Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) (20 page)

TRUE TO HIS word, Harrington sticks around for all my practices, and after a few days—and the realization that he’s the same Killshot Tony’s mentioned—Jarod backs off. He hasn’t even so much as attempted to pull me into a hug or thrown his arm around me for no reason. In fact, he’s kept his distance, and I’ve been performing at my best because of it. The guys noticed, and even Tom commented on it.

He and Harrington seem to have hit it off, too, hanging out and talking during practice like they’ve been friends for years. Though I’m not sure what they talk about. I mean, their choice of careers aren’t even remotely the same. But, generally speaking, having Harrington in my world has made everything better.

And ending every practice with him kissing me as he tells me how incredible I sounded has been nothing less than awesome.

I’ve even made it a point to go to his sparring matches when I’m not working or with the band. I still flinch when I watch him and Fisher go at it like they hate each other, but I’m starting to get used to it. The blood still makes my stomach queasy, but at least I’m not running anymore. And having Cat there as moral support helps.

Before I know it, the rest of the week has flown by and I find myself at Harrington’s place after another hard Friday night at Blue Tango. Both of our shirts have found their way to the floor next to his bed, while his mouth—good God, his mouth—works blissful magic along the curve of my waist.

“This tattoo,” he says, tracing a finger along the lines etched into my skin—the outline of the pheonix tattoo I got for my twenty-first birthday. The one that represents everything I survived in my childhood and reminds to never give up, to always fight to survive.

“It’s a phoenix, yeah?” he asks.

I nod.

His hazel eyes bore into mine. “What does it mean?”

I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating what to tell him. “It means, a new beginning. That I might have been burned, but I’m not giving up. Not yet.”

“It’s beautiful.” His hands dig into my skin, and he’s doing something amazing with his tongue that makes me so completely out of touch with reality. It isn’t until he stops kissing me that I realize he was still talking.

I open my eyes and look up at him. He’s perched up on his elbow, staring down at me, a playful smile crossing his mouth.

I lick my lips. “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” He pushes a stray piece of hair away from my face.

“I thought you said we’d sharing anything, regardless of how silly it might be?” I challenge.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss my lips, soft and tentative, like I’m a flower he doesn’t want to crush. “I was just thinking out loud about how, not two weeks ago, this . . .
we
didn’t exist. Hell, a few months ago, I never thought I’d be in a relationship. Period.”

I brush the back of my hand against his jaw. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t either.”

“How is that you’re even more beautiful now than you were a minute ago?”

I giggle. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m serious, Jess. I knew you were beautiful the moment I met you, even without makeup, wearing clothes two sizes too big for you and that messy bun—which, by the way, I love.” He shakes his head, wearing a crooked half-smile as he runs his fingers through my hair. “But damn, sweetheart. You just keep getting
more
beautiful every fucking time I see you.”

My cheeks heat up, and I don’t know what to say. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Then he’s leaning forward and kissing me again, his body hovering over mine, giving me just enough pressure to make me want more of him.

But before we can go any further, his phone rings. He swears under his breath. “Shit. One sec.” He pushes back to his knees and puts up his finger. “Hold that thought. We’re going to continue . . .”

Then he grabs the phone from the bedside table and looks at the caller ID. “What the—” he mutters, rolling off the bed and swiping to accept the call.

“This better be one hell of a reason,” he says to whoever’s on the other side, his voice tinged with worry and annoyance. “What do you mean? Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Harrington looks at me, then turns and starts pacing as he listens to whatever the person on the other side is saying.

I push up to a sitting position and watch him as he runs his hand through his hair, the muscles in his arm tightening with the gesture. “How long? Fuck. How—” More pacing. “Okay. Yeah. We’ll have to move the timeline up, but we can make that work. Thanks, man. And I appreciate you calling me first. Wilson won’t be happy about this. Yeah. Okay. You too.”

He throws the phone on the bed and places his hand on his hips, tilting his head back “Shit.”

I slowly get off the bed and make my way over to him. Wrapping my arms around his midsection, I place my head over his naked chest. “What’s wrong?”

