Man in Queue

by Shandi Boyes

  A lack of key won’t be an issue soon from how hard Alex is ramming into it. I can hear his grunts through the thick wood paneling, smell his determination. It is only a matter of seconds before he saves me—again.

  When I advise my attacker that, a loud ricochet zooms around the room. I startle to within an inch of my life when a bullet flies past my ear, rustling my shoulder-length hair on the way by. I want to say the shot was fired from outside of the room, but unfortunately, that isn’t the case. It came from my attacker’s direction.

  “Rae!”

  Alex’s scream breaks my heart more than the thought of dying. He sounds truly wounded, as if the bullet shredded through my stomach instead of the door jamb a few inches right of my head.

  Bile scorches my throat when a deep voice behind me warns, “If you enter, my next shot won’t miss.”

  The bangs on the door stop, but I know Alex hasn’t left. I can hear his deep breaths, smell the sweat slicking on his skin. His scent is so profound, the fine hairs on my nape prickle.

  “Turn around to face me.”

  With my arms held out in front of my body and my heart in my throat, I spin as the unnamed man demanded. As suspected, he has a gun, and it’s pointed my way.

  “Don’t make me do this,” he pleads when he spots the tears in my eyes dying to stream down my face. “This isn’t what I want. I came here to help you.” His words are as shaky as his hands. They fill me with panic, even more so when I notice his finger is curled around the trigger.

  “Okay.” I lower my tone before suggesting, “But we can’t achieve that with violence.”

  I smile, hoping it is as effective on madmen as it is on admirers. It works—somewhat. It has him directing his pistol to just left of my chest instead of directly at it.

  I suck in three long breaths before asking, “What do you want to help me with?”

  His eyes bounce between mine to check the sincerity of my question. Happy with what he sees, he replies, “They’re taking it too far.” His voice is weaker than mine, more timid.

  “Who?” I have a million more questions to ask, but with my mouth failing to cooperate with the prompts of my brain, I have to settle on any they’re willing to express.

  The man’s eyes drift to the door Alex was in the process of breaking down before he fired a warning shot.

  “Alex?” I ask through the lump in my throat.

  “Yes.” He stops, swallows, then says, “Well, not entirely. . .”

  He stares at me as if he’s seeking assistance. I don’t know why in the world he thinks I can help him. I’m as lost as he is.

  “Tell me more!” I choke out in a scream two seconds later when a commotion at his side gains his attention.

  I could be wrong, but I’m reasonably sure the noise came from the bathroom attached to my room—a bathroom with a window large enough for a grown man to climb through.

  “Did someone send you here? To help me?”

  He shakes his head, its quiver as violent as his chin is shaking.

  I hear my heart in my ears when I ask, “Did someone send you here to hurt me?”

  He continues shaking his head. “Not this time.”

  “There was a before. . .?”

  Chaos ensues before the entire sentence leaves my mouth. A flurry of blond charges through one door as the wood from another splinters at my feet. The air leaves my lungs in a grunt when a thick arm bands around my waist two seconds later to drag me to the ground. I hit the wooden floorboards with the same loud thud as the unnamed man, but it isn’t my body slamming into the ground without concern of injury. It’s Alex’s.

  After gathering me into his chest, he rolls over, sheltering my body with his. I feel his blood surging through his body, smell the testosterone on his skin. It is a virile, manly scent, one I’m certain I’ve smelled before. His smell makes me woozy; I’m just unsure in my spooked state if it is a good thing or not.

  Sometimes, just catching the slightest whiff of a familiar smell causes me more lightheadedness than the strongest alcoholic concoction. Other times, like yesterday afternoon, it bombards me with disturbing memories. Before I can decipher which one this is, Alex pulls away from me, taking the memory with him.

  I settle my skyrocketing heart rate before peering in the direction the man once stood. He is hogtied to the ground, his face as red as mine as he strains to breathe through the heavy weight of Grayson kneeling on his back.

