They weren’t dating. They hadn’t even spoken to each other since the night she bailed.
Up until yesterday when Poppy walked into the debriefing, she’d faded like mist from his life.
So...whatever.
Shaine hailed a cab, telling the driver, “Take me to the hottest nightclub in Miami,” and leaned back to get his head on straight.
Time for a little research.
Game play level: professional.
Poppy heard the door on the other side of the apartment close and she briefly perked up, wondering where Shaine was going.
They weren’t scheduled to start until tomorrow but that was the thing about Shaine, he did as he pleased and went where his gut told him to.
Which then also made her wonder why he was stepping out on his own.
Did he know something? Was he trying to get the jump on the investigation so he didn’t have to work with her?
Stop panicking, she told herself. Second-guessing every move was a rookie mistake, and if it weren’t Shaine, she wouldn’t think twice about her partner acting as he should undercover.
Forcing herself to relax, Poppy grabbed her file and started reading, committing her identity to heart.
Name: Laci Langford, 22, from Connecticut. Moved to Miami to escape the cold East Coast winters.
Major: Marketing.
Parents: Sara and John Langford, deceased. No siblings.
She perused the rest of the file, closing it as she tried to envision herself as the person described in the file.
Laci Langford...definitely sounded like a stripper name.
She’d have to remember to answer to Laci, not Poppy. Getting tripped up by a simple detail was usually the way rookies got made.
The phantom ache pierced her chest again and she rubbed at the small scar beneath her blouse.
Would she always feel as if she were running from that one event in her life?
She’d made a mistake—screwed up and paid the price.
The upside of getting shot? Poppy worked hard to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.
Unlike her persona, Laci, Poppy’s parents were still alive and well.
And they’d been as unsupportive as Shaine about her decision to remain in her line of work.
“Your father is worried,” her mother had said after her father had stormed from Poppy’s house during her recovery, trying to soften the blow. “You know he doesn’t understand this job of yours.”
“He doesn’t have to understand the job. He just has to understand me.”
“Well, you know that’s always been a challenge,” her mother, Dottie, admitted, her hands fluttering as she straightened everything she could get her fingers on. “Frankly, sweetheart, we’re all a little surprised that after this incident you’re not ready to get into a less dangerous line of work. I mean, Poppy...in all the years I’ve been a nurse, I’ve never been shot at.”
Yes, but Dottie had been shit on, spit on, yelled at and otherwise abused by her patients, and Poppy had never wanted any piece of that.
“I love my job,” Poppy said firmly, holding back the wince as she shifted her weight, trying not to agitate her healing wound. The doctor said it would be weeks before she could even think about returning to work, which sounded like an interminable amount of time to her ears, but she couldn’t exactly go against the doctor’s orders.
Of course, that left her to suffer the opinions of her parents and friends who didn’t understand her job, nor did they appreciate that Poppy absolutely loved what she did.
She tried to tell herself that they meant well, but after gritting her teeth through the same conversation for the umpteenth time, she’d practically worn her teeth down to nubs.
“Of course you do, sweetheart,” Dottie said with open distress. “But some people aren’t cut out for these types of jobs. You’ve always been a delicate thing... Surely the Bureau could find a suitable desk job? Maybe a secretary position?”
Poppy glared. “Do you realize how offensive that is to me? I didn’t work my ass off to sit behind a desk.” When her mother’s eyes started to water, Poppy bit back the rest of the hot words dancing on her tongue. Her parents would never understand—and honestly, she never expected them to—so their opinion wasn’t a huge shock. But the one person she’d thought would understand...
Unwelcome tears crowded her sinuses and she sniffed them back.
Dottie seemed to understand where the tears were coming from and tried to comfort her. “You two can work things out,” she assured Poppy, but Dottie didn’t know that there was absolutely zero chance of that happening. “It was probably very scary to see the woman he loves almost die. You really need to think of how this situation has affected those who love you.”
“Damn it, Mom,” she muttered, pulling away with a curse. “Just stop.”
“What did I say?”
“You always turn it around back on me. As if I should be thinking of everyone else when no one seems to give a damn about how I feel about the situation. Shaine is just as bad as you, demanding that I give up a career I love without considering how doing so would kill me faster than any bullet. If you can’t support me, then stop pretending that you care. I’m done with all of you.”
“Poppy Jones, what has gotten into you? You were never this aggressive, or so rude. This job has changed you and not for the better.” Dottie gathered her purse, her upper lip stiff. “I hope you come to your senses soon. Otherwise, I just don’t think my heart can take it. I didn’t raise my daughter to want a career she’s so ill-suited for.”
Ill-suited? she’d wanted to scream. I was top of my class in Quantico, ranked in the top five in intelligence training and broke the record for fastest time running the eight-mile Hell Run.
But none of that mattered to her parents, which was why Poppy hadn’t bothered.
A sigh escaped her parted lips as she roused herself from that terrible memory. Moving away from DC, leaving behind everything she’d ever known, had been her only choice.
Facing Shaine after their breakup would’ve been a torture she wasn’t up to and having to listen to her parents berate her for her choices would’ve been the straw that broke her.
Since moving to LA, her relationship with her parents remained stilted. She made obligatory phone calls now and then just to check in, but for the most part Poppy had cut ties.
It’d been easier that way.
She liked to think that it was easier for her parents, too.
A kindness.
Now they no longer had to lament the fact that their only daughter had become a “ballbusting man-hater” as her father liked to put it, and her mother didn’t have to hide her head in shame when her nosy, gossipy nurse friends pestered her for why Poppy hadn’t married or had kids by now.
For cripes’ sake, they weren’t living in the ’50s.
But you’d never know it from the way her parents were acting.
The truth was, she could probably forgive her parents for their ignorant thinking, but she could never forgive Shaine for his.
Up until this moment, Poppy had managed to shove Shaine and everything that came with the memory of their time together into the deepest, darkest,