His arms curl around me and he kisses the top of my head. “That was Neil, my analyst at the FBI.”

I nod.

“He has reason to believe that the suspect we were planning to bring in is about to go underground.”

I let go of him and look up, not really understanding why that’s a problem.

“He just booked a flight out of the country. It’s a one-way trip, leaving tomorrow night. And Neil can’t find any other tickets being purchased, not even under his alias. He’s going into hiding.”

I reach for his hand. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure you and Fisher will figure something out.”

He nods, but I can see the anxiety lining his face. “Yeah, we have just under thirty-four hours to stop him.”

I let go of his hand and place mine over his chest, pushing gently. “Then you should go, find Fisher and figure out what you’re going to do.”

He looks at me, his head tilted and his eyebrows raised.

“No distractions.” I smile.

He leans forward and kisses me on the mouth. “Seriously, why did we wait so fucking long to finally be together?”

I laugh. “Go, Harry.”

He lets go of me and grabs his shirt, pulling it over his head as he says, “Stay, okay? I’ll try to get back as soon as I can and we can pick up where we left off.” He grabs his keys and his cell, and heads toward the door. But something stops him.

“Forget something?”

“Yeah.” He turns around and pulls me into a tight hug. He kisses me again, harder, rougher than the last. “Thank you.”

I smile at him. “You’re welcome.”

Then he’s gone. I hear the front door shut and the tell-tale sound of the deadbolt clicking into place. I fall back on the bed with a heavy sigh and realize just how tired I truly am. So I curl up and snuggle into his pillow, breathing in his scent as I fall asleep.

When I wake up a few hours later, I realize that Harrington still isn’t back. I pick up my phone and give him a quick call. His voicemail answers. I hang up without leaving a message.

And I realize then that this is what our life might be if Harrington and I are together.

Him running off in middle of the night to work his cases. Me waiting behind the scenes, worrying, hoping that he’ll come home to me safe and in one piece.

And, truth be told, I don’t know how that makes me feel.

“YOU LOOK NERVOUS,” Cat says, filling up a drink for yet another customer.

I shake my head. I still haven’t seen or heard from Harrington. I waited at his place until I started to feel like a weird stalker, and then went home so I could change before work. But I don’t want Cat to know how worried I am, or how I can’t stop counting the minutes until I can check my phone and see if he’s called. Rick has a strict “no personal calls while working” policy.

“I’m just looking forward to my break.”

“I know what you mean,” she says. “It’s like all the frats decided to party at a club instead of their own place.” She grins her blazing smile at her customer and he’s immediately mesmerized by her, giving her a funny, dumbstruck look. She ignores him and turns to me. “Man, I could use another break.”

“You were just on break like thirty minutes ago.”

“I know. But these college kids are sucking the ever-loving life out of me.”

I laugh. “You’re getting old, Cat.”

“Don’t you dare call me old.” She flips her long white braid over her shoulder. “I’m forever young.”

Well, that, and she’s only twenty-eight.

“Oh, guess who happened to call me while I was on my phone browsing pics of hot guys?” She doesn’t even give me a chance to respond. “Fisher. And you know what
Fisher
’
s
words were?” She juts her hip to the side and places her hand over it. Whatever they were, she wasn’t too pleased with them.

“No?”

“He wanted to know if I was working tonight.” She scoffs. “No hello, or how’s it going. Just ‘are you working tonight?’” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “Like I’m going to be his booty call whenever he’s in the mood. I mean, he’s a great lay, but not that great.”

I laugh as I finish making another drink and hand it to the waiting customer, pocketing the tip he leaves on the bar in one fluid motion. “That must be why you’ve gone back to him so many times. Just admit it, you like him.”

She glares at me. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” I tell her, popping the cap off a beer and sliding the bottle into its thirsty new owner’s hand. “I am on your side. That’s why I’m begging you to consider giving up all these ridiculous  little things you keep using to break up with him and just admit that you like the guy.”

“Shut up.”

“John agrees with me.”

She turns around slowly and a hurt look appears on her face. “You guys talk about me? Behind my back?”

“No. Not talking behind your back.”

She shakes her head, like she doesn’t believe me.

