by Katie Ruggle
His face turned white, a muscle ticking at his jaw, and Grace fought the urge to escape. All the fear she’d pushed out of the way came rolling back in, and she struggled to hide it as she held his gaze.
“I think we’re done,” he said coolly. “I can’t be with someone who says such terrible lies about my uncle.”
Several things tried to escape her mouth at once. She wanted to yell that they weren’t lies, and that his uncle was an evil man. The logical part of her wanted to convince him to stay a little longer. If she could keep prodding at him until he lost his cool, there was a chance he would blurt out something the FBI could use. One glance at his face, however, told her that pushing any further was useless. He was locked up tightly, and her gut told her that she wouldn’t get anything else out of him that day.
A tiny, petty voice in her head also really wanted to tell him that he couldn’t break up with her, because they hadn’t been together since his uncle tried to kill her. Besides, now she was with Hugh, who was fifty times the man that Noah could only hope to be.
But that would get them nowhere fast.
“Fine.” She stood and picked up her barely touched, now-stone-cold coffee. It was an effort to not crush the cup in her fist. “Thank you for coming all this way to meet with me. If you do notice something suspicious about Martin, please tell someone—the FBI or the police. He’s hurting people, and he needs to be stopped.” Dropping her coffee cup in a trash can, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Noah.”
He didn’t say a word. His face was hard, cold, and she was baffled at how she ever could have thought that he was one of the good guys. Noah Jovanovic had “villain” written all over him. Penny had been so right not to trust him, and Grace couldn’t wait to hear her friend say “I told you so.”
Looking straight in front of her, Grace walked away from the table…and the last wisps of her Disney prince fantasy disintegrated. When she reached the edge of the food court, she finally gave in and glanced back at their table. Noah was gone.
A wave of sadness and frustration and worry crashed over her, and she ducked into a women’s bathroom. She was relieved to see all three stalls were open and empty, and no one stood at the sinks. This way, she could have her nervous breakdown in peace. A sob wanted to escape, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to hold it in. She wasn’t sad that she and Noah were finished. It wasn’t that at all. Hugh was all she wanted, and she intended to keep him. His declaration that he’d go to California with her and grow oranges was the most amazing gift she’d ever been given. If she decided that she truly wanted to return to her Los Angeles life, Hugh would be there with her. She didn’t have to choose, didn’t have to split her happiness in order to keep him. He’d offered to leave his partners and his department and the house he’d grown up in, all to be with her. The thought made her want to do a happy dance, squeal with excitement, and burst into tears, all at the same time.
Instead, aware of the video camera hanging around her neck and the mic attached to her bra, she pressed her palms to her closed eyes and mentally counted to five. Taking a deep breath, she calmed, and the tears receded. The FBI—and Hugh—were waiting. With a final shaky exhale, Grace dropped her hands and opened her eyes.
Just in time to see a fist flying toward her face.
* * *
He’d never been so tempted to punch a fed, and that was saying something. As a rule, FBI agents could be almost as aggravating as firefighters.
“Let me listen. Just for a minute.”
Agent Shankle didn’t look up from his old-school notebook where he was busy scribbling notes on the conversation that Grace—Hugh’s girlfriend—was having with her felonious ass of an ex-boyfriend. Shankle was acting like he couldn’t hear Hugh, thanks to the headphones the agent was wearing, but Hugh knew he could hear the other people in the van just fine. In fact, he’d responded several times to Contares, the woman who appeared to be responsible for the tech equipment, all while not missing a beat in his eavesdropping and note-taking.
“So…” Hugh tried again. “What are they saying? Anything? How close are they sitting?”
Contares’s cough sounded suspiciously laugh-like, but Shankle didn’t even twitch. It was like he was Hugh annoyance–proof, and that wasn’t a good thing. Hugh wished they were watching the video feed, but the necklace camera just recorded; it didn’t transmit. The wire, on the other hand, was streaming in real time, right into Shankle’s ears. Pretending to stretch, Hugh moved so he could look over the agent’s shoulder to read what he’d written. Shankle shifted, hunching his shoulder so that his body hid the contents of his notebook.
