Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7)

by Marysol James

  Solid Heart

  (Unseen Enemy #7)

  By Marysol James

  © 2015 by Marysol James. All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: www.doc2mobi.com

  Cover photo: © cirkoglu/Fotolia

  Dedication

  For K.

  For really knowing that talking, time, and touching are the greatest healers.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the author

  By the same author

  Prologue

  In the end, it was surprisingly easy for him to find the bitch who had taken his family away from him five years earlier. But even if it had been difficult, even very difficult, he’d still have managed it. He’d made up his mind to find her, after all. Finding her was all that he’d thought about during those long days and longer nights in his prison cell, and he was the kind of man who saw things through, one way or the other. Always and every time.

  He found her easily because – incredibly, unbelievably – she still practiced clinical psychology under her real name. Even after what she’d done, after how totally she’d destroyed his life, she still had the fucking arrogance to use her real name out there in the world. More than anything, that told him that she stood by what she’d done to him. She wasn’t sorry, or ashamed, or losing sleep, or repentant, for all the harm that she’d inflicted.

  More than anything, that told him that she needed to be punished. She needed to be stopped, stopped from doing to any other innocent men what she’d to him. She needed to pay. She needed to learn a lesson.

  And he was the man to make her do exactly that.

  He stared at her picture on the clinic website, feeling the all-too-familiar sense of being torn. Yeah, she was the bitch who had convinced his wife to leave him, and to take their daughter with her, and to go in to hiding from him. But she was also the most beautiful, desirable, stimulating woman that he’d ever laid eyes on. Still.

  Goddamn her.

  His baleful glare skimmed over her lustrous honey-blonde hair, stared deep in to her sky-blue eyes, fixed on her sexy-as-hell lips. Fuck, her smile was perfect. She was perfect, and as much as he hated her, she was his. She was going to replace every single thing that she’d ever taken away from him. It was her fucking obligation to make it up to him. Over and over again, as often and in as many ways as he wanted. As he demanded.

  She’d wrecked his life; it was now his mission to demolish hers. And in so doing, he’d rebuild his own, with her at its center. He’d drag her in to his world kicking and screaming, if that’s what he had to do. She’d learn to like it, eventually, but even if she didn’t, she had no choice in the matter. After all, he hadn’t had any.

  He threw his cup of takeaway coffee away, got back in the car. Pointed his wheels south, hit the Canadian highway at maximum speed, ignored the late-January snow and ice warnings.

  If he sacrificed sleep, he’d be in Denver, Colorado in four days.

  I’m coming, bitch. I’m coming for you.

  Chapter One

  Doctor Francine Cabot locked her office door with a sigh. It had been one hell of a day, and she was almost desperately glad that it was over. Clinical psychology was a challenging, demanding job at the best of times, but most days, Francine went home certain that she’d helped someone. On really good days, she knew that she had changed someone’s life for the better. She lived for those days.

  Days like today, though. God, they wiped her out. Days like today reminded her of the fragility of the human psyche, and just how badly it could be damaged by another person hell-bent on doing just that. When a monster made it their life’s work to terrorize and harm someone, they could do one hell of a thorough job of it.

  She sighed again, thought about Alexandra Mayer, and hoped to Christ that the woman would be at their next session in two days’ time. Considering just how badly things were escalating at home, Francine wasn’t totally sure it was going to happen. If she got a call from the hospital, she wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised.

  The hospital… or the morgue.

  It had been damn hard to let Alexandra walk out just one hour earlier. The urge to lock the woman in to her office and barricade the door had been massive – but that wasn’t Francine’s place. If Alexandra wanted help leaving her violent husband, Francine was ready and able to send her somewhere safe and call the cops… but Alexandra had to ask. Until then, all Francine could do was talk, listen, counsel. Pray and hope.

  Weary and worried, she slung her purse over her shoulder, double-checked that her office was locked. Francine walked down the hall to the exit, shutting off lights as she went. She was the last one there again, and she set the code and alarm on her way out.

  She stood in the dark parking lot, blinking up at the snow. It was beautiful, to be sure, but it wasn’t the best weather to be driving in when distracted and tired. Francine dug deep, found some reserves of focus and energy. Enough to get to her favorite Chinese restaurant, anyway, where she’d get something hot and substantial. Mei’s spicy wonton soup never failed to revive her, she knew, and tonight also felt like a fried pork with garlic night.

  Carefully, Francine crossed the slippery lot, watching her feet. She made it to her car without landing flat on her ample ass, thank God, and she unlocked the door, and slid in to the car with a sound of relief. Her exhale was a white puff that floated away on the icy air, and she shivered. Yeah, it was freezing cold, but it’d warm up in five minutes.

