Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 1 of 2

by Julie Anne Lindsey, Lena Diaz

  As if he’d ever really been hers.

  But today, like every day before, he’d left to go to work. Max was who he was, and he was unwavering in his quest to save the world, one case at a time. She and Max Jr. were just two people in a country of millions, and her ex-husband had been purposed with protecting the masses.

  Allie had realized, too late, that she’d been selfish to expect more from him. He’d made it clear when they met that his life wasn’t his own. His time and attention weren’t his to give freely. He had a gift and a calling. And they weren’t to her.

  She forced away the hollow feeling that always accompanied those thoughts, and tidied the house with increased fervor. Most of the decor at her new place had once been at their shared home in Traverse City, but she’d taken everything when she’d left. Max had insisted on it. While it’d hurt her to think he didn’t want anything from their life together, Max had been convinced the move would be easier on their son this way. He’d thought Max Jr. should be surrounded by as many familiar things as possible.

  That was one more thing about her ex-husband. He wasn’t greedy. Wasn’t cruel or jealous, inconsiderate or needy. Max was honorable and compassionate, fair and unwavering. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a partner and more, but he was also something she couldn’t have anticipated and wasn’t ready to accept. Max was already spoken for. Already wholly committed to the US government and general population.

  The oven dinged, turning her toward the kitchen. Max Jr. would be up from his nap soon, and Allie had plenty to do before kissing his precious cherub face again.

  She’d prepared Max’s favorite meal in anticipation of his arrival, and she’d enjoyed every minute of it. Allie loved to cook, but she hadn’t had cause to prepare anything more significant than a variety of soups, sandwiches and salads since moving to Grand Rapids. Cooking for one was borderline depressing, so she’d eaten at her parents’ house more often than not. Once Max Jr. had a few more teeth, she planned to revisit some of her old favorites in the kitchen.

  For now, she concentrated on the baked ziti assembled in her favorite glass baking dish. She’d already boiled the pasta and browned the ground beef, then layered them with tomato sauce, Parmesan and shredded mozzarella cheese. She slid the dish into the oven to warm up and melt the cheese and set the timer, then sliced a loaf of bread from the local bakery and loaded it with butter and garlic. The bread would go in after the ziti came out.

  Allie took a long breath and centered herself. Max had never come for dinner at her new home, but he was coming tonight.

  The doorbell rang, and her heart leaped. “He’s here,” she whispered. “Be cool.”

  She peeked outside before opening the door, a habit Max had instilled in her when they were dating and insisted upon until it had become second nature.

  He caught her gazing through the window and smiled.

  “Come in,” she said, pulling the door wide and hurrying him inside. “It’s freezing out there. How are you? I’m glad you’re here.” She bit her lip to keep from rambling. “Good day?”

  Max watched her for a long beat, humor twisting his lips and something more intense flashing in his eyes. “I’m doing better now. Thanks for the invitation.”

  She nodded. “Dinner’s in the oven. Can I get you something to drink while it bakes?” She frowned. “I didn’t think to ask if you have to go out again tonight. I could’ve had everything ready when you got here.” It wasn’t uncommon for Max to be called away at any moment, but it was also highly unusual for him to be on time. “Are you on a dinner break?”

  “Unless there’s a major change in the case, or another bombing—” he grimaced “—I don’t have to leave until morning.” He grinned. “You know what I mean.”

  Allie felt her smile rise. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll pour some coffee.” She knew Max liked a good cup more than a cocktail or wine, and she’d bought a specialty blend earlier just for his visit.

  She kept an eye on him as he made a loop through the living room. The adjoining kitchen was separated by only a small island, allowing her to watch and evaluate his reaction to her home. Each time they’d gotten together for his visitation with Max Jr., Allie had met him somewhere between the two homes, to save him the added travel time.

  She filled a pair of mugs with coffee while Max admired new photos of their son, then paused before a wall of framed images. Including many of himself.

