Page 9 of Brazen Deceits

Damn it, I should have seen this coming. I brought in this connection, but then I couldn’t identify that damn Van Dyck before that whole gig went sideways. I thought I was good enough to work with a top-of-the-line fence. But of course, I’m not. I never was. I never am.

My bravado? It’s going to sink us.

The frustration and anger boil up, and I know I’m going to lose it.

God-fucking-damn it.

Chapter 5

Clara

Walker stands with his head pressed against the front door long enough for me to worry. I rub the small of his back, waiting for him to return from wherever his mind has taken him.

I wish I had context for what just happened. I was silent, like he asked. Watching this Jasmine woman took all my focus, but I know I’m missing details that would have let me understand the minutia Walker wanted me to look for.

Replaying the whole interaction, I make a list in my head and lock it away, holding onto it for when Walker is ready to listen.

Now is not that moment. He’s stuck in his head, thinking he’s failed before he started, that he’s let the guys down on some big job they have coming up. I need to get him into a different head space, to bring him back to me.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out, finding a text from Trips.

Is Walker alive?

I sigh. Tact is not his strong suit.

He’s alive. He’s going to need a minute, though.

The answer flashes back faster than thought.

Tell him to answer his fucking texts. You have an hour.

Yes, sir, Captain sir,the snarky voice in my head answers. I don’t think the sarcasm would translate to text, though.

Give him a while. You’ll be too busy to help until tomorrow anyway.

The middle finger emoji is all I get back, so I take it as permission to let Walker wind down.

Tucking my phone into my purse, I study the broken man in front of me. What can I do?

Touch. Walker is always touching me, brushing against my arm, holding my hand, pulling me into his lap. He needs touch.

I slide my hand from his back, slipping my fingers into his. I give a little tug to get his attention. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but he doesn’t turn.

“Walker, let’s go to my room, okay?” I say, gently prying him away from the door, pulling him in my wake down the hallway, through the kitchen, and back to my room. He follows me, eyes glazed in genuine anger, something I haven’t seen from him before.

I drag him to my bed where I flop down, the steep drop to the mattress on the floor forcing Walker to tumble after me. “Clara,” he says, annoyed.

“Shh,” I say, kicking off my shoes before wrapping myself around him koala-style. “Talk to me. What’s going on up there?” I ask.

Walker stays stiff in my arms, but at least he’s answering. “I’m just so mad.”

“Mad about what?”

He rolls onto his back, kicking off his own shoes, so I settle my head on his chest, his heart beating against my cheek. I wait for his answer.

Eventually, he sighs. “I’m just mad. It’s not important. Not really.”

With that, he wraps an arm around me as his lips press against my forehead. “Are you better?” I ask.

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