The Intelligence Unit Series
The Grifter Chapter 11

Shawn was out of his mind. It was the only rational explanation for the fact that he'd just said what he had. Emotions were dangerous-he knew this. For f**k's sake, he'd lived the last eight years of his life socking them away or stuffing them back for this very goddamned reason. But something about Frankie's bald-faced honesty just brought his feelings barreling up to the surface, and the words were out before he could curb them.

"The other day, when you were talking about your support system." An ache bloomed behind his sternum, pulsing through him in time with the heavy bass of the club music. "I kept a lot inside after you were stabbed. I thought I had good reasons at the time, but...l don't know. I wasn't really part of that support system." Frankie blinked in the low light, but Shawn had to give it to her. She recovered fast. "I wasn't ready to let you be part of that."

"Yeah, but I didn't push," he countered. Maybe if he had, he'd have been able to be there for her, to help eventually, like her family had.

She kill-switched the idea before he could speak it. "I was actively abusing narcotics, Shawn. I was in pain. I was devastated because I thought my career was over. And I hid all of that from you."

"I know," he said. He'd seen her withdrawing, though. The pain he'd felt seeing her in pain had left him angry. The pulverizing guilt he'd felt at letting his emotions distract him on the day she'd been stabbed?

Frankie! Frankie! Jesus, baby, hold on, you hear me? I'm here...

His defenses poundedat him to cover up, to stuff everything back into the compartment he'd made deep in his chest, but all it took was one look at Frankie's pretty brown stare and his idiot mouth opened right back up. "But I should have told you what I was feeling. I should have...been there for you."

"You could have pushed, yes," Frankie said. "But I would have pushed back. I was in a really dark place. Broken physically and emotionally. And I had to replace my way out on my own in order to stand on my own two feet again."

"You're so open about all of it," Shawn said, and here, Frankie surprised him with a laugh.

"Yeah, that goes with the territory of being an addict. We talk about our feelings a lot. Most people replace it a little off-putting, but it's how I'm wired now, so..."

"I think it's brave."

Okay, that was it. He'd reached his crazy limit. He opened his mouth to recant, or pull back, or, Christ, comment on the weather. Anything that would take the focus off how badly he was botching this.

But then, he caught Frankie's smile, and he wouldn't have taken it back for the whole f*****g world.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome."

A minute passed, their bodies anchored together by the sinuous beat of the music before she said, "You could tell me now, if you want. There's no statute of limitations on feelings."

Enough shock moved through Shawn that he hitched. Which Frankie must've taken for true hesitation, because she said, "You know what, that was a stupid suggestion. I barf out my feelings everywhere, but I know that's not your thing. You're private. You're over it. I get it, so-"

"I'm not over it."

Annnnd great, now she had hitched, the thick fringe of her lashes framing her stare. But damn it, he'd tried everything he could think of over the past two weeks to make these feelings disappear. The only thing left on the list was to air them out, and what's more, Frankie deserved to know.

Shawn took a breath. "I guess what I mean is, I still remember how I felt then."

Nodding, Frankie tucked her chin just enough to lean her head on his shoulder. The comfort of the move loosened something deep in Shawn's chest, and this time when he opened his mouth, the truth slid right out.

"It all happened so fast. One minute, we were standing there, and the next...God." In the twelve years he'd been a cop, he'd been shot at, actually shot once (thank f**k for body armor-his chest plate had taken it like a champ), and threatened with about nine kinds of bodily harm by those who very much meant to follow through. Yet, he'd never been as scared then as the day Frankie had been stabbed. "I just remember thinking I'd do anything, as long as it meant you got to live."

"You did a lot," Frankie said. On the surface, Shawn supposed it was true. He'd neutralized the threat by putting two bullets in Mike Mattigan, the second centered in his forehead. He'd called the 10-33 in to dispatch, administered first aid per his training. He'd put pressure on the wound, enough that he'd been able to feel each of her heartbeats as they'd thrummed rapidly against his fingers, trying to keep up with the trauma.

But deep down, it was bullshit. "I didn't do enough," Shawn said. "If I hadn't been distracted by my emotions when we went in there, maybe it never would've happened." "Wait, whoa. You weren't distracted."

Frankie said it with enough conviction that Shawn knew she believed it. But old habits weren't going to let him have this one. "We'd been arguing. I was frustrated." "You were pissed. You can say it." A wry smile curved her lips. "And, as it turns out, being pissed is entirely allowed. But you weren't distracted."