  Allie had created a gallery collection along the far wall. Max in his military dress uniform. Max in fatigues. Max kissing her at their wedding ceremony. Max holding their newborn at the hospital. And Max with the TCD. She’d included plenty of framed selfies from their little family’s early days, and images of Max Jr. as he grew. “I thought it was important for Max Jr. to see you every day,” she said, heading back to the living room with a mug of coffee in each hand. “And to see we were happy once. A subtle reminder that he was made with love.”

  Max accepted the mug, brows furrowed, scrutinizing. His specialty. “I didn’t realize you still had these photos of me in the military. Or of me and the TCD.”

  “We’re proud of you,” she said. “Of who you are and what you do. Whatever else happens in your life or ours, Max Jr. and I are always proud. Keeping the pictures on display is like having a piece of you here, even when the rest of you can’t be.” Kind of like Max’s suggestion she keep all of their things in the divorce. “Consistency is key.”

  Max watched her, probably seeing through the forced nonchalance. Probably sensing her desire to reach for him. To tell him she loved him despite everything, and that she always would. Hopefully, not reading her more private thoughts about some of the things she missed the most.

  “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his eyes searching hers. “I realized a while ago that I never said that, and I should have.”

  Allie’s breath caught. Her heart thundered. “Yeah?”

  He dipped his chin infinitesimally. “I let you down. You and I were a team, and I dropped the ball when it counted. You deserved more. I’m sorry.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him it was okay, everything worked out, or something equally encouraging, but that wasn’t true. And she and Max never lied to one another. “Thank you.”

  His deep brown eyes crinkled at the sides in warmth and acceptance. “That was easy.”

  She shrugged. “It means a lot to hear you say, and I appreciate it.”

  His dead-sexy smile spread, and she felt her bones begin to melt.

  A small coo rose through the speaker of the baby monitor on the coffee table, breaking the mood and sending Allie back a step.

  “May I?” Max asked, already moving toward the hallway to the bedrooms. He paused at the edge of the room, awaiting her permission.

  She nodded. “Sure. First door on the left. Thanks.”

  Allie escaped to the kitchen and traded her coffee for a glass of iced water, then moved the baked ziti to the countertop before sliding the bread into the oven.

  “There’s my little man,” Max said. His voice echoed through the monitor on the coffee table.

  Max Jr. babbled and laughed. “Dada.”

  Allie froze. Her heart swelled, and her eyes stung unexpectedly. She shut the oven door and inched toward the monitor. Max Jr. had been calling her and both her parents Dada for days, but it was the first time Max had heard it.

  “Dada,” their toddler repeated. “Dada. Dada.”

  “That’s right,” Max said, his voice full of awe and gravel. “I’m your daddy, and I’ve missed you so much.”

  Allie drifted to the living room, eyes glued on the little monitor, its lights dancing with every sound in the nursery. Grainy images of Max and their son filled the tiny screen. She lifted the device and pressed it to her chest, savoring the moment.

  “I hope you’ve been taking good care of your mama,” Max said. �
��She’s tough, but that doesn’t mean she can’t use some help from time to time. Like, maybe, after your naps, you can clean up around here. Do your laundry or grab the car keys and bring home the groceries.”

  Allie smiled, and a tear slid over her cheek as Max changed Max Jr.’s diaper, narrating the process in a silly voice. The idea her little boy would ever be old enough to borrow the car was both surreal and bittersweet. The idea Max wouldn’t be at her side to worry until their baby got back safely was just sad.

  The sound of Max’s footfalls echoed in the short hall, and she set the monitor aside. She returned to the kitchen, then filled her son’s lidded cup with milk. Hopefully he liked ziti as much as his father; otherwise, it would be peanut butter and jelly for Max Jr. tonight. Probably with vanilla yogurt and sliced strawberries on the side.

  Max appeared as she ferried the glass baking dish to the trivet on the table. “Something smells like heaven.”

