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  Mistakes, he thought to himself, simple, impulsive, random mistakes—one infinitesimal misstep could destroy every-fucking-thing in the blink of an eye.

  But then, he already knew that. All too well.

  Two

  “Montgomery,” Special Agent Isaac Davis called from across the bullpen. “Meeting in five.”

  Vivien saved her progress on a report she was in the middle of completing and returned her computer to the locked screen. She rubbed her fists into her strained eyes and stood.

  Working in the DC field office of the FBI was quite a change of scenery after two years undercover in a terrorist cell in Chicago. Despite the fact that her efforts had brought down a Russian militia group tied to her family, she’d seen and heard too much. Upon return, she was put in a new post as a glorified paper pusher reviewing clearance statuses for non-US natives.

  She was grateful to have nights and weekends free, to have the occasional girl’s night out, and a somewhat predictable schedule. But at the same time she missed the thrill of being in the center of the action, of doing work that made a difference, of putting it all on the line to save lives.

  She’d always been an adrenaline junkie, but it was more than that. Vivien was wired for fieldwork and always had been. A military brat raised by her grandfather, she woke up early, was a light sleeper at the best of times, and had the stamina of ten men. After her undercover assignment ended, the FBI shrink she had been ordered to meet with called it “anxiety-induced insomnia,” but she’d shrugged that asinine diagnosis off, along with the filled prescription of zombie pills that she refused to take. Whatever her perpetual restlessness was called, it allowed her to do her job and do it well.

  She made her way to the Director’s office hoping she’d be getting news that meant she could trade her restrictive gray pencil skirts and low black heels for tactical gear in the near future.

  Once the small group had assembled around the conference table, Director Aaron Carmichael began speaking.

  “Yesterday at approximately 0800 hours, a storage facility full of stolen government property was found in Nashville, Tennessee.” He clicked the remote in his hand and a picture appeared on the screen behind him. Several rusted steel barrels lined the dingy walls of a storage room. “The military-grade explosives are currently being shipped to our facility for testing, but they match the description of a highly corrosive hydrochloric acid compound that was stolen last month from a containment facility . . .”

  Vivien’s ears began to ring as if a bomb had gone off nearby. The distant sound had begun when the Director said “Nashville” and had become loud enough to drown out his words completely when a picture of an EOD specialist’s destroyed hand was shown. His face didn’t appear in the photo, which meant it could’ve been him.

  It could’ve been Chase Fisk, her former Commanding Officer and the only man she’d ever loved. If she were being technical and truthful, he was the only man she’d ever let in close enough to see the real her. The real Vivien, not the carefully cultivated façade she’d perfected over the years while moving all over the countryside as part of her granddad’s military lifestyle.

  Barely able to hear her own voice, she blurted out her concern. “Has the injured officer been identified?”

  Several heads turned in her direction, and she felt her face flush. Likely she’d just interrupted the Director midsentence, but if she didn’t get clarification that it wasn’t Chase’s mangled hand on the screen, she was going to pass out and draw a lot more attention.

  The Director glanced down at the manila file folder he held and flipped a page over. “The EOD specialist is one Ethan Meadows, twenty years old, who has worked with the Nashville PD for barely a year.”

  Vivien frowned. They must’ve been hard up to take a guy that green and put him on the EOD team. She wondered if Chase had ever worked with him and if they were friends. She pushed the errant thought aside. Chase’s personal life was none of her business anymore. Thinking about him in any context was a dark road she couldn’t go down, especially not while she was at work.

  “It says here,” the Director continued, “that another team member, an Officer Chase Fisk, was able to prevent further damage to Meadows’s body. Those are the only details we were given.”

  So much for not going down that road. Judging from the impact hearing his name had on her heart rate, she might as well have built a house on it and planted flowers by the damn mailbox.

  Vivien cleared her throat and nodded for the Director to continue. Thankfully the ringing had subsided. Probably because it was drowned out by her pounding heart.

  “Along with the hazardous materials and man-made explosives, plans were found indicating a possible terrorist attack in downtown Nashville. We don’t have a timeline, but tourism is at an all-time high and there are several large-scale events, including CMA Fest, coming up that we believe would be prime-time for a potential bomber to do maximum damage.”

  “Looks like someone else hates country music as much as I do,” Lena Levinson joked under her breath.

  Vivien narrowed her eyes at the woman she usually got along well with. Lena knew some of Vivien’s story but gave a nonchalant shrug as the Director continued.

  “Homeland Security has been notified and will likely be on-site as well. Along with us and a few ATF Officers. The three of you will be completing a thorough investigation and a sweep for additional explosives. Levinson, you’ll be technical support working with Intelligence. Davis and Montgomery, you’ll be tactical. Officer Fisk heads up the EOD effort there and you’ll be on his team. Any questions?”

  Vivien had one, though she didn’t dare voice it in the roomful of her peers.

  What in the ever-loving hell could she have possibly done to wrong the universe so badly that she would be sent to the only place in the entire world she was terrified to go? To face the man she’d only recently accepted she could never see again.