Scowling, Hugh sat back and absently rubbed his thigh. Being stuffed in the van for the hour-plus drive to Denver, plus hanging out in the back of their spy mobile while Grace and the ass talked about who knew what… Oh wait! Shankle knows what. Too bad he’s a greedy bastard and doesn’t share his toys. Hugh glared at the agent’s back, but it didn’t slow the man’s continuous scribbling. At one point, he underlined something several times, and Hugh nearly went out of his mind with his need to know what had been said, as well as the need to punch Shankle in the back of the head.
Suddenly, the agent paused. Even his constantly moving hand went still.
“What?” On high alert, Hugh straightened from his slouch. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Finally, finally, Shankle turned to look at him. He was smirking a little, and Hugh relaxed. If something bad had been happening to Grace, the agent wouldn’t be smiling like that—at least, Hugh hoped he wouldn’t. “Grace left the table without Jovanovic. Now, according to Swanson, she’s in the ladies’ room.”
“Oh.” Hugh slumped back in his seat, relieved. “So, it’s done? Does she sound like she’s okay? Did you get anything useful?”
To Hugh’s surprise, Shankle actually answered. “She’s fine. We’re…”
After a silent moment, Hugh prompted, “You’re…?”
Instead of responding, Shankle appeared to be listening to something, either from Grace’s wire or one of the other agents. He frowned, lines forming between his eyebrows, and Hugh immediately went back on full alert.
“What’s the situation?”
“We lost our eyes on Jovanovic,” Shankle said, before he started barking orders to his agents. “Li and Novak, keep searching for him. Kandeski, head to the mall security office. See if you can find footage of him, and keep Li and Novak in the loop. Swanson, get in that bathroom and stay with Grace. Murdoch, where are you going? Get back in here. She’s fine. We have this under control.”
It was Hugh’s turn to ignore the FBI agent. Jumping out of the van, he hit the ground running, mentally cursing himself the whole time. He’d known the meeting was a bad idea. He should’ve convinced Grace not to go. Hell, he should’ve locked her in his bedroom for the next fifty years. She would’ve been pissed, but at least she would’ve been safe.
He weaved his way through the grid of parked cars and sprinted for the mall entrance. Tires screeched against the pavement as someone braked hard, and an SUV came to a stop just a few feet away from him. Ignoring it and the insults the driver was shouting, Hugh ran for the doors.
Once inside, he slowed, dodging mall shoppers and looking around to get his bearings. Before Grace had gone inside, they’d studied a map of the mall, but Hugh hadn’t paid too much attention to where the women’s bathroom was located. He spotted a sign for restrooms and took off in that direction, barely avoiding crashing into a stroller.
“Hey!” the woman pushing the child called after him. “Slow down! Someone’s going to get hurt!”
Not Grace. Not if I can help it, Hugh thought grimly, running faster through the food court. The tables and chairs seemed to be arranged in the most obstructive way possible, forcing him to pivot and dodge. Vaguely, Hugh was aware of people staring, of a mall security officer yelling something
at him, but he was focused on one thing—the bathroom door.
A woman stood by the door, tugging at it. She turned as he approached, and, by her concerned expression, he guessed that she was Agent Swanson. “It’s locked,” she said. “I heard what sounded like a struggle.”
Without answering, Hugh dug in his pocket, pulling out his lockpick set. As he opened it, his hands shook from adrenaline and stark fear. He fumbled the torque and pick, almost dropping them. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he sucked in a deep breath through his nose. He needed to calm down. Losing it would not help Grace.
“Stop!” the security guard called as he jogged toward them. “What are you doing?”
Swanson stepped forward so she stood between Hugh and the guard. Hugh felt a moment of gratitude for the block as he eased the torque and then the pick into the lock. The familiar feel of the motion calmed him slightly, steadying his hands. “FBI,” she said. “Do you have a key for this door?”
