Page 76 of Hot Pursuit
The woman was infuriating.
Absolutely infuriating.
Nate’s nostrils flared as he met her amused gaze. “I know you stole my files.” The pleasure fled from her features. “I know you just broke into a house and aided in the theft of a priceless work of art in order to make good on a deal with the Russian mafia.” Nate shoved his hand into his pocket, then pulled out a set of metal handcuffs. They glinted in the bit of light seeping into the alley from the street. “I know I have every reason in the world to turn you around, place these on your wrists, and take you to headquarters for questioning.”
Jo swallowed.
So did Nate.
Every muscle in his body trembled gently with the weight of those words, the truth of them. And then his body went lax. Because as soon as he saw that brief flash of fear in her dazzling green eyes, his heart won the fight.
Nate dropped the handcuffs.
They clinked as they hit the street.
“And I know,” he murmured, lifting his hand to her cheek and brushing his thumb over her silken skin. “I know I won’t use them.” She moved her palm to cover his, holding his hand against her face. Nate stared into her eyes and asked again, “Why’d you leave?” But this time there was nothing but vulnerable, brutal barrenness in his tone.
Jo closed her eyes, letting her head dip into his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I know that too, Jo.” She’d told him already, in that soft confession before she’d walked out of his room.I’m sorry. I thought I could, but I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.An apology made to the empty night, to silence, when she’d thought he was asleep. But he’d heard every word. “What did you mean when you said you can’t?”
He had to know.
That was what it all came down to.
Was she delaying the inevitable…or was she putting it off completely?
One option he could live with.
The other, he honestly wasn’t sure he could.
“I can’t…” she trailed off, closing her eyes as though to hide from the truth. Her brows knotted together as her face scrunched with silent pain. “I can’t do this the way you want me to do this. I need time. Time to read the files, but mostly, time to talk to my father.”
“Jo—”
“No, please, Nate,” she said as her eyes popped open and bored into his. “Please, you have to understand. I need to hear it from his lips. I need to see the truth in his eyes. I can record it on my phone. I can do whatever I need to do. But I can’t wear your wire and have that conversation when I know the whole world is listening. I can’t. He’s my father. Myfather.”
Her voice caught on the word, breaking.
“I understand. I do. But there’s something you need to understand too.” Nate paused, taking a breath, stalling. He’d never told anyone this before. Not his mother. Not his siblings. Not his partner. Some of the men at the bureau understood a portion of it—they had eyes and access to the confidential files and were smart enough to put two and two together. But it was different to tell someone, to actually say it out loud and face that day he’d shoved as far into the back of his mind as possible, to remember those last few moments, the darkest of his life, when all he’d seen was red—on his hands, on the grass, flooding down the street, spilling from his father’s chest, his own vision curtained by a gossamer red in his agony and anger. Speaking the words gave them life, tossed them into someone else’s hands to either protect or throw back in his face. For the first time in his life, staring into Jo’s eyes, he understood he’d found someone who’d keep them safe, keep him safe. “There’s something I haven’t told you, Jo. Something, something I need you to know.”
His voice was raw.
Stripped bare.
She squeezed his hand, nothing but concern in her eyes as she watched him, studied him. “What, Nate? What?”
“This is about more than just work for me. It’s about so much more than my job. It’s— It’s— It’s everything, Jo.” His voice was barely a whisper. Little more than the wind.
Her eyes narrowed as she fought to understand.
Nate sucked in an uneven breath, opening the lock on that door he’d slammed in the back of his mind, over and over and over, burying the memories as deep as he could, which was never deep at all, really, but always there, simmering beneath the surface, informing his every decision. He’d given that day so much power. Too much power. And it was time to let it go. To face the horror and release it. To free himself of nearly twenty years of pent-up pain. If he didn’t do this, here, now, with Jo, he wasn’t sure he ever would.
“You know my father was an agent,” he started slowly, but after that first sentence, everything came tumbling out. “You must know he died on the job. But that’s not all, not by a long shot. He worked in the organized crime unit, which back then, was even more dangerous than it is now. The criminals were bolder, less afraid. The Russians were only just getting started in the US. They weren’t established like the Italians, but they had ties to the homeland that made them brash and well-armed and eager to cement their place. My father, he went undercover on an operation. He was supposed to retire from fieldwork the year before, but they pulled him into one last job. He was gone for almost eight months. We only saw him twice when the bureau was able to smuggle him away. And then he got the evidence he needed, had one of the kingpins on a recording, more than enough to put him away for life. So the Feds got him out. My family was moved to a safe house, and my father was supposed to join us there until the trial was over. But something happened. No one ever understood how—if the Russians had a contact on the inside, if they managed to break into our databases, if they tortured someone for information. But they knew our location. They knew where we were. And— And—”
God, Nate could see it so clearly.
Like he was twelve again.
