by Shandi Boyes
My brows stitch. “So how are you aware of them?”
“Let’s just say, the less you know, the less likely you’ll be indicted.”
Dane chuckles. This time, I join him.
“Fair enough.”
Usually, I’d give him a lecture on how we are lawmen before we are anything, but since this concerns Regan, the woman I’d rather die for than live without, I’ll lay down my moral sword for a real weapon.
A few minutes of silence pass between us. I’d like to say it isn’t awkward, but I’ve never been fond of lying.
“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” I ask when the tension becomes too great.
Dane takes a moment to deliberate. I don’t blame him. He has a lot to consider. Agents aren’t paid well in general, but the pittance they pay first-year recruits is woeful.
My heart starts beating again when he murmurs, “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”
I wait, knowing there is more.
He proves me right by saying, “But I need you to keep that promise you made to me that night in the field.”
“I didn’t promise shit.”
My voice comes out sterner than I intend. I’m not angry at Dane; I just hate being reminded how close he was to losing his life. When we were hunkered down, waiting for the helicopters that never came, he made me swear that no matter what happened, I’d always take care of his girls. I stalled for as long as I could, but the weaker Dane’s pulse became, the weaker my resolve became.
Within a minute, I caved.
A minute after that, the bullets raining down the meadow halted, and we escaped the valley of death we were hiding in. I thought it was a sign that my promise was what saved Dane’s life. I was a fool. His life was spared, but my soul is still hunkered down in that field, striving to find its way back to me.
“I’ll still get him, Dane. I’ll never forget what he did to you.” I grit my teeth hard, loathing the grogginess of my words.
Dane’s deep exhalation reveals he heard the sentiment in my tone. “That’s not the promise I’m talking about.”
“I know.” My knee bobs up and down as I struggle to leash my anger. “But I’ll still keep it.”
Dane exhales again, this time more in annoyance than trouble. “You’ve got to let this go, Alex. It’s eating you alive.”
I shake my head, expressing my lie without words. It kills me seeing him in his wheelchair, his legs withered, his once six-foot-two frame half its size. That’s why I rarely visit him. I can’t see him like that and not feel responsible for what happened. Dane was in the prime of his life, and in an instant, it was pulled from beneath him. Neither of us have been the same since.
Regrettably, Dane doesn’t need words to catch me in a lie. “You don’t even know if it was him. You’re working off half-truths.”
I laugh. It isn’t a pleasant, happy-filled chuckle. “He might not have pulled the trigger, but I guarantee you, he knows who did. That makes him just as responsible.”
“There are two sides to every story—”
“Yeah, there is,” I interrupt, nodding. “But you only get to pick one side. The right side of the law. He didn’t. . .”
My words trail off when the creak of a door steals my attention. My mom’s dynamic has flipped The Manor from a cold, rarely booked establishment to one that goes months with the no vacancy sign lit, but it’s unusual for anyone to come back here. It’s why I chose this area to take my call. I wanted privacy.
“Can I call you back?”
Although I’m asking Dane a question, I don’t give him a chance to respond. The click of the ancient phone onto the receiver almost drowns out the scurrying of feet. It’s for the best, then the person sneaking up on me unaware won’t hear the unclicking of my holster as I remove my gun from my hip.
With my pistol held high and my heart rate out of control, I exit the office at the speed of a rocket. I only make it three steps before a horrifying image blitzes me with guilt.
A gun is pointed at Regan’s head.
It’s mine.
19
“Jesus Christ, Regan. I could have shot you.” Alex holsters his gun before stepping closer to me. “What are you doing back here?”
“I was. . . uh. . .” Come on, Regan. You don’t have air for brains! “Looking for you.”
The anger reddening Alex’s cheeks whitens from my reply. He seems genuinely happy about my response, like he isn’t associating with me solely to crack a half-decade-old case.
He’s a damn good actor.
