Don't Look Back

by Christie Craig

  He frowned. “You asked.”

  “No. That’s not…” It was the secret-sharing feeling, the I-care feeling, the we-connect feeling.

  She wanted it. She didn’t want it. Her gaze shifted to the file. “We met in college. He was charming, caring, but it was all a con. I was stupid. An idiot. Eliot warned me, but I was in love and I thought Eliot was just being his overly protective self.”

  “What kind of a con?”

  “His father was into real estate. He worked with a lot of Russians. Crooked Russians. He married me because his dad thought I’d be an asset to his business. A month after we married, I was working for his father. A few months later, I realized they were laundering money. I went to Todd. He got pissed and punched me. Unfortunately, he forgot that I knew how to punch back.”

  “Shit!”

  “I left and filed for divorce. His dad showed up a week later and threatened me, saying that if I didn’t come back something could happen to Eliot. So I went back. After I went to the FBI.”

  “That’s how you started working for them.”

  She nodded. “I went undercover. I not only got evidence on the money laundering and tax evasion, but his last accountant also had wound up dead under mysterious circumstances. I found emails the man had sent Crumpton senior, telling him he was quitting because he didn’t want to be part of anything illegal.”

  “We’re not talking about…Theodore Crumpton.”

  When she didn’t answer, he said, “Fuck. That was a huge case.”

  She nodded. Silence reigned again, and she felt him staring at the scar under her eyebrow.

  “Tell me you really broke his nose.”

  “I did.”

  “I’m surprised Eliot didn’t kill him.”

  “He wanted to. In fact, he shot him. Well, nicked him. He took the shot from the rooftop of a nearby building. Then he called him and said he’d aim better next time if he ever hit me again. I think he said something along the lines of ‘Even if you kill me. I’ve got a dozen friends lined up to take over.’”

  “Did the bastard ever hit you again?”

  “No.”

  “I’m beginning to warm up to Eliot.” Connor turned his beer. “How long before you got the evidence?”

  “Six weeks.”

  “That must have felt like forever.”

  “It did.” But she’d deserved it for being a fool. She pulled the bread over and snatched another piece.

  When the silence lingered, she dropped the bread. “So there. My humiliating ex-husband story. You happy now?”

  “No. You didn’t deserve that.” He took another sip of beer. “Am I the first guy you’ve…seen since then?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You might want to button up your collar. Your ego is showing again.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…when shit like that happens it makes one leery.”

  “Yeah, but no. I’ve dated a bunch of guys since then.” Two. And had only slept with one. “Even had a relationship for a few months.”

  “What happened?”

  “It ended.” No sparks. No connection. No I-want-more feeling. Nothing like what she felt right now with this self-proclaimed commitmentphobe. Yet part of her knew the only reason she stayed in the relationship as long as she had was because she didn’t feel that spark. “Is that what’s wrong with you? You’re leery?”

  He frowned, as if he didn’t like the question tossed back to him. He passed a hand over his mouth. “Maybe. But I’m realizing that while I can’t promise anyone…I can’t offer anything like…like forever. But I can offer…right now.”

  “I’d refrain from using that as a pickup line.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Are you kidding? You want to tell a girl ‘I don’t offer promises, nothing like forever, but hey…how about right now?’” Sarcasm leaked from her voice. “No. Don’t ever use that.”

  He shouldered back in his chair. “You make it sound—”

  “Do you even realize what women want…” She stopped talking and held up her hands. “I take it all back. It should work just fine with your type of woman.”

  His mouth tightened. “What type of woman is that?”

  “The kind who date—how did you put it?—a no-intentions man.”

  “But I just told you…My intentions are for…I mean—”

  “Like I said, I’m sure that’d work for what you’re looking for.” She tore off another piece of bread.

  He frowned. “Okay, what do women…No. What do you want?”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t about me. We both admitted it was a mistake.”

  “What if the mistake was me leaving?”

  She swallowed. “No, you were right the first time when you said I was Mother Teresa. And I love fences.”

  His lips thinned. “You want to know what I think? I think this is you being leery.”

  Hell yeah, that was what it was. She’d loved Todd. Look how that turned out. Connor Pierce, more than any man she’d met in the last five years, had the power to hurt her. “It’s me being smart. My life is…it’s a fracking mess. I don’t want to complicate it with a just-right-now relationship. We can be…” She hesitated. “I want to say friends, but I don’t believe people who had sex can really be friends. Until this is over, we can…we can be partners. Good partners. I respect you. I even appreciate you.”

  “I thought the other part was pretty damn good, too.”

  “Just because something feels good doesn’t mean it’s right. Cocaine, BDSM, fried butter, being shot out of a cannon—yeah, people pay to do that—and some people even get a kick out of swimming with sharks. Me? Not so much.”

  “Here you go.” The waitress set two plates of chicken marsala down. She looked at Brie and grinned. “Fried butter is really good. And if you have a safe word…” She gave Connor a sexy look that was clearly an invitation, “Well—”

  “I need another beer,” Connor snapped.

  When she disappeared, Connor looked about as happy as a cat in a rocking chair store with six Dobermans standing guard over the place.

