His Best Mistake (Shillings Agency)

by Diane Alberts

  “Uh…” Mark focused on the man in question. He was watching their charge, a diplomat from France, with a frown. He had his hands in his pockets and was walking toward him slowly. That wasn’t suspicious, per se, but the way his forehead was coated in sweat? Yeah, that had attacker written all over it. “He’s approaching pretty fast.”

  Steven pressed the button on their microphones. They had guys outside in a car, ready to rush in at the slightest sign of danger. “Suspicious Caucasian male, in his thirties, dark hair. Requesting back up.” He let go of the button. “You go to him. I’ll go to our client.”

  Mark nodded, heading toward the suspect. As he grew closer, he smiled, trying to look friendly despite his tense muscles and the ripples of fear rolling off the other man. “Excuse me, sir, but I’m going to need you to take a step—”

  The man cursed in an unfamiliar language, pulled out a gun, and aimed for Mr. DeLaCorte…and Steven. A million things flashed through his mind as Mark watched that gun lift. Ginny’s laugh. The way she hugged him first thing in the morning. His mother smiling as she waved good-bye after he dropped Ginny off in the morning. And…Daisy. Crying.

  Shit.

  Mark launched himself at the shooter, and he heard Steven behind him do the same with their client. A shot boomed, and for a second, just a second, he thought he’d been hit. That he was going to die, and make an orphan of his daughter. That he was going to die, and Daisy would never know how much she meant to him…or how much he loved her.

  Because he did.

  He loved her.

  The two of them hit the ground hard, and Mark disarmed the shooter before he climbed on top of him. He screamed foreign words at the top of his lungs, fighting Mark’s hold, but he didn’t break free. Gritting his teeth, Mark pulled out the zip-tie cuffs he always had on him, just in case. This was the first time he had to use them, though.

  The man continued to yell.

  “Shut up,” he snapped, pulling the ties tight.

  He didn’t shut up.

  Mark did a quick onceover of himself, checking for blood, but he was clean. Glancing over his shoulder, he scanned the room for anymore threats. Everyone watched with wide eyes, and Steven spoke to their charge in a hushed voice.

  Five other Shillings guys had come in and were backing everyone away, guns out, circling the room. The situation was under control, so that left one step.

  Arresting this son of a bitch.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have the power to do so.

  After Mr. DeLaCourte was ushered out by other agents, Steven came up to Mark, eyeing the still screaming shooter. “Nice work, man.”

  “I said shut up,” Mark snarled, pushing off the fucker.

  The man finally shut up, and Mark kicked the man’s gun, toward the wall, out of reach. He swiped his hands on his khakis, noticing his left arm was sore from his rough landing. Nothing dangerous. He’d just have to ice it when he got home. “Thanks. You, too. That was the most action I’ve seen since Iraq.”

  Steven grinned. “Same. It was kind of nice, huh?”

  Even though he felt guilty admitting it… “Hell yeah, it was.”

  Sirens went off in the distance, and he stiffened. “Did you call the cops?”

  Steven nodded, sliding his gun into his holster. “We’ll have to stay behind and give our report. It’ll probably take a few hours.”

  “Right.” He shoved a hand through his hair, his pulse surging for a completely different reason now. “Of course.”

  Steven eyed him. “It probably won’t be her.”

  “Won’t be who?” Mark asked, keeping his tone perfectly neutral.

  “Daisy.” Steven gave him a really, dude? look. “If she hears a call come in from the Shillings Agency, she’ll probably run in the opposite direction. You’re not exactly her favorite person right now.”

  He stared blankly at his coworker. “I don’t know why she’d—”

  “Save your breath for someone who will believe you.” Steven shook his head. “I’ve known about you two since Cooper’s wedding, and so has Lauren. Holt figured it out the other day when you rushed out of the office, and he told Lydia. We know. We all know.”

  Mark’s jaw dropped. “Wait. What?”

