by Amy Olle
“That was ten years ago.” His voice filled with fury and made the statement sounded like an accusation.
“It was eight.”
“How in the hell am I supposed to remember something that happened eight years ago? Hell, I don’t even remember what happened last night.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
A flicker of regret touched his features. Hands on his hips, he dropped his head and stared at the floor.
He didn’t remember her? But… he’d talked about how long it had been, and the way he’d kissed her, and touched her, and stripped off her clothing…. Humiliation burned her cheeks.
What had she been thinking? Letting another man, any man, get so close? She knew better. Men could not be trusted.
But he wasn’t just any man, the teenager inside her argued. He was Leo, her first crush. He was different. Wasn’t he?
Her sinking heart supplied the answer. No, he wasn’t. He was exactly like all the others. She was wrong about him.
“Look, Prue, what happened last night… if Owen found out, he’d cut off my—”
“Owen? What does he have to do with this?”
Leo ran a hand through his hair, standing the dark strands on end. “He asked me to check up on you.”
“He what?”
“He thought you might be in trouble.”
“Wh-why did he think that?”
“He said you’re being harassed online.”
Shit. Owen followed her online? Did he know she was investigating Aron King? If so, did he, like Faith, assume the worst about her motives?
To her family, the dark spiral Prue had fallen into after she and Aron broke up must’ve looked like heartbreak. But she wasn’t so delicate as to let a heartless man devastate her so completely, even back then. Aron’s betrayal went far beyond him being a jerk.
She became acutely aware of Leo’s sharp gaze on her, observing. Assessing.
“It’s nothing.” Somehow, she managed to keep her tone casual. “I got caught up in a bot attack, but it’s over now. Too bad, but you went through all this for nothing.”
A frown pressed between his brows. “What the hell does that mean?”
“A bot attack? It’s when—”
“Not that. When you said I ‘went through all this for nothing’?”
Her pride demanded she lift one shoulder and slice him with a haughty look. “You did your job admirably, even sacrificing your body for the job.”
She watched her words hit their mark.
“That’s not what happened.”
“How do you know?” The tremor in her voice threatened to expose her ruse. “I thought you couldn’t remember.”
Intense green-gold eyes held her captive. “I didn’t start the night drunk, and I remember it was you who approached me.”
She folded her arms across her abdomen. “Well, consider your duty fulfilled. You can report back to Owen that I’m fine. Though I’d appreciate it if you left out the, uh, dirty details.”
Except for the color heightening his cheeks, he appeared unaffected by her words.
Which was why she didn’t tell him the truth. She knew she should have. He deserved to know that they hadn’t had sex. That he’d passed out instead.
And that she’d held his hand most of the night.
But her face was on fire and once she got him out of her apartment, she fully intended never to see him again.
The moment stretched out while he studied her. “Are you in trouble?”
She didn’t want to tell him about the break-in or the online attacks, and she most certainly didn’t want to tell him about Aron King.
“Nope.” She managed to infuse some strength into the lie, though she couldn’t quite hold his gaze.
“Let me give you my number—”
“I don’t want your number, Leo.”
He was silent a moment. “I’m in town for a few days. If anything changes, you can give me a call. Anytime. Day or night.”
“I’m not going to call you.”
“Okay.” He crept closer. “Then give me your number.”
“I don’t want to.”
He continued moving toward her, so she backed away, a step for each one he took, until she bumped against the wall.
Pressing into her space, he filled her senses. “What’s your number?”
“I don’t want you to call me.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice was thick, heavy with some emotion, and she didn’t think he was talking about making phone calls anymore.
She tilted her chin up so she could see his face. “Sorry about what?”
The gold flecks in his eyes, dancing like flames, gripped her insides. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth, and his head dipped lower.
He brought his mouth within a whisper of hers before he abruptly stopped himself.
The slash of her disappointment rankled.
“It was never my intention to hurt you. Prue.” He hooked her name at the end of his sentence.
She wanted to deny the hurt, to tell him he was delusional and arrogant and not to flatter himself, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell even one more lie.
His gaze never left her face when he reached over and filched her cell phone off the nightstand. With a few taps on the screen, he added his number to her contact list.
She scowled. “I’m not going to call you.”
He returned her phone to the bedside table. “If you need me, I’ll come.”
“I won’t need you.”
But by the time she forced the denial past the lump lodged in her throat, she spoke to an empty room.
Chapter Five
Leo returned to his hotel room and walked directly to the desk where he’d left his laptop. He switched it on and settled in front of it with two aspirin and a bottle of water. Within minutes, he’d navigated to each of her social media accounts.
Only to discover she’d deleted them all.
Placing his hands behind his head, he eased back in his chair and gaped at the bold lettering on the screen. He’d left her place less than an hour ago, and already she’d wiped out her online existence?
Now why would she go and do a thing like that?
