Heart in Wire
Copyright © 2014 by R.L. Griffin
Cover by Georgina Brooks
Photography by Lorie Rebecca Photography
Cover Model: Assad Shalhoub
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part in any form without the express written consent of the Publisher.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One: The State of Things
Chapter Two: A Horrific, Wonderful Idea
Chapter Three: Let Me Entertain You
Chapter Four: Grizzly Bear
Chapter Five: White Knight
Chapter Six: Torn
Chapter Seven: Is That a Tooth?
Chapter Eight: Bob and Weave
Chapter Nine: Pretty Good for a Dead Man
Chapter Ten: Plan C
Chapter Eleven: Two Lies and a Truth
Chapter Twelve: An Unlikely Alliance
Chapter Thirteen: Oh, Billy, Did I Ever Even Know You?
Chapter Fourteen: My Face Hurts
Chapter Fifteen: Lies and False Realities
Chapter Sixteen: Safe and Sound
Chapter Seventeen: Would You Kill to Save a Life?
Chapter Eighteen: Second Place is the First Loser
Chapter Nineteen: A Grain of Sand
Chapter Twenty: The Beginning and the End of Everything
Chapter Twenty-One: Why the Lies?
Chapter Twenty-Two: Getting Under to Get Over
Chapter Twenty-Three: Who are we Anymore?
Chapter Twenty-Four: Realization Can Suck It
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Last Call
Chapter Twenty-Six: Back on the Horse
Chapter Twenty-Seven: First Date, Third Base
Chapter Twenty-Eight: She was Never Mine
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Full Circle
Chapter Thirty: Simple
Chapter Thirty-One: Dreaming of Boobs
Chapter Thirty-Two: Déjà Vu
Chapter Thirty-Three: My Person
Epilogue
Razorblade Kisses
Acknowledgements
By A Thread Series Reading Order:
By A Thread
Tension
Seamless
Mending
Companion
Heart in Wire
DEDICATION
This book is for anyone who has been in love and thoroughly entangled in someone else’s web. For anyone who was so confident in what they had with the one they loved only to have the world stripped from them and the truth so different than what they believed. It’s for anyone who did everything and gave everything for that love only to have that person walk away, leaving with their truth and world. To anyone who had to start over and build a new world, relying on themselves to take one step at a time toward an uncertain future. That uncertainty turns to light. I promise feeling that love is like a riding a wave. You always risk getting pulled under, but it’s the ride on the top that makes the risk worthwhile…whether the ride is 30 seconds or 30 years, the ride never disappoints. Enjoy the ride.
PROLOGUE
He stood there, watching as the casket was lowered in the ground, and felt a warm, gentle hand wrap around his. After a few seconds, he looked to his right and there she was, right where he needed her to be, holding his hand. He blinked three times to make sure he wasn’t imagining her being there. She squeezed his hand, two short pulses.
“You came.”
“Of course,” she replied softly.
The crowd had dissipated quickly after the conclusion of the graveside service.
“Patrick?” his mother called from the limousine they’d rented.
He waved her off without even glancing her way.
“I can take you back to the house,” she said, and leaned into his side, resting her head on his right bicep.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m staying at a hotel.”
“Don’t you want to be with your family?” she asked, leaning back to look at him, her head tilting to the side.
“Fuck no. I don’t want to go anywhere near that house right now.” He stood, unmoving, as the funeral attendants arranged the plants and flowers by the grave. His mother had already taken the flowers she wanted. There were only a few left. He’d come back tomorrow and arrange them how he wanted.
“Let me take you to your hotel.” She pulled him toward her car by his hand.
“You alone?” he asked, not looking in her eyes.
She was silent for a few seconds too long. “Yes.”
Good. “Let’s go.”
She held his hand until they reached her rental car. He took her in as he opened the door; he hadn’t seen her in person in a while. She looked different, older. Her eyes evidenced lack of sleep and a few new wrinkles around the corners, but she was still everything he wanted and was trying to forget; need coursed through him. Her hair was longer again and fell in waves over her shoulders. He liked it best that way.
“Where are you staying?” she asked, starting the car.
“The Bohemian,” he responded.
“Where is that?”
“River Street.”
“Why are you staying there, Patrick?”
“I just...” his voice cracked and he tried to reign in the emotions that he knew were on verge of bursting out.
“It’s okay,” she said soothingly, rubbing her fingers over his hand. “You’re going to be okay.”
“Kind of a role reversal, huh? You feeling any déjà vu?” he asked, grabbing her hand to make her stop rubbing.
He stared out the window at the passing landmarks of his childhood during the silent ride from the cemetery to River Street. She pulled the car up to the hotel and the valet hurried over to her side of the door. She stepped out with the confidence she always had and he missed. Speaking softly to the valet, she put several dollar bills in his hand and headed to where Patrick waited for her at the door. He pulled her into a full embrace, which soothed his nerves in a way he didn’t want to admit to anyone, then grabbed her hand and led her through the funky foyer of the hotel to the elevators. They remained quiet on the way up to the seventh floor. He kept brushing his thumb over her knuckles as a reminder that she was actually there. For him this time.