  She’d only been to Nashville once before. And it was a painful trip she’d vowed never to think of again.

  So much for that.

  She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths as the team peppered the Director with questions about the case and their role in it—when to defer to local law enforcement and when to contact Homeland and so on.

  None of that worried her.

  Before this, she’d worked closely with some of the most dangerous individuals known to the United States government. She’d barely broken a sweat, except during a handful of close calls when her cover had nearly been blown. But now, anxiety be damned, she was in the throes of a full-blown panic attack.

  Chase Fisk already thought she was dead. Which was ironic since she was pretty sure this assignment might actually kill her.

  ***

  Vivien knew she needed to get to her one-bedroom apartment and pack her things quickly since her team’s flight to Nashville left in little over an hour. But she needed to talk to Director Carmichael first. Lena had convinced her to at least inform him of the situation, of her history with Chase and the complications involved.

  “Tell the Director I can’t go to Nashville because of my ‘man problems’?” she’d scoffed at Lena. “That sounds like a terrible idea.”

  Lena had laughed. “Couldn’t hurt to try.”

  Except that it could hurt. It could lead to her never getting out in the field again. Pleading with him for reassignment was a last-ditch effort that held a high probability of getting her shoved back behind a desk once more, but she was out of options and low on time.

  She’d been waiting outside his door for ten minutes and was contemplating saying to hell with it, when he finally opened it and waved her in.

  “Special Agent Montgomery,” he said in greeting. “Shouldn’t you be boarding a plane about now?”

  She nodded and swallowed the words she’d prepared. Her mind blanked and she was forced
to go with blatant honesty instead.

  “You’re aware of how I came to work for the Bureau?”

  It was the Director’s turn to nod. “I am. I was actually surprised you decided to stay on after your Chicago assignment was complete. My understanding was that it was the only assignment you were obligated to fulfill.”

  Vivien wanted to laugh. They’d taken everything from her. Her life. Her identity. A man she’d loved so deeply that he was very much a part of both. Then they’d expected her to return to business as usual as if there was anything left worth returning to.

  “It was a bit more complicated than that, sir. But, yes, I decided to stay on and my ordnance disposal training skills have been beneficial in the field. But this assignment—the Music City Bomber, as they’re calling him—I don’t think it’s one I should be on.”

  Director Carmichael frowned and the creases in his broad forehead deepened. “It’s no secret that you don’t love the desk job. Honestly, I thought you’d be happy to be getting back into the field.”

  Vivien swallowed the knot threatening to constrict her airway. “Yes, sir, and normally I would be. But there are extenuating circumstances I was hoping we could discuss privately.”

  The hair around the poor man’s temples seemed to be graying more by the minute. Vivien didn’t like causing problems or complaining. She was always a team player, and often a team leader. But this was outside her realm of capability.

  “Okay. Let’s cut to the chase, then. What is the issue with Nashville—besides an overabundance of honky-tonk bars and tourists in cowboy boots?”

  Cut to the chase. Well, there was her sign.

  Vivien pulled in a deep breath of air and expelled the truth. “Officer Fisk, the EOD team member you mentioned saving Officer Meadows from further injury?”

  Director Carmichael raised an interested brow but didn’t interrupt, so she continued.

  “We have a history. He was my CO during my EOD training in the service. We became romantically involved.” Her face felt hot at the admission. She’d never uttered a word of this to anyone and had never planned to. Certainly not a middle-aged stone-faced man who had the power to fire her on the spot for professional misconduct. “We knew it was wrong. We were careful not to let it affect either of our performances. But when the Bureau came for me, they staged an accident, faked my death, and I was ordered to have no contact with anyone from my unit.”

  The Director cleared his throat loudly. “I see. That certainly is a lot to take in.” His brow continued to furrow, deep-seated lines threading into one another for several long, painstaking moments before he rendered his verdict.

  “Your file was sealed, Montgomery. It was my understanding that when you were assigned to this office that you no longer faced any threats from the Russian militia your family had been entangled with. Faking your death was for your own protection, but now that the threat has been resolved, I can say, on behalf of the Bureau, you’re free to contact whomever you please. We can make it official, if need be.”

  Relief warred with a sense of impending doom in her chest. She knew this. She’d known for a while now. But having it confirmed out loud skewed her perspective until her future looked like the end of a kaleidoscope. Beautiful and messy all at once.

  She was free. Officially. But freedom came with a price.

  A price she wasn’t sure she was prepared to pay.

  “So you’re saying . . .”

  “I’m saying you need to get a move on so you don’t miss your flight.” With a flick of his wrist that sent light gleaming off his expensive watch, he dismissed her and her concerns.

  Vivien bit her lip, stalling, and feeling very much like a whiny student called to the carpet in the principal’s office. “But, sir, he’s going to have questions.”

  The Director eyed her speculatively. “Then I suggest you spend your in-flight time coming up with some answers.”

  Three

  Chase woke from yet another nightmare, only this time Vivien had traded places with Ethan Meadows and her flesh was disintegrating before his very eyes.

