Hold My Heart (5 page)

“What the fuck, Harper?”

“What? You said not to try any girly bullshit, and I didn’t,” she taunts.

Her scowl falters when she looks at my face, her undivided attention focused solely on me.

“Hey, are you okay? Your lip is bleeding.” She gets close and touches my lip, her perfect brows furrowed in concern. She’s so close I can smell her. I want to crash my mouth down on those fucking lips, and my dick twitches at the thought.

Cut it out, Colton.

Dammit. I shake it off, pulling away from her and going for my T-shirt.

“I’m fine,” I shoot over my shoulder as I put my shirt back on, but she doesn't move from the mats. Concern is still covering every pore of her flushed face.

I return to the mat, grabbing her hand, wanting to reassure her because this isn’t about her. It’s about me. Feeling like a total and utter shit, I try to explain.

“I’m okay, you just...surprised me.”

My words click and her forehead creases disappear, her entire face relaxing. Something resembling disappointment shows in her eyes.

“Oh. I was kidding, Colton, about Mrs. N. I know you don’t…”

That got my attention. “I don’t what?”

She shakes her head nervously, breaking eye contact.

“Nothing, I’m gonna hit the showers.” She bolts away, flying past the guy by the mats, completely ignoring him. Men look at her and that has always bugged me, since the first day I met her. But lately, it’s different.

The guy is still standing there, watching her walk away. Jesus Christ, the prick is staring right at her ass. When he turns, I’m right in his face. He’s startled and jumps back, grabbing his chest.

“Whoa, dude!”

“Don’t look at her like that,” I growl, glaring down at him, my voice low and downright savage, just like my expression.

“What if I do?” he says, squaring his shoulders.

He’s about two inches shorter than me, but the guy is solid muscle. We could go toe to toe.

“Then I guess we have a problem.” I might get my wish after all. Nothing would make me happier than to kick this guy’s ass right here—until I spot Lil coming back toward us.

Busted
.

Quickly, I back off. The guy doesn’t see her, but I do. She heads straight our way, but before she reaches us, I whisper, “That’s
my
partner, so show some respect.” I step back and smile. “What’s up, Harper?”

“Everything okay?”

She doesn’t miss much. She didn’t even make it to the locker rooms. Glistening sweat covers every part of her exposed flesh, her tight top darkened with moisture.

“Hi,” the guy chimes in, smiling her way, but she’s not amused. Good.

“
Mmhmm
,” she mumbles in response and faces me. “Teague needs some info, so we gotta hustle.”

She turns on her heel and heads back to the women’s locker room.

Teague didn’t call. She knew I was going to clean this guy’s clock right here. All the arrogance this toolbag was sporting evaporated at Harper’s dismissal. She didn’t even look back.
That’s my girl.

Jesus, I need to get my head on straight.

This guy isn’t worth it, so I cut him loose. Leaving him standing there, I walk away without turning back. Sure he’s gotten the message, I head to the men’s locker room to shower and change when Lil calls me over.

I open my mouth to reassure her once again. “I’m fi—”

“What the fuck, Colton? The big brother routine is getting old.”

What?
I’m thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You getting into a guy’s face every time you think they’re disrespecting me or something. We’re not in the service anymore. I can take care of myself.”

She’s right up against me, defiant, the mixture of sweet lavender and sweat hitting my nostrils, so trademark Lil. I could find her anywhere by following that scent. Then it dawns on me. She thinks I went all Alpha out of protection, not possession. My stomach drops and reality slaps me in the face again. She wasn’t playing me; she was really smiling at the guy.

Hope has left the building.

My hands on my hips, I just stare at her face, determined and rigid, her almond-shaped whiskey eyes pinning me in challenge.

“Are we clear?”

I recognize that tone all too well from the sandbox. I’ve been given an order. I blink rapidly, coming back to myself again.

Give it up Colton.

“Yes, ma’am,” is all I can say, my voice barely audible while I try to contain my instincts.

“Good.” She spins on her heel, leaving me standing here.