When they reached his room, he held the door open for her and pointed toward the Glenfiddich he’d bought yesterday. “You want a drink?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” she agreed, her voice weary.
Patrick filled their glasses then sat on the bed, staring intently into the glass of brown liquor. “How did you know?” he started.
“Your sister,” she replied shortly.
Startled, his eyes finally reached hers. “You talk?”
She nodded, met his eyes then looked away.
“Will you sit with me?” He patted the bed next to him, needing her close to him.
“Sure.” She moved cautiously, drinking half her scotch before she reached the bed. She sat close to him, their outer thighs touching.
He closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. “Thank you for coming.”
“Oh, Patrick. You know I’d do anything for you.”
Anything but be with me. He turned to her, setting his glass down on the bedside table. He gently took her face in his hands and pulled her to him, his lips touching hers.
“I can’t...”
His heart constricted as if it was b
eing shocked. He moved away from her quickly, but she came with him.
“Patrick, let me be here with you. Help you.” She pulled him into her arms this time, enveloping him with her coconut-scented shampoo.
He let her push him so he was lying on the bed. She scooted down until every inch of her body was touching him from behind and wrapped her arms around him. His body felt on fire.
He began to cry.
Chapter One
THE STATE OF THINGS
He lay in his bed, just waking from a restless sleep, his mind full of images of her.
She was in Key West.
She’d escaped death.
Again.
Without him.
The light came through his blinds and filtered in softly, showing his beige walls and bookcases. Books, all non-fiction, lined the shelves, peppered here and there with pictures of his family in Georgia and his family in DC.
He rubbed the stubble on his face with his hand, trying to rub out his dreams of her. Patrick Greer knew exactly when he fell inextricably in love with Stella Murphy. Almost four years ago…
They were doing a long run one morning. The run had been perfect, their rhythm in sync and both of their thoughts miles away. They were almost back to where he’d parked his car and he’d arrogantly turned to trot backwards, taking in her messy black waves pulled into a bun and the sweat glistening on her skin. Her body was toned and her muscles were perfect—lean and not too scary. She had on a long black sports top and black spandex that had white stripes down the leg. Her skin peeking through at the stomach was ivory. He longed to touch it. He’d wanted to touch her for months, but knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. She was trailing him a bit so he motioned for her to step up, tripping and falling into the grass next to the sidewalk. He was embarrassed for a second, but she held her hand out to help him up.
Right at that moment, a bird shit on her shoulder. They both watched as it oozed down her arm, and then she laughed. Her laugh was the loudest, most obnoxious, glorious sound he’d ever heard. Stella, he’d always called her El, had lived with him and his roommate, Billy Reeves, for almost an entire year, and that was the first time he’d ever heard her really laugh. It shattered all his thoughts that his feelings for her were only lust. He wanted to touch her; fuck her, yes, but he wanted to protect her, wake up with her, make her breakfast in the morning…love her. He wanted to hear that laugh in bed, out of bed, in the shower, everywhere.
Love…Love never did anything for him. Love was shit. Love didn’t stop people from hurting each other, betraying each other, leaving each other… Love was absolute shit.
He sighed and turned over, running his hand over the curvy hip of the woman next to him in bed. The wonderful, smart, funny woman that had kept him from doing anything stupid for the last year and several months lay in his bed and had for over six months. Her light brown hair had fallen over her face and he moved it out of the way, kissing her forehead before he got out of the bed. He loved Camille Rodriguez, he did. Right? She was everything he needed. She was funny, smart, hot in bed, cooked, and most importantly, she wasn’t El.
“Where you going, babe?” Millie asked, her voice hoarse from sleep.
“Run,” he answered and pulled on pants and a shirt, then pulled his fleece on over it.
“Okay.” She turned over and went back to sleep, her perky pink tank top showing as the comforter fell to her hips.
He wished he could run with Cooper. He missed running with El and Cooper. That dog leaving this house had left a huge hole in his heart. Yeah, the dog, he’d go with that. He softly closed the door behind him and made it through the house he’d been in over five years with his best friend, Billy, who was still asleep, of course.
Patrick put his earbuds in his ears and bent down to tie the laces on his running shoes. He needed to figure out how to help El. He couldn’t really wrap his brain around the last four years, but when he went back to the beginning of this train wreck, it looked like the whole damn thing was his fault.
He’d recruited his childhood friend, Jamie Rivers, to work for the ATF (The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms), where Patrick worked. His agency was under the United States Department of Justice, the same as all the other law enforcement agencies. The ATF was just better than the others. They did massive undercover operations that dealt with the trafficking of weapons, explosives, bombings, and acts of terrorism that occurred in the United States. The agency covered such a wide variety of areas of the law that they bumped into the FBI, Homeland Security and sometimes even the U.S. Marshals when trying to determine jurisdiction over certain crimes.
