by Krista Holt
Once on the ground floor of the annex, I exit through security and walk another block, weaving in and out of tourists until I get to the coffee house. Simmons is sitting in the corner, reading today’s Wall Street Journal. I sit down in the chair across from him, and he drops the newspaper from his face.
“Reagan.”
“Simmons.” I look around the crowded shop, but I don’t recognize anyone. “What do you need?”
“Get me this.” His hand skims over the varnished wood table, sliding a piece of paper into my hand.
I unfold it and read his words. “This is next to impossible. I’m not in a position to do this.”
“Why not?”
“I’m just not.”
His hazel eyes are too perceptive for my liking. “This never ends if you straddle a fence,” he says calmly. “Either fully commit or get out of my way. You help or you don’t, but it ends the same way.”
I clench my hands, wadding the piece of paper up. “Nothing is what it seems with this. There’s still a big piece to the puzzle we’re missing.”
“Then find out what it is.”
“It’s not easy.”
“I don’t think you understand. We may not be able to prove anything, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have our suspicions.” He stands, grabbing his khaki trench coat, and leaving the newspaper on the table. “If you can’t give it to me, I’ll find some one else who will. You’re not the only one with access. Decide if you want to be on the winning team, and if you do, call me with the information.” He turns and walks away without another word.
I re-read the note over and over again. Not that I need to, it’s already burned into my brain. Someone asks if I’m done with the table. I nod mutely, standing up. I rip up his note, and I toss it in the first trashcan I can find, regretting that I ever contacted him.
* * *
Scott is gone when I get back to work. I unlock Cameron’s office and find six boxes waiting inside. The labels on them are generic: “FBI Task Force Docs per Subpoena Request.” Great. They didn’t even bother to number them or put the information in chronological order.
I grab a hair tie, twist my hair up off my neck, and get to work, setting up an organization system before I open the first box. Once that’s done, I pull out a few pieces of paper.
The first batch consists of one Chinese take-out menu and a bunch of unimportant emails outlining agent protocol at the upcoming holiday party.
“This is going to be a long day,” I say to myself, reaching inside the box for another stack of miscellaneous documents.
* * *
Piles of paperwork surround me. The “trash” pile is the largest. The “talk to Scott” pile is second biggest, and the “important” pile is miniscule.
“Scott, these names keep showing up everywhere.”
He looks up from his own pile of paper. “What names?”
“Castalano, Daluca, Gallo, and Goretti,” I list them off, not bothering to include the one I’m already familiar with. Selvaggio.
“Those are the other four crime families. With Selvaggio, they make up the infamous Five Families. It’s said that New York City and its boroughs are divided up between the five of them. Each one controls their section of the pie. Apparently, they’re ruled by some mysterious commission no one seems to know anything about.” He pushes some papers back into a box and closes the lid. “It’s all shadowy and vague, like all crime enterprises should be.”
“Sure, I guess.” I grab a few more pages as Scott pushes to his feet.
“I’m gonna head home. It’s after nine and I’m beat. You shouldn’t hang around much longer, either. It’ll all be here in the morning. Plus, we’ll have fresh eyes and full cups of coffee.”
“I might stay a little longer.”
“Okay. Promise not to sleep here?”
I roll my eyes. “I will not sleep here.”
“Good. Be sure to lock everything up before you leave.”
“I will. Goodnight, Scott.”
The heavy office door bangs shut a few minutes later. I leaf through a couple more pages, circling something that might be important in yellow highlighter, when my phone beeps with an incoming text. I ignore it.
I know who it’s from, and I’ve been ignoring him since his first phone call two hours ago. Every text since then has gone unopened as well, but when my phone chimes again, I pull myself off the floor and retrieve it, knowing he won’t give up.
The screen lights up, showing two more unopened texts from Nic.
Do you plan on working all night?
Come on, sweetheart. It’s almost 10. You need to go home.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t have it in me to go another round with him. It’s easier to just stay here, surrounded by work. Something I’m good at. Because, let’s be honest, I don’t excel at handling Nic. I never have.
I bite the inside of my check as I type out a response. My finger hesitates over the send button, but I tap it anyway. Tossing the phone onto the table in front of me, I stare at it until it chimes, letting me know it was delivered.
Not tonight. I need more time.
I grab another box to sort through, but my eyes are drawn to my phone every few seconds. To my surprise, it stays silent.
I shake myself, pulling another stack of papers into my lap. I don’t know what my problem is. I told him no, and he listened. It’s what I wanted, but now, I’m not sure.
Another hour passes. I dig through one more box, but I don’t find anything groundbreaking. Deciding to call it a night, I gather up my things, and lock the investigation material up in Cameron’s office.
I exit the Rayburn building and step into the cold night. The wind whips in between the tall buildings, giving the air around me an icy bite. My face stings with the sudden temperature drop, and I wrap my coat even tighter around me as I walk toward the nearest metro station.
