Take It Down

by Kira Sinclair

  “Isn’t that a little melodramatic?”

  “Probably. But I was a creative teenager with a bent toward emotional outbursts. I felt—still feel—everything very deeply. And the only person in my life who understood that was her.”

  “But that painting isn’t her.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? But it’s the only thing of hers that I have. And because it’s a picture of her, when I’m upset I can talk to her like I always did. She might not answer back, but she’s there.”

  His fist slammed down onto the shelf behind him, rattling the metal and making her jump in her seat. “Do you think you’re the only person who’s ever lost someone important?”

  Elle stared at him for several seconds, her eyes wide before compassion took over. She could see the pain now, clear as day, shining through the window of his ever-changing eyes.

  “Is that what happened? Is that why you’re here?”

  He made a sound in the back of his throat, a cross between a growl and a whimper. “Yes.”

  She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she asked, “Who did you lose? A partner?”

  She’d seen that lost look in her brother’s eyes when his first partner had died in a traffic stop gone terribly wrong. Survivor’s guilt.

  Zane’s throat worked silently for several seconds, the muscles in his neck undulating. As he shook his head, no.

  His eyes darted around the room, landing everywhere but on her. She wanted to help him. Wanted to reach out and make it easier, but experience had taught her the hard lesson that she couldn’t. She could not shoulder the pain for this man. She could share it, if he’d let her. But he had to allow someone inside first. He had to admit that he couldn’t have stopped the inevitable.

  He had to admit that he wasn’t Superman.

  “My fiancée.”

  ZANE’S BRAIN WHIRLED. He didn’t want to think about the past, about Felicity. Not now. The past and the present had somehow become entangled and he couldn’t figure out why.

  Felicity had nothing to do with the fact that Elle had used him, lied to him and tried to steal from him…from Simon. He castigated himself for believing her. He’d been ready to speak to Simon, to ask his friend and boss to bend the rules for this woman who’d wanted nothing more than to take from them all.

  And yet, there was some correlation. He couldn’t drop the feeling that just as he’d failed Felicity, somehow he’d failed Elle. Failed to protect her from herself and a headlong rush into trouble. Failed to give her what she’d needed, forcing her into an action that had unforgivable consequences.

  As angry as he was with her, he was also angry with himself. And despite not wanting to talk about the past, somehow the words tumbled from his lips.

  “I met Felicity in college. We dated for a couple of years, but went our separate ways after graduation. Both of us had plans and weren’t in love enough to change them.”

  “Yet,” Elle said softly.

  He was amazed how quickly she’d sized him up and assessed the situation. A sad tug turned the edges of his lips.

  “Yet,” he repeated. “Later, when I moved to D.C. with the agency, I ran into her again. She was working on the hill. She’d started low and worked her way up as a speechwriter for a senator. In college, she’d been an ambitious girl with big dreams. When I saw her again, she was this sophisticated, competent, intelligent woman who’d actually conquered the world.”

  A restless energy buzzed through Zane’s body. He wished the room were big enough so that he could pace. If he tried to pace in here, he would be walking circles around Elle, and somehow that felt terribly wrong.

  “She sounds perfect.”

  Zane laughed as his eyes caught hers. They shared a moment of understanding that was unexpected given the circumstances. “She wasn’t. Felicity was controlling. Demanding. A real pain in the ass sometimes. She tried to understand that my job required me to keep secrets, to disappear for days or weeks without word. She handled it better than some, but there were times when she just couldn’t take any more.”

  Memories flooded Zane. Felicity throwing a vase at the wall behind him as he left late one night, shards of ceramic spraying around him. Other times she’d cried and her tears had ripped him apart. He’d broken promises, stood her up. He’d had to. The chase, the case, had always been more important than anything else. He’d always chosen the job.

  “Don’t misunderstand. She was a successful, independent woman.”

  “But even successful, independent women need the reassurance that they come first.”

  He nodded. “And she didn’t. And knew it.”

  Elle frowned. “So what happened?”

  “It was my fault.”

  “I have a hard time believing that.”

  Her words drew his gaze again. He stared into her eyes, trying to make her see the truth in his own. “Believe it.”

  Quick snatches of things he could never change and desperately wanted to forget flashed through his mind like a bad home movie.

  “I had a bit of a reputation.”

  “As a hard-ass?”

  One side of his mouth lifted.

  “As a rogue agent. I was good at my job. I enjoyed the brainpower it required. I enjoyed the physical aspects. I liked that no two days were the same. But most of all, I lived for putting bad guys away. Knowing that I’d made a difference, made the world safer.”

  This time it was Elle’s turn to laugh. “God, you’re all the same. Ask my father and brothers and they’ll feed you the same line of bullshit.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he raised one eyebrow. “Bullshit?” That’s not what he would call it.

  “Yeah. You like being in control. You like playing with guns. You like the risk and the way it reminds you that you’re alive. You like the accolades and the label of hero. I don’t doubt that you really do have a streak of justice that flows through your veins, but don’t pretend you don’t need the other parts of the job.”

  She had a point. “All right, I won’t. The satisfaction and adrenaline are addictive.”

