Laughing, Blade answered, "Yeah, I got him covered. In my spare time, I think I'll cuff him and read him his rights."
Zack's head craned around so fast, Mark wondered if he'd learned the maneuver from Linda Blair. "You're a cop?"
"FBI, asshole. You're busted."
A long string of grunted curses littered the air.
"Did you see Nicki upstairs?"
"Yeah, she nearly mowed me down and told me to get my ass downstairs to save you. But by the time I got here, you looked to be doing pretty well on your own."
Surprise flared inside Mark. And hope. So she hadn't intended to just throw him to the wolves, to just leave him here to die while she found the money and used it to purge Pietro from her business. He hadn't believed in her before, in them. Maybe this time, like last, he'd jumped to conclusions.
But she hadn't come down with Blade. Why not?
"What was Nicki doing?" Mark asked.
"She said she had to find something."
Find something? What did Zack have upstairs? Maybe clues. Maybe something that incriminated Zack. Maybe ... There were a thousand maybes. Fact was, he had no idea.
But he
knew
one thing was upstairs: the money. She'd never denied wanting more of it to pay back her asshole uncle.
Had she sent Blade to both save Mark and distract the FBI agent so she could make a clean getaway?
He didn't want to believe it. Everything inside him revolted. She'd said she loved him. But ... Tiffany had proven someone could claim love and still totally screw their lover. They lived in the world of terrorism, child abductions, and marketing scams. Theft happened every day.
The rationalization couldn't keep a fresh rush of agony from burying him like an avalanche. God, he hurt everywhere, most of all between his pectorals, where he swore just over a year ago that he'd never let another woman hurt him again. But this hurt every bit as much. No more. Way more. He'd let Nicki in ... and no matter what she did, Mark feared she'd be there forever, always nagging him, keeping him from peace like an untreated toothache.
"But now that you mention it," Blade continued, "I wonder where the hell Nicki went."
"Probably to find Zack's money and put it to good use. At least she sent you to help me." He shook his head, pain like acid in his chest. "She isn't a killer, just a thief."
A feminine gasp to his right brought Mark's head around. Nicki.
She stopped in midstride as she approached from the side of the building, her blue eyes too wide in a face oh-so-pale as she clutched the arm of an old man at her side. Behind her, she parked a rolling suitcase. Hurt radiated off of her, bouncing all around them. She clutched at her chest as if trying to push back the pain inside.
"You son of a bitch!" she growled at Mark.
Her angry tears started.
Shock jerked his stomach clear through to his spine.
"Damn, why am I crying for you?" she went on, swiping away at the wetness already on her cheek. Then she picked up the rolling suitcase and threw it at him. "Here! Have your fucking money."
Stunned, Mark didn't know what to say. He just stared, assailed with the terrible encroaching knowledge that he'd jumped to believe the worst and he'd screwed up big.
"You actually thought for even a second that I'd leave you here to die, so I could steal Zack's stash?" She frowned, the expression rife with hurt. "After everything we shared ..." She shook her head. "Unbelievable. I must be the world's stupidest woman for not figuring out the truth. You weren't framed for embezzlement by just any bank employee, but by your ex-wife, weren't you? I overheard you talking to Zack. And it all makes sense now. If you had to have proof from Blade that I didn't intend to let Zack kill you, if you actually thought I intended to steal Zack's ill-gotten gains and use it to pay off my uncle, it should be obvious you're never going to let yourself forget Tiffany or heal."
"Zack tried to kill someone?" asked the old man in a shaking, bobbing voice.
He cast rheumy dark eyes to his grandson that looked ghostly with his silvery hair.
"Granddad, I ..." Zack's gaze implored as he tried to explain the unexplainable. "I-I just wanted your last years to be good ones."
The old man drew back. "I don't want a life purchased in blood and treachery."
Mark barely spared a glance for the unfolding family drama. He focused on Nicki.
He had fucked up--bad. Worse than ever before. Dear God ... When would he learn? Why hadn't he already learned? Maybe he simply couldn't.
