by Lucas, Helen
“And Fang,” I pointed out. “He did as much as I did. More.”
“And Fang,” Doug conceded with a smile.
My parents took Misty in as a foster child, since she refused to go back into the “system” as she called it. She was doing well, even though she still rarely spoke—she was in a special class at the local high school for kids who had experienced especially terrible trauma. I had seen her just the last weekend: she had gained weight, I’m sure in no small part due to my mother’s Cuban cooking.
But Fang? I hadn’t heard from him. I wasn’t supposed to try and contact him, nor was I given any details as to where he had gone. And I knew if he were to contact me, I was obligated to ignore him. Witness protection only worked if the people in it cut all ties to their previous lives.
And, as strange as it was, I was now part of his previous life. I was part of his time with the Damned MC.
I was no longer an active agent. Instead, I was given a desk job, analyzing intelligence on organized crime. It was fine—much more boring than being a special agent, but also a lot less dangerous. And, unsurprisingly, I had to cover up all my tattoos. The bureau offered to pay to have them lasered off, but I couldn’t bring myself to erase that part of my life.
“You know, Claire,” Doug said suddenly, as I realized I had zoned out staring at the parking lot. “I heard of a good opening at the Bureau’s Seattle office. Organized crime work, like you’d be doing here, but at a higher pay grade.”
“Seattle? What’s in Seattle?”
Doug smiled and shrugged.
“No idea.”
My eyes widened.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
He gave me a hard, almost expressionless look.
“I’m telling you that there’s a very good job for you in Seattle if you want it. And now, I’m going to leave this folder on my desk and go to the bathroom and I’m not going to ask any questions when I get back.”
With that, he rose and walked out of his office without looking back once.
The folder in question was your standard, boring manila envelope. I opened it up and realized it was Doug’s own collection of documents related to the case: there were my notes on the Damned, transcripts of court proceedings, expenditure reports, a therapist’s report on Misty… It was a strange, chaotic collection of the textual trace of the last few months.
And then, there it was: a request for the transfer of an informant into witness protection. The informant wasn’t named in the application—he was just “Applicant 4958242.” But he had been transferred to Seattle.
It had to be Fang. This was Doug, giving me Fang’s whereabouts. Seattle.
I rested my hand on my belly as I stared at the file. My stomach had grown in the past few months. I had to go to Seattle.
EPILOGUE: FANG
“Okay, Spider Monkeys, line up!”
About a quarter of my kindergarteners on the playground perked up. They dashed off to stand in a neat line beside the dull brick of the school.
“Now, I want to see my Great White Sharks lined up!”
Another quarter. And another, and another. I divided my class into groups named after animals and the kids loved it—it inspired them to behave, to work hard for the honor of their group. If there’s one thing I knew about, it was groups, loyalty, and honor.
The Feds had asked me what I wanted to do once I got to Seattle. They lasered off the tattoos on my face and hands—imagine sticking your hand in a bonfire and then leaving it there for a few hours and that’s getting close to what it feels like—but left the ones that I could cover up. They would also pay for graduate school and that’s what I wanted—they sent me to get my teaching degree and now, I was student-teaching a class of kindergarteners.
This school was supposedly the worst in the district but I never had any trouble. My kindergarteners were little angels once I had a week with them, and I had become the de-facto enforcer of good behavior for the entire school. The seventh and eighth grade boys were particularly wild—or, at least, they had been, until I had a good, hard talk with them and made them run laps around the parking lot until they puked.
After that, instead of hating me, they ended up loving me. A lot of boys just have too much energy and if you don’t let them run around and act a fool, they’ll turn into little monsters.
Speaking of little monsters—the Great White Sharks were pointing and giggling at something off on the street.
“Are we being focused?” I began, raising my eyebrows at them. “I see Jamal is focused… I see…”
“Mr. Watt, there’s a big fat lady coming over here!” one of Spider Monkeys, Keisha, cried out.
I turned around to see who this big fat lady was and my heart nearly stopped.
“Mr. Watt?” Claire asked as she came to a halt in front of me and my students. “That’s what they call you now?”
I recovered my composure right away. I grinned.
“What are you talking about? I’ve always been Mr. Watt.”
“Well, in that case…” Claire said, taking my hand and putting it on her swollen, pregnant belly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Watt.”
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Copyright 2015 Helen Lucas
All rights reserved.
The Broken and the Damned: An Alpha Male MC Club Romance
Book Design by Helen Lucas.
Cover Image © CURAphotography - Fotolia.com