The Redemption

by Lauren Rowe

  We both burst out laughing at the same time.

  “I guess your precious strategy got blown to bits,” I say.

  “As usual.”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Fuck no.”

  “I hate Strategic Jonas, anyway,” I say.

  “I just wanted to do something worthy of the moment—worthy of you,” he says. “I wanted to do something romantic.”

  “Oh, Jonas.” I raise my cheek off his shoulder and look him in the eye. “What we just did was romantic. It was Valentine’s Day bullshit and hot monkey-sex, all rolled into one.” I smile broadly at him. “You always give me both.”

  His eyes sparkle at me. “You were made for me, Sarah Cruz,” he says.

  “You were made for me, Jonas Faraday.” I lay my cheek back down on his broad shoulder and sigh with contentment as he pulls me close. “Thank you for finding me.”

  “Thank you for being findable.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  “It is now.” He beams a heart-stopping smile at me. “Let’s dry off. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  We’re bundled up in the fluffy white bathrobes supplied by the hotel, sitting on the fluffy white bed. The clock on the nightstand reads twelve minutes before four o’clock. What the hell are we still doing up? We’re scheduled to meet the team in six hours to march down to the Las Vegas branch of the FBI. Oh man, I’m fading fast.

  Jonas looks nervous. He’s plainly trying to figure out what to say.

  “You’re gonna have to spit it out, baby,” I say, yawning. “I’m falling asleep sitting up.”

  He exhales. “After we’re done here, I want to take you on a trip—to a place that’s really special to me.”

  I’m instantly wide awake. “Where?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not at all.” I grin.

  “It’s out of the country—I’ll tell you that much.”

  Holy moly, I’m elated. I’ve dreamed of traveling the world my entire life, ever since I was little. Whenever my father used to start screaming at my mother, when I knew he was getting all amped up and violence was surely imminent, I used to crawl into my closet with a world map and tune out the bad stuff by imagining myself in faraway places. I never in a million years thought my childhood fantasies would actually come true one day—or that I’d be lucky enough to have a tour guide with luscious lips and abs of steel and sad eyes—not to mention a seemingly inexhaustible travel budget.

  “Wow,” I say, at a loss for words.

  “So that’s a yes?” He looks hopeful.

  “When?”

  “The minute we’re done here.” His face bursts with excitement.

  “You mean before we even go back home?”

  “Yeah. I’ll have my assistant overnight our passports and I’ll take you on a shopping spree to buy whatever you need for the trip and we’ll just hop a flight and go.” His face is precious. He’s a kid on Santa’s lap, asking for that one special gift.

  I want nothing more than to zip off to some exotic, faraway land with Jonas. But it’s not possible—not right now. I kiss his nose. “You’re so sweet, Jonas,” I say. “Have I ever told you that, my sweet Jonas?”

  His face falls. He knows what’s coming.

  I look at him sideways. “Have you put out your press release yet? About you leaving Faraday & Sons?”

  He shakes his head, a second-grader busted for throwing spitballs.

  “Have you told your uncle about Climb and Conquer?”

  “No.” He looks down.

  “Don’t you think you’d better do all that?”

  He sighs. “There was a complication.”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “With Josh. And then you were hurt and in the hospital—”

  “But I’m not in the hospital anymore. Why haven’t you talked to your uncle yet?”

  He twists his mouth. “Because Josh wants to leave Faraday & Sons, too.” His face is a mixture of elation and apology. “He wants to do Climb and Conquer with me full-time.”

  “Oh my God, Jonas. That’s fantastic. You must be ecstatic.”

  “But Faraday & Sons won’t survive both of us leaving. Uncle William’s semi-retired these days. Who’s gonna run the show?”

  “And you feel guilty about that? You feel responsible for that?”

  He nods.

  I grab his hand. “Is this what you want to do with your life, my love? Climb and Conquer—and with Josh?”

  He nods. “When Josh said he wanted to join me, it was a dream come true.”

  “This is what Josh wants?”

  He nods.

