by Shandi Boyes
“Seriously, Grayson, you’re going to bring Tobias into this?” When he fails to answer my question, I shout, “You’re using the woman he classed as his daughter as a Honey Pot. He’s already rolling.”
“Hey, don’t blame that shit on me. You suggested your ruse to Phillipa long before you ran it by me. I merely agreed with Phillipa and Harvey that you should continue with your plan, so the guilt you’re trying to place on my shoulders won’t fly, dipshit. I’ve got nothing to answer for here.”
Every word he speaks is true, but it doesn’t make them any easier to swallow.
After scrubbing his hand along his jaw, Grayson tries another angle. “You’ve worked too fucking hard for too fucking long to let a misunderstanding take everything away from you.” He holds out the scheduled wire transfer receipts that prove Isaac is making a significant purchase from the Popov entity before adding, “Give Alex this. Show him you aren’t rogue like he thinks, then walk away. That’s all you have to do.”
Even with honesty being the strongest part of his statement, there’s one part I can’t sidestep. “You really do have tabs on your brother, don’t you?”
I thought he was joking when he underhandedly mentioned it in the past, but his ‘rogue’ comment exposes that’s a lie. I never mentioned Alex accusing me of being one of the bad guys. Although I had no reason to be embarrassed that Alex got one over me, I only told Grayson what I wanted him to know to save face. What man wants to admit they were hit and didn’t retaliate? And let’s not mention how it affected me emotionally. I’ve faced bad bumps in my life, and Alex’s disrespect is now one of them.
I take a seat next to Grayson when he says, “Some murky shit is going on in his department, BJ. I don’t want to believe it’s Alex, but some evidence is hard to ignore.”
“Like what?”
He hooks his ankle onto his opposite knee before twisting his torso to face me. “Do you recall me telling you about Addison and Isla, Dane’s daughters?” When I lift my chin, he discloses, “Alex pretty much covers all their expenses… clothing, roof over their head, schooling.”
“He feels guilty about what happened to Dane, so he’s compensating for it with his daughters.”
An agreeing hum leaves Grayson’s mouth. “The thing is, the girls go to an upscale school. The admission fee alone costs more than what Alex clears in a year.”
“Perhaps Dane’s insurance is paying for it?”
He does a weird shrugging thing. “I had thought the same thing, so I dug a little deeper. Kristin’s claim for insurance wasn’t approved since his death was classified as a suicide.”
Hearing something in his voice I’m unsure he meant to express, I ask, “Don’t you believe Dane committed suicide?”
“I don’t know. It’s just not sitting right with me.” His brows furrow when he lifts his head to peer at the ceiling. “He loved his girls, they were his world, so why would he leave them?”
His eyes drop back to mine when I say, “If your gut is telling you he didn’t kill himself, dig deeper again, Grayson. I knew in my heart Joey didn’t commit suicide, but instead of evaluating what really happened, I kept shifting my focus elsewhere.”
“By elsewhere, you mean to Melody.”
Unashamed, I dip my chin. “She needed me more, and I couldn’t bring Joey back no matter what I did, so I had to pick my battles.”
“You picked right, punk. There will be days you won’t believe it, and times you’ll think you royally fucked up, but you’ll never regret protecting your first love.” When I jerk up my chin, agreeing with him, he curls his arm around my shoulders, pulls me into his chest, then messes up my hair. “Now we just need to work on your shot-to-shit dating skills. My God, dickface, I doubt you’d know a girl was salivating to suck your dick even if she had it in her mouth.”
“Whatever.” I push him off me, faking annoyance. “You give me shit all the time about not dating, but not once have I seen you with anyone. Are you sure there isn’t something you need to tell me, Grayson?”
He scoffs, then scoots off my couch, hating that the focus has been placed on him. He’s happy to dish relationship advice, but he never listens to it.
When he snags the printout off the couch, I ask, “Where are you going?”