Mark approached her, lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Nicki, I--"
"Don't say it, whatever excuse you've got! And take your hand off me." She shrugged off his touch. "I went upstairs to get Zack's grandfather, Frank, just so you know. He knew me. I'd been here before." She shuddered, fighting fresh tears. Instead of shedding them, she sniffed, swallowed, then went on. "I thought he could talk sense into Zack because none of us could. I brought the money as a bargaining chip. And after I gave you my heart, my body, tried to heal you ... you thought I'd sold you out?" She shook her head. "You're never going to trust me, or yourself, no matter what. Damn you!"
Before he could open his mouth to respond, a hoard of unmarked cars pulled to quick stops lining the street, and lots of men in suits emerged, looking very bureaucratic.
The cavalry had arrived.
In an instant, he was swarmed. He answered questions, explained his investigation, placed a few calls to Rafe, who put the Feds on the scene in touch with Norton, who'd paid him to come in the first place.
But when he looked up again, Nicki was gone.
B
y noon the next day, Nicki heard the knock she'd been dreading ... but had known was coming.
Mark.
She licked suddenly dry lips and fought against too-wet eyes. After a nearly sleepless night, her eyes felt as if they'd sunk into the back of her head. Every muscle in her body protested the previous night's bout of drama and danger.
But it was her heart that ached--probably beyond repair.
Knowing the man she loved still thought there was a chance in hell that she would sell him out and steal ... Damn, that hurt like a chainsaw to the stomach. Yes, he'd absolved her of laundering money, but then assumed that she would take the fast cash in Zack's apartment, suspected, for even a moment, that she'd leave him there to die.
Did he think so little of her? Or just have zero trust in himself and his own feelings? Did it matter anymore? He was going to let that bitch of an ex-wife ruin his life--the life Nicki yearned to spend with him. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
Nicki's shoulders drooped in defeat. No matter how much she loved him, regardless of what she said or did to prove herself, it wasn't going to be enough. Mark hadn't let himself heal. And in truth, finding out that his ex-wife had framed him for her crime had been a shock to her. She could only imagine how much the event had stunned him.
Mark was closed, suspicious, unable to share his emotions. It made perfect sense after someone he'd trusted, maybe even loved, had deceived him so badly. Despite knowing why Mark behaved as he did, Nicki knew herself; she couldn't go on this way.
Yet she didn't see how she could go on without him.
The knock sounded again, reminding her that she was stalling.
Straightening her black yoga top and licking her lips again, she grabbed the knob in her shaking grasp and pulled the door open.
Whoosh!
The sight of him stole her breath. God, he looked good standing there, golden hair glossy on his shoulders, contrasting with a tight gray T-shirt. His presence, coupled with the suitcases at his feet, hit her with all the subtlety of a crowbar to the chest.
The look in his hazel eyes impacted her like a death blow to her heart.
She couldn't breathe, felt her heart tearing to pieces. But the truth was there in his eyes. There was no pretending or denying that everything they'd shared was over.
"Can I come in for a minute?"
Silently nodding, she stepped back. She didn't trust her voice.
He shut the door behind him with a quiet click. And he looked at her intently. Unwaveringly. Deeply. She stared back, unable to look anywhere else.
Nicki had no doubt this was the last time she'd ever see Mark Sullivan.
Oh, it hurt. He wasn't even gone, and already she could feel her insides bunching into a knot of pain. Did the son of a bitch even know how much she loved him? How much letting him go was killing her?
"I came to say I'm sorry ... and good-bye."
That deep voice that had once driven her fantasies was now making her nightmare a reality. God, she didn't know she could hurt this bad.
Nicki pressed her lips together, feeling the sting of unshed tears in her eyes. "I figured you were leaving."
"My flight is at three." He sighed, raised his hand to touch her ... then lowered it with a sigh of regret. "I'd better not. If I start touching you now, I don't know how I'll stop."
Touch him, reach out to him!
a little voice in her head urged.
You can persuade him to stay a while longer.
She ignored the self-destructive advice.
