It had been four days since she’d read it. Four days since she’d tracked down their phony base of operations using the receipt he’d left for her.
It had given him a little thrill.
Tracking down the office space wasn’t exactly easy to do. She could not Google them. She had to be able and willing to work for it. Call around, ask questions. Make educated assumptions. She’d said she wanted to be a detective someday, and it appeared she would have been a good one. Until he’d walked in and ruined her life, that is.
The real thrill though had been knowing she cared enough to do it. Cared enough to get the answers to her questions.
Or to see him again.
“You’re brooding.”
Declan looked up. His actual office was a converted three-floor brownstone in Georgetown in Washington, DC. There was no plaque or sign that announced it as a business. In fact in the upscale residential street, most people probably assumed it was a single-family home. Although no one would know for certain, as they didn’t necessarily mingle with the neighbors. They just needed a safe, secure and discreet place to work and coordinate their assignments.
His was the top floor, Jillian the second floor, Flynn occupied the first floor. Their company location known only to a select few.
Jill was standing in his door with a mug of what he prayed to God was a strong tea, as he was running on fumes.
He hadn’t had much sleep in the last few days. Weeks really. He was a man who had slept alone for the bulk of his life, except those rare times he’d been in relationships. And even during those times he’d rarely stayed with the person after sex. Yet, he’d liked sleeping with Sinead. Liked the sounds she made. Liked the feel of her pressed up against him. He certainly liked waking up with her.
Jillian set the cup down.
“Thank you.”
She took the guest chair on the opposite side of the cherry wood desk, and he frowned. He wanted tea. Not company.
“Maybe you made a mistake,” she announced.
“I don’t make mistakes.”
“Oh spare me, please. Will you ever get over yourself?”
No one ever said working with an ex-lover was easy, but somehow he and Jill had managed a somewhat bizarre friendship. They couldn’t manage as a couple together, but they managed very well as business partners. Keeping each other’s egos in check.
“She got to you.” Jillian said that like it was news.
Yes. She got to him. Of that there was no question. She’d been the truest thing in his life. A woman with no artifice, no subterfuge, and he’d done nothing but lie to her.
“Your point?”
Jillian shrugged. “I’m just surprised you let it happen, that’s all. It’s not like you. Especially when you’re on an assignment.”
It had been such a silly thing. He’d had an option when he saw the cruiser coming down the street. It had been too late at that point to run, which meant he could take her out physically or try to talk his way out of it.
Maybe if it had been a male officer he would have done the former. Maybe because she’d been a woman he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He’d opted to charm her, and immediately it had been clear she’d found him attractive. She’d served her purpose. He could have let it go at that. Instead he worked her even harder, forcing those shy smiles from her lips that for some reason had made him hard as fuck.
Why not? he’d thought. Get her number, take her on a date. See where it went from there.
All so fucking innocent.
Like her. He’d wanted to take a bath in that innocence. Coat his body with it so that maybe for five seconds he might feel clean again. There had been lies between them. But there had been no games between them. His feelings had been real, even if his words had been false.
His stories were his to share. And he’d shared them under this blanket of protectiveness he knew she would never be able to penetrate, which made it safe.
He told her of his mother. His life growing up. He worried how her father would react when she had to tell him what happened. Because she had told her stories to him. Given him that.
He didn’t have to worry if he was being played. He didn’t have to wonder if she was a spy, an enemy, a criminal.
She was Sinead O’Hara of the Mill Valley Police Department, and she was as real a person as any he could imagine.
He looked to Jillian. What had she been saying? Something about it not being like him. “People can change.”
“I think that’s what I’m saying,” Jillian continued. “Maybe you made a mistake. You did something you don’t normally do, which is let your guard down. I should know. You let her get to you, so maybe she means something to you.”