“A key for the bathroom?” The guard sounded uncertain now that Swanson had identified herself as a fed. “I think so?” There was a jangle of keys, but Hugh ignored it, focusing on pressing the pins into place. The dead bolt turned, and Hugh ripped open the door.
Noah Jovanovic was dragging a limp Grace by her ankles across the bathroom floor toward an open supply closet. He looked up, startled, and then released her. His right hand moved behind him, toward his lower back. Grace’s legs flopped to the floor, and Hugh felt a tearing pain in his heart at how limply she lay there. She looked like a lifeless rag doll. Her hair tumbled over her face, hiding most of it, but what he could see was covered in blood. With a roar, he charged.
The move startled Noah into taking a backward step, but he didn’t hesitate in raising the gun he’d drawn. Time seemed to slow, and Hugh knew he wouldn’t make it before Noah could shoot him, especially with Grace’s limp body lying between them. It didn’t matter. He’d take the bastard down or die trying.
The gun rose, the barrel almost level, and Hugh braced himself for the shot he knew was coming. Hell, he’d been shot before and survived. He could do it again. Maybe it would give Agent Swanson time to take Noah out before he could hurt Grace any more than he already had.
Before Noah could fire, Grace’s leg shot up, and her booted foot caught Noah square in the crotch. Noah’s expression changed, his eyes going wide and his mouth rounding in a surprised—and pained—grimace. The gun tumbled from his grip as both hands clutched his groin. Grace rolled out of the way just before Noah, letting out an agonized groan, swayed and fell to his knees.
Hugh tackled him, taking Noah the rest of the way to the floor. The gun went flying, skidding across the tile until it disappeared under a stall. Hugh punched Noah in the face twice, fast and hard, holding the image of Grace’s precious, bloody features in his mind. Noah went limp under him. Staring down at the man who’d terrorized Grace—his Grace—Hugh fought the temptation to slam his fist into Noah’s slack face over and over.
“Hugh.” Grace’s voice was shaky but strong, and he turned his head to look at her. She was sitting up, and blood streaked the lower part of her face. It looked like it had come from her nose, and a fresh surge of rage jolted through him. Hugh was starting to turn back to Noah with the intention of destroying the man when Grace spoke again. “Did you see that? I totally nailed him in the junk.”
Hugh’s head snapped around so he could stare at her. Even bleeding and rumpled and scared, she was smiling at him. He forgot about planning Noah’s bloody, violent death. All he wanted to do was hold Grace. Scrambling to his feet, he moved to crouch in front of her. Peripherally, he was aware of Agent Swanson rolling Noah over so she could cuff his hands behind his back, but Hugh’s attention was fixed on Grace.
He cupped her face as gently as if he were holding a baby bird. It looked like the blood had stopped flowing from her nose, but he still frowned. “Never thought I’d wish that I were the kind of tool who carried around a handkerchief.”
Her laugh was short and strangled, but it was still a beautiful sound. Reaching up, she circled her fingers around his wrist. “Never wish that. Snot rags are gross.”
It was his turn to bark out a laugh. Unable to restrain himself anymore, he gathered her against him, not caring how awkward it was with his casted arm. He needed her close. With their bodies pressed together, he could feel the quick strum of her heart, and he wondered if his was beating as quickly. Judging by his post-adrenaline jitters, he would guess that it was.
The bathroom was filling up with agents and mall security. Shankle gave them a swift, narrow-eyed look, as if checking for bullet holes, and then moved to help Swanson with Noah. Despite his resentment that Shankle’s orders had kept him away from Grace when she needed him, Hugh grudgingly appreciated that the FBI agent was giving the two of them time. After seeing her limp form on the floor, Hugh needed to hold Grace, to touch her, to find the reassurance he needed that she was okay.
Her arms wrapped around him, and she clung to him as tightly as he was holding her. “What took you so long?”
“Sorry.” Guilt roared to life inside him. Why hadn’t he fought to stay closer? Why had he listened to Shankle’s order to stay in the van? “I had to pick the lock.”