"How do you know?" he asked, probably with more edge than he should've.

Which is exactly how she answered. "Because if you'd been distracted, we never would've gone in there. Either you would've called for backup, or I would've called you out and told you to take a minute. But I saw you do your sweep. I saw you asking questions. You were paying attention."

"Okay, but maybe if we hadn't fought-"

"We did, Shawn. We fought, we set it aside, and we did our jobs. Neither of us had any way of knowing what would happen."

It was the first thing they taught in the academy, that any call could turn on a dime and leave you nine and a half cents change. But his defenses were too finely honed for that, their teeth far too sharp. "I could have done a thousand things differently. Not just on that day, but after. I should have realized how badly you were hurting."

"I hid it," Frankie said. "I lied about it. And if you'd pushed, I'd have shoved."

His heart slammed now, but there was no going back. "That still would have been better than pulling away. I just thought...you were so checked out. The infection. The second surgery. You had no idea if you'd ever be able to go back to work. I felt like maybe you were mad because I could. I know I would've been. Christ, I walked away from the whole thing without a scratch, and just getting out of bed caused you so much pain." He broke off, but only for a second before the rest came spilling out. "I was angry for you. But I didn't know how to make any of it better."

"I didn't, either," Frankie said. "And I was mad. God, so mad. But it didn't have anything to do with you, Shawn. What happened was circumstance. Shitty, shitty circumstance, but not anyone's fault."

They swayed for another minute, the song having changed but the slow beat still the same. Then, Frankie pulled back to look at him. "You've been carrying that around for eight years. My guess is, it's pretty heavy."

"Nothing compared to what you carried," he countered, but she shook her head.

"It's not a competition. I don't get a monopoly on the emotions just because I was stabbed."

Well, f**k. She had to go and have a great point. "Yeah. I guess."

Her fingers brushed over his jaw, and he couldn't look away even though he knew he should. "Look, it's in the past. That doesn't mean it doesn't matter, but letting it drag us down doesn't seem like a smart plan, either. What do you think about us starting fresh?" "You want to start over?"

Frankie laughed, which did nothing to extinguish the heat brewing in Shawn's gut. "We have too much history to start over. Why don't we just start here, with what we have right now, and see how that goes?"

He blinked. After everything they'd been through, could it really be that easy?

Or was it exactly what they'd been through that would make it possible?

"Yeah," Shawn heard himself say, sandpaper on the edges of his voice. "That sounds good."

In that moment, it registered how close Frankie's face was to his. Those long lashes framing her pretty stare. That mouth-glittery and peach-colored tonight-right f*****g there, a breath away. He could close that space in less than a second. Find out if she still tasted like sugar and sin. Make her moan and swallow the sound down, just to hold it inside of him.

Frankie's pupils dilated, her heart fluttering through the thin barriers of her dress and his shirt. She'd said no kissing in the context of the op, and he would never, ever cross a boundary she had clearly set. But this wasn't Frankie Burton and Shawn Pritchard on the dance floor. It was the two of them, raw and real, and if she kissed him, he was going to let her.

If she kissed him, he was going to do so much more than kiss her back.

"Shawn," she whispered, tilting her chin just as he nodded his consent. His grip on the back of her dress tightened, the fabric hot in his fist.

And then, all at once, a familiar voice slammed Shawn back to earth. "If it isn't my favorite fun-time couple! Get a room, you two. I mean, unless you've got an exhibitionist kink, in which case, I am here for that."

Alfie's eyes were glassy and bright, and Jesus God, had Shawn seriously just been so careless?

His persona was in place in an instant. "No watching," he growled, grateful that Shawn Pritchard was a territorial bastard.

Alfie took it in stride. "Can't say I blame you. I'd want to keep that all to myself, too."

Frankie let go of Shawn. Some primal part of him snapped in protest, but he shoved it aside.

"Actually, I could use a drink," she said, smiling sweetly at him. She'd rebounded just as lightning fast as he had, to the point where he nearly wondered if he'd imagined that whisper, that tilt of her chin that had said she was going to kiss him. Your feelings almost got her killed once before. Maybe try shit-canning them and doing your damn job.

Shawn straightened, locking his resolve into place. Frankie had just given him the cue to set their whole plan in motion. He wasn't going to waste it.

"Whatever you want, baby. You going to grab a booth with Alfie while I'm at the bar?"

"Sure," she said, winding her arm through Alfie's with a grin. "That sounds perfect."