I head to the locker room for my second cold shower this morning. It’s going to be a long day.

Chapter 5

After leaving the gym, we grab breakfast and return to the office. We go through all of the evidence yet again, map out a timeline, and rehash all of the testimony gathered on the last two victims. They were both locals, living not far from the Loop. With the help of Nelson and Ryan, we comb through all the interviews again—neighbors, co-workers, friends, and relatives. We compare both victims and re-interview their friends, and eight hours later, our tedious, painstaking work pays off.

According to friends, both women frequented a popular up and coming club in downtown called
The Mudd
, which also happens to be located near that post office. Neither victim’s friends went out with them the night of their murders, but we decide to go ahead and check out the club for ourselves. It will be our first stop. If it doesn’t pan out, we have a couple more places on the list.

“Now we’re talking!” Tommy is pumped to hit the club. He starts picking up our paperwork and then grabs his jacket. “Okay, I’m going to swing by my apartment, grab a shower, and change. I’ll pick you up around nine.”

I’m not moving a muscle, my eyes tired from all the reading and computer work. “What’s the plan, Colton?” I have to ask because I don’t want to go in there half-cocked.

“Well,” he finishes putting his jacket on and places his hands on his hips, “first, you’re going to get all dolled up. Make sure to wear something hot, ‘cause this,” he motions to my clothes with a disgusted expression, “smells like fed, and sweat.” He gives me his ever-charming, teasing smile, but I’m not amused. “Then, we hit the club, scout the place, and see if we can spot him,” he concludes, a triumphant expression on his face.

“All right, but I have some conditions.” I have to lay out some ground rules. I’ve been to this rodeo before. The handful of times he’s been able to talk me into going to the club with him, he left me high and dry the second he found willing arm candy. Tonight, I can’t risk being left alone with no backup.

“Lay it on me, babe.” He puffs his chest out, all cocky and confident, while doing his ‘bring it on’ gesture.

“Okay, rule number one: Tommy Dick stays below deck.” He gapes at me, but I continue, undaunted. “Rule number two: we stay in contact the entire time.”

“Come on, Harper,” he scowls at me, “below deck, really?” He shakes his head incredulously.

“Whatever, below the surface, under wraps, Little Tommy doesn’t come out to play,” I warn him.

His reaction surprises me. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear Tommy was hurt by what I just said. His demeanor shifts and his expression changes.

“Is that how you think of me, Lil?” he asks in a somber tone.

We have a quiet understanding. We keep our personal relationship casual and light. We’ve been through enough; we don't need to remind each other how much our lives suck. I tease him about his sex life and he teases about my lack of. But occasionally, his demeanor shifts. He changes. He's not my best friend or my partner. I can’t explain it, but it confuses me. Like now, and it makes me feel like I’m the asshole.

“This is work, Harper. I’m on duty, I wouldn't leave you—”

I don’t let him finish. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’m just saying. It’s not like you don’t get around. You don’t date. You hook up.”

He becomes silent, his head lowers, and he stares at his shoes like a scolded teenager. His left hand remains on his hip, as he picks lint off his pants with the other hand.

“Correct me if I wrong—”

“No, you’re right, whatever.”

Crap, he sounds really hurt. Dammit. I get up and head around the desk, toward him, but his switch flips and he’s back. He looks up and pretends everything is fine. He’s letting me off the hook.

“All right, let’s get going. Nine p.m., Harper.” At that, he walks off in the direction of the elevators.

قلب

It's already seven o’clock and I have gone through every article of clothing in my closet. I own all of three dresses, two of them black. The rest are T-shirts, jeans, trousers, and pantsuits. I am in way over my head with clubbing. Socializing is definitely not my thing. If I want to relax, I head to the gym, go for a five-mile run, or hit the gun range. Dancing and drinking and doing God-knows-what with strange men? Not so much. I need to call in the big guns. I head to the kitchen and grab Christina’s number. She’s a former single woman; hopefully, she can help.