  As she waited for the car to get above sub-zero, she rubbed her mittened hands together, and listened to the radio. Francine seat-danced to Bon Jovi, no apologies and no witnesses, and that warmed her up even more. She gave the engine a few experimental little revs, and when it turned over smooth and strong, she shifted the car in to gear, thinking about green tea, soup, and garlic pork.

  Oh, and about a woman with large brown eyes and delicate wrists. A woman who always smelled of vanilla and sugar. A woman whose husband was, quite possibly at this exact moment, beating her within an inch of her life. Again.

  Be safe, Alexandra. As safe as you can be.

  **

  Mark Hayden glanced up from his plate of beef and broccoli when the door of Mei’s opened, bringing in a most-unwelcome blast of freezing mountain air. The woman that entered was welcome, though. Very welcome.

  Mark felt a grin spread across his face when he sa
w Francine standing there, stomping the snow off her boots, and peeling off her heavy coat. She looked as good as he remembered; he wondered if she remembered him. It was fifty-fifty, he guessed, since he didn’t recall her actually looking at him again after they’d been quickly introduced at Dallas and Olivia’s wedding last summer, and they’d barely spoken after exchanging a few pleasantries over a handshake. He hadn’t laid eyes on her since.

  None of this had been his choice, of course. If he’d had it his way, Mark would have planted himself at Francine’s elbow for the whole damn post-wedding party. He’d have asked her to dance – but only to the slow ones, ‘cause fuck fast dancing with a woman like this, man – and he’d have held that lush, curvy body as close to himself as humanly possible.

  And? If things had gone well? He’d have asked for her number, and he’d have called her the very next day, and taken her to dinner, and he’d have seen her as much as possible over the past seven months.

  But Francine hadn’t encouraged his attentions, not in the slightest. This was a bit puzzling to Mark, if he were being honest, since most women went out of their way to get his attention, and then they fought like hell to keep it. Francine’s clear and pointed avoidance of his gaze and smile at the wedding had brought him up short, but he’d heeded her silent communication, and he’d kept his distance. But it still made him scratch his head.

  Mark knew – without arrogance, ego, or vanity – that he was a good-looking guy. He’d known it his whole life, and he rarely had reason to be sorry about it. It was a fact, and it was also the equivalent of hitting the genetic jackpot: the right combinations of things all happened in just the right order, and the end result was Mark. It had nothing much to do with him, at least not initially, and he knew that, too.

  So, OK, yeah. He was attractive. But he’d made damn good and sure to be a hell of a lot more than just that. He’d worked three jobs to pay his way through college, he’d busted his ass at medical school, and the second he’d gotten that MD after his name, he’d enlisted, and served his country with nothing but pride.

  He’d excelled as a trauma surgeon when he was an intern, and he’d carried that skill and calm over to the fields of battle in Iraq and then Afghanistan. He’d stayed overseas for six years, and as soon as he’d set foot stateside, he’d applied to join Dallas Foreman’s private security firm as a bodyguard. That was five years ago now.

  Mark stared across the almost-empty restaurant at Francine, wondering if she was going to see him. And if she did, would she recognize him? And if she did, would she come over and talk to him? And if she did, would she let him buy her dinner?

  Lots of ‘ifs’ and ‘woulds’ there, man.

  She was smiling at Mei, chatting and laughing, and Mark watched as that stunning, heart-shaped face just lit up. She was all blonde hair and blue eyes, all generous curves and open smiles. She was also a giving, patient, smart-as-a-whip woman who had pulled Olivia Foreman, née Jameson, through nothing less than a living hell. Liv was a happily-married woman now, largely thanks to Francine, and as dazzled as Mark was by Francine’s looks, he had an even deeper admiration for her good heart, and her razor-sharp brain.

  She turned now, and those gorgeous eyes scanned the tables. Her gaze moved over him, past him, slid back to him. They widened in surprise, and he gave her his warmest smile. He also gave her a little wave with his fingertips, feeling like an idiot as soon as he did it.

  Francine blinked, cocked her head at him. Mei said something, Francine looked away to answer, and Mark felt the loss of contact right away. God, he’d actually felt those eyes burn right on through him, and that was a new experience for him. Usually, Mark was the one staring through people, gauging emotions, reactions. Gauging threats.

  Does she see me as a threat?

  Mei went back to the kitchen, and Mark saw Francine hesitate. He knew that her innate sense of good manners was at war with an urge to rudely pretend to have not seen him, and he watched with interest to see which one was going to win out.

  It was politeness, of course. They did, after all, have friends in common – Dallas and Liv, namely – so just ignoring him wasn’t really the best option. Especially since Mark was Dallas’ number two at Solid Security. Dallas was the owner and the boss, but Mark was his right hand. Francine knew all of this, and she’d think it the height of bad manners to blow him off.