  She nodded, her eyes sharp. It was one of the things he admired about her, the way she picked up on little details everyone else seemed to miss. The way she could look straight through him and see the truth, whether he wanted her to or not.

  “The point is I bent rules.”

  “Not you.”

  “Not anymore. I bent them when it was necessary. When the risk outweighed the reward of getting some asshole off the streets. One of my first cases was to collar a known terrorist. The problem was that the only allegiance he had was to money. He bounced from one dictator, one terrorist group, to another. The minute we got close, he’d disappear. I spent years chasing the guy. It became personal.”

  Elle nodded, an understanding he hadn’t expected shining in her eyes.

  “It took me eight years to get enough on the asshole to try and take him down. He was pissed off. Apparently our little dance had become personal for him as well, and he didn’t take kindly to losing. Unfortunately for me, he walked on a technicality. The judge ruled some evidence I’d collected wasn’t admissible because it hadn’t been obtained legally.”

  The anger he’d felt that day blew through him, just as powerful as it had been then. Turning, he slammed his fist into the wall behind the open shelving. It was either that or roar like the wounded animal he really was. And he didn’t want to lose control in front of Elle. Wouldn’t let himself show her just how vulnerable this confession was making him.

  “As he was leaving that day, a free man, he stopped me in the hallway of the courthouse. With this sadistic smirk on his face, he told me I’d regret the day I tried to screw him over.”

  Zane kept his back turned to her. Bracing his arms on the shelf, he arched his spine and rested his forehead on his folded arms. “I believed him. I’d been after the guy long enough to know he didn’t make idle threats.

  “I just never thought that he’d use Felic
ity.” Zane turned to look at her over his shoulder, needing to see the expression in her eyes. “You have to believe me, if I’d thought she was in danger, I would have done…something.”

  “Of course you would have. I don’t care who you were then, that protective streak of yours is a mile wide and I’d guess hasn’t changed since you were a little boy.”

  Zane opened his mouth and breathed slowly through his parted lips, relief that she understood washing through him. Her opinion shouldn’t matter—she was a thief after all—but it did.

  The images, gruesome and unbelievable, revolved through his mind. He flinched, unable to hide the unwanted response. He closed his eyes, hoping the slideshow would stop. But it never did. Once it started, he would have to live with it for days. That was one reason he didn’t talk about it.

  The day she’d died, he’d raced home, finally realizing what the asshole had intended. But Zane was three steps behind instead of his usual two steps ahead. The apartment door was standing open. He heard Felicity’s lone scream and tore through the apartment.

  When he reached the bedroom and saw the window wide open, the gauzy white curtains fluttering in the breeze, he knew he was too late.

  Something told him not to look, but he couldn’t stop himself. Leaning out into the beautiful spring day, he looked down and saw her. Broken. Bloody. Lifeless.

  They told him she had died on impact. But he knew she’d been scared before then, and he hated himself for bringing that into her life. Even for a single second.

  They’d given him a leave of absence, which he’d fought tooth and nail. He’d spent every waking moment tracking down the culprit, determined to make him pay.

  Turning to face Elle again, he looked her square in the eyes and told her the one thing he’d never told anyone else. “I intended to kill him. I didn’t care if that meant the rest of my life in jail—he was going to pay for what he did to Felicity.”

  “Oh, Zane.” Her words were garbled, caught in the back of her throat. He was dead calm and she was fighting back tears. Somehow, that seemed appropriate.

  “I never got the chance. A competitor did the job for me. Took him out with a sniper shot to the head. Did the world a favor. Did me a favor. The day I heard about his death, I resigned. I couldn’t do the job anymore.”

  “You needed a break, Zane. You have to cut yourself some slack. You didn’t push her out that window. You didn’t kill her. He did. And he paid for it. Maybe not the way you wanted, but he paid.”

  He nodded, realizing that her words were nothing but the truth. Unfortunately, they weren’t a truth he’d given himself permission to believe. Still wasn’t sure he could.

  She leaned forward, rattling the handcuffs against the wooden slats of the chair. He wanted to take the damn things off, but he couldn’t. He knew what he’d seen, and he didn’t trust his desire to believe her. His mind was clouded where she was concerned, just as it had been with Felicity’s murderer. He’d been too emotionally involved, seen what he’d expected to see—an attempt on his own life—instead of what was actually staring him in the face.

  “You’re too good to bury yourself here, Zane. There are people out there who need you. How many drug dealers, terrorists, murderers and rapists have you taken off the streets? How many lives have you saved? How many more could you save? You don’t belong here, Zane, and you know it. Deep down inside, you know it.”

  He took a single breath, pulling oxygen deep into his lungs. Shutting off every emotion that was swirling unchecked through his body, Zane turned his gaze to hers and stared deep.

  “You’re wrong. This is exactly where I belong. No one else will get hurt as long as I’m here, in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Jesus, you’re stubborn.” She threw herself back in her chair, her body slumping against the waiting cradle of the bars.

  He opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off as Simon burst into the room, followed quickly by Marcy.

  “What is going on?” The exasperation in Simon’s voice was palpable. “I thought we’d already worked this out. What is she doing back in handcuffs?”