  “Garlic bread,” she said, turning back to the oven. “And baked ziti.” She stole a look over her shoulder, watching as Max strapped their son into his high chair, then dropped a kiss on his head.

  Max Jr. grabbed the sippy cup she’d placed on his tray and began to drink immediately while Max stroked their son’s generous curls. Their baby was perfect and beautiful, an image of Allie and Max combined. Light brown skin and hazel eyes, the sweetest loose brown curls, and a smile to light up any room.

  Allie fought the urge to cry tears of contentment and joy. If only this could be her reality every night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Max collected the plates stacked beside the sink, then set the table while Allie tossed a salad and cut some ziti into small pieces for Max Jr. It was nice moving around the kitchen with her like old times. They’d always had such an effortless flow together, and he’d missed it more than he’d realized. He tried not to read into the fact she’d made his favorite meal, but it was nice that she remembered. Or maybe she made baked ziti every night these days. He couldn’t be sure.

  Still, what if she’d looked forward to this all day, too? He’d practically run to the hotel to wash up and change before coming over. Axel, always his roommate on trips like these, had taunted him mercilessly for his nerves. Then Max had circled the block twice, killing time so he wouldn’t arrive too early or rush her.

  Now that he was here, with her and Max Jr., he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to leave. He didn’t expect to go to work tonight, so the visit wouldn’t have to be rushed, but no amount of time would be enough to make the goodbye any easier. Max Jr. had grown so much since he’d last seen him. His little face had changed, filled out and matured. He was no longer a baby. Max Jr. was a toddler, and he could say dada. Max’s heart gave a heavy thump at the memory. Thankfully, his son hadn’t forgotten him. But how long would it be before he did?

  “Everything okay?” Allie asked, taking a seat at the head of the table and dropping a napkin onto her lap.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Thank you for inviting me and for cooking. I’d reciprocate if I could.”

  She nodded. “Anytime, Max.”

  If only he really could reciprocate. But that time had passed. He’d blown his chance with Allie, and the devastation returned to him full force. It’d taken months of burying himself in his work to get past it the first time. To convince himself not to call her when he’d had a hard day or heard their wedding song on the radio.

  “So how’s it going?” she asked. “With the case. A productive first day?”

  Max cleared his throat and lowered into the seat to her right. “Actually, yes,” he said, trying not to stare too long or hard at her soft curls, full lips or flushed skin. “I’m not one hundred percent certain, but my gut says we’ve identified the bomber. And I think he’s the man you described seeing on the night of the Burger Mania explosion.” He shifted to slide his phone from the pocket of his jeans, then accessed the image provided by Jordyn’s roommate. “Does he look familiar?”

  Allie took the phone and examined the image. “I think that’s him.” Her hazel eyes widened as she pulled her gaze from the phone to Max, then back. “Same coat. The hair looks right. The beard. I didn’t get a great look at his face last night, but the posture and everything else feels like the guy I saw.”

  Max set the phone on the table. “He’s our prime suspect. We haven’t been able to find him for questioning, but I think you should see that sketch artist as soon as possible.”

  “I met with a sketch artist this afternoon. The image was being finalized when I headed home to make dinner,” she said, eyebrows rising. “I was glad to help, but your gut is rarely wrong.” Allie had always said his instincts were the reason she didn’t worry as much as someone else in her position might have. She trusted him and respected what he did. “Who is he?”

  “Fritz O’Lear. He was a real-estate agent at the Ramsey Realty office for a while, then left a few months back, frustrated over his poor performance and taunted by a fellow Realtor for low sales numbers. He was rejected twice by a young Burger Mania employee he made uncomfortable, then asked out on a date. The girl and the Realtor who’d given him the hardest time were both casualties.”

  “Sounds like your guy,” Allie said. “Have you found any other possible suspects?”

  “Not yet, but Opaline vowed to dig back to preschool if needed.” He smiled unintentionally.

  Allie joined him. “Opaline isn’t to be trifled with. She’ll probably come back with his elementary school report cards and Little League photos.”

