going on in his head.