Chapter 39
North Cherry Avenue, Chicago
Two hours later, Sabrina pointed to the curb. “Here’s fine.”
Martin’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. A line appeared between his perfect eyebrows. “I’ll take you to your gate.”
“I’d like to walk. It helps clear my head.”
His jaw sawed back and forth in indecision. Clearly, he hated the idea of leaving her to her own devices in the middle of the city.
Ever the gentleman, she thought with a dejected twist of her lips.
“It’s only a few blocks to the compound. I’ll be fine,” she assured him softly.
“If you’re sure.” There was still hesitation in his voice.
“I’m sure,” she said. Then she waited for him to execute a perfect parallel park between two SUVs. He made the move look easy when, in fact, she knew it wasn’t—hence the dent in the side panel of her Prius.
Truly, the man had no flaws.
Except for the fatal flaw of not being Hewitt Birch, she thought sadly.
After he put the Mercedes in park, she turned in her seat and placed a hand on his arm. His suit was made of the finest French linen, smooth and cool beneath her fingers. It slid over his forearm like water over iron, doing little to disguise the strength of the man beneath it.
“Thank you, Martin. For tonight. For everything,” she whispered, meaning every word.
Her smile was a quiet curve of lips that she hoped spoke of the things she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud. Things like how they might have stood a chance at something rare and remarkable if life had been different—if she had been different.
His expression was sweet. Kind. His tone was both when he said, “I’ve enjoyed your company, Sabrina. More than I expected to.”
She let out a breath that was half a laugh. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”
“Flattered,” he assured her, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim interior lights. “One of the drawbacks of being as well-schooled and well-traveled as I am is that I’ve seen it all and done it all. I rarely meet anyone who truly intrigues me.”
She shook her head and stared at him in wonder. “Seriously, do you have any flaws?”
He joked about it being easy to appear flawless when he had a therapist, an on-call chef, and a personal trainer determined to iron out his wrinkles. Then, before she could brace herself, he leaned across the console and kissed her cheek.
His lips were warm. Solid. His expensive cologne reminded her of fine leather and rare woods. And masculine confidence radiated from him in the very best way possible.
Most women would have swooned to have him so focused on them. Kissing them.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
Her heart belonged to one man, and Martin Massey wasn’t him.
You’re an idiot, the little voice that lived at the back of her head declared.
I know, she silently agreed.
After he pulled back, she whispered, “Thank you for being so kind about everything.”
“Thank you for being honest with me.”
Her expression turned self-deprecating. “You must think I’m ten kinds of crazy, huh?”
He shook his head. “Crazy or not, the heart wants what the heart wants.”
“Unfortunately, just because the heart wants something, that doesn’t mean it’ll get it.”
“He’s a damned fool if he doesn’t grab onto you with both hands and never let go.”
She made a face and then shrugged dejectedly. Her last words to him were, “Good night, Martin.”
“Goodbye, Sabrina.”
His cultured voice followed her as she stepped out into the night. She gave him a little wave and watched as he slid his sleek car back into traffic. Then, she dragged in a deep breath and let herself be surrounded by the city.
Summer still had its cloying, clutching hands around Chicago’s throat. But a blessedly cool breeze was blowing in from the lake.
The evening had turned soft as silk against her exposed skin. Warm enough to keep her from shivering. Cool enough that the air tasted crisp and clean instead of hot with baking blacktop and car exhaust.
She didn’t turn toward Black Knights Inc. Instead, she headed toward the river, searching for quiet. For solitude. For a moment to gather her thoughts and shore up her walls before returning home.
Neon reflected off the pavement. Laughter and honking horns floated in the air from the direction of downtown. The smell of fried onions and Garrett’s popcorn created a strange perfume. And a couple hurried past her, arm in arm, their voices bright with tipsy happiness.
The city was vibrant. Pulsing with life.
In contrast, she felt like a ghost drifting through it. A dark specter of melancholy amidst all that gaiety and frivolity.
She’d tried.
Tried to go back to the way things were before that one glorious afternoon. Tried to act the same and talk the same and feel the same.
