Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (31 page)

If I have a heart attack by age thirty, tell the

coroner it was the Louboutins that did me in.

Nathaniel Knox, predicting his own cause-of-death.

Can you die of a broken heart?

A tear-stained little girl asked that question to a boy on the grass beside her almost twenty years ago.

He didn’t know the answer. Neither of us did.

Not then.

But I know now.

Truth is, any number of things in this life can kill you. Turn on the news any day of the week, and you’ll see the stories.

A soccer mom totals her minivan on the way to pick up her kids from practice. A renowned physicist has a heart attack in the middle of his Nobel Prize acceptance speech. A child climbs into a van with a stranger and is never seen again.

War, famine, disease, drought.

Electrocution, car accident, fire, drowning.

Cancer, spider bite, shark attack, childbirth.

Our world is a hypochondriac’s nightmare and a survivalist’s dreamland.

Anything can kill you. Anything.

Even a broken heart.

I always kind of thought I’d go that way. That I’d love Nate so much, it physically killed me.

I sure as hell didn’t expect a bullet to the brain in a swampy marsh.

But as I stand here with my eyes closed, waiting to die, I can’t help but think it’s not how we go that matters. It’s not our deaths that define us.

It’s how we
live
.

The choices we make. The lives we change. The people we love.

That’s the legacy we leave behind, when we blink out of existence. Not how we die, whether it’s after a long, brave battle with cancer or a short, unexpected trip over your shoelaces into oncoming traffic.

Life is precious. Days are numbered.

It’s not a dress rehearsal.

There are no do-overs or second chances at getting it right.

I wish, more than anything, that I’d lived every single day like I was dying. I wish I hadn’t been so afraid of getting hurt or making a fool of myself that I went years without telling Nate how I felt. I wish I could take back every wasted moment I spent without him.

Most of all, though, I wish I’d never told him about those damn turtle doves who mate for life. Because if I die…

It may just kill him, too.

***

The bang is so loud, it makes my ears ring. I flinch back, waiting for the impact.

It never comes.

I hear a dull thud, the sound of running footsteps. My lashes fly open to see Cormack on the dirt at my feet — a bullet in his head, his green-blue eyes wide and unblinking as they stare up at the sky overhead.

The screech of the warehouse door makes me turn. My eyes are glassy with shock, my heart is lodged firmly in my throat, and I know I’m shaking like a leaf as I take in the sight of the men in black fatigues flooding out of the warehouse like ants at a picnic.

I barely see them — my eyes cut straight through the group to the man in the leather jacket standing ten feet from me, his gun still smoking in his hands. His dark eyes are locked on me, burning bright with love and fear and anger.

“Nate,” I choke, taking two steps toward him. My ankles wobble and I think I might fall, but suddenly he’s there, wrapping his arms around me so tight I can barely breathe. His mouth presses against my hair. I can hear his heart pounding beneath my cheek.

“I’ve got you, little bird.” His voice is ragged with worry. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

I try to turn in his arms, but I’m crushed too tight against his chest.

“Let me go,” I say.

He goes still. “Why?”

“So I can kiss you, idiot.”

His arms loosen, his hands come up to frame my face, and then he’s kissing me. I taste anguish and longing and terror on his tongue, love and joy and relief on his lips. I keep kissing him until my hands stop shaking and my knees quit quaking.

“You got kidnapped again,” he growls when he pulls away, glaring at me. “You promised never to do that.”

“Sorry,” I whisper. “They had Parker, and— Oh my god, Parker! Is he—”

“He’s fine.” Nate’s eyes soften and he runs a hand over my hair. “Shot to his shoulder was a through-and-through.”

“Thank god,” I say, voice breaking. “And Boo?”

Nate’s eyes flash with worry. “He’s…”

My heart stops. “Dead? He’s dead?”

“No.” His hands cup my face again. “He’s at the vet. They’re going to do everything they can for him.”

“But… He’s alone?”

“Lila and Gemma are with him.”

“We have to go,” I say immediately, stepping out of his arms. “I need to see him. If he doesn’t make it…

“He knows you love him, Phoebe.”

A tear drips down my face. “Swear to god, if my demon-dog doesn’t pull through this… I will kill Keegan MacDonough myself.”

Nate’s lips twitch. “He’ll get what’s coming to him. Don’t worry about that. Your father’s testimony against him is all the FBI needed to move in. They’d been waiting for probable cause to search this place.” He gestures at the swamp. My eyes follow his hand and I see the SWAT guys moving methodically through the tall grass, scouring the area for something.

“What are they looking for?” I ask quietly.

Nate doesn’t answer. When I meet his eyes, I see they’re guarded.

“Bodies,” I whisper, answering my own question. “They’re looking for bodies.”

He nods. “A lot of Mac’s hits were rumored to take place out here. But it’s private land so they needed a warrant. Your dad’s information on Mac, on some of their dealings, things he’s learned over the years… He gave the FBI exactly what they needed.”

I swallow hard so I don’t panic. “Is my dad… is he in custody?”

Nate nods again.

“He tried to save me the only way he knew how,” I whisper. “He gave his life, his freedom, for mine.”

“He’s the reason your life was in danger in the first place,” Nate rumbles, dislike etched clearly on his features. “I know he’s your dad, but I can’t forgive him for that. He deserves to go to jail, along with Mac and all his boys.”

I sigh and my eyes land on Cormack. Two men in black are zipping him into a body bag.

“Don’t look at that, little bird,” Nate says, turning my face up to his. “He deserved to die. He would’ve—”

“I know.” I take a breath. “If you’d gotten here one second later…”

“Don’t think about it.” He pulls me into his chest again, hugging me until my ribs ache. “I got here. That’s all that matters.”