“This purchase isn’t just detrimental to Alex’s case. It affects the entire web we’ve been striving to unravel the past decade. I can’t let news of its existence go unnoticed because Alex got a little hotheaded. He’s had a rough year, too, BJ. Perhaps this might get him out of his funk?”
I agree with him, but it won’t stop me from issuing a caution. “If you hand that to Alex, you’ll break cover. No one from Kirill’s team will believe you’re in Ravenshoe scoping new compound locations if you meet with an FBI agent in a shady back alley.”
“It’s not like I’ve got much choice, do I…” His words trail off when I snatch the sheets of paper out of his hand.
The smug expression on his face, loving that he’s forced me to jump to his command like a lap dog, clears away when I snarl. “If he hits me again, I’ll retaliate.”
My brisk strides to the door stop when Grayson shouts, “Wait up.” After snagging his coat off one of the chairs around my dining table, he meets me in the entryway of my apartment. “If you think this will end in a tussle, you’ll need backup.”
His grin turns blinding when I mutter, “You’re not backing me up. You’re just coming to watch the show.”
“Dating rule number one, always buy your date dinner before the entertainment begins… especially if there’s a chance there will be an arrest at some stage during the night.”
The ding of the elevator arriving at my floor gobbles up his laugh, not to mention my growl.
“Maybe the extra funds for Dane’s girls aren’t coming from the direction you’re looking? Perhaps Alex got himself a sugar mommy?”
I meant my comment in jest, but Grayson doesn’t see it that way. His jaw is as tight as the expression on Regan’s face when she flees the back of the surveillance van that spent the last twenty minutes rocking along with the thrusts of Alex’s hips. It’s two in the morning, so I doubt Alex realized his quickie with Regan would be witnessed by two agents. Well, one, since I’m technically not an agent anymore. As per Alex’s demand, I emailed in my resignation earlier today. It scolded me more than I care to admit. The Bureau was my family, and now I have no one.
My thoughts return to the present when Grayson backhands my chest. “You better get a move on before we lose him again.” We spent the past two hours trawling the streets of Ravenshoe to find him. Although Alex’s response to believing I saw Regan naked should have placed her building on the top of our list, his undeniable dislike of our target had us visiting numerous nightclubs instead. It was a foolish mistake we’ll be unlikely to make again. Time isn’t on our side right now, so we can’t waste a single second.
With that in mind, I crank open the driver’s side door of my BMW. “Wish me luck.”
The brutal slam of the surveillance van door we’re parked a few spots up almost drowns out Grayson’s reply, “You won’t need it.”
The undeniable scent of sex lingers in the air when I bridge the gap between Alex and me. When he pivots around, spotting my approach, the smell augments from the fiery heat blistering through him.
“Your resignation was forwarded to the head of our department this morning. As of five this evening, you were no longer an agent on my team.”
When he attempts to skirt by me, I step into his path. “I stepped out of line.”
Alex’s shallow, painstaking chuckle booms through the crisp morning air. “You think? You not only risked my unit’s investigation, you might even do time. Do you realize that? One word, and your entire fucking career will circle the drain.” Shock registers on his features when I nod, but nothing can hold back his scorn. “If you don’t want that, I suggest you take a step back.”
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
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When he steps up to me with his chest heaving, I maintain my ground, eager to show him I’ve been a vital part of his team. Yes, I’ve made mistakes. Yes, I’ve assisted other divisions with cases not linked with ours, and yes, I’ve placed personal investigations above Alex’s, but not once did I put his investigation at risk by doing that. If anything, I halved his workload while doubling mine.
After a three-minute-long intense standoff, Alex snatches the document responsible for our late-night exchange out of my hand. It isn’t the scheduled wire transfer receipts I had planned to show him. It’s a flight manifest Grayson’s team unearthed during our hunt for Alex. It’s proof Isaac isn’t just purchasing something from the Popovs, he’s in cahoots with them, so much so, he lodged a flight plan to Vegas for later today.
Alex shoves the freshly printed document back into my chest before sidestepping me. “Isaac takes trips like this all the time. He has a comped room at Caesars.”