He played out a few scenarios in his mind, and no matter the motivation he assigned to her actions, they all circled back to one central cause: she was hiding something. What, and from whom, he didn’t know.
A determined smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was going to find out.
“All right, Prue.” He sat forward in the chair and cracked the knuckles on both of his hands. “Game on.”
It took him several hours, but he managed to dig up her accounts at an online digital archive. He downloaded everything. Years’ worth of posts from three separate platforms. When he’d captured it all and saved it to his device, he started to read.
Mostly she posted articles about plants and outer space. A few posts mentioned family and friends, but all her recent interactions were with some guy named Paul Cook. Leo clicked over to Cook’s bio, and when he read the words “foreign correspondent,” his uneasy stomach wrenched with nausea.
In a fit of dismay, he closed his laptop and paced to the opposite side of the hotel room, as though he might be able to outrun the memories haunting him.
Of course, he knew better.
After a long hot shower, he dressed in a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. His cell phone sat on the dresser and he eyed it warily. By now, it’d been hours since he’d talked to Owen, and Leo knew his friend was waiting to hear back from him. Probably worrying while he waited.
But at the moment, Leo would rather eat rations for a month than talk to Prue’s brother.
What was he going to say? “Hey, man, guess what? I got drunk, fucked your sister, and I can’t remember any of it. That’s funny, right? Oh, but she’s fine though. What’s up with you?”
He cursed, and instinct had him reaching for a drink, so he cursed again. The longing was sharp and visceral,
and cold terror slithered through him. What if he couldn’t stop drinking this time?
Rather than face the alcohol-free mini-fridge, or devise a plan to fill it, he grabbed the car keys off the console and headed for the door. Before he called Owen, he really should gather some more information. It was the responsible thing to do.
The late afternoon sun slipped behind the highest treetops as he drove up the street toward the Victorian-style house. A few doors down, he sidled up to the curb, parking in the shadow of a massive oak tree. The minutes ticked by, and he expected the tedium of surveillance would take hold before long, but the boredom never came.
Instead, anticipation kept him alert to the activities surrounding her second-floor dwelling. Hope that he might catch a glimpse of her.
Hope.
Hope? When was the last time he’d felt hopeful?
Sometime later, his patience was rewarded when he caught sight of her on the small balcony. She wore short shorts, and her loose-fitting top slanted off one shoulder, exposing a lovely span of her smooth, golden skin. A metal watering can in one hand, she poured water over the throng of flowering plants crowding the terrace. With meticulous care, she tended to each plant, picking off the dead leaves and flowers and inspecting their large blooms.
When finally she retreated indoors, he deflated a little in the seat.
Darkness filled the sky, and still he maintained his lookout. The light in her bedroom came on and her shadow passed before the sheer curtains as she moved around the room. When eventually the lights went out, he climbed from the vehicle and set off on foot through the quiet neighborhood.
On this Saturday night at the height of summer, people gathered in their yards and on their front porches, enjoying the warm evening. Satisfied with his recon, he circled around to his car and made the short drive back to the hotel.
But the next morning, he returned to his curbside hideout, and less than an hour later, she appeared through the old home’s front entrance. Oversized sunglasses concealed much of her face, but the flowing tank top she wore had a plunging neckline, and skintight leggings molded to her tight ass and shapely legs.
The tug at his groin was more surprising than inconvenient, and it was damned inconvenient. She was a beautiful woman, with graceful curves and ample other assets, like long legs, smooth skin, and a full, perfectly round ass. The hours spent in her bed had to have been glorious. Had he really seen her naked? How could it be that he had no memory of her? His mind tried to conjure the images, any images, but nothing came to him.
It was quickly becoming the stupidest night of his life. He’d finally taken the chance on hooking up with a woman after so long, only to forget being with her? To forget the feel of being nestled between her thighs? Being buried deep inside her?
With a visible jolt, he slammed a blockade in the path his mind had traveled.
Seriously though, did she have to be Owen’s sister?
She climbed behind the wheel of the car, and a few moments later pulled out into traffic. At a discreet distance, he pursued her to the grocery store.
After spending fifty-seven minutes inside the store, she reemerged with a full shopping cart. While she wrestled with the bags, stuffing them into the trunk of her car, the heat in his veins started to rise all over again at the interesting ways her body moved and wiggled.
Leo tracked her route back home, then watched as she loaded the horde of canvas bags in her arms, preferring, it seemed, to carry them all in one trip rather than make repeat trips up the two flights of stairs. Damn, she was cute.
Despite the fact that he was immensely enjoying his glimpses of her tight little body, he didn’t know why he sat outside her building the rest of that day, or why he followed her to a restaurant downtown later that night and sat in his car with a fierce scowl on his face while he waited to find out who she dined with. And he certainly didn’t understand why he felt so relieved to discover her dinner companion was another woman.
