Bring Me to Life

by Kira Sinclair

  There was no one.

  He’d painstakingly assembled the evidence to bring down the entire damn organizational structure. That’s why he had been away for three shitty years. It had taken him time to work his way up to the point where he’d been privy to useful information. He could have turned over one or two guys a year into the assignment and come home earlier.

  And the year—and the men he’d lost—would have been useless because those vacancies would have immediately been filled by the next guy down the ladder. So he’d worked hard to build a web that would ensnare everyone and leave the organization floundering, hopefully enough to wither away and die.

  Evan supposed someone from another organization could have stepped up to the plate, but the Carbreras weren’t exactly known to play well with others. They had more enemies than options within the other crime syndicates, plenty of people wanted to see them disappear almost as much as the United States government had.

  Evan swore under his breath. “Who?”

  “We don’t know. We were hoping you’d tell us.”

  Evan tipped his head up to the bright sky drenched with moonlight. The stars were gorgeous, so crisp and clear. Not the way they were back home in Detroit, overshadowed by clusters of lights. Maybe that’s what Tatum liked about this place. It was definitely quieter. Calmer.

  Calm was good. He could use calm right now, because Lock’s words had dread cramping hard in his belly.

  “I have no idea who it is.”

  Would this nightmare never be over?

  4

  HE HADN’T COME BACK, at least not by the time Tatum left for work the next morning. She wasn’t sure how to feel—pissed, relieved, disappointed. Some combination that had her thoughts scattered and her fingers fumbling as she tried to put together bouquets and fill orders.

  Normally she was closed on Sundays, but because of the wedding, she’d let a few things slide. Her display case was looking pitiful and desperately empty. She hadn’t made a bank deposit in three days, and if she didn’t place an order for flowers from the wholesaler soon, she wasn’t going to have any inventory to sell.

  She tried not to make a habit of coming in on Sundays, but there was something soothing about it—no interruptions from the phone or front door. No lost delivery drivers to deal with or shipments with broken stems.

  Well, it was usually soothing. Today the quiet made the thoughts revving through her brain race louder.

  Grasping a heavy vase full of cream roses, stargazer lilies, snapdragons and salal, Tatum pushed through the door separating her work area from the retail space, but stopped dead in her tracks halfway to the large standing cooler.

  Outside, Evan leaned against the large plate-glass window at the front of her store. The S of Petals appeared to curve around his body, almost hugging his hips. Rose petals at the bottom of her logo scattered across the window, large to small, until they faded away into nothing. The evergreen garland she’d hung under the eaves trailed above his head.

  His back was to her, his body easy and loose, as if he could wait there all day. She didn’t doubt it; the man had the patience of Job. It had often irritated her, how he could wait out her temper whenever she’d gotten angry.

  In the past, she’d been quick to flare and quicker to cool down. Staying angry with him had never been her strong suit.

  Not that she was going to fall back into bad patterns. Not this time. This wasn’t him forgetting to call her while he was out playing wingman for Lock. Or trading in his car for a Harley without talking to her about it first.

  Taking a deep breath, Tatum finished her trip to the cooler and set the arrangement on the shelf.

  The sooner they got this over with...

  Cold air swirled in when she flipped the lock and opened the door for him. He didn’t say anything, just straightened from his slouched position and sauntered inside.

  Irritation bubbled through her veins. Which was good. She needed it, especially after last night. Otherwise, she was liable to flash back to that damn kiss.

  He brushed close to her body. Her nipples tightened. She told herself it was the cold, but she knew that was a lie.

  After busying herself with locking up behind him, Tatum bustled into the back and trusted he’d follow.

  “Nice to know you’re not in a broken heap on the side of the road,” she threw over her shoulder. The door started to swing shut in his face, but he caught it, the smack of his hands against wood reverberating between them.

  “Nice to know you care.”

  “Who said I do? You roared off so hot and bothered, any decent human being would be worried. Especially when you didn’t come back.”

  And that was another lie—of course she cared. At first, she’d been angry. Obviously. Then she’d gotten worried. And started imagining his body a contorted pile on the side of the highway somewhere.

  It had done a number on her head. If he’d died the day he popped back into her life...she might have hired some black magician to raise him from the dead so she could strangle him herself.

  Needless to say, she hadn’t slept well.

  Tatum reached for another handful of blooms, needing to keep her hands busy. She wasn’t going to ask. She didn’t want to know. It was none of her business. And yet, the words tumbled out anyway. “Where did you stay last night?”

  “At that park in the middle of town.”

  A rose fell from her hands, bruising its velvety petals as it hit the table. “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath, snatching up the flower to inspect it. “What do you mean you stayed at the park? It was freezing last night.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Tatum stared at him. Did he have a death wish? Was that it? Or were the pain receptors in his brain not working? Sure, he’d always run a little hot, her own personal space heater during cold winters, but that was taking things to the extreme.

  “Had things on my mind.”