  “Is she alright?” Grayson asks Alex, who has plucked me from the floor so he can frantically search me for a bullet wound. His quest is so thorough, it’s as if he incorrectly counted the number of shots fired in his room.

  I cup his jaw to wordlessly coerce his eyes to mine. When I get them, I say, “I’m fine.” I’m confused as fuck, but fine nonetheless.

  The devastation in his eyes cuts through me like a knife. They have the same horrifying look my eyes held when I cleaned away blood and mud from my hands the night of Luca’s accident.

  I run my fingers through his beard, loving how its thickness can conceal my fingers. After tracing his plump, downturned lips, they continue their trek, only coming to a stop at his ear so I can tug his earlobe.

  Alex smiles at my playfulness, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. The wide span of his lips lifts his cheeks, exposing a scar I hadn’t noticed before. It is hidden by his wiry beard and blond wisps of hair curling around his face. It is so well-concealed, I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t explored his face.

  Before I can ask him about the scar, my attacker murmurs, “This is what she wants. Her goal was to force you together.”

  I expect Alex’s face to cloud with the same confusion as mine. Regrettably, that reaction lies solely on my shoulders. He’s not confused. He’s more annoyed than anything.

  Catching Alex’s rueful glare, the stranger mumbles, “You’re lucky she picked me. I’ve got a conscience—a wife the same age as Rae. You might not be so lucky next time.”

  “Lucky? I got lucky! You fired your gun at her!” Alex’s violent roar picks up right alongside his anger. “How is that lucky?! You could have killed her!”

  When the stranger shakes his head, soundlessly denying his accusation, Alex storms for him. Grayson falls from his back when Alex fists his shirt so he can drag him to within an inch of his face.

  “You never point your weapon unless you’re willing to kill the person you’re aiming it at.” His hot words sizzle on the man’s flaming red cheeks. “That’s the first thing they teach you in the academy!”

  My eyes rocket to Alex’s as quickly as Grayson’s. Is he saying what I think he is? Is he one of them?

  Spotting my inquisitive glare Grayson yells, “Enough!” He nudges his head to me. “Take her downstairs while I sort this mess out.”

  I glare at him. I’m not a baby, so he sure as hell can’t command his brother to treat me as one.

  “Who wants us to be together?” My question isn’t for Alex or Grayson. It’s for the man staring at me, pleading for me to listen to him.

  When his panicked eyes drift between Alex and Grayson, I plead, “You said you wanted to help me, so help me. Who made you do this?”

  He only gets out a “T” sound before Grayson’s knuckles steal his words. He’s out cold in an instant, the low hang of his head giving me my third bad memory of the day.

  18

  “He’s not even a rookie agent?”

  I throw down the file Grayson’s men put together after hauling Jay Foster’s ass to the local PD office before I plop my backside into the chair next to Grayson. Adrenaline-thickened blood is still roaring through my body, and my panic is still at an all-time high. Three inches—three motherfucking inches to the right and I would have lost Regan forever.

  You have no idea how much the thought is tearing me up. Jay is lucky Grayson knocked him out before I did one of the many things running through my head. He wouldn’t be facing charges of reckless endangerment with a weapon, conspiracy to commit a cri
me, and attempted murder charges. His family would be organizing his funeral.

  Argh! I should have accepted Grayson’s offer to interrogate him in the basement at The Manor. I would have if Regan’s welfare wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. She’s been withdrawn since the attack. That’s not unusual. . . for a normal person.

  Rae isn’t normal. She’s so fucking strong, she consoled me when I should have been comforting her. Her silence must center around something else, something she doesn’t want to share with me. It’s the reason she’s sat quietly in the corner of the guest living room the last three hours, as she knows there’s less chance of me breaking down her guard in public.

  Call me cocky, but behind closed doors, I know she doesn’t stand a chance. Out here, being eyeballed by everyone as stunned by the turn of events as me, I take two steps back for each one I take forward.

  I wait for Regan to accept the tub of frozen frosting my mom’s holding out for her before my eyes return to Grayson. He has an odd grin on his face, like he too is being bombarded with wicked memories from the vanilla scent lingering in the air.

