Nothing Else Matters (Romance on the Go Book 0) Read online

  Clearing customs went smoothly, thanks to the documents supplied by the business they’d contracted with, and as a group, they headed to baggage pick-up. Even in the terminal, they kept a situational awareness, staggering their positions, continually scanning. That never got old, no matter where they were or how long they were back in the States. There was danger everywhere.

  None of them carried, of course, not without permits for the plane, but their luggage contained their pieces, properly declared and papered, broken down for safe transit. He felt unbalanced without a weapon on his hip, though could admit to some relief at having his hands free for a spell.

  “You got your own vehicle?” Mike quirked a brow as they shouldered their duffels and headed outside of the terminal. “That’ll have cost you. ’Specially with the extension of the contract.”

  Yup. Over three months on the contract job instead of the two they’d anticipated. An extra thirty days for him to regret his decision about Claire and an extra thirty days to add to the length of time she’d had to get over him. He’d been so fucking stupid—stupid didn’t cover it. The costly parking charges hardly made a dent in the punishment he was due.

  His subconscious had known that day, when he’d received the call from Noah that the contract had been set. Leaving Claire’s bed, kissing her sleeping face, and somehow managing not to wake her for… At least he hadn’t succumbed to a farewell fuck, his disgust at what he intended to do, had been planning to do, forestalling that at least. Claire would have felt used enough.

  Deep inside, he’d known this wasn’t the end of them—that he wouldn’t be able to walk away from her and what they had. His inner side, the one he both hid and denied, somehow convinced him to take his own vehicle to the airport, the sooner to get back to Claire on his return. Far too little, far too late, he worried now.

  The SUV needed a little coaxing to turn over, having sat so long the battery wasn’t at peak. While it idled, he dug his phone out of the dash and plugged it into the charger. It powered on—and blew up with calls and messages. Claire’s number, etched on his brain, featured predominately.

  With the security blackout, he’d had no access to communications, and while he’d wondered, and longed to hear from her, now that he had the chance, he cringed to open any of them.

  Her beautiful face hovered in his memory, and if he closed his eyes, he believed he could scent her. It had been like missing a huge part of him, and he cursed out loud, wishing he could turn back time and do something different. She’d crept past his hardened façade, and his avoidance and denial of what they’d grown had carried only so far. Too damn bad he hadn’t wised up before getting on the plane, past the point of no return.

  The first texts had a mildly puzzled and inquiring flavor, asking his whereabouts and asking him to make contact. Subsequent ones were longer and became frantic with worry, followed by both calls and messages that broke his heart. As he’d clearly broken hers. Christ. The last one was resigned, accepting, and her voice held something he couldn’t decipher.

  Okay. I get it. Slow learner. I won’t … bother you again. Have a happy life, Liam.

  Despite her obvious hurt and righteous indignation, she was a class act. No tears, no cursing him, no threats, nothing that he so richly deserved. That was Claire. His head dropped against the steering wheel as he wrestled with his churning emotions.

  Then he got over himself. This wasn’t about him anymore. He owed her—and maybe it wasn’t too late. Happy life, Liam. Not without her in it.

  Dropping the vehicle into gear, he powered away to the kiosk and handed over his credit card, the first step in his penance, not that Claire would ever know about it.

  He hesitated at the end of the walk before squaring his shoulders and striding to the door. No one was going to accuse him of being a coward twice, not that anyone else had said it. It was enough he knew. There was no one harder on him, than him.

  His brain took note of a puzzle. The house normally drew people in. Claire kept the small yard nice, with pots of flowers tucked into the corners of the stairs and in borders, the lawn closely cropped. He vastly preferred it to his bachelor apartment and had come to see it as more than his home away from home, but only because of the woman it housed.

  It seemed strange that things looked unkempt somehow, giving the little place a less than tidy appearance, almost tired. The lawn was shaggy, and the plants wilted. A bad feeling whispered over the back of his neck.

  He wasn’t arrogant enough to think that his abdication would have caused Claire to throw away the care she took with her surroundings. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned. He had no idea how she was doing, or what, of late. He tried not to think about what those messages from her might have conveyed, beyond the obvious.

  As he raised a hand to rap on the door, his other one drifted over the phone tucked in his pocket. Shame and anticipation warred within him, and he willed away the disconcerting reaction. This was the first step, though maybe he should have called. Except he knew surprise gave him an advantage he’d desperately need.

  Hopefully prepared for any reaction, he knocked again, this time rewarded by the sound of shuffling footsteps.

  “Who’s there?” a querulous voice asked.

  Who the hell was in there? An icy hand clutched his gut. What was a guy doing at Claire’s house? “It’s Liam Cafferty.”

  “Who?” The door creaked open, and an elderly man peered out, his face as wizened as a withered apple.

  “Is Claire here? Claire Booth?”

  “Nobody like that.” The man hacked, and for an instant, Liam thought he was going to spit and took a step back.

  When the guy didn’t, Liam asked, “Have you lived here long?”

  “Why?”

  “My … girlfriend lived here.” At least she had three months ago.

  “She ain’t here no more.” The door slammed, and a lock clicked over.