  “You two were about as mysterious as a child ‘whispering’ secrets at the top of their lungs.” Steven laughed, clapping him on the back. “When you two were going to come out to the rest of us, we were all relived we wouldn’t have to pretend anymore that we didn’t know. But then…”

  He turned away. “Yeah. But then.”

  “What happened, anyway?” he asked casually, shoving his hands in his pockets and watching the door. He nodded at another Shillings Agency agent. “Why’d you two break up?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Just say you’re sorry.” Steven shrugged. “And mean it.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. We just didn’t work out. Sometimes things aren’t meant to be, so people end things for the better.” He lifted a shoulder, watching for any signs of bright red hair approaching the door. “This was one of those times. It’s fine.”

  “And here you are, being happy about that,” Steven said drily. “Being ‘fine.’”

  He shrugged. “I never said I was fine with it. I said it was over, and that’s fine. There’s a difference.”

  “She’s as miserable as you are,” he offered. “If that changes anything.”

  “It doesn’t,” he said, his throat thickening with some unnamed emotion he preferred to ignore, thank you very fucking much. “She doesn’t love me, and she’s better off without me in her life. End of story. Drop it.”

  Steven cocked a brow. Mark kind of wanted to punch him. “If you say so, man.”

  The door swung open, and two cops came in.

  Mark stiffened because, sure enough, one of them had curly, long red hair. “Fuck me.”

  Daisy came running in, her face etched with concern. She scanned the room until she saw him next to Steven, and then pressed a hand to her chest, the relief she felt at seeing him standing on his own two feet quite tangible.

  He knew that feeling all too well.

  He’d experienced it in the street…right before he broke up with her.

  She locked eyes with him, face pale, and it felt like the knife that had been sticking out of his chest twisted painfully to the left. Her hair was down, and it was a little frizzy. There were big bags under her eyes, like she hadn’t been sleeping well, and she looked like she just saw a ghost. She was more beautiful than words could describe.

  It hurt to see her.

  Physically fucking hurt.

  “Tell me, Matthews.” Steven leaned in, lowering his head so no one else could hear him. “Does that look like someone who doesn’t love you?”

  Mark stiffened, shoving his hands in his pockets because if he didn’t, he might rush across the room, grab her, shake her, kiss her, toss her over his shoulder, carry her home, and never let her go. He might try again to ignore all the reasons they didn’t make sense, and that wasn’t fair. Or smart. And yet…

  Tim nudged her, and she broke off eye contact. Mark lowered his head, rubbing the back of his neck, and turned to Steven. “If we have to pair off, go with her, and I’ll go with Tim. Please. I can’t be trusted to be alone with her right now.”

  He arched a brow. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.”

  “Thank you,” Mark said, a little surprised at the immediate agreement from the other man. Maybe Steven wasn’t as bad as he thought.

  The pair approached.

  They stopped directly in front of them, and her familiar perfume washed over him. Without warning, one of the nights she’d spent at his place popped in his head. They’d just made love, and he had his face buried in her hair as they attempted to fall asleep. He’d breathed in deep and commented on how good she smelled.

  She’d shyly told him it was a scent she made herself at a store.

  They’d kissed an
d fallen asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.

  That unwanted memory hurt even more than letting her go had.

  “Are you guys okay?” Tim asked, his voice low. “Anyone hurt?”

  Steven shook his head. “We’re fine. Right, Mark?”

  Mark nodded, but didn’t speak.

  He was too busy trying not to look at Daisy.

  Two more cops bent and helped the suspect to his feet, carting him off.

  Tim cleared his throat. “We’re going to need to take your statements. Separately. One of you will come with me, one of you will go with Officer O’Rourke. Mark, can you please—?”

  Mark started to step toward Tim.

  Steven held him back with a hand on his arm. “I’ll go with you, Officer Mathers, if you don’t mind. I’m closer with Daisy, and I don’t want anyone doubting my statement. Mark, go with Daisy. You two remember each other, right?”

