Chapter One
LIAM MARSHALLhadn’t had a destination in mind when he left the city. He’d just been driving. He headed north because—well, because he hadn’t wanted to deal with bridges, maybe, and he could go a long way north without hitting water.
He hadn’tconsciouslyknown where he was going until he was driving through the park on the way to the Bear Mountain Bridge. Because that was,obviously, a bridge, so if his navigation was based on avoiding bridges, he was doing a shitty job of it. Pretty clueless if he couldn’t avoid a river as big as the Hudson. And he really didn’t think he was that bad at navigating.
At other things, though— But he cut that thought off before it got too far. He was driving to clear his mind, not to wallow.
He buzzed his window down and took a fewdeep breaths of clean spring air. Clearing, clearing, clearing. Nothing to think about, no scenes to replay.
Except….“We’re all so excited to be working with a fresh new name! Please join me in congratulating Allison Sutcliffe, the lead architect for the Taybec Briggs Foundation! Allison, come on up here and share your vision for this project.”
And Liam had been standing at the front of theroom, unable to escape. So sure he was going to be the one chosen—because ofcoursehe’d be the one chosen, he always was, and always would be—so he’d found a spot right beside Tristan McTighe, the visionary behind the firm where Liam had been working for the past decade. Liam had been at Tristan’s right hand, where he damn well belonged. And then Tristan had said her name. Allison Sutcliffe.
Young.
That’s what Liam had thought. She was so damn young, too young to be in charge of such a prestigious, significant project.
But she was twenty-nine, only eight years younger than he was, and older than he’d been when he’d gotten his first lead job.
But that had been different. That had beenhim….
Shit.
He pushed down on the accelerator, went into the huge traffic circle way too fast,and pulled out of it even faster. It wasn’t cheap, keeping a car in New York City, and he hardly ever had a reason to drive anywhere. But this? This freedom, this power—it justified the expense, absolutely.
He saw the flashing lights behind him and took his foot off the gas. He wouldn’t actually hit the brakes, wouldn’t stop the car, wouldn’t acknowledge that this had anything to do with him.Not until he absolutely had to.
Yeah, keep fooling yourself. Keep pretending you’re something special. Go ahead.
He kept driving, pulled over only when the cop car drove up beside him and the driver started waving in a threatening manner, and then, shockingly, Liam found himself close to tears.
Tears. Like, he was going tocrybecause he was getting a speeding ticket. Jesus Christ, he was fallingapart.
The cruiser parked in front of him and the cop swaggered back. Yeah, swaggered. He’d pulled over a Mercedes sports car; he was going to swagger a little.
But he’s not going to shoot you, asshole, so maybe you can ease off on the poor-little-victim routine.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” the officer demanded. Then he bent down. “Holy shit. Liam? Is that you?”
Liam looked at himblankly.
“Oh. Are you—you’re going back for the funeral. Damn, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you guys were that close.”
And there was a moment of near panic. Someone was dead. Someone Liam had known, possibly? Someone he might even have been close to. It couldn’t be—no. He wasn’t really in contact with anyone in North Falls, but he wasn’t hard to find, and someone would have tracked him downforthat. Whoever was dead, it wasn’t—who he’d first thought of.
Then came a brief moment of wondering if he could play this. Of course he could. The grief had been too much for him, he’d been feeling desperate, but he’d absolutely be more careful in the future. Thank you for the warning, Officer; it’s so wonderful to see power tempered with compassion.
It wouldn’t have been difficult, and itwould have saved him the aggravation of getting a ticket.
But he still had a bit of pride, at least. Enough to keep him from using some poor schmuck’s death as a way to get out of a stupid traffic ticket that would cost less than he’d spend on an average dinner. “Sorry, no. I’m not going to a funeral. I was just driving too fast.”
“Oh.” The cop looked conflicted—reward Liam’s honesty, or punishhis callousness?
And suddenly it was too much. Liam was tired of sitting around waiting for someone else to judge him, tired of being a pawn, a powerless decideeinstead of a decider. “I was driving too fast,” he repeated, louder this time. “I should get a ticket. You should write me a ticket.”
“Well…,” the cop said. “Was there—are you in a hurry? Are you heading somewhere important?”
The copwas from North Falls. Liam still had no idea who the guy was, but the reluctance to write the ticket, the hope to find an excuse for Liam’s misbehavior? That was North Falls, all the way through. Keep things pleasant, don’t stir up trouble, and always,alwaysbelieve the best about Liam Marshall, no matter how much evidence there was to persuade you otherwise.
