Chapter One
Georgia
Numb.
Every inch of me is numb, except for the agonizing pain in my chest where my heart used to reside. Now there’s an empty cavern that aches for Belfast.
I step off the plane, progressing carefully down the stairs on shaking legs to where Agent Beck waits at the bottom. Taking hold of my arm, he guides me to the side and out of the path of the rest of the FBI team as they exit the plane.
“Georgia, are you okay?” His tone is one of concern, as is his expression. His blue eyes carefully study my face.
I nod slowly, incapable of speech at the moment. Remaining silent is the only thing holding the flood of tears at bay. And if I allow the tears to flow, they may never stop.
Belfast is dead. I can’t stop hearing those words.
“Come on. I’m going to take you home.” He guides me along, holding my arm as we walk to his car. Opening the passenger door, he ushers me inside and closes me in. As he makes his way around the front of the SUV, I try to draw a deep breath into my lungs to ease the suffocating sensation, but my chest is too tight from grief.
Belfast is dead.
Sam climbs in the driver side and quickly gets us on the road without a word. He waits a few minutes before breaking the silence. I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jump when I hear his voice.
“Georgia.” His eyes sweep toward me and back to the road. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I only want to know if you need anything before I bring you home. I can run in the store or grab you some takeout.”
I shake my head and turn my attention out the passenger side window, taking in the familiar sights as we get closer to my home.
Belfast is dead.
But every part of this city that I love is now tainted by the memories of the Irishman who made a life for himself here.
Beck parks beside the curb in front of the brownstone where I live. He shuts down the engine and reaches inside the glove compartment. He comes away with my purse, handing it off to me.
“This was found in your car, along with your cell.” His hand slips down into the pocket on his blazer before he hands over my phone. “Take it,” he encourages when I hesitate. Cautiously, I slide the device from his palm and tuck it inside my pocket. “Your car is in a garage being repaired. Nash made all the arrangements.”
Again, I nod, then turn to open the door. I just want to get out of this confined space. The walls are closing in on me. My legs tremble when I step onto the sidewalk, and I have to press a hand on the side of the vehicle to steady myself.
Sam is by my side in an instant, taking hold of my arm. I accept his help because I’m not sure I can make it inside my condo without it.
He leads me up the cement stairs and waits patiently when I fumble through my purse for my keys. When I find them, he plucks them from my shaking fingers.
“Which one?” he asks, and I point to the only gold key on the ring.
Once we’re in the foyer, I tip my head in the direction of the door on the left side. He holds up the ring once more, and I tap my finger against the key to my condo.
Sam unlocks the door and stretches an arm out in front of my chest, blocking me. “Let me check everything out first,” he whispers. Drawing his gun from the holster, he slips inside.
I lean my head against the thick, dark wood of the door jamb and close my eyes. I know I should be paying attention after everything I’ve been through, but I can’t seem to summon enough emotion to care. I already feel as though part of me disappeared with Belfast.
I can’t bring myself to believe that he’s really dead.
“Everything’s clear,” Sam calls out before he comes back into sight.
I step inside and toe my shoes off. Glancing around at the familiar space, everything seems so foreign to me. The turn-of-the-century architecture, with the original hardwood floors and crown moldings, that I usually find comfort in, now feels alien. I miss the sprawling ocean views and the huge sliding glass doors, the natural light beaming into the beach house. But most of all, I miss the man I fell in love with. The one who was so charming that I never stood a chance to begin with.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Sam questions. I shake my head. “Georgia, please speak to me. I don’t want to leave you like this.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper hoarsely.
“I can stay if you don’t want to be alone.”
“No.” I dismiss his offer with a careless wave of my hand. “I’m fine.”
His lips part, as if he wants to argue, before closing once more. He rubs the back of his neck, as if he’s at a loss of what to do, so I place my hand on the edge of the still open door, hoping he’ll take the hint.
“Look, I know you want to be alone, and I understand that, but if you need anything at all, I want you to call me.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a business card. He flips it over, exposing the back side. “This is my cell phone number. Call me for whatever you need.” He holds it out to me, and I force my fingers to close around the rectangular paper. He squeezes my upper arm. “Hang in there, Georgia. I’m glad to have you back safely.” His mouth curves into a small, close-lipped smile.
“Thank you, Agent Beck.”
“It’s Sam,” he corrects, his mouth ticking up on one side before he walks from my home.
Closing the door, I lean my forehead on the cold surface, immediately bursting into tears. Spinning around, I pad on bare feet to the large couch and throw myself face down onto the wide cushions. Sobs erupt from my chest, like soda bursting from a shaken can. And once I begin, I can’t stop. With the continuing intensity of my crying, I’m concerned my tears may never dry up.
My phone chirps, and my eyelids slowly roll open. The microfiber of the couch under my cheek is soft, making it difficult for me to get up. My text alert goes off again, letting me know someone’s still trying to get in touch with me.
Dragging my phone from my pocket, I force my eyes to focus on the message.
Nash: I hope you’re doing well under the circumstances. I need you to head into the office on Monday for your debriefing at nine a.m.
Me: Okay.
Nash: I’m sending Zoe to pick you up and give you a ride since your car is still in the garage.
Me: Okay.
Nash: Try to get some rest between now and then.
Don’t worry, Nash, I plan on sleeping away as much of the next thirty hours as I can.
I toss my phone on the coffee table and roll over to my back. Staring up at the white ceiling, I picture Belfast’s smiling face and mischievous brown eyes. How can someone so vibrant and full of life be gone? It doesn’t seem possible, and I don’t want to accept it as fact. And I probably wouldn’t, if Nash hadn’t seen proof with his own eyes. But Nash wouldn’t lie to me. Would he?
I suddenly hear Belfast’s words of warning playing in my head. Your boy Nash seems okay, but don’t trust the rest of your friends.
Belfast said a lot of things, and most of them sounded crazy. But, then again, most of them were also true. My world is upside down, and all I want to do is sleep.
I’m waiting outside when Zoe pulls up in front of my building on Monday morning. She jumps out, leaving the car running, and pulls me into her arms. Her long, dark hair cushions my cheek as she squeezes me. She draws back, holding both my arms and studying my face.