  “Then it’s the right thing to do,” I say. “You’re not responsible for the fate of Faraday & Sons, and neither is he. You didn’t ask to be the guardians of it. That company isn’t your life’s calling—Climb and Conquer is. You’re responsible for being true to yourself and your destiny. You have to live your truth. Always.”

  His eyes soften and warm.

  “You’ve got one life to live, my sweet love. One. Make the most of it. Every single day. That’s your most sacred job on this earth.”

  His face flushes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re so wise, Sarah. You’re smart, yes, but you’re wise, too.”

  I love it when he says that. “Butter me up all you like, big boy,” I say. “But we’re not going on that trip until you’ve gotten your butt in gear and started your new life. Our trip won’t be an escape—it’ll be a celebration. We’ll be celebrating the beginning of Climb and Conquer and the end of my first year of law school.”

  His face falls now that he understands my proposed timeline for the trip.

  “Jonas, I can’t go away before finals. I’ve got to study.”

  He looks utterly disappointed.

  “Finals are in four short weeks,” I say. “We’ll go right after that. Between now and then, you’ll get your life in order and I’ll study like a banshee, all day, every day, without stopping.”

  He opens his mouth to protest.

  “Except that I’ll take breaks to have howling monkey-sex with you, of course. I’ve already told you, Jonas, sex with you is a physical necessity—no different than sleeping, eating and breathing.” I roll my eyes. “Duh.”

  “You read my mind.”

  “We can leave on our trip the day after finals. How’s that?”

  He sticks out his bottom lip and pouts.

  “You know I’m right,” I say.

  His pout intensifies.

  “You know I am.”

  He shrugs. “I hate waiting.”

  “It’s just a rain check, that’s all, baby. One short month. You just have to be patient.”

  “I’m not good at patience.”

  I laugh. “Really?”

  He exhales loudly. “Well, it looks like I’ve got no choice.” He shrugs. “Another goddamned round of delicious anticipation, for fuck’s sake.” He shakes his head. “One month. You’ll study and I’ll put on my big-boy pants, and every spare minute in between, we’ll crawl into our little cocoon built for two and fuck each other’s brains out like the sex-crazed caterpillars we are.”

  I laugh. “Do caterpillars fuck?”

  He shrugs. “They do now.”

  I laugh again.

  “But first things first,” he says, his eyes turning to granite. “You and me, baby—we’re gonna fuck The Club up the ass.”

  I put my arms around his neck. “You bet, baby. Sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter 36

  Jonas

  “We really need to talk to your boss,” I say to the newbie FBI agent sitting across the table from me. Fuck me, this rookie agent isn’t going to be able mobilize anyone to do a goddamned thing.

  “Yeah, well, that’s not gonna happen. I’m who you get.”

  “I’m Jonas Faraday,” I say, sounding like a total douche. “And this is my brother, Josh. We run Faraday &
Sons in Seattle, L.A. and New York. We’d like to talk to the head of this office.”

  The kid shrugs. “I’m the only one available to talk to you, sir. Sorry.” But he’s not at all sorry.

  I look at Sarah. Her eyes are bugging out of her head. And rightfully so. This isn’t going to work if her report gets thrown onto the pile on this newbie’s desk. We need prompt action, and that means getting the immediate attention of someone with a hell of a lot more pull within the FBI than this guy.

  “How long have you been an agent?” Kat asks.

  When the kid’s gaze falls on Kat, his entire demeanor visibly softens. Oh yeah, I keep forgetting that Kat is exceptionally attractive. To me, she’s just Kat—Sarah’s best friend—the Party Girl with a Heart of Gold. But witnessing reactions like this guy’s reminds me she’s objectively a knockout.

  “Four months,” he says.

  “Did you go to Quantico for training like they show in the movies?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. That’s cool. So what’s your assignment? All I know about the FBI is what I saw in Silence of the Lambs.” The way Kat’s talking to the guy, it’s as if the two of them are cozied up together in the corner of a bar, getting to know each other over drinks.