He freezes mid-stride when I say, “Then why would he schedule the transfer of millions of dollars to an offshore account before his visit?” When he pivots back around to face me, his face giving nothing away, I dig a second piece of paper out of my pocket. “Over two hundred and fifty transactions verified to be distributed at the same time first thing tomorrow morning.” I hand him the document with less aggression than the annoyance heating my blood. “He kept the transfer amounts under $10,000 so as not to raise suspicion.”
Alex slants his head as his brow cocks. “Then how do you know about it?”
His suspicion is replaced with anger when I answer, “Once a device is introduced to the server, it’s never forgotten.”
“You used the intel you stole off Regan’s laptop to unearth this?” His voice is a roar that ripples through the almost isolated streets.
He fists the paper in a firm hold when I nod. “But only because I’m trying to help you.”
“You’re helping me?” Spit flies out of his mouth when his words are delivered with a disbelieving huff. “Or are you helping yourself?”
While returning his glare, I tug on the collar of my shirt to soak up his spit on my neck.
I’m truly lost as to where Alex is going with this, but I get a better idea when he stands so close to me, our chests compete for space with every breath we take. “I’ll hand it to you… you’re smart, have a way with computers, and the looks to fly under the radar for as long as you have, but there’s one skill you’re lacking that will ensure other agents constantly step over you.” He watches the bob of my Adam’s apple before continuing, “You can’t read people. You can’t tell the difference between a friendly glance and a lusty one when a woman is asking you on a second date, or if she’s sizing you up to see if you’re a serial killer. Even when the painstakingly obvious is staring you in the face, you’re too busy evaluating everything around it instead of the picture you should have been looking at the entire time.”
When the fuck did this turn into a lecture about my dating life? Furthermore, who is he to give me advice? He doesn’t know me. Nobody does.
My anger gets a second wind when Alex says, “You said on the courthouse stairs last week that the only difference between Isabelle and me was that I stupidly fell in love.” His eyes bounce between mine as his lips curl. “You know that isn’t true. Whether we agree with it or not, Isabelle loves Isaac.”
I scoff and shake my head at the same time. “She doesn’t know him—"
Before I can get out the rest of my sentence, Alex says, “I know, but neither do we. Not really. Isaac keeps everyone at arm’s length, even those closest to him, so how can we trust anything we’ve read? We were trained from the get-go to devise our own opinions, but no one has done that in Isaac’s case.”
Is he saying what I think he is? Does he believe Isaac isn’t the man his file portrays? If so, he needs to get his head checked because I just gave him proof Isaac isn’t just lying to Isabelle, he’s playing her for a fool.
My shock reaches an entirely new level when Alex says, “If you really care for Isabelle, help me help her.”
“How?” I ask, confused and somewhat concerned I’m dreaming.
“The bugs in Isabelle’s phone.”
He knows about them?
“Do you have the serial numbers for them?”
I nod. They were one of the many tidbits of evidence Phillipa, Harvey, and I processed while Isabelle was being entertained on Isaac’s yacht. No solid leads came from them. They were either privately purchased or not registered with the Bureau’s mainframe. “They’re no good. I ran them through our system twice. Nothing popped up.”
“That’s not what I asked, Brandon,” Alex snaps, frustrated. “I have access to channels you can’t access.” A pfft noise vibrates my lips, but Alex pretends not to hear it. “The more people looking into Isabelle’s case, the better off she’ll be. I thought you cared for her, Brandon.”
“I do,” I admit, nodding. “Very much so.” Has the way I protected and looked out for her the past several months not proven that?
The harshness tainting Alex’s face softens when he requests, “Then give me what I need. It might not lessen the severity of your insubordination, but it will do more good than harm to Isabelle’s case.”
“Fine. I’ll give them to you.” Alex thinks my agreement is the end of our conversation. I have news for him. “On one condition.”
“You’re not in a position to make negotiations, Brandon.”
His attitude takes a step back when I reply, “Neither are you. Even if you wrongly believed I just arrived, you can’t honestly believe I’m stupid enough not to smell the heady aroma of lust lingering in the air. You’re in the wrong as much as I am, Alex. You’re just too pigheaded to admit it.”
