by Mary Stone
He pulled away, his eyes turning glacial. “You’re not being very nice to me, especially after I put my job and life on the line to lie for you.”
She closed her eyes as he kissed her again.
Maybe she should just submit and get this over with. If she laid there like a block of ice and let him have his way, surely he’d be finished with her that much quicker.
Her mind flashed to Leila Jackson and to all the children they’d found on the farm.
Did they just lie there and take it too? Nausea bubbled in her stomach at the thought.
She almost lost it. Almost.
She might have held herself together in that moment, but if just feeling him through layers of fabric catapulted her to the brink of vomiting, what the hell was she going to do when the clothes were gone?
Panic twisted in her gut.
She’d reminded herself once again of Leila, Angel, and of all the sleazy men the two women had been forced to deal with due to their life’s circumstances. She’d told herself she could be strong too. All she had to do was hold her nose and give herself over to the man who held all the cards in his hand. Once, maybe a few times.
If Leila could live through that hell, and if Angel could power through countless nights on the street to fund her mother’s medical care, then surely Amelia could do this. Right?
She was strong, wasn’t she?
With one deft movement, Joseph undid the button of her slacks, and the warmth of his grasp on her hip followed. As he slid his hand down, and as he slipped the first finger beneath her underwear, reality smacked her in the face.
She was strong.
But she couldn’t do this!
Pulling away from the one-sided kiss, she took hold of his shoulders with both hands. As she tried to shove him out to arm’s length, he tightened his arm around her waist and slammed her body back into his.
He inched his finger a little lower. “What’s wrong? Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure I take care of you.” He whispered the promise, the words sounding like a snake.
She began to struggle, trying to create distance, and as her heart thundered in her ears, Amelia realized she’d been holding her breath.
“No.” She swallowed a lungful of air and shook her head. “No, I don’t want to do this. Stop, please.”
“Shh, it’s okay.” He squeezed her waist and slid his hand down again. “You need to relax. Just go with it.”
Gritting her teeth, Amelia dug her fingers into his shoulders and pushed with as much force as she could muster. “I said no!”
Though she knew Joseph could have overpowered her with sheer muscle mass, he relinquished his hold on her and took a step back. The room was dim, but the light from the hallway was enough to illuminate the fury in his gaze. “What the hell are you doing?”
Amelia’s eyes widened. “What the hell am I doing? Are you serious?” She sidestepped toward her purse to put more distance between them.
He threw his arms out to the side. “Yeah! That’s what I asked! Wow, Amelia. You know what…just wow.” Raking a hand through his disheveled hair, he shook his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
She opened and closed her mouth as she struggled to fill in the gaps. Had he just told her she was unbelievable? Shouldn’t she have been the one to utter those words?
What in the hell was happening?
In the blink of an eye, she’d gone from a desperate effort to escape the hands of a would-be rapist to being accused of…of what?
Buttoning her slacks, she straightened her shirt. “I said no, Joseph. Was there some part of that you didn’t understand?”
The fires of unbridled rage roared to life in his pale eyes. “Don’t try to flip this around on me. You came here.” He pointed to the floor for emphasis. “Why the hell would you have done that if you didn’t want me to fuck you?”
She held up a hand. “Excuse me, what? You practically told me to come over here!” Though she wanted her retort to be more articulate, her stress-addled brain was doing well just to keep up with the dialogue without succumbing to Joseph’s newest manipulative tactic.
He tilted his head back and let out a derisive chuckle. “No, no, I see what you did. I see what you’re doing.” He tapped his temple as his dangerous stare shifted back to her. “You know that I’m the only one who saw you blow Alton Dalessio away, so you figured you’d come over here and spread your legs for me to make sure I kept my story straight, isn’t that right?”
Amelia’s heart hammered against her ribs like the bass line to one of the angry metal songs that were always in Zane’s playlists. Her breath came in labored gasps, but she inhaled through her nose to hide the display of weakness. She could have a panic attack when she was out of this damn apartment. For now, she had to hold herself together.
Licking her dry lips, Amelia waited until she was sure her voice wouldn’t crack before she replied. “You’re full of shit. You know that’s not true.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Because I was just fine being your work friend. You’re the one who came on to me, remember? You know what.” He pinned her with a vicious glare. “I’m starting to see who you really are, Storm. I see beneath that nice-girl façade you fool everyone else with. You didn’t kill Dalessio because you thought he was about to shoot you, did you? You killed him because you wanted him dead. Which, honestly, who didn’t? But you thought you’d hide behind your badge and get away with murder, didn’t you?”
Her blood turned to ice, and she froze mid-step.
Did she?
She remembered thinking of how Brian Kolthoff, known as The Shark, was living in the lap of luxury after he’d come within an inch of buying a sixteen-year-old sex slave. Of how Emilio Leóne, the prick who’d forced women to turn tricks in the street, had only been slapped with a nickel.
Maybe she had wanted Dalessio dead. Maybe Joseph was right.
