Page 4 of Heartless

She took another step inside and then stopped. Seriously. What was she doing here? What did any of this do but remind her of what she’d lost? What she could never have again? Grief had consumed her for over two years, and just when she’d almost come to terms with what had happened, she had decided to come back here and bring it all back again? Just what kind of masochist was she?

Even as she lectured herself on the sheer stupidity of her actions, she closed the door behind her and took several more steps into the house.

Memories swamped her, and she automatically reached for the doorknob behind her in an effort to escape the pain. A voice in her head stopped her. That voice, gravelly and low, whispered softly, What are you afraid of, Livvy?

He had said that to her the day she’d finally admitted her feelings to him. She had denied them for so long, and he of infinite patience had finally grown tired of her denials and confronted her. She had been afraid to admit her love. Having grown up in a household where expressing affection was tantamount to admitting you were human, she had resisted. Even as every fiber of her being was shouting at her to tell him, still she had resisted.

If she had known what was to happen, would she still do it? Would she have given her heart to him, given her everything to him, knowing that in only a few years it would be crushed to dust? She wanted to say no, but she was unfailingly honest and could give herself only a little leeway by admitting that she just didn’t know.

Nicholas Hawthorne had been larger than life. From the moment she’d met him, he had fascinated her. Dynamic and forceful were two of the adjectives she’d heard used to describe the man named Hawke, so when she’d met him, she had been prepared. The description had been true, but that wasn’t what had stunned her. What she hadn’t been able to get her head around was his lack of ego. Others might have held him in high esteem, but for Hawke, his heroic actions were all in a day’s work.

She would never forget their first meeting. They’d both been on an undercover job, though neither of them had known it at the time. The instant she’d heard his voice, something happened inside her—something she had never been able to explain. She only knew her life had changed in that moment.

She hadn’t learned who he was until months later. She had taken an assignment to liaise with an off-the-books special ops unit in the US. It turned out Hawke was the team leader and was not remotely happy to have her in his unit. She had felt the same way…for a while.

Even now, after all these years and after all the pain, she could smile at how very much she’d disliked Nicholas Hawthorne that first day on the job.

It hadn’t been long before he’d changed her mind.

Shaking off those memories, Olivia continued through the house. The interior had been updated quite a bit, with a kitchen remodel, new bathroom fixtures, and light gray wall colors as opposed to the ice blue she remembered. The hardwood floors had a nice sheen to them, but the scuff marks from the dining room table were still there, as was the dent left from when the movers set her piano down too quickly. She hadn’t noticed the dent until they’d moved out of the house eighteen months later.

Time had flown in the tiny house, and love had grown. Here, they had been Livvy and Nic. So crazy in love, so wild for one another, they had needed nothing but each other. There had been an abundance of laughter and a minimum of tears here. She could count on one hand the number of times they’d argued.

That had come later.

Her footsteps now at a steady, even pace, she peered into each room she passed. Memories swept over her of small, seemingly inconsequential events. Looking back on them now was a reminder of how love was supposed to be. How had they messed it up so badly? A twisted, self-condemning voice whispered inside her, You know.

Shaking off the pain, she reached the bedroom and stopped at the doorway, unable to make herself walk any farther. This was too much. Too many memories. This was the place of love and passion. So many wonderful memories, more than passion—even more than love. Devotion, tenderness, an all-encompassing commitment to each other that she would have sworn with her last breath could never be broken. Until it was. The happy times of the past couldn’t erase the hideous pain that came after.

Backing away quietly as if to avoid disturbing those glorious memories, Olivia backtracked to the front door. Once there, she opened it, stepped onto the porch, and let loose a long, gasping breath. She closed the door, and leaning her forehead against the wooden frame, she whispered softly, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

As if demons were chasing her, she turned abruptly and ran as fast as she could to her car, hitting the remote starter on the way. She threw herself into the driver’s seat, shifted into drive, and spun out of the driveway.

She never looked in the rearview mirror. If she had, she might’ve seen the shadow of a man at the edge of the yard—an ominous warning that the past could never be truly buried.

CHAPTER THREE

Alexandria, Virginia

Fighting a yawn, Olivia pushed open her apartment door. It had been an exhausting day of running down leads and research. She enjoyed that part of her job at Last Chance Rescue—it was like solving mysteries with clues she dug up from nothing. However, it could be as exhausting as kicking down doors and rounding up human traffickers, just in a different way. Her mind, more than her body, needed a break. All she wanted to do was pour a glass of wine, slip into a fragrant bubble bath, and relax.

Part of the problem was the trip she’d taken three days ago. The sadness she kept inside her, which she had never shared with anyone, had been exacerbated. Why she had done that, she didn’t know. It had been her first time back there since she’d lost Nic, and it had done nothing but cause more nightmares. Last night’s had been especially harrowing. Not having answers caused her unconscious mind to work overtime, creating the most horrific scenarios and events. Would she ever know the truth?

She opened the fridge and grabbed the bottle of Riesling she’d uncorked yesterday and halted abruptly. Telling herself she should leave the past behind was one thing. Actually living it was something else. The contents of the refrigerator told the tale. Half the fridge was filled with foods that only Nic would have eaten. His favorite kind of cheeses, red grapes—instead of the white ones she preferred—and his favorite kind of mayo. And why, oh, why did she continue to purchase his brand of beer when she didn’t even like beer?

She turned and took in the kitchen and living room area. The furniture was the same. The sofa was much too large for the small space, and the chair she’d loved to read in was stuck in a corner because that was the only place it fit. Even the few knickknacks—a crystal vase they’d picked up in Madrid, the carving of a bird from Tibet—that she and Nic had accumulated in their travels, were displayed the way they’d been when they’d lived together.

She hadn’t moved on. Yes, she lived somewhere else and worked for only one employer, but those two things were the only real changes she had made. She was living in limbo, as if expecting Nic to walk through that door any minute. Those days of hope had ceased, yet she was still living as though she had some.

That had to stop. She had to let go of everything—let go of him. It was time she accepted that he wasn’t coming back. All the searching, all the begging for information, and all the tears were not going to bring back a dead man. Nic was gone, and she had to accept it.

Grim determination driving her, she grabbed a box from the hall closet and began to fill it with items from the past. A few she couldn’t let go of—the wood carving of a couple embracing that Nic had given her on their first anniversary, the blown glass jar of emerald she’d fallen in love with on their honeymoon in Germany, and the ugly purple and orange stuffed orangutan she had felt sorry for in an open-air market in Tanzania. She had remarked on how sad and lonely it looked, and he’d gone back and purchased it, surprising her with it the next day. Those things were too precious, too dear to give away. But the rest… Yes, the rest could go.

It was two thirty in the morning before she turned off the lights. She fell into bed and into the deepest sleep she’d had in years, feeling lighter and less burdened by the sadness that had haunted her for so long.

The click of the door lock woke her. In an instant, Olivia was on alert. Her hand went to the gun on her bedside table. Sliding out of bed, her feet bare and swift, she went on the hunt.

The intruders were quiet. She had a brief moment of regret that she’d left her phone on the nightstand. One press of a button would have alerted her LCR team that she was in trouble. They would have come running. That’s what she got for always trying to handle things by herself. She could practically hear Nic’s gruff words in her ear. Being a one-woman army can only get you so far, baby.

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