  “Can we just eat?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Eat.”

  You’d think with the cloud of tension hanging over her, her appetite would have gone. But the moment Brie tasted the food, the decision was made. If she couldn’t have Connor, she could at least have to-die-for Italian food that was probably as bad for her as fried butter.

  She almost cleaned her plate. He did more picking than eating.

  “Now can I see the file?”

  Frowning, he handed it to her. She opened it and started scanning the list of priors.

  “Mark said it looks fishy. That many dropped charges usually means one of two things. Either the guy is richer than God and has an exceptional lawyer—this guy’s not rich—or the perp is a CI. Mark already has calls out to several New Orleans police departments to determine if Omen was working with a cop. But he asked if you could search for his name in FBI cases that line up with when some of the bigger charges were dropped.”

  “You think Omen was an FBI informant?”

  “Maybe.”

  Brie tried to think. “I don’t have access…Wait. Agent Miles. He’s going to be in Baton Rouge, and he might even feel indebted to us.”

  Connor nodded. “Good idea.”

  Her phone rang. She pulled it out. Panic shot through her when she saw Tory’s name, and just like that she remembered all the blood in Carlos’s car.

  “Everything okay?” She pressed a hand against her stomach wishing she hadn’t eaten so much.

  “He woke up, Brie. He opened his eyes and looked right at me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I’m not trying to downplay this good news,” the doctor said.

  Connor had left cash on the table and driven Brie right to the hospital. Happier than he’d ever seen her, she’d jumped out of the car before he’d even cut off the engine. When he walked toward the
family waiting room, he spotted Brie, Tory, Eliot, and his friend Sam all huddled around a doctor.

  He moved in, so he was close enough to not miss anything, but not so close as to be intrusive. As the cop on the case, he needed to know Olvera’s status, but families had their right to privacy. And after Brie shot down his offer of—as she said—a just-right-now relationship, he felt like an intruder.

  He didn’t like her description of his offer, although he hadn’t been able to argue that it defined almost exactly what he’d put out there. Problem was, he’d screwed up his pitch. He’d made it sound like a passing fling. That’s not what he meant, but he couldn’t put what he meant to words except he…

  He wanted her.

  “What I’m saying,” the doctor continued, “is that his waking up doesn’t mean things are perfect.”

  “When can we see him?” Brie piped up. “Is he still conscious?”

  “He’s in what we call a semiconscious state, or some call the very early response stage. He’s not following commands completely, but he is responding appropriately to different kinds of stimuli.”

  “So, how long before you remove the tube and he can talk to us?” Brie asked.

  “If he remains alert, we could remove it in the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. But keep in mind, while this is a step forward, this is also where we’ll discover if any long-term issues are present.”

  “But he recognized me,” Tory said.

  “Right,” the doctor said. “But even if there’re no long-term effects, it could still take time before he’s functioning normally. And I know you’d like to stay with him, but he needs rest. I’ll tell the nurses to come get you if he becomes fully alert.”

  The doctor walked off. The four of them stood around, holding on to each other and hope. Connor hung back. His phone dinged with a text from Mark. Rosaria had arrived at the hotel where they were housing her.

  When he looked up, Brie walked over to him. Their eyes met.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she said.

  “Your car’s at the diner.”

  “I can get an Uber.”

  “Actually, I thought I’d hang around. And I just got a text from Mark: Rosaria’s here.”

  “Can I see her tomorrow? I know she’s scared.”

  “I’ll try to make it happen.”

  She nodded. “I’ll call Agent Miles and see if he can dig into the older files. Can you text me the dates that Omen’s cases were dropped?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  She looked at Tory, inhaled, then smiled back at Connor. “He’s going to be okay. This is the first time…” Her voice shook. “The first time I’ve really believed it.” Her eyes brightened with emotion. Relief.

  He pulled her toward him. She came, resting her head on his chest. Her soft weight melted against him. He put one arm around her.

  Leaning down, he pressed his chin to the side of her head. Strands of her blond hair caught in his five o’clock shadow. “I’m glad he woke up,” he whispered, cherishing that she’d let him this close.

  “Me too.” She drew away, as if she regretted the bit of trust she’d given. And just like that, he knew he wanted it. He wanted her trust. Wanted her. How could he earn it?

  An hour later, while Brie and Tory were in visiting Carlos, Connor sat trying to make sense of the Omen file. Had Omen been an informant?

  His phone rang. He recognized the number as Agent Hamilton’s with ICE. His contact person for Armand.

  No more bad news, he thought before he answered. “Detective Pierce.”

  “It appears our guy is heading back to Anniston.”

  “You still have eyes on him?”

  “Yeah. My guys did some digging on the other victims in the trafficking case.”

  “And?”

  “One of the victims worked for the strip club in Dallas that Armand has ties to. We’re really liking this guy for human trafficking. Do you have the prints back yet? I think we have enough to bring him in.”

  “We’re told we’ll have them tomorrow. But let’s not bring him in until we can keep him. If he leaves the country, we’ll lose him for good.”