But nothing was the same.
She wasn’t the same.
So now what?
She didn’t know, but she wanted to know. With her car still in the shop, she was forced to walk instead of driving to let her mind work through the problem.
It wasn’t long before her destination appeared in front of her. A tiny city park that was little more than a manicured patch of grass, a small stand of trees, and three cement benches planted in a neat row.
She descended the steps from the street, gazing intently at the river rolling by. Its glittery surface caught the city’s lights and refracted them into shards.
There’s a metaphor there, she thought with a sad snort. Something about how things can be whole and broken at the same time.
After sinking onto the bench closest to her, she sighed and let the tension slump out of her shoulders.
Two weeks. That’s all it had been.
Two weeks since her life had been upended, rearranged, ripped open, and stitched back together again into something new. Something she didn’t recognize. Something she didn’t even really want.
But it wasn’t like this was the first time she’d had to start over. It wasn’t like she’d never had her illusion stripped from her, never stared into a future that was a foggy unknown.
She’d survived the upheaval before.
She’d survive it again and—
A sudden shiver raced down her spine despite the perfect weather. The hairs on her arms lifted. Her pulse stumbled.
She raised her chin slowly, deliberately. Hoping she appeared casual as she scanned the grass, the trees, the deep shadows that avoided the reach of the lampposts’ lights.
A couple kissed beside a parked car up on the street. A jogger passed by in neon shorts and a reflective vest. A private pleasure boat glided across the water, lit up like a floating bar and bumping with club music. Utz, utz, utz.
Ordinary.
All perfectly ordinary.
And yet…
Someone was watching her. The sensation clung to her like spider-silk, fine and cloying.
Automatically, her hand dipped into her purse. Pulling out her phone, she thumbed on the screen and brought up Hew’s contact.
Two weeks ago, he’d been her safe place. Her rock.
Now? There was caution in his eyes when he looked at her. Wariness in his voice when he spoke to her and—
There it is again.
That crawling awareness. Stronger this time. Pressing hard against the back of her skull so that her spine snapped straight and her shoulder blades hitched together.
She started to stand, but stopped when someone slid onto the bench beside her and the cold, unmistakable kiss of a gun barrel jabbed into her side.
“Easy,” came a low voice. Feminine. Deadly. Familiar. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to be quiet.”
Sabrina bit her tongue to keep from screaming.
The hair color was different. Platinum blond had been replaced by a deep, cherry red. But there was no mistaking that jaw’s cruel angle or that tone that was always edged in ice.
Black Widow.
Sabrina’s phone was still in her hand, still open to Hew’s number. Keeping it low, hiding it from the assassin, Sabrina tapped out a single word in the message field.
The only word she could think of.
The one word that mattered.
Luckily, she’d silenced her phone’s alerts while having dinner with Martin. She’d wanted no interruptions, no distractions when she ended things between them. Now, she was able to send the text without the telltale woosh. And a few more quick taps on the screen meant she was sharing her location.
Her lungs felt like they were coated in cement. But she forced herself to inhale. To oxygenate her body and brain just in case she got the chance to run.
“You shouldn’t have come back here,” she whispered. “The Black Knights told you what would happen if you did.”
The gun pressed harder into her ribs, making them ache. But Sabrina refused to flinch.
“Is this about what I did to Hummer?” Sabrina was pleased to hear that her voice sounded steady, conversational even.
She was getting good at keeping her cool in life-threatening situations, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or if it simply meant her trauma response had been blunted by, yeah, you guessed it, too much trauma.
“I thought you said grudges give you wrinkles.”
“I don’t give a shit about Mark Kesslar,” Black Widow hissed. “I give a shit about me. That’s why I’m here.”
The pressure of the gun vanished from Sabrina’s side. It was replaced by the cold, metallic snap of something slamming around her wrist.
She blinked in astonishment. Black Widow had…handcuffed them together? Why on earth?
“Get up,” the woman snarled, her eyes darting restlessly around the park. “We’re going for a walk.”