  Second verse, same as the first.

  He’d slept at the station on a small cot in a back room the officers used from time to time. He couldn’t face Luke and Aiden’s questions about Officer Meadows’s injuries just yet.

  Chase didn’t drink coffee anymore with the hope that forgoing caffeine would help keep his hands free from any jitters, but as he passed through the break room, he caught a whiff of the strong scent and realized he could’ve downed an entire pot. Rumor was Homeland Security, ATF, and the Feds were coming in to do their own investigation on the materials found in the storage unit, which meant a giant clusterfuck of different shades of blue. All of which were supposed to be on the same side, but no one would likely share information, and the last thing he needed was a contaminated crime scene. But there would be no way to keep them from traipsing all over the very spot where Ethan had nearly burned his hand completely off.

  First chance he got, Chase was going to visit him.

  He was.

  He just hoped he didn’t get a chance today or any day soon because, like Ethan, his own wounds were still raw, just not as visible.

  After checking in with his Sergeant and being given the official word on what he already knew about their fancy-pants visitors, Chase loaded his gear with the rest of the team in silence. Without Ethan’s goofy, grinning, ass-cracking jokes, no one had much to say. The weight of recent events was clearly taking its toll on everyone.

  “Want me to get the dogs?” A female officer named Becca Chan asked him as they loaded the SUV.

  “That’s okay. I think Dakota is on drug duty with SWAT today. I’ll go get Mishka in a minute.” Chase suspected Mishka wasn’t going to like the change. She was used to Ethan, communicated well with him, and they had a relationship built on training and trust. She’d do her job, but she probably wouldn’t like it.

  Immediately after retrieving her from the kennel behind the precinct, his suspicion was confirmed. Mishka sniffed every inch of him that she could reach. She continued looking back at the kennel, inside the SUV, then pointedly at Chase as if asking, “What the fuck, man? Where’s my guy?”

  “Down, girl,” Chase commanded gently once she was loaded into the vehicle. She whimpered as she continued coming up short on her search for Ethan. If Chase had any semblance of a heart left, the sadness evident in her canine gaze would have broken it. “He’s going to be okay,” he added softly so the other officers wouldn’t hear him consoling their four-legged colleague. “And so will you.”

  When they arrived on the scene, the entire lot was already crawling with black sedans and unmarked SUVs. Chase rubbed the back of his neck and braced himself for a bunch of red tape and bureaucratic bullshit. He let Officer Chan get Mishka out of the back, and instructed the team to do a sweep of the remaining units that they hadn’t processed the day before.

  Sucking in some dewy midmorning air, he made his way to where the Feds had set up a small central command station under a temporary tented structure. A man and two women stood with their backs to him. The shorter dark-haired woman wore a light jacket with FBI printed boldly in yellow on the back. The two others stood in tactical SWAT-style gear.

  It wasn’t until the breeze blew past that he caught a familiar scent he hadn’t come across in years.

  Vanilla. Wildflowers. Specifically, honeysuckle.

  Vivien.

  He shook his head, wishing once more he could mainline black coffee into his veins. But when he approached the group, the woman with strikingly similar hair to Viv’s stiffened and then turned slowly as if she’d felt him approach before she’d heard him.

  He’d had every intention of introducing himself, of making nice with the Feds so they could get through this without stepping on each other’s toes. But the moment he saw her face all bets were
off.

  She was dead.

  She’d been dead for four agonizingly awful years.

  He’d watched it happen. Been unable to reach her in time.

  He’d woken up in a hospital and been told that she didn’t make it. That somehow the IED they were using for training purposes was live and had killed her. That they’d identified her body by dental records because that was all that was left.

  But here she stood, in all of her radiant glory. Even more beautiful than he remembered and even more breathtaking than the elusive afterlife version of her that haunted him in his sleep.

  “W-what the hell?” The pained words escaped his mouth before he made the conscious decision to speak.

  “Officer Fisk,” Vivien said without emotion despite the turbulence flashing in her eyes, “these are my colleagues. Special Agents Lena Levinson and Isaac Davis.”

  Her words, her familiar face, her very presence slammed into him harder than any blast wave ever had. The way she just addressed him, like it was a formality, like she didn’t owe him the mother of all explanations, like she shouldn’t be running into his arms as they were reunited, it broke over him like shattering glass. Heat flooded his body from head to toe. Time stood still, holding him captive in a moment he couldn’t comprehend and couldn’t escape.

  The man shook his hand and Lena gave him a brief nod. Chase did his best to close his gaping mouth but he was certain his heart was going to pound straight through his Kevlar vest and injure someone.

  “They’ve been briefed on our history,” Vivien added firmly but gently. “I know it must be a shock to see—”

  “They’ve been briefed?” Chase shook his head in angered disbelief. “They’ve been fucking briefed?”

  That was all she had to say to him? After all this time?

  Vivien recoiled visibly as if he’d struck her with more than just words, but he was spinning too far out of control to care. Or the world was spinning too quickly around him for him to catch up.