After a few rings, she answers. “Hello?”

I clear my throat. “Hey, Chris, it’s Ileana.”

It takes her a second to react. “Ileana, hi! Finally, how are you? I haven't talked to you in a while!”

I better cut to the chase, my time is running out. “I know, sorry. Listen, Chris, I need help. Tommy and I are doing some recon work tonight at a club and I—”

“Give me twenty minutes.” She hangs up on me and I’m standing there like an idiot holding the phone.

Just shy of twenty minutes later, Chris is ringing my doorbell and knocking at the same time. I forgot how pushy she is.

“Coming!” I yell as I throw on my robe. At least the black underwear was a no brainer. It’s not as if anyone is going to see it.

I open my door to find Christina with her hands full of clothes and a small suitcase by her feet. What the hell? “What in the world is all that?”

“This is a fashion emergency so I brought plenty of backup,” she says in her bossy tone. “Let’s get to work.”

She walks right in and heads straight to my bedroom, her petite frame a blur as she speeds past. She doesn’t even give me a chance to help her carry all her stuff. I just close the door behind her and follow her to my room.

An hour and six outfits later, I’m tired of the tedious fashion show. I opt for one of Chris’s dresses: a long-sleeved, black number with a sweetheart neckline and a lace hem that barely hits mid-thigh, and a pair of black high heels. The petite, size-six, satin dress is a bit tight, accentuating my curves. It’s a little daring for my taste, but I’m tired of trying on dresses. Chris is sitting on my bed, pulling the dress up at my waist while I tug it back down. My breasts are spilling out of the dress, so I keep yanking up the top. Every time I do, Christina smacks my hand.

“Maybe I should be more specific, Chris,” I say, annoyed. “I’m going as myself; I’m not going undercover as a hooker.”

Chris scoffs. “Oh my God, Ileana, you haven’t changed. You’re still so uptight. There’s nothing wrong with showing a little bust or legs, besides you have a killer bod. So what if you’re hot, nothing wrong with wearing it loud and proud.”

Yeah right.

“So tell me, how’s it going with Mr. Rick?” She wags her eyebrows, way too excited.

“It’s not.”

She watches my reflection in the mirror, waiting for me to finish as I fidget and adjust the dress.

“Going,” I finish. She’s still staring. I stare back. “We broke up.”

Her eyes don’t relent, urging me to continue. “He dumped me, is that what you’re waiting to hear?” She’s so good at this! I’ve got to be careful. She’s a fixer. She’ll want to set me up. She used to do this to me in college all the time.

“Oh.”

Oh
? She remains silent, and the fix up I’m waiting for doesn’t come. I glance at her in the mirror, and I can see her wheels turning. She’s up to something.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Nothing. Let’s do your makeup.” She gets up and grabs her little suitcase. I glare at her, my expression saying it all.

“I know, Ileana, less hooker, more classy. Got it.” She lets out an exasperated sigh, mumbling, “
Sheesh
,” under her breath.

She orders me to sit on the bed, so I move one of the discarded dresses to the side and sit down. After a little while, she begins to poke again.

“You know, Brad and I were having dinner at Giordano’s last Sunday with my parents.”

“
Mmhmm
.” I keep my face immobile while she applies my makeup. I don’t think I like where this is going. She had better not try to fix me up.

“Guess who we saw picking up a huge order of pizza?”

I have no clue. “I don’t know, Chris, I’m not that good of an agent. Why don’t you tell me?”

She detects my sarcasm and glares at me, sticking her tongue out. It makes me chuckle.

“Tommy.” I’m surprised by her answer. I wasn’t expecting that. “Were you guys together Sunday?”

“No.” Where is she going with this?

“
Hmm
,” she says and keeps doing my makeup. “I wonder who all that pizza was for.”

I don’t even respond because at this point, she’s just poking to get some dirt on Tommy.

“Does he know you and Rick broke up?”

“Who? Tommy?” I have absolutely no idea what’s going on in that head of hers. God, this is why I don’t have friends. Too much shit to explain.