“We weren’t,” I insist. “Remember that night when we were supposed to hang out with John and Tracy, and you showed up late? Well, Tracy was joking around about how you were probably holed up with your secret boyfriend and, well, John and I kinda froze. We didn’t tell her anything, but we both kinda drew the same conclusion. I mean, Fisher might as well be your boyfriend. Hell, he brings you pink carnations every time he comes over.”

She pouts.

Something catches my eye out in the crowd and I smile. I point my finger and say, “Well, well. Speaking of Fisher . . .”

Cat waves her hand dismissively and turns away. But I realize she keeps looking in the direction I pointed while serving her customers watching as Fisher makes his way toward the bar.

“What are you guys still doing here?” Fisher asks, sliding into the space vacated by last customer as I slide a beer glass to yet another college kid.

“Um, working . . . ?” I say, clearly confused.

His face turns a shade darker. “Didn’t Cat tell you? I asked her to get both of you out of here.”

“What are you talking about, Fisher?” I glance at Cat, who’s pretending to ignore him. “All she said is that she’s kinda really pissed at you right now.”

“What? Why?” He looks as confused as I feel, but his eyes keep darting off into the crowd, searching for something.

“When you talked to her earlier, you forgot to say hello or ask her how she is.”

“Damn it, Catherina.” He swears under his breath.

“Yeah.”

He looks nervous. I place a hand over his arm, and he stops scoping out the VIP lounge upstairs and looks at me.

“Is he okay?”

He knows who I’m referring to. Again, I see that dark cloud of confusion and anxiety cross his face

“Didn’t you get his message?”

My eyebrows crunch together. “What message?”

Fisher leans forward and says, “He called you earlier—maybe an hour or so before I called Cat—to tell you that neither of you should be at the club tonight.”

My eyes turn wide. “What? Why?”

He looks at me pointedly, like he’s telling me to put two and two together. It takes me a moment, but then I remember. The phone call from Neil. Was something about to happen? Here?

“Oh. Shit.”

“Exactly. Can you guys like go home sick or something?”

“Both of us?” I hiss. “We’re the only ones working the bar tonight. We can’t. There’s no way Rick’ll let us go.”

“Shit.” He shakes his head. “He’s not going to be happy to see you here.”

“Well, I guess he’ll just have to deal with it.” I press my lips together in a grim line.

He taps his fingers on the counter as he scans the crowd again. I see a thick knot of people heading up to the VIP lounge and my stomach clenches. Is that . . . ? I can’t tell if Harrington’s with them or not.

“Just do me a favor and keep a close eye on her, okay?” Fisher says.

“Where are you going to be?”

“I’ll be back.” He gives me a look that I’m pretty sure was meant to be reassuring but that actually looks concerned instead. “Everything will be fine, Jessica. Trust him, okay? No matter what happens tonight,
everything
will be fine.”

His words send chills up my spine. What did he mean,
no matter what happens
? I watch Fisher disappear into the crowd, heading toward the VIP lounge upstairs and the group of guys waiting up there.

When I turn around, Cat’s standing next to me. I nearly jump out of my skin. “What the hell, Cat?”

She’s watching Fisher make his way upstairs, her expression somewhere between hurt and pissed as hell “What did he want?”

I don’t know what to tell her. Cat hasn’t been let in on the truth about Harrington’s identity, and since it isn’t my secret to tell, I go with a half truth. “He wanted to know what we’re still doing here.”

She snorts. “Still? What an ass.” Then she turns around and walks back to her station.

For the next twenty minutes, I move like nothing major is happening. Because, in truth, I don’t actually know what to expect. It’s not like I’ve been forewarned. And Fisher still hasn’t returned from his trip to the VIP lounge.

The club’s gotten even more crowded, and far more rowdy. I push my anxiety aside as much as I’m able and focus on serving drinks as quickly and as efficiently as possible. It almost works.

And then the front door opens wide and people scream at the front of the club.

The music and lights go out, and the screaming intensifies in the darkness. I freeze completely, my heart pounding in my chest as fear rushes through me. Ten long seconds later, the back-up generators kick on and the lights come back. People are everywhere, running and tripping over each other as they scrabble to get out of the chaos.

