Page 3 of Disavowed

She snapped open her eyes and pushed to her elbows. She was alone in her bedroom.

The floor where Dom had dropped his clothes was empty, as was the bedside table. No note. No nothing.

Holding her breath, she listened for sounds in the bathroom, but there were none. Exhaling, she took another breath and held it, listening, but no other sounds came to her ears.

No, no, no!

The fear she’d tamped down only hours ago—the same fear she’d consciously thrown to the wind for the sake of what she really and truly believed was meant to be—returned.

Whipping back the covers, she leaped from the bed and strode naked, room to room through her entire apartment. Her entirely empty apartment.

Standing in the middle of her living room, she covered her mouth with her hand and choked down a sob. She hadn’t been wrong about him. It wasn’t possible. There had been a connection, something real. Hours ago she would have bet her life on it, but now…

Dom was gone. After everything that had passed between them, he’d left in the middle of the night without a word.

Daisy squeezed her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around herself. God, but she’d taken a chance, done something wild, and it had felt right at the time. Perfect, actually. And while she hadn’t voiced it, she’d given more than just her body to him. She’d given away a piece of her heart.

This can’t be happening. Please, no.

But it was happening, and as the first tear rolled down her cheek, she made a promise to herself then and there.

Never. Again.

Chapter One

One year later

“Police, search warrant!” Dom kicked at the rusty warehouse door.

The door flew open with an ear-splitting squeal, then slammed backward against the wall.

Gripping his Glock in both hands, he swept the dimly lit interior. Without looking, he knew his partner, Detective Gray Yates, was doing the same on the other side of the building.

With his gun extended, he moved quickly, deeper inside the old Brooklyn warehouse, constantly glancing up and to the sides. The other detective partnered up with him, Teddy Pulaski, followed a few steps behind.

The tactical gun-mounted flashlight on his Smith and Wesson lit up the corridor before him in an eerie glow, but it also screamed out his position to anyone hiding between the crates. He pushed onward, nearly to the end of the warehouse, when he caught the telltale signs.

Where there should have been dust, there wasn’t. Where there shouldn’t have been dust, there was. On the floor. On the shelving. Someone had moved things around.

He stopped and held up a closed fist. Behind him, Pulaski breathed heavily. The only other sound came from the other search teams scouring the warehouse, clearing sections as they went.

“C’mon, Carew,” Pulaski whispered. “Let’s get on with this, for Chrissake.”

Ignoring the other detective, Dom shut his eyes and took shallow breaths, slowing his heartbeat, tuning in to his surroundings as any seasoned soldier would.

A subtle shift in the air current flowed past his left cheek, bringing with it the odor of soap and sweat. Then a light scraping sound that seemed to stop before it had even started. But it had been there. He was sure of it.

He slowed his pace. The last thing he wanted was to miss what he’d come there for in the first place.

Jack Schneider.

The bastard was here. Even without seeing him, he could feel the other man’s presence. Like him, Schneider would know all the Delta Force tricks, including hiding in plain sight and other tactics drilled into them during situational awareness training.

Counting on Schneider not shooting him in the back was a risk, but his gut told him he’d pegged the guy accurately. There were so many cops in the building there was no way Schneider could take a shot and not get drilled. Schneider’s only chance to beat a major felony weapons rap was to keep his ass low and stay hidden.

Dom opened his eyes and lowered his fist. He and Pulaski pressed onward. The warehouse seemed to go on forever, taking up an entire city block. The concrete floor was lined with row after row of metal shelving stacked to the ceiling with wooden crates and cardboard boxes. Easy for anyone to hide and take him out before he ever saw it coming. The air was icy cold, but sweat trickled down his back just the same.

Taking more shallow breaths, he listened with every step. Soon all he heard was the beating of his heart and his own slow, steady intake of air.