My breath appears in little puffs, and for the first time, I notice how quiet it is. During this day these streets pulse with energy and power, but now, there’s only silence. It’s as disconcerting as it is peaceful.
“Reagan.”
My heart jumps into my throat. My hand flies to my chest, as I spin around. “Oh my—Nic! You scared me!”
“Obviously.” He steps onto the sidewalk. “You weren’t paying attention.” His brows pinch together, and his lips draw down. “I could have been anyone.” He moves toward me until we’re toe to toe, looking down at me.
I can’t speak. My heart is still racing, and my throat is dry. “This,” I swallow hard, “this is the safest square mile in the country. I’m fine.”
“In your building, maybe. But out here on the street, you’re as vulnerable as anybody else. I don’t want you out here by yourself this late at night.”
I stare at him, my brain still trying to adjust to his sudden appearance. Adrenaline flows though me, but instead of fueling a flight response, it ignites another. Fight.
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” He casts me an angry look, but I don’t care. “What are you even doing here, Nic? Waiting outside my work?”
“I had this sneaking suspicion that you’d try to cancel our plans.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s nice to know I was worried about nothing.”
I fight a wince. “I told you, I need more time.”
“I didn’t ask.” He gestures to the Mercedes. “I’m taking you home.” He opens the passenger door. “Get in.”
“I didn’t ask you to come here.”
“Get in the car, Reagan. I’m done waiting.” He reaches for my elbow. I jerk away taking a few steps back until my back hits the car.
I glare at him. “What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t like you avoiding me.”
“That’s rich.” I laugh bitterly. The hurt buried in some deep, dark part of me flairs to life at the irony. He doesn’t like me avoiding him? “Where have you been the past year?”
“It’s always going t
o come back to that, isn’t it?” His voice drops even lower, scraping over the words. “I already told you, I regret that. You can’t bring it up every time I piss you off.”
“I get to be angry for as a long as I want. I’m entitled to it, after what you put me through.”
He moves toward me, planting his hands on the roof of the car, boxing me in. “I don’t want to talk about this again. I told you everything I can.”
“And if it’s not enough?” I meet his heated gaze with my own.
His eyes drop to my lips for a spilt second. It happens so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it. Until he leans in close, and whispers in my ear, “It has to be.”
It has to be. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling him. The scent of cedar, and iron, and amber wraps around me. That smell, it’s invaded my dreams and haunted every waking hour since he’s been gone. I would have given anything to breathe it in again. And now. I exhale, only to breathe deeply again. The fight leaves my system as I get swept away by his presence.
He knows I’m softening, weakening, and he takes advantage of it. Ever so tenderly, he kisses the corner of my mouth. The soft brush of his lips yanks me back to myself and out of my memory.
“Don’t.” I push on his chest.
He stares at me, trying to figure me out. Just like I’m doing, trying to piece together his motives from the little truth he’s willing to reveal.
He takes a step back, putting some space between us. My chest heaves with relief. “You’ve already missed the last train,” he says evenly. “You don’t really have any other choice right now. A cab hasn’t been by here for the last hour.” He puts his hand on the door, holding it open. “Let me take you home.”
I get in the car without another word. I’m physically unable to. My throat is tight, my emotions choking me. Tears well up in my eyes, but I force them back.
“I don’t want to argue with you,” he says, getting in. “That isn’t why I came.”
I don’t say anything, and after a minute, he shifts the car into drive. He keeps one eye on the traffic, but his gaze lands on me often.
At a red light, he reaches over and grabs my hand, bringing it to his lips. Gentle kisses rain down on my skin. I squeeze my eyes closed, warding of the tears threatening to spill.
We stop in front of my apartment, and he shuts the engine off. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
I don’t. Instead, I fling open the door and get out before he can say anything else, walking toward the building entrance. Self-preservation kicking in.
A car door slams and heavy footsteps fall on the pavement behind me. He grabs my hand before I can disappear inside, pulling me back. “Talk to me.”
I look at him. Our eyes lock and the rest of the world seems to fade away. “I’m not going to let a kiss make me forget how much you hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.” His hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him. “I’m so damn sorry, Reagan.” He rests his forehead on mine, silent. I tilt my chin down, unable to hold his stare any longer. I can’t. If I do, I’ll never be able to get this next part out.
“You don’t get to come back and demand to be included in my life, Nic. You lost the privilege when you left.”
His face twists with a grimace, and his hand tightens on my neck.
“I need time. I need some space.” I need to figure some things out, and him being this close is making me forget what I want. It’s too easy to get lost in how I feel when he’s around.
He exhales loudly. “I don’t like this.”
“You don’t have to. But if you want us to have a chance, you need to let me have this.”
His pained expression almost makes me reconsider. Almost. I pull away, breathing a sigh of relief when he lets me go.
“I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
CHAPTER 18
Nic
She’s slipping away.
It’s in the way she walks away from me. Composed. Sure of herself. She disappears inside her building and the ache in my chest intensifies.