  He’d built himself up for a confrontation but not with an elf, and the letdown left him deflated and adrift. But adapting in the middle of a mission was his forte. As he made his way back to the SUV, he cast his mind back and retrieved the names of her friends. One was in his contact list, and he figured he could track the others down if need be. And track Claire down.

  His first call was to Joanne Stevens, figuring she’d be more likely to be around, being a stay-at-home mom. She was also Claire’s best friend, and he liked her and her husband. Even her kids were cute.

  “Hello?” The sounds of toddlers wreaking havoc echoed behind her voice.

  “Joanne? It’s Liam Cafferty.”

  Silence reigned. “O… kay. Guess you’re not dead. Just missing.”

  Make no excuses. Take no prisoners. Focus on the mission. “I’m looking for Claire.”

  “Huh. Mind telling me why now?”

  “I’d rather tell her—first.” He’d decide how much to share depending on how Joanne stonewalled him.

  “She moved.”

  “I know.”

  “You were there? At her house? Nice you remembered where she lived.”

  He tried a little humor. There was no way he was battling Claire’s best friend unless forced to do so. “A leprechaun has moved in.”

  “Oh.” Her voice became muffled as she called out to a Timothy and a Charles not to do that. Clearly distracted, or maybe losing the taste for a fight, she said, “Well, I’ll let her know you called.”

  He wasn’t content with that. “She’s changed her number, Joanne.”

  “She needed a local number for her job.”

  She’d moved out of state? It didn’t matter. He could live anywhere. “Can I have it?”

  “Nope. What’s yours? She can call you. Again. If she wants.”

  Fuck. Maybe he should share a little more information. “It’s the same one, should show on your screen. I’ve been out of the country and without my phone.”

  “Uh huh. Charles, if you write on that wall, you won’t touch another crayon un
til high school. I’ll let her know, Liam.”

  A click signaled the end of the call, and he stared at the phone for a moment as his mouth twitched into a rueful smirk. He hoped Joanne would pass the message along, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He never failed to carry out a mission, and this was the most important one of all.

  He dialed Noah and let a brief message. Within moments, his buddy called back. “What do ya need?”

  “Claire has moved, and I need her new address. And a phone number.”

  Silence. He waited through it. “I thought you and her were done?”

  “Not.” He hadn’t confided in any of the other guys, despite their closeness. Suffering in isolation was something he did well—and he didn’t want any handholding.

  A guffaw of mirth emanated from the phone. “No surprise. We all figured that was it. You’ve acted pussy-whipped for months and no pussy in sight. You’re lucky nobody gave you any shit about it.”

  Their work placement hadn’t exactly been rolling with female options, but that wasn’t to say there weren’t some. And he’d been the only one in the group not to take advantage. That had garnered some shit, but he’d refused to get sucked into the ribbing. Everything he was had centered on Claire and his memories when he wasn’t actively on the job.

  “Can you find her?” He kept the impatience out of his voice.

  “If she’s using her own name and social security number, no sweat.”

  “It’s not like she went out and bought a whole new identity, asshole.”

  “I might have if you were on my trail.” More laughter filled his ear, but it was good-natured and supportive.

  “Noah.”

  “On it. And done.” His friend rattled off a phone number and address.

  “Chicago?” Nice city but cold. Why would she move there? “Can you tell where she’s working?”

  “Wait one.”

  Liam started the vehicle and contemplated his schedule. He’d sent in his report, and his pay was in his account. His duffel was still packed. Nothing standing between him and a drive—or a flight—to Chicago.

  Noah spoke. “Seems your girl wrangled a transfer to the head office. Moving on up.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  “No problem. I’ll put together a recon and drop it to your email, you know, the particulars of her job and what have you. You gonna be up for the next call out?”

  “I don’t think so.” His response shocked him as much as it obviously did Noah.

  “You’re kidding, right?” His friend’s voice climbed to a tenor. “What’re you going to do?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll come up with something.” One thing he knew, he wasn’t leaving Claire again.

  “You’re packing it in. For a woman.”

  “Yup. I’m getting her back and wrapping her up.”

  Famous last words.

  Chapter Three

  “That’s it then.” Her boss leaned back in his chair and passed a hand over his thinning hair. “I appreciate you staying late each and every day, Claire.”

  “That’s what you hired me for.” She saved the last document and powered down her laptop.

  “Nearly a month of nonstop work… Some might say that’s above and beyond. Take a few days off. Come in Monday.”

  Panic soured her mouth. The job consumed her, and that was what she sought. Ten to twelve hour days, often six days a week. It kept her focused, and exhaustion during any downtime meant sleep to recuperate and start all over again. No time for thinking and reminiscing, leaving her brain empty of nothing but work. At least in her waking hours. If she didn’t dream. It was as though Liam had taken root in her REM sleep cycle.

  “I’m fine, sir.” She managed a self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

  He waved a finger at her. “Rest. See the sights. Go for a drink with someone on staff. Do whatever young women do.”