"Last night only proved to me that I'm ruined for relationships, Nicki. I suck at trust. I don't think it's possible for me to change that, and it's not fair of me to make you believe otherwise."
That was crap. A copout to avoid dealing with the past ... and the future. Nicki knew that if he didn't love her enough, if he didn't believe in himself, in them, she wasn't going to be able to make him learn to trust again. She couldn't go through life with Mark suspecting her of stabbing him in the back at the slightest little misunderstanding or infraction. He wouldn't be able to endure it, either.
Better to say good-bye--even if gouging her eyeballs out with an ice pick sounded like more fun.
"After last night, I know I don't deserve you." he murmured.
A part of Nicki wanted to rail and scream, wanted to kick his ass for hiding behind his pain. But fighting for him, for them, would do no good until he healed. If he ever let himself. At the thought, Nicki wanted to run crying, ask someone--anyone--why in the hell she hurt so damn bad.
Instead, she stared.
He looked down, as if he couldn't bear the look on her face. Finally, when he met her gaze again, Nicki saw a slip in his facade. Pain seeped in at the edges, tightening his face, dimming his red-rimmed eyes. And still, Nicki knew he'd take any agony to avoid hurting either of them even more. Heroic to the core, damn him.
"I'll never forget you," he whispered. "I'm not built for love or happily ever after. But if it's any consolation, if I was ever going to fall for someone and I could make it work, I'd be with you."
At those words, the tears she'd been holding back flooded her eyes, spilling onto her cold cheeks. She wanted to wail that he had tried--with the wrong woman. But it wouldn't do a bit of good. He was scarred and he was determined to go before he scarred her as well.
Too late.
Mark took her into his arms. Wrapping them tight around her, he pressed her face against the solid warmth of his chest. She inhaled that musky pine scent of his and wrapped her fingers around his shoulders, clung to the body that had provided both pleasure and comfort. She held him close for the last time in between wracking sobs.
As quickly as he enveloped her in his embrace, he pulled back and dried her tears with his thumbs. "Don't, baby. I'm not worth this."
But she couldn't stop. Nicki didn't see how anything could ever make it stop.
Especially when he brushed a kiss on her forehead, then stepped away.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, then exited her apartment and her life forever.
Chapter 19
N
icki wondered if the person who'd said
That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger
had ever had a broken heart. She seriously doubted it. Nearly two weeks after Mark's departure, she still woke up every day feeling like she'd played a game of Chicken with a Mack truck and lost. Even the thought of food, much less the ingestion of it, made her want to hurl. And sleep ... nonexistent.
Sighing, she sank down onto her sofa and glanced through resumes and pictures of potential dancers. Good looking, for sure. Many experienced and talented. Men who could replace Mark in her business.
Would anyone ever replace him in her heart?
Yes,
she told herself. Someday she would move on. She'd meet Mr. Fabulous, give up the city for the 'burbs, have 2.2 kids and gush about her new minivan. It was only her crazy subconscious that plastered Mark's face and body over Mr. Fabulous every time she tried to picture it.
Tossing the resumes aside, she drew her knees to her chest and stared out the window at the vivid desert sunset over the Vegas city lights. But she saw nothing.
Everyone from Lucia to Dear Abby was telling her she'd get over Mark someday. Maybe that was true. She just didn't see it happening before she was eligible to join AARP. At the moment, Mark felt no less potent to her than an addictive drug. Some nights, she awoke in the wee hours, loneliness crushing her chest until she could hardly take a breath. Would she ever again feel like she could breathe without him next to her, inside of her?
At night, when she couldn't sleep, she replayed his comment to Blade.
She isn't a killer, just a thief.
It hurt again, just as much as the first time. It still made her want to pound some sense into that thick skull of his and hurt him bad while she did it.
Deep in her heart, Nicki knew Mark's comment wasn't about how he saw her. He didn't really think she was a thief, any more than she thought he was an asshole. This was about his inability to trust. Hell, in the same situation, he probably would have accused Mother Theresa.