I don’t know how I didn’t put the pieces of the puzzle together earlier. The large scar on his knee should have been my first clue, but I brushed it off, conscious men as physically fit as him have many issues with their knees. Then I spotted the faint scar running from his right temple to his left ear. If I hadn’t spotted it within seconds of absorbing his familiar scent, I probably wouldn’t have paid it much attention. But when you add those three facts with the warning Jay gave before Grayson knocked him out, the evidence seems damning.
I wanted to give Alex the benefit of the doubt, to believe the absolute horror in his eyes when he searched my body for a bullet wound was genuine, but I’ve learned many hard lessons in my short life. The most imperative is to always trust my gut.
That’s why I slipped away from Grayson’s watch to follow Alex down here. I had planned to confront him, to call him out as a liar and a fraud, but the remorse in his words when he took his call stopped me. His pain was genuine, and although I’m feeling like a right royal fucking idiot, I didn’t want to add to his pain.
It was for the best. If I hadn’t held back my desire to gut him as badly as he is gutting me, I would have missed the final piece of the puzzle. Those last words Alex spoke, the ones about choosing the right side of the law, I’ve heard them before. It was the night I fled Substanz with Isaac. It was one of the very first things the agent who let me flee without shooting me said.
I step closer to Alex so I can run my fingers through his beard as I did earlier. My heart breaks a little when he leans into my embrace, as if he can’t breathe without my touch. I wouldn’t be touching him if I wasn’t seeking a way to stop me from feeling like such an idiot. I missed all the signs—every single one of them!
It’s quite pathetic when you think about it. A bit of facial hair and a few inches of growth, and poof, you’ve got me fooled. God—I thought I was smart. This proves that book smarts have nothing on common sense.
I guess that’s why I’m so confused as to why Alex is doing this? Is bringing someone to justice for evading a crime really worth all this effort? I know undercover agents don’t follow the norm, but this is taking it too far. I introduced him to my family. I slept with him. I nearly even said three little words I swore I’d never say again, and for what? For it all to be doctored in a case file that will never reach the courts?
The statute of limitation ensures criminal charges can no longer be filed for an offense once five years has passed. That means even if I confess to my sins right now, I’m in the clear. Neither Isaac nor I will face a single second in jail, so there has to be something I’m missing. Even the world’s most heartless man wouldn’t do this for nothing.
I take a step back when a horrifying thought enters my mind. What if he isn’t after me? What if he wants someone closer to me, someone more powerful and harder to take down?
The room spins around me as the dots keep connecting. This isn’t about me at all. I’m just the pawn he used to reach the king.
Oh god, I’m going to be sick.
“Deep breaths, Rae. Take in some big deep breaths for me,” Alex coaches when a panic attack blindsides me out of nowhere. I haven’t had one in years, but I’m not surprised I’ve finally succumbed. This hurts—a lot!
The concern in Alex’s tone as he attempts to calm me down steals the air from my lungs more than the reality of our situation did. He used me. He took my heartache, my belief that not everyo
ne is out to hurt me, then tossed it back in my face.
How could I have been so stupid?
How could I let him play me like an idiot?!
My lungs wheeze through the pain shredding them in two when Alex guides me to a chair halfway down the corridor. He dashes away from me, only to return thirty seconds later with a bottle of water and a box of tissues. I don’t know who the tissues are for. I’m not crying.
Another wave of stupidity crashes into me when I raise my hand to my cheeks. They’re flooded with moisture.
“It’s okay,” Alex assures when I stop his attempts to soak up the mess. “Shock can take hours to arrive. It’s perfectly normal to feel this way after what you went through this morning.”
A thousand curse words scream through my head as I stare at him, but not one fires off my tongue. It isn’t Jay’s attack rendering me a blubbering idiot. It is him, a man I trusted, a man I thought I could love.
“Keep breathing for me, Rae. You’ve got this. You’re so fucking strong, baby, so very strong.”