After Jamie graduated from college, he’d moved in with Patrick and Billy, bringing his fiancé with him a few months later. However, it didn’t quite end up the way anyone expected. Jamie went undercover sooner than anticipated and well, it all went to hell from there.
Patrick had just gotten out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist when he heard the doorbell ring. Padding up to the front door, a wide grin spread across his face, growing impossibly wider when he threw open the door and saw his old friend standing on the steps, military duffel back over one shoulder.
“Jamie! You’re early.”
“They bumped my flight up and I just took a cab here. I didn’t want to bother you guys.” Jamie’s sandy blond hair was cut in a short version of the Georgia-boy haircut, shaggy and a little unkempt.
Patrick stuck his hand out and pulled Jamie in for a half-hug. “Come in, man.” Patrick held the door back.
“Is that how you answer the door for everyone?” Jamie’s face showed his amusement.
“Just my new roommate.” Patrick laughed. “Let me go get some clothes on real quick and I’ll show you your room.”
“I hope you don’t answer the door like that for your other new roommate!” Jamie called to Patrick’s back.
“No towel for that one,” Patrick mocked. He threw on cargo shorts and a t-shirt and came back out of his room. “Come on.” He motioned to Jamie, who stood in the exact place Patrick had left him. “It’s down here,” he said, walking down the stairs. “How was your flight?
“Good,” Jamie answered, his voice animated.
As they got to the bottom of the stairs, they turned into a basement that was in an L shape. The room was massive, but oddly shaped. There was a narrow area that spanned the entire length of the house and two closets on the far wall. The spot for the bed and bathroom was hidden from view, but everything else was open to the stairs. There were a few boxes sitting in the open space, but other than that it was empty. It didn’t look much like a real room, but it was big enough for two people.
“No door?” Jamie asked, eyeing the room skeptically.
“Well, no one’s lived down here before, so we didn’t need one. I’m sure we can figure something out.” Patrick shrugged.
“Where’s Billy?” Jamie asked, putting his enormous duffel down in the empty room.
“He’s out of town this weekend, something with his sister,” Patrick answered.
“So this is it,” Jamie said, sort of to himself.
“This is it.” Patrick put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, man. This will be fun, you’ll see. We’ll have all summer to let loose before your old ball and chain gets here. You training with Duffy?” Patrick asked, referring to one of the ATF trainers for new recruits.
“I’m not sure,” Jamie said, distracted by his phone notifying him of a text. He smiled broadly. “Stella,” he said to Patrick, typing something back into the phone before looking back at him. “So, I’m starving, let’s grab something to eat.”
“Sure, let me get some shoes and we’ll go.”
Patrick opened the door to the early winter morning; his breath curled around his eyes and then disappeared. He pulled his wool cap lower on his head and ran toward King Street. The music pumping through his earbuds helped him forget things and let him focus on just running, his steps helped him pound out wh
at had happened in the last year. The rhythmic beats let him forget for a while how her eyes looked when she’d found out he’d betrayed her. Patrick needed to find a way to chase away all the images that haunted him, the thoughts he could never tell anyone. He turned left and ran down the main drag of Old Town Alexandria, appreciating the early morning quiet. He ran past all the restaurants and bars that reminded him of El. It was maddening—everything reminded him of her. He hit the end of King Street and took another left. When he passed George’s house, he shook his head, thinking how the events that had unraveled in the last few years had conspired against him. He’d thought things would be so different than how they were now. El was supposedly happy with George, but she wasn’t even talking to Patrick, her best friend. He hoped she still thought of him that way. Of course, she’d spoken to him to get what she wanted, and then he was out in the cold again. He pushed himself, running as fast as he could for the next mile before letting up and trotting through the back roads toward his house.
Two months after Jamie had moved in with them, Jamie, Billy, and Patrick were sitting in Austin Grill on King Street. Patrick took another bite of his burrito and looked out the window. They’d been talking about the Nationals recent loss and Billy was explaining his disgust at their performance this season.
Jamie leaned back in the booth across from Patrick and put his hands behind his head in a relaxed way before exhaling slowly. Something about the way he leaned back made Patrick look from the window. “So, I’ve decided to go undercover for six months.”
Patrick wasn’t surprised, he’d heard rumblings about a new rookie ATF agent being groomed by Agent Burns. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to Jamie about it. Patrick thought it was a mistake. Burns was careless, a cowboy that didn’t follow the rules, which sometimes led to legal clusterfucks for the agency.
“When did you decide that?” Patrick asked.
“Cool,” Billy replied.
“Yeah, pretty cool until you leave your brand new fiancé here for us to deal with.” Patrick winked at Billy.
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