  Sure enough, here she came now. Mark stood to greet her as she arrived at his booth, and she gazed up at him.

  “Hi, Francine,” he said. “You remember me?”

  Francine fought down the urge to roll her eyes. Did she remember him? Ummmm… yeah. Hell, yeah. What hot-blooded woman would ever forget Mark Hayden? The man was a trained doctor, he was a former battle surgeon, he was a bodyguard. Throw in his mint-green eyes sparkling with humor and intelligence against his café-au-lait skin, and his hulking, mountain-of-muscle frame, and he was also panty-meltingly hot. Like, scorching, burning, five-alarm, call-every-truck-in-town hot.

  “Sure,” she said now, her voice a bit chilly. No sense encouraging him, she figured. In both her personal and professional experience, guys who looked like this were all-too-aware of it, and seemed to expect women to fling themselves at them as their due. “How are you, Mark?”

  God, the way she said his name, with that sexy rolling ‘r’, that hard, breathy ‘k’. Francine was from Canada, from Québec, and her French accent was faint, but still present. He’d never forgotten that smoky, almost dirty voice – so at odds with her delicate, blonde-and-blue-eyed angelic features – and listening to it now was a kind of exquisite torture.

  “I’m good,” he managed.

  “Good.”

  Mark paused. “You?”

  “Me what?”

  “You good?”

  “Yes. I’m good.”

  OK, so, they were both good. Mark ran his large hand through his cropped dark hair, stared down at her, at a bit of a loss. She was stiffly courteous and distant, and he wondered just what the hell he’d done to upset or offend her. He was pretty sure nothing.

  “Would you –” he started, just as she said, “Well, I’d better –”

  They stopped speaking at the same time, stared at each other. Waited.

  “I’m sorry,” Mark said. “What were you going to say?”

  “I was just going to say that I’d better go and order my dinner.” Francine turned away. “Have a nice night.”

  “Well, actually… maybe…” he faltered. He took a deep breath as she turned back to face him. “Maybe you’d like to join me?”

  Francine almost fell over backwards. Mark Hayden was asking her to have dinner with him? It was like every birthday, Christmas, and dirty fantasy of her life had just been handed to her on a silver platter, all wrapped up in a big, red bow.

  Banishing the thought of Mark wearing nothing but a strategically-tied bow, Francine scrambled for cool. Dinner. Yeah, sure. Dinner was doable.

  Everything about this man is doable.

  Mon Dieu. Shut up, Francine.

  “Are you sure?” she said, indicating at the files and papers on his table. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  He grinned at her. “You’re not interrupting.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he said firmly. “Sit. Please.”

  “OK,” she said, relenting at last. “Thank you.”

  He gathered up the papers and shoved them in to his briefcase, snapping it shut and locked. Then he just looked across the table at her, stunned that Francine was actually right here. Close enough to touch.

  She was carefully studying the menu, so he took advantage of her lowered eyes to drink her in, fully and greedily. Yeah, she was as beautiful as he remembered, and his heart stuttered in his chest.

  Francine was staring hard at the menu, but she saw nothing in front of her eyes. She had the damn thing memoriz
ed anyway, and besides, she already knew what she wanted to eat.

  She knew that those amazing green eyes were on her now, and all she could think about was that she hadn’t checked her hair or makeup before leaving the clinic. She was strangely embarrassed that she – almost definitely – looked terrible, and she was sorry to look so bad in front of Mark. Then she wondered why she gave a good goddamn why she cared how she looked in front of Mark.

  “So.” That deep, sexy voice rolled on over her like a molten wave. “You know what you want?”

  Francine forced herself to meet his eyes. “Yes.”

  “OK.” He waved at Mei, and she came over with a big smile.

  “What you want, Doctor?” Mei asked Francine.

  Francine flushed furiously. No matter how many times she’d asked Mei to call her ‘Francine’, the older woman had refused. She said that a doctor was a respected, revered profession in China, and she and her staff had to pay it proper respect in the U.S. When Francine had pointed out that she was, in fact, not a surgeon, Mei had shaken her head at her.

  “Who care?” The older woman’s eyes had been dark with anger. “Some doctors take care of bodies, some take care of heads and hearts. Why you say body doctor is better than you? Not true!”

  “‘Doctor’?” Mark echoed now, looking amused.

  “Yes. Doctor.” Mei was half his size and less than half his weight, but she glared at Mark the way that she glared at her great-grandkids when they came to her restaurant and made too much noise. “Very respected job!”

  “Indeed.” He hastened to agree with her. “Very.”

  “Bodyguard also good job,” Mei admitted. “But doctor is much harder, I think.”

  “Actually, Mei,” Francine began. “Mark is also a –”

  “A manager,” Mark interrupted her smoothly. “An upper manager.”

  Francine paused, peered at him uncertainly.