  “I—” Mark started, stopping when Steven winked at him. Fucking asshole. “Yeah. Sure. Of course. Hello, Daisy.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Mr. Matthews.”

  “Where would you like to take my statement?” he asked, his tone as calmly polite as hers, even though the sound of her musical voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Over here is fine. They secured an office for us.” She gestured to a door in the corner of the room. “After you, sir.”

  He gritted his teeth, shot Steven a look that should have killed him, and headed for the door. Each step he took was heavier than the last. He opened the door and motioned her inside, but she shook her head, her hand on her gun, and glanced at the other officers watching them. “You have to go in first, Mr. Matthews.”

  Even alone, she was continuing with the formal names thing? Like they hadn’t seen each other naked? Like they hadn’t shared those wonderfully amazing nights in each other’s arms before coming to their senses? Fine. He could play that game, too. If she wanted to pretend they were strangers, then they’d be strangers. “All right, Officer O’Rourke. As you wish.”

  He ignored manners and walked inside the room. He went to the back wall, leaned against it, and crossed his arms and legs, flexing his fingers. A table, six chairs, and the length of a whole room separated him from her and her dangerous perfume.

  It still wasn’t enough.

  Nothing would ever be enough.

  Because he loved her…

  Even though he couldn’t have her.

  Chapter Twenty

  It isn’t fair.

  She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be in a room with him, feeling like she was drowning without a drop of water in sight. These last few days had been horrible. Awful. Pathetic. And every other synonym that could possibly describe the way she felt without him in her life—lousy. She couldn’t sleep. Barely ate. At least ten times, she’d gotten in her car and driven to his house. And ten times, she’d driven off without knocking.

  The last time, last night, had been the hardest.

  She’d even walked up to the door, prepared to give up anything, to say anything, so they could be together. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. She shouldn’t have to change, and yet that was the only way they stood a chance. God help her, she was close to giving in, to changing who she was, all for a man.

  For him.

  She hated him for that.

  Here she was, hurting, and there he stood, staring at her patiently as he waited for her to do her job and question him. He was perfectly calm, while all she could do was stare at how well his black suit and light blue dress shirt fit him, and wish she’d said something different that night. So help her God, she’d get through this interview without breaking, or slipping up and letting him know how much he hurt her when he told her to get the hell out of his life.

  Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she sat at the table, and gestured for him to do the same. “Please, sit. This might take a while, sir.”

  He rose a brow at the generic term, stared at the chair, and shook his head. “No. Thank you, though. I prefer to stand…ma’am.” Over here. Away from you.

  That’s what he left off, but he shouldn’t have bothered.

  She heard it anyway.

  “Sit.”

  That cocky brow inched higher. “Is that an order, Officer?”

  “Yes. In here, in this situation, I’m in charge. At your house, you can tell me to get out and I have to listen, but right now? This is my house, and I’m the one giving orders.” She pointed at the seat. “Sit down and cooperate, or I’ll be forced to take measures to make sure you will.”

  He choked on a laugh. “Are you threatening to arrest me if I don’t sit down?”

  “Just sit the hell down, sir.”

  He came over, each step angrier than the last, and sat exactly where she pointed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  This was going well.

  If by well, you really meant disastrous.

  Big shocker there.

  She pressed record on her phone. “Tell me what happened, in detail, please.”

  He stared at the phone. It was routine to record an interview with a person involved in a crime, but it was a way to keep herself on track, too. She couldn’t yell at him for hurting her if her bosses would hear it.

  Mark leaned back, crossed his arms, and said, “Steven and I work for the Shillings Agency, a private security company. We were assigned to guard Mr. DeLaCourte, a diplomat from France, and we spotted the suspect in the corner, watching our client. Steven said he’d go for him, and pull him away to safety, so I went after the suspect. As I approached, he pulled out a gun and aimed for my client. I lunged in front of the suspect—”

  “In front of a loaded gun?” she asked. “Without protection?”