Nope, there was no good reason why he continued to watch over her. Except maybe he owed Owen more than a cursory “yep, she’s still alive.” When Leo’s life had spun out of control, the guy had been rock solid, and now Leo wanted to keep his shit together long enough to pay back the debt.
So he followed Prue home from the restaurant, and stayed until the light went out in her bedroom window. The next day he returned in time to track her Monday morning commute through the city streets, over the river, and into downtown Cambridge to the parking lot of the Cambridge Science Institute.
While she ducked inside the large glass and stone structure, presumably to start her workday, he set about doing his job. His recon of the neighborhood was made complicated by the urban setting, and as he moved through the city, the sweltering sun beat down on him. The task combined with the summer heat wave worked to remind him of the region in Afghanistan where he’d been stationed the majority of his years in the military, and to summon memories he’d rather forget.
His recon complete, he returned to his rental vehicle, parked in the shade on a side street. There he remained for the rest of day, keeping watch on her office building and reading through more of her social media archive.
Sometime in the midafternoon, his cell phone rang and he accepted the call from Gideon.
Once close, Leo hadn’t spoken to Gideon in years, not for any reason other than he hadn’t talked to any of his old friends in years.
“How you been?” Gideon asked.
Leo rolled his shoulders. “I’m… fine. You?”
After a beat, Gideon coughed up a reply. “Fine. I’m fine, too.”
Leo shifted in his seat. “You, uh, still in Chicago?”
“Sometimes,” Gideon said. “I’m a lot of places these days.”
“Me, too,” Leo said. “I like the travel.”
“Yep,” came Gideon’s quick reply. “And the freedom.”
“The freedom is great,” Leo agreed.
An awkward silence dropped between them.
Gideon cleared his throat. “So, you’re with Owen’s sister now?”
Leo choked on the sharp inhalation of air. “I’m, um, near her right now, yeah. Not with her.”
“Did Owen mention he asked me to look into her troll problem?”
“He did. What did you find out?”
“Most of the harassment is coming from bot accounts,” Gideon said. “Though there are some trolls joining in the fun.”
“Bots? They’re not real people?”
“They’re real, but one or two people might be behind hundreds of accounts. All coming from the same IP address overseas. It’s a coordinated attack.”
When they disconnected, Leo returned to his study of her social media account with a renewed focus. By the end of the day, he had some questions.
Climbing out from behind the steering wheel, he dialed her cell phone and crossed the street. In his ear, the phone rang as he entered the Institute’s parking lot and headed in the direction of her car.
Just when he decided she wasn’t going to take his call, she answered.
“Hello?” Her voice was filled with uncertainty.
“Why did you delete your social media accounts?”
“How did you get my number?”
A kick of satisfaction thumped in his chest that she knew his voice. After only one night.
“I had your phone in my hand.”
She hesitated. “But you didn’t write down my number.”
“I didn’t need to write it down.” Arriving at her car, he pulled up.
“I told you not to call me,” she said.
Bending at the waist, he peered through the windows. “Did you?” he murmured distractedly. “I only remember you saying you weren’t going to call me.”
“The point is I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Then tell me why you deleted your social media accounts so I can hang up and go get a beer.”
Through their connection, he could practically hear her mind choosing a
nd discarding plausible answers.
Finally she made her choice. “I don’t want Owen to worry.”
Leo leaned against her car. “You don’t want him to worry, or you don’t want him to know what you’re doing?”
“Both, I suppose. He needs to be focused on his work, not mine.” An intriguing softness came into her voice. “Distractions are dangerous for him.”
He liked that answer.
“Will there be anything else?” Her clipped tone drove out all the softness.
“What time are you off work?”
“Five.”
“It’s five fifteen.”
“So?”
“So why are you still at work?”
“How do you know I’m still at work? I could be on my way home.”
“You’re not on your way home. I’m sitting on the hood of your car and you’re not in it.”
Within moments, she shot through the glass doors of the large office building.
Today, she’d twisted her hair into a braid that wound around the crown of her head, and wore a flimsy, pale pink sundress that skipped and danced around her body as she marched across the parking lot. When the warm summer breeze licked at the dress’s hem and revealed one long, toned thigh, he held his breath, silently praying for a glimpse of what lay hidden higher up.
She came to a stop before him. “What are you doing here?”
The question caught him off guard. He knew there was a reasonable answer, but at the moment, all that came to mind was the truth—that he’d been driven mad trying to recall the color of her eyes. He had a guess, but he needed confirmation.
Those very eyes narrowed to angry slits.
Blue. They were blue.
“You know what’s weird?” He straightened away from her car and folded his arms across his chest. “Your apartment was all neat and tidy, but the inside of your car is a pigsty. What’s up with that?”
“I’m surprised you remember my apartment.” A golden brown strand of her hair had worked its way free of the braid, and she pushed it back from her face. “After all, it’s been three long days since you were there.”
He nodded. “Okay, I deserve that. Feel better?”