I want to pull away from him. I want to yank his gun from his holster and use the skills he taught me yesterday against him, but instead, I act as the coward I was the night Luca died. I shimmy my shoulders; I put on a brave face, and I act like the world hasn’t crumbled beneath my feet.
This is real life. People like me don’t get happily-ever-afters and forevers. Ms. Collard warned me what would happen if I “rang the devil’s doorbell” too many times. I thought she was an old coot who needed to switch up her reading palette to something more risqué than the Christian romances she devoured four times a week. This kills me to admit, but I should have listened to her.
Luca loved me so I would hide his secret.
Alex pretended to love me to unearth secrets.
Shame me once, fool on you. Shame me twice, fool on me. There sure as hell won’t be a third time.
I feel the rod in my back hardening as anger overtakes my devastation. My lungs feel lighter as the sensation that I’m drowning fades. I do have this. I had it before Alex arrived in the picture, and I’ll have it years after he leaves.
No, correct that. After I kick him out.
He might have chosen me because he thought I was easy prey. He’s about to find out the hard way how badly he underestimated me. Luca’s death broke me, but it also showed me that I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. One person may not be able to take down an army, but she can sure as hell dent their defense.
20
“That’s it, baby. Look at you. I’m so fucking proud of you, Rae; so damn proud.”
I continue bombarding Regan with praise, confident every word I speak brings back the woman I’m in love with. I’m not worried that she’s finally cracked. I knew this would eventually happen. Regan is strong, but she’s been dragged through the wringer the past week. If she didn’t eventually crack under the pressure, I would have grown worried she wasn’t human.
You can be the toughest and most bravest person on the planet and still be struck down by a panic attack. Some struggle to breathe. Others cry. Then there are men like me who throw hospital equipment around their room like a maniac forgetting their shattered knee can’t take the weight of his body. There is no shame giving in to the emotions holding you hostage. Whether it is grief, remorse or fear, you’ll never truly be free unless you let go of what’s holding you back.
“Do you want some water?” I unscrew the bottle and hand it to Regan before she can answer me. She accepts it, albeit hesitantly.
I stop peering into her eyes over the bottle of water trembling against her lips when someone calls my name. Although I don’t need to see the person to know who’s demanding my attention, I shift my eyes to them. I’m glad Regan’s finally freeing herself from her torment, but I doubt she wants anyone seeing her like this.
Grayson stops stomping down the dimly lit hallway when I shake my head. My movement is meek, but strong enough for both Grayson and Regan to see. At the same time Grayson’s throat works hard to swallow, Regan ducks her chin into her chest to hide her tear-stained face.
“Give me a few,” I mouth to Grayson, annoyed at his frozen frame. Even a man without a heart would recognize now is not the time for an interruption.
I’m two seconds from throwing Grayson out of the hall by the scruff of his collar when he says, “It’s important.”
I give him a look as if to say and this isn’t? My girl is crying directly in front of me, and she’s not in my arms. You can’t get any more imperative than this.
My jaw clenches when Grayson murmurs, “It’s really important.”
My retaliation snags halfway up my throat when Regan says, “It’s fine, Alex. Go.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not fine. He can wait.”
Regan balks as if shocked she comes before anyone. I add to her surprise when I tell her precisely that. “You’ll always be first, Rae. Always.”
It is a struggle for her to keep her tears at bay, but she does, somewhat. They just pool in the corners of her eyes instead of gushing down her face.
“I’ve got to pack anyway. Our plane leaves in a little under three hours.” She gestures her hand to Grayson. “Go see what your brother needs. I’m sure he wouldn’t have interrupted us unless it was important.”
Although Grayson hears the slight sneer in her words the same as I do, he dips his head, agreeing with her. “If I don’t show you this now, it may not be helpful by the time you get a chance to use it.”
I return my eyes to Regan. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.” She breathes heavily, relieved I’m giving in. “I’m perfectly fine.”