“No, Ileana, the Pope. Yes, Tommy!” she scolds. What does Tommy knowing about my breakup have to do with anything?

“Yes, he knows. Why, you think he’s gonna want to ask Rick out?” I joke, trying to sway this line of questioning. Although, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m starting to wonder who that pizza was for, and whether Tommy is finally getting serious with a woman.
Holy Shit
. Now my wheels are turning.

“Ha. Ha. Funny,” she mocks. “No, I just thought you guys were hanging out Sunday.”

“Chris, Tommy has his own life, separate from mine. What he does on his free time,” or
whom he does,
I think to myself, “is none of my business.” I glance at my reflection in the mirror and notice I’m scowling.

“
Hmm
.”

“What do you mean,
hmm
?” I ask, sounding a little defensive.

“Nothing. I just wonder about you two. You think there's anything there?” She's not the first person to wonder about us, but at least she's coming straight to the source, because that's her style.

“Nothing is going on, Chris, and nothing will,” I state.

“How can you be sure? Speak for yourself, but what about him? Has he ever—”

“He's not interested, Chris. Just trust me on this. Can we change the subject, please?” I huff in frustration. I do not want to talk about Tommy and me with anyone. If there's one thing that I'm absolutely, one hundred percent sure of, it’s that Tommy Colton doesn't want me in that way.

It will be a cold day in hell before I rehash that night with anyone.

“There. All done.” She steps aside, a sign that our conversation is over. I'm glad she lets it drop because I know Christina, and she's usually relentless.

I get up from the bed and walk over to the mirror to take a closer look. Her work is clean yet sexy, but not trashy. “Not bad. Thanks.”

“What are friends for?” she says, taking a jab at me. Because, let’s face it, I’m lousy at friendships, too. She sidles up next to me, both of us facing the mirror.

“How’s Tommy doing, Ileana?” There’s compassion in her voice. Her chocolate brown eyes full of concern. Chris has always been observant. She doesn’t see Tommy that often, yet she still noticed his recent personality changes.

I take a deep breath. “I don’t know, lately he’s been weird.”

“Weird how?” She frowns and looks at me quizzically.

“I don’t know. More serious, I guess. He’s always been a player. Always screwing around, but ever since his dad died, he’s been…” I pause because I really don’t know. I don’t know what is truly going on inside my partner’s head. “I don’t know, edgier, less cheerful than usual,” I say in a frustrated tone. I can’t lose him. I almost lost him there for a minute after his dad died.

His father had no one, so when he died, all arrangements fell on Tommy. He was five when his mother was killed in a drunk driving accident. Guess who was behind the wheel and walked away unscathed? Isn’t that always the way? Ever since then, Tommy had to endure his father’s wrath. The man finally drank himself to death.

We both took two weeks off work. I had to use my vacation time, but what the hell, I never go on vacation. I wasn’t going to let him see to his father's burial all alone, so I drove him to the funeral home. I sat there while he picked out a casket, flowers, the works—all for the father he hadn’t seen or talked to since he was seventeen. The man that beat him, that made his childhood a living hell.

I’ll never forget him standing in front of his father’s casket at the cemetery as they lowered it into the ground. I’ve never seen Tommy so withdrawn. He looked at that casket as if he were inside being put to rest.  All I could do was hold on to his hand for dear life with both of mine.

No way was I going to stand there and let Tommy stare into the abyss alone. I gripped his hand tightly, because if he was going over the edge, I was going right with him.

His father’s fellow retired police officers gave Tommy their condolences after the service. Through it all, Tommy remained frozen in stone, unmoving, focused on the ground. He didn’t acknowledge anyone. Even later, when he was expected to attend a memorial service hosted by his father’s friends, I took charge and put a stop to that. In all the years I’ve known him, through two tours in Afghanistan under the most violent and gory conditions, I never saw him waver or shut down. Not like that. I had enough. After the funeral, we jumped in the car and I drove him straight home.