  The guy must know Kat’s trying to butter him up—and yet his smile says he doesn’t care. “Well, new agents are assigned to run background checks for the first year, mostly. And, of course, I’m the lucky guy who gets to talk to all the nice people such as yourselves who come in off the streets of Las Vegas to report the crime of the century.”

  “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” Kat says, flashing perfect teeth. She leans forward across the table. “So here’s the thing, Agent Sheffield. I’ve come here today off the streets of Las Vegas to report the crime of the century.”

  He can’t help but laugh.

  Oh boy, this Kitty Kat just caught herself a fish.

  Kat’s face turns serious. “Actually, I’m not kidding. I’m here to report the crime of the century.”

  He sighs. “What’s your name?”

  “Katherine Morgan. But you can call me Kat.” She says this like she’s granting him a special favor, like the whole world doesn’t already call her by that name.

  Special Agent Sheffield’s face turns earnest. “Kat,” he repeats. “I tell you what. You guys file your report with me and I promise I’ll take a long look at it within the next two weeks—maybe even a week. And, if I see something there, I’ll most certainly investigate further.”

  I’m tempted to speak up, but Sarah puts her hand on my thigh.

  “Thank you, Special Agent Sheffield,” Kat says, smiling. “I really appreciate that. What’s your first name?”

  “Eric.”

  “Special Agent Eric.” She pushes her long blonde hair behind her shoulder. “The thing is, this is an urgent matter.” She leans completely forward across the table again, and the tops of her breasts ride up into her neckline. “This is a career-making kind of case for an agent such as yourself, I swear to God.”

  I glance at Sarah again. She’s suppressing a smirk. I imagine she’s seen Kat’s charm in action a time or two before.

  The young agent looks dubious. “Even if I believe you,” Eric says, “I’d have to present this to my boss in due course, whenever I could get her undivided attention. And if she’s convinced, which isn’t a given, then she’d have to present your report to her boss in Washington to get anyone to move on this, if it’s truly as big as you say. And all that takes time, Miss Morgan. Do you know how many conspiracy theorists walk into the FBI every day to tell us about the crime of the century?”

  Kat laughs and shakes her head and her golden blonde hair falls around her shoulders. “I can only imagine,” she says. “But you don’t actually think we’re a bunch of conspiracy theorists, do you?” Kat’s eyes are sparkling. “We’re just a computer nerd, a law student, a PR specialist . . .” She motions to herself with flourish on the last one. “And two ridiculously rich business dudes with plenty of other stuff they could be doing than filing a report with the FBI. These two guys have been on the cover of Businessweek, for crying out loud.” She laughs. “Not a crazy among us—well, yeah, okay—I admit I’m a teeny-tiny bit crazy.” She holds up her index finger and thumb, slightly apart, to emphasize her point. “But not the kind of crazy you’re referring to.”

  Oh man, she’s good. I have to restrain myself from chuckling.

  Agent Eric exhales. “I’d be happy to take a look at your report in due course—”

  “Agent Sheffield, I’m begging you. Please don’t throw our report onto some pile—take a hard look at it right now. Let us explain everything to you, page by page. I guarantee you won’t regret it.”

  Eric looks at his watch. I imagine he’s got a huge stack of background checks waiting for him.

  “Henn,” Sarah interjects, “will you please play Special Agent Sheffield that voicemail we have cued up?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Henn presses a button on his computer and the Ukrainian Travolta’s gruff voice fills the room for about eight seconds.

  When the voicemail ends, Sarah speaks calmly. “That was one of several voicemails our computer expert, Peter Hennessey, has retrieved from the cell phone of Maksim Belenko. He’s the brains behind The Club’s various operations. In that particular voicemail, a hitman named Yuri Navolska asks Mr. Belenko if he should go ahead and kill his intended target as previously instructed, or, instead, hold off due to newly discovered information.”

  Special Agent Eric’s eyes widen. He’s most definitely intrigued.

  “That’s what a certified Ukrainian translator will tell you in a sworn statement under penalty of perjury—and, of course, Mr. Hennessey will swear that voicemail came from Belenko’s cell phone.”

