I dive toward Addy, hoping to stop her fall, but I’m not fast enough. Her lifeless body crumbles to the ground. “Addy!” I scramble for her, but Vincent’s on the move. I flip onto my back and reach behind me for my weapon, but it’s gone. My eyes shoot to Vincent. His gun is securely in his hand, aimed at me.
“Like I said, this doesn’t end when you say—”
A blast reverberates into the night, and panic seizes my entire being at the fear of Addy being shot. Vincent jolts forward, losing his grip on the gun. He gazes down at his abdomen in shock, then drops to his knees. Behind him, Addy kneels, a gun in her hands. Her hands are trembling, and she can barely hold herself up.
I lose my focus on Vincent, my concern now on Addy. It leaves me vulnerable, and Vincent makes a sudden move. He goes for his gun, and I lunge forward to tackle him. He gets a shot off, slicing into my arm before I tackle him, and we both slam into the barge floor. I raise my fist to bash into his face, but his body starts to convulse under me. Blood bubbles out of his mouth, and his lips purse open, gasping for his final breath of air.
“Addy,” I say, slowly standing, pulling my attention from the last of his life leaving him. “Give me the gun.”
“He was…he was…he was…”
Fuck, she’s going into shock. I climb off Vincent and kneel in front of her. “Hey, look at me.” Her eyes stay glued to the body behind me. “Baby cakes, look at me.” The pet name works, and she slowly tears her eyes away. When she finally holds my gaze, I gently grab her cheeks, ignoring the searing pain in my arm. “You’re okay. We’re both okay. You did what you had to do. You understand?”
Her lips move, but she’s struggling to speak. “You—you—you’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
“I—I’m bleeding too. I—I—I think maybe too much.” And she collapses in my arms and loses consciousness as sirens blare in the distance.
Addy
I’m drowning. My arms and legs refuse to move. I sink deeper into the abyss. I suck in air, but only water fills my lungs, and I choke. My lungs spasm. My chest heaves. My body slams against the ocean floor. Tiny black images surround me. Fish. So many fish. I try to fight them, but my arms don’t move. I’m helpless. They come for me, nipping and biting at my flesh. Nip, nip, nip—
I shoot forward, clawing at my skin. “Get them off me! Get them off me!” I scream in agony at the burning pain in my arm. “They’re biting me. It hurts.” I choke on a sob.
“Hey, hey, relax. You’re going to pull out your IV.” My eyes start to adjust to the bright light, and I gasp in air. A man in a white coat is standing over me, and my hysteria returns.
“Get away from me!” I scoot back, tugging on more wires, crying out in more pain as I clutch my stomach.
“Addy, you’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Dr. Coffman.”
Doctor? I gaze around the room, then take in my body. My arm is wrapped in a bandage. “Where am I?” I don’t understand. The fish. I was being eaten alive by fish. I squeeze my eyes shut, needing the agony of their teeth to go away.
“Addy, you’re at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Do you remember why you were brought here?” The fish. The fish were biting me. I shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s very normal in trauma cases for your mind to protect you from your memories. Don’t rush it. They’ll return.” Trauma? What trauma. I tug at my arm, but the IV restricts me. “You have a concussion and some bruised ribs. Luckily, the bullet just grazed your bicep, so we stitched you up nicely.”
“Bullet?” I furrow my brow. “Why am I in here?” Anxious tears start to flow down my face. “Why am I in here!”
“Ahhh, she’s awake.” My eyes whip to the man who just entered my room. My mind is like a spinning wheel. I know his face. I know him. But how? “How are you feeling today, Miss Finch?”
Name.
Name.
Name—
“Agent Bishop,” my voice cracks as the first memory sparks.
“Logan. My name’s Logan. You were going to wish me a good evening.”
“You’re going to do everything I say. If you don’t, we’re both as good as fucking dead.”
“You’re a cop?”
“You wanna pretend this is fake? Then tell me this does nothing for you.”
“Where did you crawl out of before you showed up pretending to be Logan Justice’s girlfriend?”