I wasn’t expecting a parade when I returned, but I want more than what she’s giving me. I thought we would pick up where we left off, but she’s acting like she’s reevaluating everything.
I drop into the driver’s seat, and my fist strikes the steering wheel in frustration. I don’t want to give her space. Despite her demands, it’s so hard to tell if this is what she really wants. Everything with her is either push or pull. Sometimes she’s waiting for me to chase her, and other times I think she wants me to leave her alone. God help me, I never seem to get it right. All I know is that I can’t lose her. I can’t.
I open the glove box. I set aside the gun I keep in there then open the hidden compartment and pull out a burner phone. Turning it on, I dial a number from memory.
When he doesn’t pick up, I leave a message. “I have the next few days unaccounted for, let me know if you need me.” I hang up, turn the phone off, and toss it back into the glove box.
I’m not really hungry, but since I can’t remember the last time I ate, I stop for some Chinese takeout before heading back to my apartment. Pulling into the underground garage, I spot something that shouldn’t be here. Not in this garage, not even in this city.
My sister.
I throw open the door and grab the food. “Gabriella, why are you here?”
“A girl can’t come visit her only brother?”
I frown. She wants something.
Gabriella is the baby of the family and it shows. She’s always got this expression of joy on her face, probably from getting her way all the time, and even though she might be a pain in the ass, she’s still my sister. She has the same familial dark hair and brown eyes to prove it.
“I suppose you could be here for purely sentimental reasons,” I reply, walking toward her, “but I know you. So, why are you really here?”
“Nicola, Daddy is being stubborn,” she blurts out.
I laugh, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as we walk toward the elevator. “This comes as a surprise to you?”
“No, of course not. I know how he is, but he won’t let me marry Daniel.”
“And you expect me to do what about that?” I hit the button for my floor and the doors close. “He seems like a nice guy, but he’s not like us. It’s surprising you got away with dating him for this long.”
“Nic, come on. Danny’s a good guy. I’m glad he’s not involved in Dad’s business. I’ve never had the taste for it.”
“No, just a fondness for the black card it provides.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
I ignore her leading statement and unlock the door to my apartment. I motion her inside then help her take off her coat before I shrug out of mine.
“You want anything?” I ask, walking into the kitchen. Having lost interest in the food, I set it on the counter and pour myself a glass of scotch.
“No, I’m good.” She takes a seat on the couch.
I find the remote that lights the gas fireplace, wanting to chase the chill out of the room.
“Tell me what you want me to do.” I grip the glass and sit down beside her.
“I want you to talk to him. Make him understand. I don’t want to marry someone who works for him. I don’t want to worry if they’ll be coming home at night. I just want normal.”
I glance at her over the rim. “Normal,” I scoff. “What is that?”
“I don’t expect you to understand. I know what you do for him. But I know you love me and want me to be happy, maybe more so than him. This is what I want.”
I don’t dislike Daniel. He seems like a good guy, but I want to be sure. “You swear this is what you want?”
“Yes,” she replies. “It is.”
“Fine.” I smother a groan. “I’ll try. But there’s no guarantee he’ll listen.”
“Thank you!” She launches herself at me. I barely get my drink out of the way before she throws her arms around me, huggin
g me.
“All right, restrain yourself.” I hug her back. “There’s food in there,” I jerk my chin toward the kitchen, “if you’re hungry.”
“I’m good.”
“Do you have a hotel room, or are you staying here?”
“I have a room down the street, but I’m heading back tomorrow.”
“Did you really think you needed to drive all this way just to ask me that? You could have called.”
“I know, but I wanted to talk to you, too.”
“Sure.” I grin at her lie. She knew I’d bend to her pleading expression, that’s why she really came.
“Are you dating anyone?”
My eyes narrow to slits as I stare at her. “Where is this coming from?”
She shrugs her petite shoulders. “I worry about you. It must be lonely.”
I turn away from her scrutiny, watching the fire. Reagan’s face briefly appears in the flames. “No, I’m not seeing anyone. No time. And like you said, this job isn’t really attractive.”
“You need someone, though. Let me set you up with one of my friends.”
Absolutely not. “No. I don’t want to be set up with anyone, okay?”
“Really? You want to be alone forever?”
“No, not forever, but I’d rather take an ice pick to the eye than date one of your friends. No offense.”
She shoves her elbow into my side. I laugh, but I don’t take it lying down. I set the drink down and swing my arm over, playfully trapping her neck and messing up her hair. It’s the only thing that really made her mad when we were kids.
“Stop it,” she screeches, slapping at me. When I keep at it, she finally concedes. “Fine, fine. I get it. I’ll butt out. Whatever.”
“Whatever?” I let her up, chuckling as she tries to smooth her messed up hair. “Are you a teenager again? Those were some hellish years for me. You were so mean.”
She hits my arm, trying, and failing, to be angry. “You were no angel yourself.”