  The females in our house see frosting a little differently than us. They use it like ice-cream to combat their emotions. The more they consume when swarmed by worry, the less flighty their brains become.

  We don’t consume it. We rule it. We govern with it. We use it against them as if they’re so stupid they believe an overload of sugar is the answer to everything.

  It’s a pity everyone in this household underestimated Regan. It is nearly as shameful as her life being placed at risk for the good of the Bureau.

  “Did Jay mention a second perp?”

  Grayson shakes his head. “He’s admitted guilt to your assault and the message left in Regan’s apartment, but other than that, he’s been fairly quiet. He’s scared of the repercussions.”

  “It’s her, isn’t it? Theresa put him up to this?” I ask, hearing the words he isn’t saying.

  Grayson leans back in his chair before resting his left ankle on his knee. “From what my men have gathered, yes. It appears as if she requested for Jay to wear the same cologne as Regan’s deceased boyfriend to make it more authentic.”

  Anger blackens my veins. “Then arrest her.”

  “For what?” Grayson’s deep timbre reveals he’s seeking a lifeline rather than dispersing agitation. “Although she stepped way outside her box, anything Jay confesses to is hearsay if it isn’t backed up with evidence. Furthermore, you know the length some crews go to snag their man. This was just another tactic to bring down a criminal.”

  “By placing Regan’s life at risk?” I lower my voice when Regan’s head pops up. “He endangered her life.”

  Grayson shakes his head. “He threatened her life, but as far as Jay is concerned, she was never in any real danger.” He leans forward, recognizing I’m five seconds from blowing my top. “You cited in reports time and time again that those around Isaac were the way into his empire. Theresa accepted your advice. It may not be in the manner you were hoping, but she followed solid intel from a dedicated and well-respected member of her department.”

  “You follow a lead; you don’t force a soon-to-be-agent to harass someone in such a way that they live in fear of their life.” I hear my anger roar twice when it ricochets off the living room walls.

  Grayson locks his murky blue eyes with mine. “You do if it gives you a way in.”

  I glare at him, knowing he isn’t telling me everything, but also aware he won’t hold my hand as I dig through the facts. Just peering into his familiar eyes brings to mind quotes our dad always says, “You don’t get anywhere by accepting handouts. You have to work for everything you have.”

  My back molars grind together when the truth smacks into me two seconds later. “She used me to get to her.”

  Air whizzes from my nostrils, shocked Theresa is this smart. I didn’t think she had it in her.

  “That’s how Josie knew who Regan was. She wasn’t on a case the night we went out for dinner; she was leading me to Regan.”

  “You’re a passive, stone-faced agent who could fool a pastor into believing he’s a saint. . . until you’re with her.” Grayson nudges his head to Regan. “You wear your heart on your sleeve when it comes to your girl. Theresa used that knowledge to her advantage.”

  “Well she’s shit out of luck if she thinks my relationship with Regan will snag her Isaac. Regan doesn’t know anything.”

  My reply doesn’t come out as strong as I’m hoping. Regan is innocent, but I’m confident she has Isaac’s trust, so that means she’s the key we need to unlock Isaac’s case. I just refuse to treat her as a commodity.

  “What are you going to do?” Grayson asks when I stand from my chair.

  I run my hand down the front of my pants, hoping it will calm my anger. It’s a woeful waste of time. “I’m going to wring Theresa’s neck.”

  “Then?” Grayson asks, confident there’s more.

  He’s right. “Then I’ll tell Regan the truth.” When Grayson attempts to talk, no doubt to tell me he thinks it’s a stupid move, I continue speaking, “It’s the right thing to do, Grayson. If Regan thinks I was only with her to take down Isaac, I’ll lose her.” The clench of my jaw says the words I can’t express: I’d rather die than live without her.

  Those sixty-five seconds between Jay firing his gun and Grayson taking him down were the lowest sixty-five seconds of my life. In an instant, I understood Regan’s grief and why it’s taken her so long to overcome it. The pain was intense, worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.