  Henn nods curtly.

  “And since Yuri Navolska was holding a knife to my throat in a bathroom at the University of Washington when he left that voicemail, I can personally vouch for its authenticity.”

  She’s got his undivided attention now.

  Sarah continues her assault. “About a minute after leaving that message, Yuri Navolska sliced the external jugular vein in my neck and stabbed me in the ribcage, causing me to fall back and crack my skull on a sink ledge.” She tilts her head to the side to display the scar on her neck. “If you need to see the scars on my head and torso, I’ll show you.”

  Agent Eric inhales sharply. “No, that’s okay. I believe you.”

  “Please,” Kat says, her voice brimming with genuine emotion. “These guys tried to kill my best friend.” All trace of Flirty Kat is gone—she’s Earnest Kat now. “Just give us a couple hours of your time.” Even I can see how stunningly beautiful Kat looks right now—vulnerability suits her.

  “You’ve got more voicemails besides this one?” Eric asks.

  “Several,” Henn says. “About all kinds of nasty stuff. Maksim Belenko’s a really bad dude—prostitution, weapons, drugs, money laundering.”

  “This report outlines everything for you in meticulous detail,” Sarah says, grabbing the hefty document off the table and holding it in the air. “Every single allegation in here is true and supported with solid, incontrovertible evidence.” She lets the report fall back onto the table with a loud thud.

  Agent Eric’s demeanor has done a complete one-eighty since we first walked through his door. “Okay,” he says, exhaling. “Let’s dig in. We’ll go through the report together, page by page, and if it’s everything you say it is, I’ll take this to my boss today.” He looks up at the ceiling. “But please, for the love of God, don’t bullshit me about a single goddamned thing. Okay?”

  We all nod profusely.

  “If I’m gonna stick my neck out, you’ve got to promise to tell me the God’s truth.”

  “Thank you,” Kat says. “We promise.” She shoots him a look like she’s just promised him a blowjob, signaling the official retreat of Vulnerable Kat.

  “Let’s do it,” Agen
t Eric says, getting comfortable in his chair. He looks directly at Kat. “I’m all yours.”

  Chapter 37

  Jonas

  We’ve been here almost three hours walking Special Agent Eric through Sarah’s report and accompanying exhibit log. Throughout our discussion, Eric has looked variously excited, overwhelmed, anxious, and ecstatic—but always convinced.

  “So what do you want me to do?” Agent Eric asks, thumbing through the exhibit log. He’s clearly trying to hide the fact that he’s shitting his pants right now.

  “We want a meeting in D.C. within the next two days with power players at the FBI, CIA, and Secret Service,” I say.

  Eric keeps a straight face, but I can tell he’s losing his shit. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to convince my boss about all this,” Eric says, motioning to the report. “But I doubt she’ll be able to pull in those other agencies.”

  “We’re talking about the U.S. Secretary of Defense,” I say. “We don’t know who within the FBI might be in that guy’s pocket.”

  Eric opens his mouth to protest, but I barrel ahead.

  “It’s not that I mistrust anyone at the FBI per se—I’d say the same thing about power players at the CIA and Secret Service, too. It’s simple checks and balances—I’m just trying to increase my odds that this situation gets handled right.”

  Agent Eric rubs his eyes. “All three agencies within two days?”

  I nod.

  He shakes his head. “That’s gonna be a tough sell.”

  “Tell me how we can make that happen.”

  “Deliver the money.”

  “Done,” Sarah says. “A printout of all The Club’s bank accounts is at Tab D of the exhibit log. The account numbers are blacked out on that version, but—”

  “No, deliver the actual money—not a printout. You want the FBI, CIA and Secret Service to jump when you say jump? Then make this a turnkey operation for them.”

  “But we can’t do that,” Sarah says. “Those accounts require—”

  “Yeah, we can,” Henn cuts in.

  Sarah shoots Henn a “what the fuck?” look, and I’m right there with her. Henn told us the bank accounts require in-person signatures for large transfers.