“You—you—you’re bleeding.”
“Logan.” My voice shatters at the sound of his name. He was there. He saved me. He was bleeding. “Where’s Logan? Logan!”
He doesn’t answer me fast enough. Why isn’t he answering me! My heavy tears wash down my face blinding me. I start to panic, unable to get enough air into my lungs.
“Agent Bishop,” the doctor interrupts. “I’m not sure this is a good idea. Her mental state is still very fragile, and this stress is not healthy. May I suggest returning at a later time—?”
“No, please! I need to know! He was bleeding—why was he bleeding?”
Agent Bishop nods, guilt prominent in his sullen gaze. Without answering me, he walks out. “Answer me!” I fight the wires, pulling at my IV.
“Nurse!” the doctor yells, and seconds later, I’m being restrained.
“Please, no! I need to know! I need…to…”
“Addy, this is going to help you rest, okay?”
“Please…I need…”
My lids droop as all the fight leaves my body.
The same nightmare rouses me awake. This time, I’m more aware of my surroundings. The pain in my arm throbs, and I grunt as I attempt to sit up. My mouth is dry. I stretch for the small cup of water on the table and wince, unable to reach it.
“Here, let me help you.” A nurse walks in, grabbing the cup and handing it to me. “Nice to see you awake today. How are you feeling?”
“Today? What—how long have I been asleep?”
“Almost three days.”
My eyebrows shoot into my hairline, and my mouth drops. “Three days?”
“A concussion is a serious thing. Your head needs time to heal.”
“Yeah, but how could I sleep for three days?”
She smiles gently as she picks up my chart and gazes at the monitor. “It’s your body telling you it’s not ready. But your vitals look great. How’s your pain level?”
Emotional or physical? “My arm kills.”
“No worries. Let’s get you some morphine. It will ease the pain for you—”
I grab for her arm. “Wait. Please. I don’t want to sleep anymore.”
She stares at me with a sympathetic gaze. A few seconds pass before she nods. “Okay, how about this? I’ll give you half a dose. This way, it can ease some of the pain, and you can stay alert. But if it becomes too much, then you’re getting the rest. My job is to make sure you get healthy.”
“Thank you. Also, do you have a TV remote or a newspaper? Has there been anything in the news about any sort of crime bust—”
The door to my room opens, and we both look over as Agent Bishop enters.
“Miss Finch,” he addresses me as he walks up to my bedside. The nurse offers me a sympathetic smile before nodding to Jake and disappearing. “How are you—?”
“I want to know what’s going on,” I cut him off, demanding answers.
“You have a concussion—”
“Don’t bullshit me!” I’m past caring about bad language. I’m angry. “Where’s Logan? What happened? How did I get here?” More questions he doesn’t look like he plans on answering. My irritation grows—and my heart monitor proves it.
“It’s best you stay in the dark about—”
“Best? Best? How is it best? You tell me I have to stay and be used as bait so I don’t mess up all your hard work, and once I do, I get shot and almost killed in the process, then you tell me it’s best I don’t know? I want to know where Logan is. Is he okay?” I bite down on my bottom lip to force back my tears.
“Miss Finch, this is
a very high-profile case. You were part of taking down a very powerful man. Not only Vincent, but Renaldo Valdez and Mayor Brighton. It’s going to take months to work through all the evidence. Until everything is cleared, we cannot have you and Agent Broderick make contact. If ever.”
Ever? What is he talking about? “That’s not—you don’t have any say in that.”
“Right now, I do. It’s in the best interest of the department and your safety. Once you’re cleared here, you are going to be moved to a secure location. The only way we can protect you until this goes through the courts is witness protection—”
“You’re crazy. I’m not going anywhere. I want to talk to Logan.” His blank stare only frustrates me more. “Fine! If you don’t allow it, I’ll find my own way.”