The anger reddening his face is so convincing, even Grayson reacts to it. I hear the passenger side door of my car crack open before the faintest scuffle of a pair of boots trickles into my ears. Alex hasn’t spotted his approach, though. His focus is too much on me to pay attention to anyone around us. “I am not rogue.”
“Prove it. Release your bank records to the Bureau. Open the book you usually keep closed. Show them you’re not so gung-ho on taking down Isaac, you’re personally funding his demise.” With his shock higher than his urge to pummel some sense into me, I sidestep him before heading in the direction opposite the way Grayson is, ensuring I maintain his cover. “Once your bank records are uploaded, I’ll forward you the serial numbers from the bugs in Isabelle’s phone.”
I make it halfway around the block before Grayson pulls my car up beside me. “That was risky, punk.”
I slide into the passenger seat of my car. “You needed a way in.”
“He may not come through. You pissed him the fuck off. I’ve never seen his face as red as it was when you walked away.”
“He’ll come through,” I reply confidently, “He’s too desperate not to.” I know this because I too am willing to do anything for the woman I love. I’d even go as far as killing a man for her, so a little blackmail is barely a blip on the radar.
17
Brandon
I never thought I’d miss Grayson’s annoying snicker in my ear, but right here, right now, I’d give anything to have it. Our team is ready, Isabelle’s extraction and departure from Ravenshoe occurred without incident, and Hugo—who I’m learning goes everywhere Isabelle goes—only wordlessly threatened me three times during our trip. Yet, one glance of Melody’s back as she leads Socks down the property line, and I’ve forgotten my name, my age, and every detail of our operation I read three times the past twenty-four hours to ensure it was retained.
This is the first time I’ve seen Melody in the flesh in over seven years.
Seven.
Years.
Liam trained me well, but not even the world’s most decorated gymnast could have prepared my stomach for the somersault of emotions that hit it when I spotted her. She isn’t supposed to be here. She was witnessed by my private invest
igator entering her workplace this morning, so why is she here?
If I were a man who believed in coincidences, I’d say this is fate. Since I’m more skeptical than a man swayed by influences outside of his power, I pretend my heart isn’t racing a million miles an hour. Let me tell you, it’s a fucking hard feat.
Even Isabelle notices my struggles. She squeezes my hand before giving me a reassuring smile. “You’ve got this.”
Before I can respond, Hugo pulls my car in front of my family’s ranch wooden garage, and an entirely new set of emotions takes hold of my senses. The oak tree my father had cut down within weeks of Joey’s death has regrown. It’s nowhere near the size it once was, and it is set back too far from my window to be used as an entrance, but it’s still there, living and existing, unlike Joey.
When Hugo throws open the driver’s side door of my car, familiar, homey smells add to the wetness pricking my eyes. I have a handful of bad memories here, but I also have a heap of good ones. The creek that runs through the back of the property is where Joey and I use to collect baby crayfish. Melody and I didn’t just have a fort on her side of the fence, we also had one near the creek, and Liam taught us how to drive in a beat-up old Honda in the sloshy fields at the back of his paddock. It hurts coming here, but if I’m open to the idea, I think it could also be healing.
I wonder if that’s why Melody is here too?
It wasn’t just my life that crumbled here, so did hers.
A grin curls on my lips when Hugo protests to an aroma that instantly reminds me of home. “All I can smell is cow dung.”
Isabelle’s happiness is louder than mine. She has a reason to laugh. Hugo has plugged his nose like animal manure is more potent to his lungs than the pollution they suck in every day at Ravenshoe.
“Which bag is yours?” Isabelle eyes Hugo in confusion when he ruffles through the half-dozen bags she packed in search of mine. Her confusion is understandable. Only last night we discussed her staying at my family ranch. It isn’t the glorious farmhouse it once was, but the contractors my mom hired are slowly restoring it to its former glory, so it’s up to code for weekend visitors.