  “What things?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  A muffled sound of frustration rumbled through her chest. “Whatever.” His secrets had never bothered her before. Probably since he’d always been open about what he could and couldn’t tell her. It wasn’t like he was lying to her...simply unable to give her all the details.

  Now, though, those secrets had taken him from her, so maybe she was resentful.

  “We need to finish our conversation.”

  Tatum dropped her focus to the flowers spread across her table. Something bright and cheerful, that’s what she’d do next. Completely the opposite of the traditional Christmas green and red that always made her stomach feel as though a pit had opened up and was trying to swallow her insides. Something that would take her mind off whatever revelations and nightmares Evan was about to share.

  Pulling out sunflowers, orange lilies, pink-tipped yellow roses, pink stock and alstroemeria, she placed the blooms together. “So start talking.”

  He heaved a sigh, but Tatum ignored it, keeping her hands moving as she fussed.

  “Fine.” He leaned against the table. “For weeks, everyone was under scrutiny as the cartel looked for more agents, moles or informants within their ranks. That first night was the bloodiest, but more of their own men died in the following days, and I was constantly worried I’d be next, especially since I no longer had any backup on the inside. But eventually, I started to think my cover would hold. Several more weeks passed before I realized everyone on the outside thought I was dead. By the time it was safe for me to make contact, you’d already buried me, Tatum.”

  “Uh-huh,” she muttered, her brain spinning. Her imagination had always been decent. She could practically see the dark, shady buildings. The blood of his friends spreading across dirty concrete floors. Taste the fear he must have fought on a daily basis.

  But those things didn’t combat her bone-deep grief. Or the fact he had let her keep living with it.

  “Dammit, Tatum, look at me!” His voice exploded through her.
Unwanted tears pricked her eyes.

  She refused, didn’t want him to see her weakness. She picked up a rose and started stripping thorns.

  Evan grasped her shoulders and, with unrelenting pressure, forced her to turn to him.

  Her fist tightened around the stem. A thorn pricked her skin, drawing a gasp and giving her an excuse for the unshed tears swimming in her eyes.

  Evan swore beneath his breath, pried her fingers away from the rose and threw it onto the table. A single dot of blood welled in the center of her palm.

  Tatum was almost transfixed by the deep red color, just like the truest red rose.

  Cupping her hand in his, Evan stretched out her arm even as he flipped on the faucet in the nearby sink and thrust her hand beneath the cool stream. Her skin stung as water mixed with blood. He kept her hand there until the reddish pink streak disappeared and ran clear.

  After a few seconds, he slammed the water off again, cradling her hand in his. Water dripped into the stainless sink, the only sound between them.

  Evan’s head bent. She had no idea what he was doing until his lips pressed softly against her skin.

  This time, the gasp that erupted from her lips felt as though it was dragged from the center of her soul. Her body convulsed at the contact and the shivers only got worse as the warmth of his mouth rushed through her.

  It stung—not the cut, but the sensation of his mouth on her. Like the pins and needles sensation of a limb waking up after the circulation is cut off for too long.

  Jerking away, she tried to close her fist, but he wouldn’t let her go. Straightening, Evan stared into her face. His hazel eyes had gone a tempting caramel brown, the way they always did when he wanted her. The memory of him looking at her with that same expression as he slowly slid inside her was more than she could handle.

  “Let me go,” she breathed.

  “I can’t.”

  She didn’t think he was talking about her hand, but then maybe she hadn’t been, either.

  “I can’t do this, Evan. You lied to me. Let me think you were dead.”

  “Every day that was a possibility, Tatum. I didn’t want to give you hope only to have it snatched away from you days or months later. What I was doing was extremely dangerous. I watched men be murdered for the smallest of offenses. I could have died at any moment, even without them discovering I was with the US government.”

  “So you decided it was better to let me think you were dead.”

  His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist. She could feel the thump of her own pulse against that tender, relentless, maddening motion.

  The ever-present heat of him slipped out to envelope her. His scent—spicy, dangerous and tempting—somehow managed to overpower the flowers that surrounded them, making her dizzy and lightheaded.

  “You were wrong,” she whispered. “I’d have taken those few days or months of hope. You have no idea how much I needed it. You should have let them tell me, Evan. Then maybe there’d be a chance I could forgive you. That we could start again.”

  This time when she jerked back, he let her hand go. It dropped beside her, dead weight, although the inside of her wrist continued to tingle.

  Somehow she found the strength to say, “I want you to leave, Evan.”

  He took a single step away. And then another. Panic climbed up the back of her throat, but she forced it down. She was making the right decision.

  She followed him to the front door, keeping a steady space between them. Without looking, he flipped the lock open. The cheerful bell tinkled, rolling through her head in a wave of pain that was worse than any migraine.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Tatum. You might not want to forgive me, but we both know I can wait you out. I have three years of practice being extremely patient.”

