Page 53 of Broken Love

I’m not leaving Afghanistan until I make Caleb Fawn fall in love with me.

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Chapter 15

Boxcar

Now

“Caleb?”

I knock softly on her door. The ride back was excruciatingly long, mostly because of the time I spent in my head planning out what I was going to say to her. I have it all figured out. A few variations of phrases Fox told me plus plenty more of my own personal things that I’d only ever say out loud to her and no one else.

I just have to see her face and it’ll all come out.

“Caleb?”

I reach for the doorknob and twist it, feeling a sudden bolt of shock as the thing pushes open. Sure, Caleb is the only person who lives in this building, but I doubt she’d leave her door unlocked, especially with the street access at the bottom of the stairs. I step inside and look around as another stab of guilt plunges deep.

The room is exactly as I left it. The bedsheets are still flung about. The pillows are ruffled. My nose fills with the very scent of her, enough to make me halt in my shoes and take notice. Just like it always did since the moment I met her.

“Caleb?”

I check the bathroom, but she isn’t there either. She could have gone out. If not, there’s only one other place she would be and that’s downstairs in her shop. I smile, remembering that there’s only one thing that never failed to relax her. If I were a betting man, that’s exactly where she’d go after what just happened between us.

I head for the back of her loft to the staircase leading down to her shop.

“Shit…” I mutter, looking around. “Shit.”

Broken glass. Toppled merchandise. Bullet casings.

Whatever happened here, it wasn’t good.

And worse, it’s my fault.

“Caleb!”

I look up, scanning the corners for a security camera. There’s one in each corner and two more that cover the cash register and the front entrance.

I rush to the management office in the back, biting my cheek in the hopes that they aren’t just dummy cameras to deter theft. Caleb’s just stubborn enough not to invest in a system and given the state of her bank accounts, she probably justified the non-expense of not having one.

The old office has two desks, one with the most ancient CRT monitor sitting on top. The monitor blinks as I flick it on, almost puttering out completely. It eventually kicks on, along with the VHS player connected to it with a tape inside labeled Sunday.

I shake my head, promising to install something a hell of a lot better than this when this is all over.

I rewind the tape and there she is.

Lilah Hart.

Every ounce of air dispels from my lungs. My heart expands several sizes, ready to explode with anger.

From what I can see, Lilah managed to break in through the alleyway exit behind the building just minutes after I walked out.

Goddammit.

I should have stayed.

Why didn’t I stay?

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