Her fake grin dampens the confidence in her tone, but I pretend I haven’t noticed it. I’m juggling so many balls at the moment, I’m close to dropping them all. If that happens, things could end disastrously.
“Do you know your way back to our room?”
Regan smiles, then nods. Thankfully, this one is more authentic.
“Alright. I’ll meet you back there soon, okay?”
When she nods again, I lean in to press a kiss on her mouth. Just before my lips touch hers, she jerks her chin to the right, forcing my lips to land on her cheek. I tell myself it’s because she doesn’t want me to taste the salt of her tears, but there is a niggle in my gut that makes it hard to walk away from her. But she disappears before I’m even halfway to Grayson, her wish to flee darkening his eyes with as much suspicion as mine.
“Whatever you’re about to show me better be fucking good,” I growl at Grayson, taking my anger out on him instead of myself. I shouldn’t be doing this. Regan should always be my utmost priority.
“Have I ever let you down, Alex?”
He sounds annoyed. Rightfully so. He broke two bones in his hand knocking Jay out before he could reveal my secret to Regan, and how do I thank him? I get pissed for him having my back more than I have his.
Remaining quiet, he guides me into a room I didn’t know existed. Well, I did, but not like this. The number of men, computer equipment, and state of the art surveillance devices in this old boiler room rivals Theresa’s operation. There is just one difference: they have notably more intel on the man we’re tracking.
“You’re after Isaac Holt?” Surprise echoes in my tone.
Grayson shakes his head. “No. He’s small fry compared to whom we’re chasing.” He taps two fingers on a center photo in a board of many. “Henry—”
“Gottle Senior,” I fill in. “Fuck.”
My last word is highly appropriate to describe Henry. He is the mob boss of New York City, the cream of the crop on the FBI hit list. He’s the motherlode. Crack him, crack several crime syndicates beneath him. We call him the golden hen because every egg he hatches is made out of pure moneymaking gold.
“Is Isaac a member of his crew?” I try to keep hope out of my tone. I miserably fail.
Lucky, because it’s bitch-slapped when Grayson shakes his head. “No. They know
of each other, but we’ve yet to link them from a business standpoint.”
“How can that be? You know as well as I do that Henry doesn’t associate with anyone outside of his association.” I air quote my last word like an A-grade soft cock. Clearly, Regan isn’t the only one still struggling to understand the emotions racing through her veins.
Grayson does a weird shrugging thing. “True, but things are different between them.”
“Different how?”
Grayson points to three photos. Vladimir Popov, crime lord of Vegas. Col Petretti, slowly recouping mob boss of the Florida/Hopeton region, and Mario Taleo, suspected leader of a lower Mexican run circuit. “All of these men owe Henry in some way.”
My “duh” eyeroll stops halfway when Grayson quickly adds on, “Isaac doesn’t. Henry owes him.”
He hands me a photo of a man I’d guess to be late twenties, early thirties. He has dark hair, a well-built frame and the same sneer as every man in this room. “That is Henry Gottle Junior.”
My lips quirk. I was unaware Henry had a son.
“Details are sketchy, but from what we’ve unearthed, Henry Jr. and Isaac attended the same university. Some shit went down, and Isaac stepped in, gifting him a handful of favors from Henry Senior.”
Grayson’s intel annoys me more than it pleases me. I don’t want to hear that Isaac’s connections in his industry started nobly. I also don’t know why Grayson is wasting my time with this shit now. He’s got nothing useful for me, certainly nothing worth stealing me away from Regan for.
When I tell him that, he smiles. “You asked a question; I answered it.” He slaps his hand on my shoulder to stop me from fleeing before saying, “My investigation into Henry isn’t why I brought you here. He is.” He nudges his head to a photo of Isaac.
“Your cross examination found something I can take him down with?”
Hope flies out the window when Grayson shakes his head. “But I have something just as good. I found a way you can get your man without compromising your relationship with your girl.”