"You were supposed to be a job." Jake took a step toward her, then stopped when she jerked back. "Just a way to get information about Richard's operation. But Hannah, what I feel for you?—"
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "You don't get to do that. Not now."
"I never meant to hurt you."
Her laugh was horrible—raw and wounded. "Never meant to—" She gestured and it took in his crappy, anonymous life, his whiskey-stained wall. "What did you mean to do, Jake?" Her face crumpled and she closed her eyes. "I mean…Jacob."
"I go by Jake." As if that mattered now. As if anything mattered except the way she was looking at him like he'd ripped her heart out.
"Was any of it real?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Or was it all just... research?"
Jake's chest felt like it was being crushed. "Hannah, please?—"
She pushed to her feet, unsteady but determined. "Did you laugh about it? With your FBI friends? About how easy it was to make the baker fall in love with you? About how I trusted you? Gave you everything? Let you into my life, my home, my—" She broke off, pressing her hands to her stomach like she was going to be sick.
"No." He moved toward her, desperate to touch her, to make her understand. "God, no, Hannah. I love?—"
The slap caught him across the face, snapping his head to the side. The sting was nothing compared to the gut-punch of her next words.
"You don't get to say that." Her voice shook. "You don't get to pretend you loved me while standing in this... this set you built. This lie you constructed to destroy my family."
She was right. This apartment, this life—all of it had been carefully crafted to gain her trust. To make her fall in love with a man who didn't exist.
Except somewhere along the way, the lie had become real. He had become real.
But it was too late.
Hannah pushed past him, her shoulder barely brushing his as she moved toward the door. She paused in the doorway, and when she spoke, her voice was steady despite the tears on her cheeks.
"I loved you." The past tense gutted him. "I would have given you everything."
"Hannah—"
"I hope it was worth it." Her voice finally broke. "I hope destroying my life was worth your paycheck, Special Agent Cooper."
Then she was gone.
The door slammed with a finality that shook the walls. Jake stared at his badge on the floor, at the whiskey staining his wall, at the empty space where Hannah had sat.
He didn't stop her.
He had no right to stop her.
He'd lost that right the moment he'd chosen the job over the only woman he'd ever truly loved.
CHAPTER 10
Hannah
Hannah's handsmoved on autopilot, transferring still-warm Danish pastries to the display case. Each one perfect, each one placed just so, the way she'd done every morning for the past five years. The way her grandmother had taught her.
The bells above the door chimed at exactly 6:45 AM.
"Good morning, Mary," Hannah called without turning around. Some things you could set a clock by in Crystal Lake—like Mary Peterson arriving for her morning Danish before bridge club.
But the familiar footsteps hesitated just inside the door. Hannah's hands stilled on the pastry tongs.
"Morning, dear." Mary's voice was different. Tight. The tap of her cane against the hardwood floors came slower than usual as she approached the counter.