Pulling out a notepad, he flips it open. “Miss Finch, I suggest you save your energy. Agent Broderick has been pulled from this case and is no longer available. He is just as at risk as you are. Therefore, he’s been taken into custody. There’s no way you will make contact. I suggest you understand that and start thinking about your future. We have a list of locations and names you can—”
“Stop! Stop talking to me like a child who can’t handle what’s going on.”
“No one said you were, Miss—”
“And for the love! Stop speaking to me like I’m an old lady! My name is Addy. And I have a brain and feelings. If you have any of those, just tell me if he’s okay!” My bottom lip begins to quiver, and my guilt-ridden tears fall. “Tell me he’s okay.”
Agent Bishop takes a deep breath and drops his notepad on the table. “Logan took a bullet to the arm. He had surgery to remove it. He’s okay.”
That’s why I remember blood. Just before passing out… My carelessness got him shot. If I would have just listened…
I bend forward, shame and regret stabbing at my insides. “Miss—Addy, you did a brave thing out there. That day… You took down a powerful man—something Agent Broderick spent the last two years trying to accomplish.”
“Yeah, and look where that got him.” I angrily swipe at my fallen tears.
“I know this is hard. I can’t—”
“Imagine? Yeah, you can’t. I want to see my parents. Are they here?”
He clears his throat. “They’ve been notified of your situation. At this time, they shouldn’t make themselves present. We’re not sure who’s still around, who might be watching. It’s to keep everyone safe—”
“Safe? Is that what you people call taking all my rights away nowadays? What about my life? I have a job, a landlord I have to pay. You gonna pay him monthly to keep him safe too? What about my things? What if I had a cat!” I snap. He opens his mouth to reply, but I’m done. “Don’t. I can’t stomach any more of your bullshit. Let’s just get this over with.”
He waits for another outburst, but I’m emotionally spent and physically exhausted.
“Okay.” He nods, picks up his notepad and closes it, then exits the room.
When he returns, any sign of emotional understanding is gone, and the FBI agent in full force. They make me sign paper after paper. So much so, my hand starts to cramp. When I finish, I sigh, realizing I just signed my life away, literally, since I just agreed to become someone else. I sign the death certificate of my old self. Here lies Atticus Finch, who died from being an idiot and getting involved with something she should have never stepped foot near.
They tuck me in a hoodie and glasses—so cliché—and transport me to a secure location to wait until they ship me off to my new life. The hotel room is small and smells musty. They don’t give me any feedback on how long I’ll be here, and I want to pull my hair out. I pace and pace and pace until I eventually wear myself out. I want to call my parents, but Agent Bishop says contacting them would only put them in danger.
I wish I could at least watch the news, but my room strangely doesn’t have a television, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence. After almost eight hours of pacing, someone finally opens the door. A woman dressed in a DEA uniform.
“Hi, Addy. I’m Special Agent Virginia Warren. Just stopping by to check-in. I brought you some dinner. You hungry?”
My stomach growls at the smell of fries but eating is the last thing on my mind. “Why doesn’t my room have a TV? Any chance I can use your phone?” She looks like a nice lady willing to let me make a simple phone call.
She places the bag on the dresser. “I’m sorry, I was given strict instructions by my boss. No phone, recorder, or laptop. And the missing TV is so you stay clear of any news reports. It can be detrimental to your recovery. Sometimes the mind—”
“Who exactly is your boss?”
She ignores my question. “I brought you a cheeseburger, fries, and a shake. I figured you would like that.”
I cross my arms over my chest, biting my tongue at the twinge from my bandaged arm. “I’m not hungry.”
“You need to—”
“Unless I can use your phone, you can leave.” My tone is harsh, and I stare her down until she understands I want nothing more from her. She smiles gently and leaves.
They keep me here for a total of four days. Four horrible days I spend contemplating how to escape and get back to work to write my story. After everything, it’s what’s owed to me. For anyone who has ever suffered at the hands of someone like Vincent Leoni and Renaldo Valdez. How many other people are out there, tainting this world with their ugliness?