A thought occurs to me. “How did you even find me? How did you know I was here?”

A chuckle moves through his body. He snags the chain of the sunshine pendant hanging around my neck with one finger, and pulls it up to the light.

“This necklace?” His voice is wry. “I told you I had it made specially, didn’t I? After they took you the first time, I decided I wasn’t taking any more chances.”

When I look up at him, there’s a mischievous light in his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Let’s just say, it’s not made of sterling silver.” His lips twitch. “There’s a GPS tracker chip embedded in the center.”

“You bugged my necklace?” I gasp out, not knowing whether to be offended or flattered. “That’s insane.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, unapologetic. “But it saved your life.”

I can’t argue with that. He’s right. Still, I wish his macho man antics hadn’t been validated.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re going to be impossible to live with now, aren’t you?”

“No,” he lies, grinning at me.

I sigh. “Do I have to debrief with the commando dudes?”

His eyes flash with mirth. “They aren’t commandos.”

“Whatever.” I eye their black-on-black attire and large guns. “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

“They’re an FBI tactical team.”

“Do I have to talk to them, or not?”

“You do.”

“Figured you were gonna say that,” I mutter.

“It won’t be bad. Just a few questions.” He drops a kiss on my forehead. “I know one of the lead investigators on Mac’s case. Sometimes we help each other out when we’re in a bind – off the record, of course. Good guy. Name’s Conor Gallagher, he’s a special agent who relocated from New York City not too long ago.”

“What, are you two drinking buddies?” I ask, noting the familiarity in his tone.

“Poker night once a month.” He grins. “Boston. It’s a small town.”

“Especially for you commando types,” I murmur.

“Come on.” He wraps one arm around my shoulder and leads me back toward the warehouse. “Let’s go talk to him so we can get the hell out of here.”

***

The door opens and all of our heads swivel in sync toward it.

A vet tech walks out with a bouncy golden retriever.

I scowl.

Nate’s arm tightens around me.

“I’m sure he’s next,” Gemma says, squeezing my hand.

“Totally,” Lila agrees. “The little fur-ball will be out any minute.”

“Want me to go check what’s taking so long?” Chase offers, smiling. “Receptionists like me.”

Gemma shoots him a look. “Oh, do they now?”

His eyes are warm on her. “Jealous, sunshine?”

“Yep,” she admits easily, grinning back at him.

I roll my eyes and snuggle closer to Nate.

“If I’d known I was going to be fifth wheeling, I’d have dragged Parker along,” Lila grumbles.

Nate chuckles and I feel it vibrate through me.

I sigh happily. “He’s still recovering.”

“How’s he doing?” Gemma asks hesitantly. We’re still testing the waters, when it comes to the sibling stuff. One toe at a time. In the shallow end. Wearing those inflatable arm-floaties.

“He’s crashing at my place, sleeping a lot because of the pain meds and watching the entire series of
Sons of Anarchy
on Netflix while yelling at me to bring him a near-constant supply of snacks.” I roll my eyes. “He doesn’t seem too upset about the bullet wound. In fact, he keeps saying it’ll be — and I quote —
total chick bait
.”

Everyone laughs.

“If you don’t mind me asking… What’s going to happen to the company, now that your father’s in federal custody?” Chase asks. I can see the CEO wheels turning in his mind — it’s only natural he’d be curious. WestTech and Croft Industries have done business together in the past.

“We’re still figuring that out,” I say softly, worry churning in my gut. In the two days since the FBI raid, there’s been so much going on I haven’t had time to think what Milo West’s incarceration will do to the family company. “I guess Parker and I will need to have a discussion. Preferably when he’s no longer hopped up on percocet.”

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” Chase offers kindly. I can tell by the look in his eyes it’s not some empty offer, either — he means it.

“Thank you.”

The door to the back room swings open again.

We all look at the same time… and sigh in unison when we see a chubby corgi waddling out.

“I hate this.” I knit my hands together.

A kiss lands on my temple. “Don’t worry, little bird. It won’t be too much longer.”

“So, Knox.” The forced nonchalance in Lila’s tone makes both of us glance her way. “Now that Mac is behind bars – at least temporarily – and the police are rounding up his boys and Phoebe’s officially out of danger… does that mean your men aren’t going to be on the clock 24/7 anymore?”

His eyes narrow. “I don’t follow.”

I elbow him. “She’s asking if Theo and Alden and whatever other hotties you’ve got on payroll are going to have nights off.”

He glances at me. “Hotties?”

I nod.

He scoffs and looks back at Lila. “I don’t do matchmaking.”

“You owe me!” she tells him, pointing a finger at me. “That one never would’ve gone for you without a push.” She pauses. “A push from
me
, in case that wasn’t clear.”

He looks at me, eyebrows raised.

I shrug. “It’s kind of true.”

He sighs deeply. “Theo doesn’t date. Alden had a girlfriend last time I checked. I really don’t know about Lucas or Owen.” Nate sounds pained. “I
suppose
I can check with them.”

“Ohhh, Lucas and Owen?” I murmur. “I
knew
there were more hotties.”

Lila squeals happily. Gemma and I squeal, too. (For moral support.)

Chase and Nate both look at the ceiling, seeking guidance.

The door swings open. I hold my breath as I turn to look, then jump to my feet when I catch sight of the tiny Pomeranian. He’s limping, there’s a bandage wrapping his bruised ribs, and his pristine fur coat looks a bit worse for wear…