  He tapped his fingers on his sleeves. “My charge didn’t have protection, either, ma’am. It’s my job to protect him.”

  Leaning forward, she grabbed her phone and hit the pause button. “You could have been killed,” she pointed out.

  He shrugged. “But I wasn’t.”

  “It was still a dangerous risk, considering your stance on the subject.” She relaxed against the back of the chair again. “You remember why we broke up, right?”

  “I do,” he said between gritted teeth.

  “What if you’d been hit?”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t.”

  “I wasn’t, either, the other day.” She shrugged. “And yet you broke up with me anyway.”

  “I was just doing my job,” he said slowly.

  “So was I. I know, I know. It’s different, right? Only…it’s not. Because you broke up with me for doing exactly what you did today. Your job.” She hit record on the phone, ending the conversation. “What happened next, Mr. Matthews?”

  He stared at her for a second. “Daisy—”

  “Officer O’Rourke,” she corrected. “Tell me what happened next.”

  He stiffened. “I took the suspect to the floor, and Steven ushered our client to safety. He might have knocked him down, too, but I’m not sure. I was too busy securing the suspect. I placed zip ties on his wrists, and then we waited for the police to arrive, and now I’m here, in this room, with you.”

  She nodded, reaching for her phone, but not pressing the stop button on the recording just yet. “Were you injured in any way?”

  “No.”

  “Are you certain?” she asked, eyeing the way he favored his left arm.

  “Positive. Are we finished yet?”

  “Yes.” She pressed the stop button. “I—”

  He stood up immediately. “You know where to find me if you need me.” He headed for the door without another glance her way. “Thanks, ma’am.”

  She gripped the edge of the table tightly. So tightly her fingers ached and her palms throbbed and her arm muscles protested. She wouldn’t say a word. Wouldn’t pick a fight. Wouldn’t make a fool out of herself. Wouldn’t—

  The chair squeaked on the floor as she pushed it back forcefully. “So, let me get this
straight. It’s okay for you to risk your life, but not me. So, what, because you’re a man, it’s okay? But women should stay in the kitchen and cook,” she said, knowing it would piss him off, and despite her best interests, really wanting to get under his skin one last time.

  Like he’d gotten under hers. He’d crawled under there like a parasite, and he hadn’t wormed his way back out yet. She had a feeling he never would.

  He froze with his hand on the knob, his shoulders hard. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” She lifted her chin.

  He spun, taking an angry step toward her, trembling with leashed power. Something in her stomach clenched in reply, something that recognized that power, and wanted to set it free. He stopped just short of reaching her and raised a hand, resting it on his chest. “I am not sexist.”

  She cocked her head, offering him a tight smile. “If you say so.”

  “I don’t think you should stay in the kitchen, damn it.” He dropped his hand to his side, fisting it. “I think it’s awesome you’re a cop. I think you’re the strongest woman I know, and that’s hot as hell. I care about you, and I want you to be happy. More than that, I admire you.”

  “But not enough to want to be with me,” she shot back.

  “Enough to know that I can’t handle the fact that I might lose you. Enough to know if I’m not the right man for you, then I needed to let you go, even if I didn’t want to. Enough to know I would hate myself if I somehow snuffed that light that burns in your eyes, and asked you not to do the thing you love most in this world.” He broke off, taking a deep breath. “So I set you free, before I could do any of those things. I let you go.”

  Her chest tightened, and she blinked rapidly because, God, he was such an idiot. She hadn’t wanted to be set free. She’d wanted him. “Yeah. You let me go. Wow. Gee. Thank you so much for that kindness. For setting me free like that. You’re such an altruist. An inspiration to mankind.”

  “You don’t get it,” he exclaimed, closing the distance between them and stopping directly in front of her. Close enough to touch. To smell. To want. “I broke up with you for you, not me. I did it for you. I was trying to protect you—”