  * * *

  BEING PATIENT MIGHT not be a problem, but being stupid apparently was. He’d walked out of her shop without a key to her house or another place to stay. Standing on the sidewalk outside the only hotel in town, he grimaced—the little old lady running the place had said there were no rooms available until Tuesday.

  Beautiful.

  “Evan, right?” A soft voice broke into his grim thoughts.

  Looking to the right, he took in the tall, thin brunette staring at him, a frown tugging between her eyes.

  One of the women from last night. Willow? He thought that’s what Tatum had called her. The name fit. Even bundled up against the cold, she had an ethereal air that somehow managed not to clash with the edge of sophistication her obviously expensive clothes conveyed.

  “Yeah. Willow?”

  She nodded, continuing to study him. He wondered what this woman thought of him. What did she see? The hardened criminal he’d pretended to be for three long years? The husband desperate to find a way back to the life he was seriously starting to fear didn’t exist anymore? A man who, for years, had been certain of his place and purpose, now floundering beneath the weight of choices he wasn’t yet ready to make?

  Or just the guy who’d made her friend gasp with surprise and pain?

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Trying to decide how to grovel so Tatum will let me stay with her for a few days. I kinda stuck my foot in my mouth before checking to make sure the B and B had room.”

  Willow’s mouth twitched with suppressed laughter, but she couldn’t quite stop the twinkle glinting in her dark eyes.

  He groaned. “Just guessing, but I figure flowers aren’t the way to go.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” she said, the cadence of her words a little too smooth. She was laughing at him. He supposed he deserved that.

  “You guys seem pretty close. Any suggestions?”

  “Why should I help you?”

  “Because I’ve loved her since we were seventeen. Before that, actually. That was just when I was finally smart enough to realize the girl who’d always been a part of my life was growing into the kind of woman a man would die for.”

  At his words, the twinkle died. “Well, shit. How am I supposed to stay upset with you when you say things like that?”

  It was Evan’s turn to hold back a smile. “You aren’t.”

  He’d seen the way her friends had rallied around Tatum. He figured he would need to convince them he wasn’t a threat to her happiness. And maybe, just maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to cajole them into helping him.

  Willow seemed a good a place to start. She struck him as fairly levelheaded.

  “You let her think you were dead,” she said.

  “I had good reason. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do—for her. I can’t tell you the details. Hell, I’m not even supposed to tell her the details, but I will because she deserves them.”

  “Tatum has a temper.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I actually like her temper. When we were younger, one of my favorite things was riling her up just to watch her spin. Makeup sex was always spectacular.”

  Willow made a choking sound deep in the back of her throat. “Something tells me stellar sex isn’t going to solve things for you this time.”

  No, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. To remind Tatum just how amazing they were together. To rekindle their physical connection in the hope that the emotional ties would snap back into place, stronger now for being tested.

  “Well,” Willow said. “there’s always Sugar and Spice. You can’t go wrong with tempting any woman with chocolate.”

  He nodded. “Not a bad idea.”

  “And wine.”

  A little pampering. He’d show up tonight with dinner, wine and dessert.

  “Just...take my advice and stay away from the aphrodisiac truffles.”

  “Aphrodisiac truffles?”

  “Yeah, Lexi’s specialty is herb-infused truffles guaranteed to rev up anyone’s libido.”

  This had serious potential.

  Evan had never been above playing dirty. He’d tak
e whatever advantages came his way. He wanted to touch and taste and hold his wife. He needed the connection.

  And something told him she did, as well.

  * * *

  IT HAD BEEN a strange day. Tasks that should have taken her no time to complete took hours. Or maybe she was just dragging her feet. She didn’t want to go home. Which was silly and stupid.

  Evan wasn’t there. And she’d lived in her house alone for a little over two years. She loved the space she’d built for herself, even if on occasion it had been too quiet.

  There were days—not many, but they were there—when she missed the noise and frenzy of the city. Nights when the still silence roared in her ears louder than any street sounds.

  Today was one of those days. To make matters worse, the blinking lights and brightly painted Christmas decorations were rubbing her the wrong way.

  This time of year was always difficult for her. That first Thanksgiving after her mother died had been excruciating. She’d worked so damn hard to make the day special for her dad...tried to fill in the gap her mom had left. She’d slaved over a turkey and all the trimmings, pulling out her mom’s old recipe cards for the traditional dishes they’d always enjoyed.

  But by the time dinner had been ready, her father had been too drunk to eat anything. In the end, she’d sat alone at the table pushing turkey through puddles of brown gravy and mashed potatoes.

  She’d probably have done it all over again for Christmas, but she hadn’t gotten the chance.

  According to the note he’d left, the looming loneliness of the holidays had been too much for him to fight against. Her dad had killed himself—stuck a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger—a couple of weeks later.

  She’d walked in after work to find him lying on the living room floor, the lights from the tree she’d decorated days before blinking lazily, spilling color across his body and the sticky pool of blood spread beneath him.

  God, the blood.