When she swallowed, her tongue felt like sandpaper. “That’s not…I didn’t do—”
“Don’t lie to me. You’ve done enough of that already.” He scanned up and down her body. “I see what you really are now. If this is how you’re going to treat me, if you’re going to be a cock tease because you want to make sure I don’t rat you out, then maybe I ought to just tell the truth. Maybe I ought to tell SAC Keaton what really happened in that warehouse.”
Amelia’s feet were unsteady, but at least she was at the doorway. She glanced to the edge of the breakfast bar and then back to Joseph.
Reality slammed into her like a charging bull. This had never been a one-time ordeal. Not even two or three.
If she let him have this, have her, if she surrendered control to him now, she’d never find a way out from under his thumb. Sure, she could backpedal and assure him she wanted him, could drop down to her knees and beg for his forgiveness, but then he’d own her.
She’d rather spend the rest of her life in an eight-by-ten cell than grovel at Joseph Larson’s feet.
Even though she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and disappear, she squared her shoulders. “Don’t bother. I’ll tell SAC Keaton myself.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and grabbed her handbag. Though she was prepared for Joseph to block her exit, he merely stood there with both arms crossed over his chest.
Amelia didn’t bother to offer him so much as a look. She stepped into her shoes, flung open the door, and took off for the elevator.
Joseph might have thought she was bluffing, but he’d be wrong.
One way or another, his control over her ended now.
28
Clenching and unclenching the fingers of one hand, Joseph squinted at the video display on his tablet.
Amelia had arrived at home two hours earlier, and she’d spent a full forty-five minutes in the shower. Most of that time had consisted of her standing with her head down as the water cascaded along her back, but he hadn’t missed the tinge of red in her eyes when she straightened.
H
e’d been so close. So damn close.
As he watched Amelia turn to face the cat that had just leapt onto her bed, he gritted his teeth and leaned back against the couch.
The night wasn’t over. He’d downed a couple fingers of bourbon after a visit to a nearby liquor store, but the buzz was receding. If he waited for Amelia to fall asleep, he could drive to her apartment, pick the lock, and have a knife to her throat before she even knew he was there.
His eyes drifted to the pillow beside her head.
A half hour ago, she’d stuffed a handgun under that pillow.
Amelia Storm was a combat veteran. He couldn’t forget that. Though she’d never specified, he was almost certain her time in the military had been spent working with Special Forces. Even snipers in the Special Forces knew how to fight.
If he carried out his plan to break in after she’d drifted off, there was a distinct possibility she’d snap awake at the sound of the deadbolt. In the unlikely event she didn’t, there was still no way he’d be able to separate her from the handgun she’d hidden.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tilted his head to look at the exposed beams running the length of the ceiling.
He shouldn’t have let her go. He should have overpowered her, pulled off her clothes, and had his way. She’d never be more vulnerable or exposed to him than she had been tonight.
There would have been no witnesses. In the event she tried to report him, it’d be her word against his. He’d admit covering for her when she shot Alton Dalessio, and he’d claim that she slept with him to stay on his good side. But then, when the regret sank in, she’d accuse him of rape.
And that was only if she reported the incident. Chances were good she’d keep the night’s events to herself.
Then again, the second he’d let his grip on her loosen, who knew what she’d do.
Special Forces, Joseph. She was in the Special Forces.
He tightened his jaw as Amelia’s tinny voice cut through the contemplation. Leaning forward, he scooted the tablet to the edge of the coffee table.
“I’m sorry, Hup.” Amelia sniffled and wiped her eyes. “You’re such a nice kitty. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but whatever it is, you’ll be okay. I’ll miss you, but I’m sure Zane will take good care of you.”
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Shit.
She was serious. She was going to confess to SAC Keaton.
Joseph dropped the tablet in his lap and rubbed the stubble on his cheek.
When the dust settled, he doubted Amelia would be sentenced to any real prison time. If charges were even pressed, she’d wind up with time served or probation.
However, she would be fired from the FBI. That was a certainty. With the recent spotlight on the alleged misdeeds of law enforcement personnel, there was no way in hell the Bureau would keep an agent after being accused of using excessive force that resulted in a suspect’s death.
If he eliminated her FBI resources, she lost a layer of the armor that protected her.
A new plan formed as the corner of his mouth twitched.
One layer at a time, he’d chisel away her defenses. He’d destroy Amelia Storm’s cage.
Starting with her badge.
As a monotonous buzz pierced through the fog of Zane’s sleep, he pulled his arm off his face and jerked upright. Blinking to clear his vision, he glanced from the flickering television to the stone surface of the coffee table. His phone rang again, and he snatched up the device before it vibrated onto the floor.
Nate Tennick’s name flashed across the caller ID, and Zane froze. Although he’d been the one to ask his old friend and CIA colleague for a favor, he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer now.
“Shit.” Swiping the screen, he cleared his throat and raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, Nate. How’s it going?”
“Same shit, different day. You know how it goes.”
Zane slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, I sure do. But…” he squinted at the digital clock beneath the television, “based on the fact that you’re calling me at quarter after ten, which is quarter after eleven your time, I’d say this isn’t the same ole shit, is it?”