  “We can keep him. Misuse of passport is a felony.”

  “We don’t want to get him on just that.”

  “Yeah, but while he’s locked up, we can tie him to the human trafficking case.”

  He told Hamilton about Regina Berger and his suspicions she knew something.

  “Find her,” Hamilton said.

  “We’re working on it,” Connor said.

  Connor felt someone sit beside him but didn’t look over. “Let’s get his prints back and regroup.”

  Connor finished his call before glancing at the man who’d been Brie’s savior.

  Eliot placed his palms on his knees and leaned forward. “I owe you an apology. I think I read you wrong, Detective Pierce.”

  “How did you read me?” Connor asked.

  “As an asshole.”

  Connor grinned. “That’s okay. I had you pegged as one, too.”

  Eliot nodded. “Maybe we were both right.”

  “I have my moments.”

  Eliot chuckled. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I did. You got information on Dillon Armand?”

  Connor didn’t see any reason to lie. “It appears he’s headed back to Anniston.”

  Eliot frowned. “Brie’s tougher than a lot of men I know. But I like knowing someone has her back.”

  “I understand.” And Connor did.

  “You’ll have someone at the club.”

  “Definitely.”

  He nodded. “Brie said you are leaning toward Bara being behind Olvera’s shooting.”

  “Yeah.” Connor sensed Eliot had an opinion. “You know Agents Bara and Calvin?”

  “I’ve met them. Can’t say I know them. But something’s bothering me.”

  “What?”

  “Why hasn’t Agent Calvin put Brie back on active duty? One of his agents is shot and on death’s door, and two of his other agents are under suspicion. And he isn’t begging Brie to come off leave?”

  “Brie believes it’s because she told us about the FBI leak.”

  “Which is more of a reason for him to want to crack this case. She’s a damn good agent, and that’s not me being biased. Agent Calvin knows this. By not bringing her back in, he’s handicapping the case. Why?”

  * * *

  Connor went back to his apartment, slept for three hours, then woke up thinking about Brie, the case, and his screwups. Her words rolled over him. The only way it could have ended worse was if you’d tossed a couple of hundred bucks on my bedside table.

  Yeah, he’d screwed the pooch on that one.

  Thinking about that fuckup led him to think about his others. He’d told himself that he’d been careful to sleep only with women who knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere. But did that make it right?

  At three-thirty that morning, Connor grabbed a newspaper from an empty booth, dropped down at his table, and looked over at Flora. Studying him, she grabbed a pot of hot coffee and a cup and headed his way. Her dark eyes, which always seemed to carry pain, met his. What was she thinking? Did she hate him? Did she blame him? Did she know he’d give anything to bring her son back?

  She set a coffee cup in front of him, then filled it with steaming hot java. “You really never sleep, do you?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Hmm.” She dropped his creams on the table. “Same order?”

  “Yup.”

  Five minutes later, she placed a small pitcher of syrup on the table and refilled his coffee. Still holding the steaming pot in her hands, she lingered, looking nervous.

  He met her dark, haunted eyes. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. I…I went to church yesterday, for the first time in a long time.”

  He nodded, unsure how to respond.

  “The sermon was good.”

  He pulled his coffee closer but didn’t look away, wanting her to
know he was listening.

  “It was on forgiveness.”

  He swallowed.

  She continued, “The preacher said forgiveness is hard because sometimes the anger is all we can feel. It consumes us. He also said that as hard as it is to forgive others, it is even harder to forgive oneself.”

  He inhaled. “Yeah, that is hard.”

  “You should maybe go to church sometimes.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  He watched her leave, trying to decipher what she meant. Had she forgiven him? Was she trying to forgive him? Was she saying he needed to forgive himself?

  If he weren’t a coward, he’d call her back, ask her outright. Instead, he sat there, replaying her words. He recalled Brie saying he came here to punish himself. Part of him knew it might be true, but right now he also wondered if he didn’t come here for forgiveness. Not that he felt forgiven yet. But as Flora implied, forgiving yourself wasn’t easy.

  I’d have done the same thing. Any person carrying a badge would have done the same thing. He heard Brie’s reassurance, and yeah, he knew it was true, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d killed Flora’s son.

  The bell over the door rang and he glanced up. His breath caught.

  Brie walked straight over to him. She wore jeans that fit her really well, and a pink shirt, with a jean jacket over it. She yanked off the jacket, hung it on the back of the chair, then dropped into the seat across from him. “I thought you might be here.”

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Agent Miles went through the old files. He called me about an hour ago.”

  “And?”

  “Agent Bara worked in the New Orleans FBI office before he moved to Baton Rouge. Miles was able to pull that file.”

  “Yeah?” Connor asked.

  “Kevin Omen, our hit man, was Agent Bara’s CI on a case there.”

  Connor smiled. “Then we’ve got him.”

  Brie shook her head. “It could still be considered circumstantial evidence.”

  “Maybe, but having the connection between them will go a long way.”

  “Yeah, but it feels…too easy. Why would he pick someone who he knew we could tie him to?”

  “He didn’t plan on Omen getting caught.”