My eyes widen and I look to Cat, who looks just as shocked as me. My pulse is pounding in my ears and my hands shake. Cat reaches for me as thoughts race through my mind. What’s happening? Where’s Harrington? Fisher? Hell, where are the bouncers?

“FBI.” I hear a deep voice yell. People scream and shove each other, trying to get out any nearby exit and causing the fire alarms to go off.

Guys in black gear with “FBI” written in yellow across their torsos make their way to the middle of the club. Their faces are masked behind their helmets and they’re carrying assault rifles. Almost everyone has emptied out of the club, except for a handful of overly drunk kids.

“Secure the perimeter,” I hear someone order.

“Yes, sir,” answers another.

Five or six of the men peel off, gathering the few of us left—including Rick, the wait staff, and our bouncers—in the middle of the club, while a few others go up the stairs to the VIP lounge.

Rick’s spewing off about how they have no right to barge in, how he’s going to sue them, how this is an outrage . . . I stop listening because it only brings more anxiety.

Everything is going to be fine
.
Everything
’
s going to be fine
.
I mean, if Harrington planned this, I should be fine. Right? Cat should be fine. And the people around us.

Cat and I both yelp, our entire bodies jerking, as gunshots echo through the now empty club. Cat starts crying, and I’m trying my best to hold it together as we cling to each other like our lives depend on it.

I think I hear sirens blaring outside, and maybe a helicopter, but I can’t be sure. The music came back on with the lights, and between that and the gunshots, my ears are ringing.

A few moments later, we see the FBI guys walking down from the lounge with five guys in cuffs. One of them is Fisher, another Lincoln. I realize that one of them must be the suspect they were after. But I’m too scared to notice anything else as Cat and I hug each other. My body starts to shake, and my mind is racing so fast I can’t pin down a single one.

“Area secure, sir,” some faceless FBI guy says.

A new guy walks in through the still open front door. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest, but otherwise looks like he just came from a business meeting, with his slacks and white button-up shirt. He surveys the scene, obviously in charge. As he comes closer, I can see the name Wilson embroidered on the left side of his vest.

Wilson?
The
Wilson? As in Harrington
’
s boss
,
Wilson?

“Casualties?” he asks one of the men.

“Three armed men, fatally wounded,” the guy responds. “Suspect in custody.”

“Good,” Wilson says, his hands behind his back. “Clear the area and let’s move.”

“Yes, sir.” The guy turns away, speaking to the rest of his unit. I don’t hear what he says, but the men split apart scurrying off to fulfill their orders.

“Ma’am,” some guy addresses Cat. “I need you to come with me.”

Cat looks at me for a second, and I give her reassuring nod. “It’ll be okay,” I say, more for myself than her.

Then another guy comes to stand in front of me. Without even looking, I follow him obediently, all the while wondering where Harrington is. With all the masks, it’s hard to tell if he’s even among them. I don’t realize I’m in Rick’s office until the door shuts behind me.

“Jess.”

I swing around, my eyes widening in surprise as I see Harrington standing beside Rick’s desk, his hands cuffed behind his back. “Harry! Why—”

I trail off as my stomach drops in horror. Why would they arrest him too, unless this wasn’t his plan and he’s . . . ?

That’s when I stop and see the way he’s looking at me,
really
looking at me, studying me like he’s searching for answers I’m keeping locked inside. Or maybe he’s trying to tell if I’ve been hurt in any way? Concern is clearly etched across his features, but I’m not sure if it’s concern for me or concern over me finding out he lied. I don’t even know if that’s true, though.
Did
he lie? It’s the only thing that makes sense, but doubts cloud my head until it feels like it’s spinning and I don’t know what to think.

“Jess—” he says, and my name is small, pained.“I-it’s not what it looks like.” I start to back away without even realizing it, my chest heaving as my heart wars with my eyes. I don’t want to believe that I was wrong about him, but the evidence in front of me is pretty hard to ignore.

“I-I’m fine,” I say, but I’m not sure if it’s for his benefit or mine. “I’m
fine
, Harry.”