Page 92 of Knotted Laces

“I called at least five times, sent a dozen texts,” I grit out, trying to calm my temper, my worry. She’s here. She’s okay. The house didn’t burn down. She didn’t get in an accident. She didn’t pull up stakes and move back to the East Coast.

“I’m sorry,” she says, moving a pile of papers to the side and then another and another, repeating the process until she unearths her phone. She holds it up with a chagrined smile. “I didn’t hear it. I was so focused on the fact that the case finally makes sense and—” She lifts her hands, indicating the mess that’s taken over her island. “Well, I got the pieces to make sense and…I need to move fast.”

“That’s great, cupcake.” I move toward her and kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry I came in like an asshole.” I pull back. “But you scared the shit out of me.”

She winces. “I didn’t mean to.” Then her gaze flies to the clock in the microwave. “Shit, I missed all of Game Night, didn’t I?”

I nod. “You would have loved it. It was a corgi and kitten fest. Cookie would have fit right in.”

“Dang.” She wrinkles her nose. “I really am sorry. I just…well, I didn’t put the pieces together until Jean-Michel gave me the lead.”

I still.

“In fact, we thought he might be in on it at first. All that power. The money. The connections. It would be so easy for him to hide criminal activity?—”

My lungs seize.

“I was convinced itwashim for a time,” she says. “But I researched for months, and we cleared him, moved on to other targets, so when he gave me the files?—”

“Files?” I croak.

She freezes, guilt sliding across her face. “I know it wasn’t right, but he gave me access and I needed to help?—”

“With what?”

“The Eagles,” she says, nodding at the papers, at the photos of the coaches and many of the back office staff. “And I needed the help with my case?—”

“Yourcase?”

More guilt on that beautiful face.

Her case. Tommy. Trying to right a wrong.

No.

Doinganythingto right a wrong.

And suddenly, it all makes sense—never looking at me twice even after she moved here, not getting involved until things weregoing wrong with Jean-Michel and the team. I know that work has always been the most important thing in the world to her and more than that, I know this case has bordered on obsession with her.

You’re not good enough.

Hurt washes over me.

“Tell me,” I say carefully.

“Tell me what?” A hesitant question.

“Tell me that you’re only with me because of the case.”

Her eyes go wide, but I don’t miss the sliver of guilt in the deep brown depths. It has those words—you’re not good enough—slicing through me again, sinking their claws deep into my heart and tearing it wide open.

“Cam,” she whispers. “I can’t believe you’d think that.” A shake of her head. “It’s not— It’s not like that at all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I whisper, head pounding, heart hurting.

“I wouldn’t. I love you.”

I grind my teeth together.

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