I shrugged. “Fine with me, but just to be clear, I don’t have to pinkie promise or share my diary combination first, right? I mean, we are taking our BFF status to a whole new level sharing wishes and all.”
“So funny,” she deadpanned. “Besides, if I thought you had a diary that consisted of anything more than a list of ways for you to torture your clients, I would have stolen it weeks ago. Combination or not.”
We were supposed to be working out, but like so often in my time with Clare, it had dissolved into us standing around a piece of equipment, bullshitting about anything I could think of in order to keep her talking and out of her own head.
“Come on, Cosgrove. Spill it,” she prompted impatiently.
My gaze dropped to her mouth as I ached to correct her with my real name. What I wouldn’t have given to hear Heath tumble from those pink, crescent lips.
I forced my attention from her mouth and said, “New jockstrap.”
Her lips twisted and her shoulders sagged in disappointment. “You have got to be kidding me! That’s your amazing birthday wish?”
I laughed and defended, “Hey! Do not underestimate the chafing a worn-out jockstrap can cause!”
“Oh, yeah? Well, in that case, I hope it’s chafing you right now. You’re ridiculous, and that’s not fair. No way I’m spilling my wish in exchange for your gross underwear.”
Using the end of my water bottle, I pointed at her. “Don’t you dare try to back out now, woman. We made a deal. I told you mine—you tell me yours.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“Asks the woman who kisses her watch at 11:11,” I retorted.
“Nope. I’m not telling you.” She shook her head and started to walk away, but I absentmindedly reached up and caught her arm.
She instantly froze at the contact, her face draining of all color.
Guilt slammed into my ribs with an alarming velocity. I hadn’t been thinking. I never touched Clare, no matter how I longed to. And, sometimes, when she was laughing and cracking jokes, it became easy to forget how fragile she really was.
“Shit.” I released her immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured softly, hurrying to the free weights.
She kept her back to me, but as I stood, I could see her chest heaving in the mirror. Her brave mask made her face unreadable, but her body’s physical reaction to such an innocent touch told the real story.
“Clare,” I apologized, striding toward her. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you, but I’d never hurt you.”
She nodded, picking a set of weights up while avoiding my gaze. “Really, it’s okay. I’m just jumpy sometimes.”
“You want to talk about it?” I asked cautiously, praying that she’d finally let me in.
Her gaze slowly lifted to mine in the mirror, that fucking glimmer of pain once again dancing within. “I wished that I’ll catch 11:11 again tomorrow.”
“What?” I took a step toward her.
She blinked tears back as she held my gaze, her mask slipping away. The emptiness appearing in its place viciously sliced through me.
With a shaky voice, she confessed, “I don’t really believe in wishes, but somehow, I’ve found myself in a situation where a silly wish is all I have left. If I’m lucky enough to catch 11:11 again tomorrow, it means we’ve survived another day.”
My stomach lurched at her honesty. It was the first time she’d opened up even the slightest bit.
And it wrecked me.
I couldn’t have spoken around the lump in my throat if I’d tried. I didn’t try though; I just stared at her in absolute awe.
Words couldn’t help her.
But I could.
That was the moment I officially threw in the towel as an undercover DEA agent. Fuck my job. Fuck the entire investigation. I wasn’t quitting on Clare Noir no matter how things ended. And, whether it was legal or not, I was going to find a way to make her safe.
So she’d never need another goddamn wish again.
Of course I’d wanted to help and protect her.
But the way I felt for Clare had gotten way the fuck out of hand over the last few weeks.
My job was to get her to talk about her life, find out all the dark, dirty secrets about Walter’s operations she’d hopefully slip and tell us. But, secretly, I was trying to figure out a way to get her the fuck out. So I started asking her about the past in hopes she had a family she could go back to.
During those conversations, she told me about Clare.
Not the wife of a criminal.
Not the frightened victim of domestic abuse.
Not even the mother.
She gave me the real woman.
And I drank her in like a man on the brink of dehydration.
It was wrong on so many levels. She did not need me, the man who’d been sent to investigate her, to develop feelings for her. It’d happened anyway.
And here I was, going to get her daughter while wishing I never had to let them go.
“Hey, Tessi,” I cooed.
She dove out of Roman’s lap and into my open arms. I caught her just before she fell.