  Zane sagged against the wall between two shelves, his anger and zeal having spun themselves out during his confession.

  “I caught her stealing a painting from your office.”

  “The one you told me was stolen?”

  Marcy pushed past Simon to stand before Elle. “Why would you do that, Elle? I thought you only wanted to see it. I believed you.”

  Elle stared up at the other woman. “I did only want to see it. I wasn’t trying to steal it. After you left, I was standing in that hallway and all I could think was that I was so close and I just knew my final chance to see Nana again was slipping away. I’m leaving tomorrow. I couldn’t wait.”

  She turned her gaze to Zane’s. “I was taking it down to get a better look, to touch her face, and the hanger snagged on the nail. I fell on the floor when it gave. I had every intention of putting it back and walking out of that room. Without the painting.”

  Zane’s mind spun, like wheels stuck in mud. He wanted desperately to believe her. Too desperately. Was the innocence he saw in her eyes real or show?

  But one tiny phrase stuck in his mind. “Marcy.” He turned to look at the other woman. “You were with her?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I was taking Elle up to see the painting when I got an emergency call and had to leave.” The other woman’s eyes swung to Elle’s. “I said I’d call you later. Why didn’t you just wait?”

  Tears gathered at the edge of Elle’s lashes, turning her gray eyes a sparkling silver that he couldn’t look at. Damn, why was this so hard?

  “I’ve waited for four years, Marcy. I couldn’t wait another minute, not when I knew she was so close.”

  “Wait. Elle, that painting is yours? It was stolen from you?” Simon moved farther into the room so he could look at her.

  The space wasn’t big enough for all of them. The air suddenly felt thick and cloying.

  Elle looked at Simon. “Yes. The picture is of my grandmother. It was stolen from me four years ago. I thought I’d lost it forever until I saw it in that magazine.”

  “I knew that photo shoot would be nothing but trouble.” His light sarcasm might not be appropriate, but it was typical Simon. “Why didn’t you contact me?”

  “I did. You ignored all my letters, emails and never returned my phone calls. I assumed you knew it was stolen and didn’t want to deal with me. I consulted my lawyer and I had about a zero chance of getting it back through legal channels. I can’t prove that it’s mine. It was a gift to my grandmother and my father gave it to me when she died—no will.”

  Simon raked his fingers through his hair, a scowl tightening his face.

  “Zane, how much did I pay for the damn thing?”

  He’d studied the single piece of paper that had come with the painting, a bill of sale. Had it memorized.

  “Seven thousand, three hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

  “Is that all?”

  Zane nodded and waited to see what his boss would do.

  He turned to Elle and shocked them all. “For God’s sake, take the damn thing. I don’t have any attachment to it. I spend that much on clothes every month.”

  Zane knew that was a lie, but he wasn’t about to throw his friend under the bus at the moment.

  Elle couldn’t hold back the tears that had been threatening. They began to flow silently down her cheeks. But her voice was crystal clear when she asked, “Are you sure? I’ll pay you. I don’t mind paying for it.”

  “The hell you will. It’s yours and you shouldn’t have to pay for something that already belongs to you.”

  “But you bought the painting in good faith.”

  Zane cleared his throat, but Simon beat him to the punch. “I didn’t bother to ask for evidence that the painting was clean. That’s my fault. Buyer beware. Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again.”

  This time it was Marcy’s turn to
snort her disbelief. Simon flashed her a look that was both a warning and an acknowledgment that she was probably right.

  Simon pointed his finger at Zane and said, “Unlock these handcuffs.” Then he turned to Marcy and continued, “Have the painting packed and ready to go in the morning.”

  He turned back to Elle. “You are still planning on leaving in the morning, correct?”

  Elle nodded her head, happy to do whatever he asked.

  “Great. Now that my evening on the mainland has been ruined, I’m going to lock myself in my office. Unless the place is on fire—” his glaring gaze swept each of them, including everyone in the threat he was about to make “—really on fire, no one better disturb me until at least noon.” He was halfway out the door before he revised his statement. “Better make that two.”

  Marcy turned on her heel and followed him out, but not before Zane noticed the way her shoulders tightened with annoyance.

  Neither one of them bothered to close the door behind them. Zane crossed the room slowly, trying not to let the still-drying tracks on Elle’s cheeks affect him any more than they already had.

  He reached behind her, working the key until the cuffs popped open.

  She pulled her wrists into her lap, rubbing the red bands that circled them both.

  After several seconds she looked up into his face and asked, “What happens now?”

  The hope in her eyes mocked him. His chest tightened. He didn’t want to watch her leave.

  But he couldn’t ask her to stay.

  He couldn’t risk giving her that kind of power over him. Over his happiness and his sanity.

  Losing Felicity had been devastating. Something told him that if he let her, Elle could become even more important to him. Losing her would hurt that much worse. And she was so reckless....

  He couldn’t go through losing someone he cared about. Not again.

  14

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN? You’ll leave on the morning ferry, with the painting that you came for.”

  His words arrowed straight into her chest. She fought against the urge to curl her body protectively over the wound that only she could see.