Tall and muscular, with well-defined features and warm brown eyes, Dennis had the appearance of a man you could trust, a plus in his chosen field. He wore tan slacks and a black polo shirt tucked in at the waist, while a light jacket likely concealed the Glock he carried for his job. At the sight of her, a smile curved his lips, and for a fleeting moment he reminded her of the man she’d once considered marriage material.
Now she knew what lurked behind that mask of civility. Every muscle in her body went rigid, while her grip on the doorknob tightened. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you, but you haven’t responded to any of my messages. We need to talk. Can I come in?”
“No. You can say what you want outside.”
The smile slipped a notch or two, but the rest of his mask remained in place. “I’d rather not have a private discussion in the hallway where everyone can hear.”
Boundaries, she reminded herself for what had to be the thousandth time. She didn’t want him in her life, and she certainly didn’t want him setting foot inside her apartment. “I’m sorry, but you’re not coming in. Now what. Do. You want?”
The muscles along his jaw flexed, but he kept his temper in check. That level of restraint was a rarity for him. When they’d been a couple, any pushback she gave had been met with an immediate barrage of verbal abuse and gaslighting that left her questioning her own sanity.
“I’ve been thinking about us, about the good times we had.” His features softened as he met her gaze. “I’ve missed you, babe. We never should have broken up.”
For a moment or two, she simply stared at him as a torrent of memories flooded her brain and jacked up her heart rate. She’d walked on eggshells for three long years before she mustered the courage to leave the jerk. No way was she going back to that. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’d never joke about something like this. We were made for each other, Fiona.” His smile returned, brighter than before.
At one time, she would have found it charming. Now, it grated on her nerves because she knew it was nothing more than a tool he used to get whatever he wanted.
“Think of all the good times we had, like that weekend we drove to—”
“No.” She cut him off, because for every good time, there were two or three bad ones that she really didn’t want to think about. “We are never getting back together.”
He had the nerve to act disappointed. “But I love you, babe.”
“Well, that’s too bad, because I don’t love you. I’ve moved on, and you should too.” Normally, she didn’t speak so bluntly, but she didn’t want to give him any hope for reconciliation. She wanted him to go away, to leave her alone, and forget she ever existed.
She didn’t wait for his response, and the shock on his face when she closed the door was satisfying as hell.
Of course, he didn’t go away. That would have been too easy.
Chapter 2
Freshfromtheshowerand dressed in faded jeans and a black T-shirt, Joseph Pinto switched on the television on his way to the kitchen for a beer. His after-work run had burned off some of the stress that came from a long day on the job. Pizza and a few beers over hockey should take care of the rest of it.
As the only combat medic on the payroll at Six Points Tactical & Security, it was his responsibility to treat any new recruits who got injured during the field portions of their training. Most of the time, it was simple stuff like rope burns, twisted ankles, and minor heat exhaustion. But every so often shit got serious, and it usually happened to the guy who talked smack about getting the best time on the obstacle course. Today’s brainiac was a former Army Ranger who should have known better than to fuck around on Jacob’s Ladder. Luckily, the fall didn’t puncture his lungs, but the broken ribs would take a month or two to fully heal.
Right on time, the delivery guy arrived with Pinto’s large pizza with ham, pepperoni, and black olives. As he tipped the driver, a door slammed upstairs, and the sound of a man cursing drifted down the stairwell. That was life in an apartment building. For the most part, his neighbors were quiet and kept to themselves, but every so often, someone slammed a door, or threw a party, or had an argument in the hall. All in all, it could be worse. At the last place he lived, two guys got into a knife fight over a college football game.
Inside the apartment, Pinto set the pizza box on the kitchen counter, and when he opened the lid, the spicy scents of meat and marinara filled the room and made his stomach grumble. He took out his phone to see why his buddy wasn’t here yet—he only lived a couple of miles down the road—and frowned when he found a message from Hatch. Apparently, there was something going on with his kid sister, and he wouldn’t be able to make it tonight.
“Oh well, more for me.” Though he wouldn’t have ordered a large if he’d known he’d be eating alone. On the bright side, he’d have enough left over for breakfast tomorrow morning. He grabbed the pizza box, picked up his beer, and parked his ass on the couch in front of the television as the pre-game show began.
Even with the volume cranked up, he could still hear the guy upstairs banging on the door and screaming like a lunatic. Normally, Pinto would have ignored it. As a general rule, he didn’t stick his nose in other people’s business. All he wanted tonight was to enjoy a few beers in the comfort of his apartment, while watching the Devils beat the snot out of the Rangers on home ice.
But it didn’t sound like the asshole upstairs planned to let up anytime soon. To the contrary, he was only getting louder.
Annoyed, Pinto put his beer back in the fridge, left the apartment, and trudged up the stairs. The guy standing in the second-floor hall was so busy pounding on the neighbor’s door that he didn’t even notice his approach. Big guy, sturdy build. An inch or two taller than Pinto. He carried himself like a man who worked out. Not that any of it made a difference. He could have looked like Schwarzenegger in his prime, and Pinto still would have come upstairs to tell him to pipe the fuck down.
“Is there a problem?” he said loudly enough to be heard over the commotion.
The banging stopped.
Slowly, the guy glared over his shoulder, a scowl etched into his face. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the guy who’s trying to enjoy a hockey game, but I can’t because you’re making too much noise.” He tossed an extra helping of New Jersey into his voice, because he wanted to make it crystal-clear that he wasn’t in the mood to mess around.