“‘Fraid not, man.” He yawned into the phone. “I just got off work. Hey, I looked into what you asked about the other day. That senator.”
As Zane reached for the remote to turn down the volume of his show, the first tinge of ice rushed through his veins. “What did you find?”
A car door thudded on the other end of the line. “Stan Young is part of the United States Senate’s Intelligence Committee. That’s one of the highest security clearances in the country, and he’s regularly briefed by the CIA whenever he’s in Washington. Honestly, I’m surprised I hadn’t heard of him before now. I’m sure I’ve worked on briefings that have come across his desk.”
Zane’s stomach sank. Nate’s tone told him the worst was yet to come. “And?”
If he hadn’t heard the faint buzz of a radio in the background, he would’ve thought Nate had disconnected.
“And…someone’s been looking you up. Today. There have been two hits so far. Two separate searches for you in government databases. They were hours apart, which seemed odd to me. He’s not looking in the right place, at least not yet. When they set you up at the Bureau, they backstopped your record, didn’t they?”
“Yeah, they did.” Zane plucked a piece of fuzz from his white t-shirt. Whenever he fell asleep on this couch, he always woke up covered in fuzz. “I don’t know how well it’ll hold up if someone like Young looks too closely at it, though. It was meant to fill in the blanks for city cops and other FBI agents, not senators on the fucking intelligence committee.”
Nate whistled through his teeth. “Well, I’m leaving the query open. If anyone looks you up for any reason, I’ll know about it, and then you’ll know about it. With a security clearance as high as Young’s, he can find the files from what you worked on in the Agency, but it’ll take him a hot minute to get there. You know how the Agency is with politicians sticking their noses in shit.”
Zane snorted. “Let’s hope the new deputy director is as obstinate as the old one.”
“I don’t know about that.” Nate paused, and Zane could almost picture him scratching his neatly kempt beard. “You really think Young would compromise you if he got ahold of those files?”
“I can’t say for sure right now, but I’d rather get ahead of it in case he would.” Zane rubbed his temple. “Going from racketeering to treason is one hell of a graduation, but I’m not going to bank on anything.”
“Well.” Nate blew a raspberry. “You do your job and find out how dirty that guy is, and I’ll keep my ear to the ground. If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
“All right. I appreciate it. Have a good night.”
“You do the same.”
Squeezing his eyes closed, Zane flopped to the side and covered his face with a throw pillow.
Senator Young was a ticking time bomb, and the clock had already started.
29
The FBI’s parking garage was laden with a tomblike silence as Amelia worked her house key free from the ring. She’d turned off her car close to thirty minutes ago, and she’d spent at least twenty with her blank stare fixed on what she could see of the Chicago skyline.
Amelia had awoken before the sun had crested the horizon. Her sleep had been plagued with nightmares that featured both Joseph Larson and Luca Passarelli. Even her pedophile math teacher from sixth grade, Mr. Davids, had made an appearance.
She’d woken with a start four separate times. Thankfully, Hup was adept at her duties as Amelia’s emotional support animal. Each time Amelia woke, Hup’s ears perked up as if she’d been watching over her the whole time.
The little ball of fluff would open her luminescent eyes, zeroing in on Amelia’s face. With a soft mew, Hup would stretch and snuggle in closer to her human. If that didn’t do the trick, she’d find Amelia’s soft spot and knead h
er paws against the blanket, massaging Amelia’s belly until she drifted back to sleep.
Before she’d headed out to the FBI office at the crack of dawn, Amelia popped open a can of wet food, much to Hup’s delight. Sniffling and blinking away tears, she’d scratched the cat’s head as she choked out a goodbye.
Hup wouldn’t understand why Amelia never came back. She’d think that she’d been abandoned, that her human no longer cared about her. She’d be scared and alone, just like Amelia.
Amelia closed her hand around the silver key and let her head loll back against the seat. Hup wouldn’t be alone for long, at least. If the worst came to pass, Hup would have a new home with Zane.
The logical part of Amelia’s brain told her she wasn’t likely to be sent off to prison immediately, or potentially at all.
But Amelia Storm wasn’t one to count on best-case scenarios. She’d heard stories of trigger-happy police officers who’d killed suspects and innocent bystanders alike. Plenty of them had returned to the force within a month, but she didn’t want that to be her story. Her mother had taught her to own up to her mistakes, to take responsibility.
So, that’s what she would do. What she should have done from the start. If she’d come clean right away, Joseph Larson never would have had an opportunity for blackmail. Maybe he’d have left her alone.
Yeah, right.
She didn’t understand why Joseph had to do this to her, and she knew that she’d drive herself insane if she tried to search for a reason.
He’d lied after she’d shoved him away the night before, she was sure. She might not have been confident that she’d been justified when she killed Alton Dalessio, but she knew for certain that she’d never sucked up to Joseph so he’d lie to the FBI for her.
She’d never asked Joseph Larson for a damn thing.
As the thud of a car door cut through the still air, Amelia gasped and jerked upright. Blinking against the haze of sleep, she snatched up her phone to check the time. Half past seven in the morning.
Shit. She’d spaced off for almost forty-five minutes.