She pulled back just far enough to look at him. “You’re kidding. You actually used your talent for breaking into women’s bathrooms for good, rather than evil?”
His scowl was mostly put on. “I never use my talent for evil. I’m, like, a poster good guy.”
Instead of laughing, she stroked his cheek. “Yeah, you are. You’re the best good guy.”
“And you’re a junk-kicking badass.” His words were thick with satisfaction. “You were so still and limp. I thought…” He had to stop and swallow hard to clear the obstruction in his throat.
Grace gave him a proud grin. “I was totally faking it.”
“I’m impressed.” He was. “Impressed, and proud, and grateful, and so happy you’re okay.” Frowning, he gently swiped at a streak of blood on her chin. “Mostly okay. Did he hit you?”
“Yeah. I ducked the first one, but he got me with the next one.” She looked so disgruntled that it made Hugh want to laugh—and swear and hit Noah a few extra times. “I pretended to be unconscious, and he started dragging me toward the closet, and that’s when you showed up.” Her bravado faltered, and she looked incredibly vulnerable as she met his gaze. “I think he was going to shoot me once I was in there. He muttered something about not getting blood everywhere.”
Rage filled Hugh. Why hadn’t he killed that bastard when he’d had the chance? He saw Grace’s eyes get glossy with tears, and he shoved back his anger, tucking her more closely against his chest. “Bet he regrets it now.”
He was rewarded by a watery chuckle muffled in his shoulder. “Yeah, he does.”
The feel of her filled him with relief and gratitude. “You know I love you, right?” The words spilled out in a rush. He’d almost waited too long to say them. If things had gone wrong, it would’ve been too late. He needed her to know how he felt, because the last few weeks had given him reminder after reminder that life was incredibly fragile.
She went still for a moment, and Hugh held his breath as she raised her head to meet his gaze. “You’d better.”
His laugh was more of a choke. “That’s all I get?”
“Fine.” Her smile shook around the edges, but it was still beautiful. “I love you, too. Even when you’re being annoying.”
He made a scoffing sound, trying to hide the obstruction in his throat. “Please. I’m never annoying.”
Special Agent Shankle laughed. When Grace raised her eyebrows at Hugh in wordless triumph, he frowned.
“He wasn’t laughing at that.”
“Yes. I was,” Shankle corrected him, making Grace smother a giggle.
“Don’t you have something else to do besides eavesdrop?” Hu
gh grumbled, although he couldn’t work up any true annoyance. After all, Grace loved him. How could he be anything except happy?
Chapter 21
“Are you sure about this?”
She shifted, turning to face him. Hugh stared straight ahead as if watching Dee’s movie selection intently, but Grace was pretty sure he wasn’t that interested in the cartoon penguins dancing on the screen. “Are you pouting?”
“No.”
“Then why is your bottom lip sticking out like that?”
“I can’t help it if I have the mouth of a model.”
She laughed so hard that she tipped sideways against the back of the couch. Lexi, curled on the floor next to the couch, raised her head briefly and then went back to sleep. “I love it when you say ridiculous things like that, Mr. Badass Cop.”
“My friends just call me Badass.” Although she could tell he was fighting it, a smile curled the corners of the mouth under discussion. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Her laughter fading into a sigh, she lifted his arm and snuggled underneath it. “The question of whether I’m sure that I want to live in a house with five other people and one bathroom? Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I have the past four years of Tattered Hearts on DVD.”
Sitting up, she sucked in an excited breath.
“At my house.”
Slumping down again, she gave him her best hungry-puppy look. It wasn’t as effective as his, but it seemed to get her what she wanted from Hugh a little over half the time. “Can you bring them here on a day I’m not working at Nan’s? Please?”
“No. They’re for residents of my house only.”
She widened her eyes even more.
“Fine. I’ll bring them tomorrow.” He scowled at the waddling birds on the TV screen, and she poked him in the side.
“Quit sulking. You should be glad I’m not moving back to California, instead of just living five minutes away.”