  She did nothing but work. There hadn’t been time to meet anyone in the office, which was how she preferred it. She’d taken Joanne’s comments to heart. She was a giver and never a taker, something that wasn’t healthy, and couldn’t see it changing anytime soon, if ever. She’d decided she was better suited to be alone without any distracting personal human contact. Maybe she’d get a cat, something aloof, and be its minion.

  “Honestly, Mr. Granger, I’d prefer to work. I … I had time off before I transferred here.”

  “I’m taking a few days off to reintroduce myself to my family. As such, there’s nothing for you to do, Claire. You need time off. You look like you haven’t slept in forever. I’ll see you Monday.” He heaved to his feet and grabbed his briefcase, marching past her without another glance.

  She blinked and stared after him. He’d never been a personable man, but she didn’t require that in a boss. Yet she recognized concern when she heard it—had she dropped the ball? Hadn’t she been professional enough or something? Was he dissatisfied with her work?

  Bemused, she stood and smoothed her skirt over her thighs, automatically straightening the fabric as it worked sideways, a result of the loose waistband. She’d lost weight, or rather, hadn’t gained it back after the so-called morning sickness—she cast that memory aside instantly. That way lay madness.

  She probably looked haggard, as her boss did, and he’d referenced it, that was all. He wanted a healthy, effective assistant and she could admit feeling a bit worn down. Panic welled when she thought about five long days stretching out in front of her, empty, open for … thinking. She got a hold of herself. Maybe she could replenish her wardrobe. Clean her apartment. Lots of things to fill the time. She’d simply get creative.

  Departing the office, she flicked the light off and closed the door, ensuring it was locked. She’d pick up takeout for a very late dinner on the way home, including a bottle of wine, something she hadn’t allowed herself for a long time. She would face tomorrow when it came, and the days after that.

  The streets were full of people as she used her phone to arrange an Uber. Small groups with youthful faces, couples, and the occasional single individual moved along, their destinations unknown but likely the restaurants that crowded downtown, or maybe a club later on after dusk fell. The camaraderie left her cold, and with some desperation to escape, she scanned the curb for her lift.

  Maybe she was indeed crazy, choosing to cut herself off from everyone, cutting ties with her old life, all to forget Liam. Because, newsflash, it wasn’t working. She was like one of those historical romance novel heroines who languished and withered into old age after losing their beaus. Whatever empty spaces that opened up in her head, past all her attempts to fill them, Liam snuck in.

  While she waited, she opened her messages, trying to shut out the people and noise around her that were reminders of a different life. There weren’t many on the phone. She had no one local to give the number to, outside of work, sad commentary. She was more like one half of those werewolf or vampire couples who wasted away without their mate.

  Joanne’s number came up several times, and there was also a text. Hoping nothing was wrong, she opened it.

  Haven’t been able to reach u b/phone and u haven’t responded to vms. Assuming u r busy but u should know Liam is looking for u. Call me!

  Suddenly lax fingers nearly let the device slip to the pavement, and she tightened her grip. Rereading the text, she remembered to breathe and swayed on her feet.

  “Claire?” His familiar voice, hard on the heels of Jo’s text, was surreal. Had she conjured him?

  She resisted the urge to spin wildly and shriek at the top of her lungs. It couldn’t be. She wasn’t prepared. How was this happening?

  His SUV was nose-in to the curb, the back end blocking traffic and already, impatient drivers were honking. But her attention was on the tall, broad-shouldered man rounding the hood.

  “Claire.”

  He hadn’t changed at all. Unless one considered the burnished skin and a leaner look. Her stare took in his
appearance in minute detail, and something in her chest lurched his way, even as her feet tried to carry her in the other direction.

  Hand shaking, she held it up as if to ward off an advancing horde and shook her head. “Go away!”

  Her near shout caught the attention of city folk normally minding their own business. A few shifted, and she felt the stares of others.

  “Sweetheart.”

  “You … just go away.” She felt torn in two but kept saying what surely was right.

  He halted mid-stride, and their mini vignette drew out, surrounded by people fast losing interest. The sudden stop of a vehicle snapped her into the moment as the brakes squeaked.

  “You the lady who called for an Uber?” A young, male face peered out the open passenger window.

  “Yes!” Dropping the cell into her purse, she ran over and tugged open the car door, nearly falling inside. “Let’s go!”

  The driver pulled out immediately, and she gave her address, staring ahead at traffic, resolutely refusing to look in the side mirror. There. She’d dealt with it. Him. She had closure.

  When her thoughts were sufficiently squelched, she turned to the driver who was either content with silence or had given up speaking, and said, “Stop at a liquor store.”

  “Sure.” He moved over into the other lane and pulled a left within a few blocks, entering the grounds of a strip mall.

  “I won’t be long.”

  Clambering out, she focused on the entrance of the shop and made her way inside. The interior was dim, the color and light coming from the variety of bottles staged on shelves and endcaps and in coolers along the walls. What did he want? Her heart spoke up and suggested she wanted him, despite everything, and urged her to go back. Her brain pricked her pride into survival mode. Don’t even think about it. Don’t think about how he looked. Think closure.

  Spotting the red wine, she grabbed a box at random. A mere bottle wouldn’t cut it. She hesitated and took a second box, this one with an attractive foil cover, and hauled them over to the counter.