  This is selfish of me to say after all the hurt Regan has dealt with the past eight years, but she survived Luca’s wreckage because she’s meant to be with me. That was the universe’s fucked up way of bringing us together. If Luca hadn’t died, Regan would have never worked at Substanz. I would have never seen her dance on stage, and she would have never stolen my heart with a can-can kick and a bright smile.

  Theresa thinks she forced Regan and me together, but I know that isn’t the case. The crazy, unexplainable thing between us started years before Theresa arrived at the Bureau—way before even Regan realizes.

  Once the dust settles, and the world rights itself again, I’m sure Regan will see sense through the madness. I don’t believe in psychics and all that flowery shit some women try to pin you with, but I’m so confident Regan belongs with me, we’ll work through this together.

  “Can you watch her for me?” I don’t need to nudge my head to Regan for Grayson to know whom my question refers to. “I need to make a call.” A really fucking important one.

  I grow worried I said my last statement out loud when Grayson’s brows pull together. Although I can tell he is dying to grill me, he dips his chin, granting my request.

  Regan’s eyes track me as I cross the room, but she maintains her quiet front. Not wanting anyone to overhear my call, I use the manager’s office at the back of The Manor to make it.

  With our last conversation ending on a sour note, it takes Dane a little longer to answer my call than usual. He’s delaying on purpose. How do I know this? Where else does he have to go?

  “You alright?” I ask, hating the grogginess of his voice when he greets me. Dane’s an early riser, and it’s late morning. He should have awoken hours ago.

  “Yeah, it’s just . . .ah. Shit.”

  I wait, hoping he’ll give me more to work with.

  It’s a long-ass two minutes.

  “Listen, I need to talk to you—”

  “If it’s about our conversation the other day, just stop. I was talking shit, trying to ease your guilt. I’d never fool around on Kristin. You know I think the world shines out of her ass.”

  There is an edge of honesty in his tone, but not enough for me to fully believe him. He’s keeping something from me; I’m just unsure if it’s an old affair or new matters he doesn’t want to share.

  “I wasn’t calling about that. I’ve got some stuff going on that affects u
s both, so I figured I should give you an update.”

  Dane breathes noisily down the line, but not a peep escapes his lips.

  I use his silence to my advantage. I tell him everything: Regan’s threat, my attack on the way out of HQ, and Jay firing at Regan. Then once it is all said and done, I tell him the real reason I called.

  “So it isn’t just my head on the chopping block if I go after Theresa. Your position is at stake as well. I know how much your family relies on that money, Dane.”

  My hand stops scrubbing my scruffy beard when Dane growls, “Can you stop playing the fucking sympathy card?” He coughs to clear a croak in his throat. “How many times have I told you? You’re not responsible for what happened that night in the field. I got shot, but you didn’t pull the fucking trigger.”

  He has said the same thing numerous times the past five years, but I still take blame. He followed me to back me up. That’s how he got shot. If I had acted as an agent that day instead of a man, he wouldn’t be paralyzed from the waist down. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.

  “You don’t know this woman, Dane. Theresa is—”

  “The spawn of Satan. Yeah, I get it. My brain still works, you know. It is only my legs that are fucked up.” He laughs. I don’t see the humor in his reply. “After our last conversation, I dug a little deeper into the information you sent me. Danielle didn’t seek revenge years later for no reason. She was convinced the time was right. Wasn’t hard considering she is mentally unstable. Out of the past five years, she spent three of them volunteering at a local Christian parish.”

  He doesn’t need to spell it out for me. His tone says everything. During our years at the Bureau, we’ve both seen a lot of the “Lord’s good people” who don’t understand that no amount of Bible study will cure a sickness inside someone’s head.

  “Regan mentioned something about speaking with Danielle’s pastor in their teen years,” I disclose.

  An agreeing murmur vibrates from Dane’s lips. “Yeah, it helped for a while, but the instant she turned eighteen, she went off the radar, and her files were sealed shut.”