Page 68 of Dare to Love Again

First, she didn’t have his number. Second, she was afraid to.

Finn would be furious that she stood him up, but that wasn’t it. He’d demand answers. And now that she knew he was a private detective, which explained a lot, combined with his dominant personality, he’d push until he got them.

She’d have to explain about Andrew, something she didn’t do. Not in therapy, or even with Pax.

Esme had sequestered that awful night to a part of her brain she no longer accessed. An unhealthy coping skill, according to her shrink back home, but it’s how she had survived the trauma. She also steered clear of law enforcement, especially detectives because they reminded her too much of her husband. With the same personality and inquisitive nature, these hero-types had the same stubborn determination to be on the right side of justice and stuck their necks out repeatedly to see it served. No wonder she responded to Finn as she did.

Detective Andrew Burton was a good man with a protective streak a mile long, a dedicated officer, and a decorated hero—posthumously awarded after being brutally shot. She thought he was one of a kind until she met Finn who’d been made from the same mold.

Why couldn’t he be an accountant or a math teacher? Hell, she’d be happy if he drove a beer truck. Then he wouldn’t be exposed to the dregs of society, putting his life at risk every day and dealing with criminals who’d shoot him as soon as look at him if it meant saving their asses. Or strung-out drug addicts who thought nothing of putting a bullet in his jugular if it meant they could get another fix.

A detective, even a private one, meant Finn took risks. And for damn sure, if he was in the news for taking out a drug boss, his PI job involved a lot more than celebrity security or following cheating spouses and taking pictures so they could make them bleed money in divorce court. That she could deal with. Instead, he put his life on the line, going after the worst of the worst. Crime bosses or gang leaders, in her mind there really wasn’t much difference. Both sought retribution when crossed.

Hermanos de Venganza, Latrice, had called them. Even with rusty high school Spanish, she could translate that—Brothers of Vengeance.

Not really seeing where she was going, other than to the doors and getting out, she moved faster and bumped into a waitress with a full tray of glasses. Knocked off-balance, the girl tried righting the tray, but one tipped over the edge. Esme reached out to catch it, but her hands were shaking so badly, and her reflexes sluggish with panic, she missed, watching helplessly as one then another bounced, fortunately in one piece, off the carpeted section of the floor.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t watching.”

“No harm done. This happens, especially with bodies packed in here like sardines on nights like tonight.”

The band started playing again, and a deafening cheer went up from the crowd.

“Oh, this is my favorite song. Don’t you love them?”

Esme turned as the familiar lyrics to “Bring Me Back to Life” filled the large room. Through a break in the mass of people pressing close to the stage, she saw the lead singer’s long, wavy black hair and gauze tank dress.

“Is that...”

“Amy Lee. Can you believe how lucky we are to have her here live?”

Wake me up inside...

Her gut clenched. She knew the words to the song by heart.

Finn had done that to her, woken her up, but what was to keep her from dying again when he took a bullet in his throat, put there when the Brotherhood settled the score?

A horrible vision suddenly blocked out everything around her.

The deafening crack of a gun firing, the soft thud as lead ripped through flesh, the man next to her crying out in pain. She reached for him, desperate to staunch the blood gushing in rhythm with his heartbeat from the mortal wound, her lifesaving attempts futile.

In her distraught mind, blue eyes turned to green and sandy-blond hair became dark brown with auburn streaks. Broken sobs racked her chest as she pleaded with him not to leave her. But her appeal went unanswered as the man she loved, this time a charismatic, larger-than-life Irish charmer, slipped through her fingers just...like...Andrew.

She whirled and ran for the doors as the chorus soared—bring me to life. With a strangled sob, she stumbled through them, an anguished cry of, “Not again. I can’t,” bursting from her lips.

The receptionist, not bitchy Alicia but someone new, shot her a concerned look, as did the security guard.

“Do you need help?” he asked her.

“No.” Quickly, she rushed to the exit. “I just... I’m late.”

“Wait. I can’t let you leave this way,” the man said as he rounded the counter.

But she didn’t wait, she couldn’t. Without slowing, she pushed through the solid wooden doors and hurried out into the late-afternoon sunshine. She didn’t look back when the guard demanded that she stop, or a few seconds later when a woman called her name. Ignoring them was rude, but what did it matter when she wouldn’t see them again? She didn’t plan to come back—ever.

She was done with the club, with Finn, and the whole idea of another relationship. Limiting her world to the office and her apartment had been working just fine until Pax dragged her to Decadence.

So what if she lived a dull, isolated existence? It was safer and far less painful.

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