Kynan narrows his eyes. “Are you going to kidnap him? Because I get the distinct impression from your tone and innuendos that he might not want to spend time with you.”
That actually makes me laugh. “No. I promise not to kidnap him. But he’s not going to be able to say no to me.”
“Okay,” Kynan says, holding both hands up in surrender. “I really don’t need to know more about this story. Take all the time you need.”
I incline my head, my tone overly grateful. “Thank you, Kynan.”
“I hope you get what you’re looking for,” he murmurs.
“So do I.”
CHAPTER 3
Clay
It concerns me how shaken my encounter with Corinne yesterday at Jameson’s headquarters left me. Afterward, I’d returned to the FBI building and attempted to do my work. I managed to fill out some reports and review a new case. While we’re technically on Christmas holiday, I brought it home to go over again. Maybe I’ll even take Griff and Bebe up on their offer to eat Christmas dinner with them. We can talk about it then.
I’m completing my morning run, something I do religiously every day, as long as the weather permits. It’s cold and overcast, but the sidewalks and streets in South Side are dry and safe. I do five to seven miles, mood permitting, and I also hit the gym several days a week. In this line of work, I have to be in good physical condition, but, more than that, the exercise is a stress reliever.
Which is why I’m choosing to run seven miles today because I can’t stop thinking about Corinne.
I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful she looked. Confident. And poised, self-assured, happy, and successful.
After all these years, had I thought she’d be wallowing in misery? I never wanted that for her, but maybe I had expected it. I had thought her experiences had ruined her, but I clearly wasn’t giving her enough credit.
Fuck… over the past nine years, I had managed to go weeks—sometimes even months—without thinking about her, but now she won’t leave my mind.
Of course, there’d be those days when I did nothing but think about her. Wondering what her life was like and if she had truly been able to move on. She had seen such terrible things. Horrors that no one as good and sweet as Corinne Ellery should have ever seen.
And it’s my fucking fault it happened.
My fault for not being able to catch that motherfucking Richard Katz before he destroyed that beautiful family. And that’s not to say that every family from the very first wasn’t important and deserving. They were all immense tragedies. But I didn’t bond with them the way I had with Corinne after her parents were slaughtered. We remained close over the next few years while the cogs of justice spun ever so slowly. Corinne was the most integral piece of our case because she was our only eyewitness.
After he was caught and until he was convicted, Corinne and I continued to talk and see each other. Ostensibly, we always said it was to talk about the case. I’d keep her updated on the legal aspects, and she’d let me know how she was doing. In that time frame, she received her undergrad degree and entered medical school. We saw each other when we could in the summers. Otherwise, we talked and texted on the phone. Soon, our conversations had nothing to do with Katz.
I’m not sure how it happened, but we became really good friends.
What in the hell is she doing in Pittsburgh now? Last I’d heard—and I’d sometimes checked up on her over the years—she had a successful psychiatric practice in Washington, D.C. How had she gone from there to working for Kynan McGrath at Jameson?
The last time I saw her was nine years ago in a bar in Buckhead. It was after the verdict had come in, and we went out for celebratory drinks. We weren’t the only ones. The district attorney was there, my FBI partners at the time, and some of the court support staff—all people who had been heavily invested in the outcome of the trial.
But as time wore on, people started leaving to go home until it was just Corinne and me at that bar. When we were finally alone, she did something I imagined her doing a million times, but never thought she would.
She leaned over and kissed me.
Not on the cheek and not in gratitude, but on the mouth with longing and desire.
And I was an asshole who took advantage of the situation, kissing her back with an intensity I wish I could have tempered some, but there was just no way. Over the two years I’d known her—throughout the grim work and horrible circumstances—I’d somehow come to see her as more than a friend.
I’d fucking fallen in love with her.