For those days, I wear myself thin. They may not allow me my laptop, but they didn’t account for the nightstand drawer, which held a pen and notepad behind the faithful bible. I use the notepad, toilet paper, even the bedsheets to write down my story. Every four hours, like clockwork, an agent comes in to check on me. They find me laying on the bed singing loudly, my notes hidden behind my back. I decline all their sucky fast food, and they leave the way they came.
On the third day, pizza is sent.
I don’t deny that one.
On my fourth day of prison hell, Agent Bishop arrives. “Oh, goodie, it’s you.” I blow him off and walk into the bathroom. I wait for him to turn his head and give me privacy so I can shove the scrolled toilet paper into the cabinet.
“It’s time. If you’re ready, we’re going to take you to your destination.”
I walk back out. He has a bag in his hand and extends it for me to take. “What’s this?”
“Some things from your apartment. Necessities. On behalf of Chicago law enforcement, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, you will be granted a generous allowance, which will allow you to replenish the belongings you’re leaving behind.”
I clap my hands together and offer him a cheeky smile. “You guys are too good to me.”
He doesn’t find my childish outburst amusing. I open my bag to see the things they call essentials. My journal, some bathroom essentials, and three different sets of patterned pajamas. “Seriously?”
Agent Bishop shrugs, looking as bored as can be. “If you’re ready, we can head out.”
Unbelievable. Not that I’m complaining. I love these pajamas. “Whatever, just let me go pee.” I excuse myself. Once the door is shut, I open the bathroom cabinet, and shove all of my notes, including the bedsheet, in my backpack and then walk back out. I allow the one-person I’m starting to hate the most lead me away to a new life. I get to start over, but does anyone truly start over after what I’ve been through? They survive, learning to live each day with the scars that have been inflicted.
I hate that I start crying again for the billionth time since I’ve been stuck in isolation. My pathetic brain keeps going back to Logan. The last night we spent together. His promise to keep me safe and my betrayal. Would things have ended differently if I hadn’t been such an idiot?
“Miss Finch—”
“Shove it, Bishop. Just take me where I’m supposed to go.”
He doesn’t fight me. A simple nod and he waves his hand for me to follow him. We leave the hotel through a private exit and climb into a dar
k vehicle. I hold my breath, trying not to conjure up the images of being in Vincent’s town car. When we pull up to a vacant field, I take in the runway and small aircraft.
Climbing out, I walk around the car and spot a small plane. “Yeah, so…is this your way of getting rid of me?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not getting on that.”
“Miss—”
“I’m not getting on that. Does no one listen? I have phobias! Boats! Planes! Helicopters! What is so hard to comprehend about the fact that I. Can’t. Get. On. That!”
Agent Bishop appears disgruntled at this predicament.
“Please just take me home. Or even better, just shoot me and bury me in the woods.”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally nodding. Taking out his phone, he dials a number. Finally. Someone listens to what I want for once. I stand by, waiting for his next instructions. I better hear, “I’m taking her home so she can go back to work. And sure, we’ll stop and pick up pizza on the way, courtesy of the Department of Justice.”
I sigh while he makes his call. “Yeah, she won’t get on the plane. I know, I’ve tried. She says it’s a phobia. Her recommendation is to shoot her instead. What do you want me to do? Okay.”
He hangs up.
“Good. So, you’re taking me home?”
“No. He’s gonna walk away, and I’m going to force you on this plane.” I whip around toward the plane, my eyes traveling up the small set of stairs. Logan places his phone into his back pocket and starts to walk down the steps.
My lips part. I blink rapidly, unsure if I’m so exhausted that I’m seeing things. “I thought…” I shake my head in disbelief. “What are you doing here? They said you and I…” Ugh, the tears are on full blast. “Bishop, is this some kind of decoy to get me on that plane? Because this isn’t funny.” I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing my brain to refocus. Sucking in a deep breath, I reopen them. He’s really here. I try to shake off the image, my tears falling heavier and heavier.
His large hand cups my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes tighter. Is he here to say goodbye? I can’t…this is too much.
Celebrity Dirt: A Fake Relationship Romantic Suspense Standalone Page 20