  Max laughed, both proud of his coworker and incredibly thankful she didn’t have reason to dig into him.

  “How is Opaline?” Allie asked. “I always liked her. She’s so positive and congenial.”

  “She hasn’t changed, still all sunshine until her sister speaks.” That little mystery had been a topic of more than one conversation between Max and Allie. An unsolved mystery he was glad to leave alone since the women were both his teammates, and it wasn’t wise to know more than any of them wanted.

  “I hope they get that worked out soon.”

  Max Jr. shoved bits of pasta into his mouth with both fists, his spoon already tossed aside.

  Allie wiped his sauce-covered cheeks and fingers with her napkin and gave him an adoring smile. “Do you think this Fritz O’Lear is on the run or plotting another attack?”

  Max forked another bite of homemade heaven, inhaling the tangy scent of tomato sauce and the rich, salty aroma of melted cheese. “I’ve been asking myself the same question all day.”

  She seemed to consider his answer. “The man I saw was completely unfazed by the fire, the screams, the plume of ghastly smoke.” Allie wet her lips and glanced at Max Jr., then leaned in Max’s direction. “I think he liked what he saw.”

  Max stilled. He’d always appreciated Allie’s interest in his cases. She was incredibly insightful, and sometimes riffing theories with her was more productive than the work he did with his team. Something about a change of setting, maybe. But he suspected it was Allie’s ability to ask the right questions and ferret out the thoughts he sometimes lost in the deluge of information.

  Allie had once dreamed of being an investigative reporter, but she’d given that up long before he’d met her. And as much as Allie clearly still enjoyed working the puzzle pieces of an investigation into one neatly defined picture, he knew she’d never take any unnecessary risk now. Not with Max Jr. relying on her, and Max respected that.

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Max admitted. “He fits the profile of someone who’s been rejected and pushed around long enough to have a lengthy list of perceived offenders. And clearly he’s snapped. He might plan on punishing a lot more people.”

  “You always say bombers are in it for the power and control.”

  “Something they’ve usually never had,” he said.

  Allie frowned. “Power is intoxicating,
especially to an underdog.”

  Max nodded. She was absolutely right. And when the underdog came unhinged, their power became incredibly dangerous.

  “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” Allie asked. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No. Meeting with the sketch artist was great. Now I just need you and Max Jr. to lie low and stay safe. The TCD is waiting for more information from Opaline. Until then, we’ll keep working any leads we can get. No one we’ve spoken to had a personal connection to O’Lear, so we’re running blind. We’ve been to his home and both crime scenes, so we’ve lost the element of surprise.”

  Allie cringed. “If he thinks you’re closing in on him, he’ll work faster or retaliate. They always go full bananas when they feel cornered.”

  He set his fork beside the freshly emptied plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin, utterly content. “Right again.” Inwardly, he smiled, warmed by the idea that Allie was acting as if she were part of the team, trying to help out.

  “Any idea who the next target could be? Maybe your team can offer them protection while you hunt the bomber.”

  Max grinned.

  “What?” Allie’s cheeks reddened.

  “You’ve got a big heart, and you would’ve made a hell of a reporter.”

  She pushed a bite of pasta into her mouth and dragged her attention back to their son. “Thanks.”

  The evening passed in a blur. Hours were gone in minutes, and Max carried his sleeping son to bed at ten, limp and drooling in his arms. He stroked Max Jr.’s piles of sweet-scented curls and wished for more nights like tonight. Then he returned to Allie in the living room.

  Max hadn’t fought her when she’d served the divorce papers, because he’d known she was right. She and Max Jr. deserved more than a part-time husband and father. They’d argued about it—a lot—leading up to her giving him an ultimatum. His job or his family. He’d put off that decision so long that she filled in the blank herself. He chose the job. It hadn’t felt like a conscious choice at the time. He’d known he was needed at the FBI and by the TCD. His happiness had been a necessary sacrifice for the number of lives he’d saved since then.