I nod, and I know I need to have a private conversation. “I gotta go, Chucky. Give me a minute and I’ll call back in. Stand by.”
I click the End button before staring across at Maggie. A reporter. A fucking reporter? My voice is icy, the anger turning my heart cold. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move, just sits there, small and curled around herself. She’s so scared, so afraid . . . and right now, she should be. Not from me, but from what her presence and digital footprint brings down on us.
“Maggie!”
My voice rings out sharply in the truck, and she flinches but raises her head. Her eyes are red-rimmed, tears tracking down her face. “Yes! I wanted to tell you, but then everything went all to crap and I didn’t know how to!”
“Well, do it now. Tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” I demand, my voice hard. “If there’s even a snowball’s chance in hell of keeping you safe, you need to tell me everything. Omit fucking nothing.”
She swipes her tears, her eyes flashing fire as she sits up a little, cobbling together the remnants of her courage from deep inside her soul. “Yes, I work for The Daily Spot as a reporter. I got a job at Petals a few months ago because we had reports there were a lot of celebrities going there for side action. I was undercover, reporting on that, like when Jimmy Keys came in.”
I mentally recall our hallway conversation where she’d been taking pictures of the basketball star and claiming to be a fan. I’d been duped . . . that almost never happens to me. And this girl has done it several times without me even suspecting. If we were in any other situation, I’d be impressed. “I see.”
“But I like the job, the people . . . like you, Allie, and Marco. Even Dominick didn’t seem like that bad of a guy. I had no idea about how deep things went. I mean, who would expect this? This is for the movies. I just thought it was a popular strip club, exclusive VIP kinda stuff for the celebrities and businessmen. And then people started shooting, and Allie had blood all over her . . . and we started running.”
Her eyes look to the left like she’s remembering the scene at the club, and she shivers. I have to force the next words out through clenched lips, but I have to know, even if it hurts to ask.
“Is that it? You lied about your name and you lied about why you were there. Is there anything else you need to tell me? Now’s your chance.”
My voice is a bit softer than before, but still harsh and commanding. Maggie notices and looks at me squarely, still so brave I want to pull her across and cuddle her to my chest.
“I did lie about those things. But nothing else. The things I’ve said to you, done with you . . . those were all real, all true.”
Her eyes are soft, wide and open, letting me see into her soul. She’s being honest. I can tell this time because the emotions I see are mirrored in my own heart too. I give a curt nod and turn away. “Okay, let me call Chucky back.”
I reach for the phone, but Maggie lays a staying hand on mine. “Now, it’s your turn.” Her voice is laced with steel. “You’ve been hiding things from me too.”
I look at her, a look of question in my eyes, but her expression is calculating now, the softness gone as she looks at me with a coldness I’ve never seen before. “Shane, is that really your name?”
“Have I given you any reason to doubt that it isn’t?” I ask, trying to deflect.
Maggie’s eyebrows lift, and she’s not going to give up that easily. “I’m not stupid. You seem pretty intertwined in a mob-owned strip club. You had a bugout bag, a stashed getaway car, and you apparently carry a gun that you’re skilled with. Those are all things a mobster would have, and I bet somewhere in that duffel of yours are some pretty good fake IDs. But there’s also Chucky.”
“What about Chucky?” I ask, scared but at the same time impressed. She’s seeing a lot. No wonder she’s a good reporter. I thought she was smart before. Now I know she’s smart. And has probably been putting things together all along, just biding her time until the moment was right.
“Earlier, you didn’t say you needed to call him. You said you needed to ‘report in’ and see if he had any ‘intel’. It made me think back. You weren’t close with Dominick, not any moreso than the rest of the employees. He trusted you, I could tell that much, but you were just professional with him. Same with Marco and all of the girls . . . and me, at first. I’ve been undercover for stories a lot. I can blend into the background easily, being small and underestimated. But that’s not how you play it when you go undercover, is it? And I’m betting you’ve been undercover a time or two before too. So, what are you, Shane? ATF? DEA?”
Fuck. I need to get her on another track real damn fast. Even if it hurts. I make my voice harsh, glaring at her. “Maggie, you’re seeing zebras instead of horses when you hear hoof beats. Just because you lied about everything from the moment you walked into Petals doesn’t mean I did. I’m a security guard. That’s why I know how to shoot a gun. Dom wasn’t going to hire some idiot to head his club security team who didn’t know how to do anything but use his fists. And Chucky’s a buddy who helps me out. That’s it.”
Maggie jerks when I mention her lies, but she doesn’t back down. “FBI?”
I’m a pro, so I know there’s no reaction on my face, but that lack of response must be what solidifies it for her. She narrows her eyes, nodding almost to herself. “So that’s a yes to the FBI then.”
It’s quiet in the truck, the gravity of the situation sinking in like a fog of heaviness. It’s hard, and I feel my facade of sternness crumbling under her soft but unrelenting eyes. “Maggie.”
She lifts a finger at me, silencing me like I did to her earlier. “So, to recap, I’m an undercover reporter for what is mostly a two-bit gossip rag. You’re an undercover FBI agent working in a mob-controlled strip club. I’m guessing you’re there to investigate Dominick. And now a hitman is chasing us because I’m the only witness to a hit. And we’re in a stolen truck with a guy named Chucky as our only backup. That about right? Anything I missed?”
I nod. “Yeah, close enough. My name really is Shane, but my last name isn’t Nelson. It’s Guthrie. Special Agent Shane Guthrie, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
I hold my hand out, offering her a shake even though we’re way beyond that now. Still, it’s the only thing that seems appropriate, and she returns the shake, smirking a little. “Maggie Postland. Journalist with The Daily Spot.”
We eye each other, so much unsaid between us but neither of us knowing where to start with this tangled web that’s quickly unraveling. Finally, she clears her throat and looks at me expectantly.
Maggie hums. “So now what?”
“Now,” I reply, “we call Chucky back to see what else he knows. By the way, that’s not his real name, but he always says his work is child’s play, and he can be an evil son of a bitch when he wants to be . . . so the nickname was pretty natural.”
She nods, and I reach for my phone once again. The line connects quickly, silence on Chucky’s end.
“Hey, Chucky. So, we’re transparent on all fronts on this end.”
Chucky’s voice is hesitant through the speaker. He’s not used to this type of communication. “Just how clear are we talking?”
“Crystal, man. Say hi, Maggie.”
Maggie grins and puts on her ‘club voice.’ “Hi, Maggie.”
Chucky doesn’t find it funny though. “Fuck, Shane. You can’t do shit like that. She’s a fucking civilian.”
Chucky keeps babbling, but I don’t have time for his shit. “It’s already done, Chucky. Just be glad she doesn’t know your real name. Now what’s going on back there?”
Chucky sighs, still wanting to speak his piece about Maggie knowing I’m FBI, but we need to move on, figure out the next step. “Okay, so it’s looking like Sal sent Carlos into Petals. Told him it was a power play or some shit, just to go in and see how things were looking, not make waves if he got recognized but to lie low, observe,
and report back. Later on, he would use the fact that his son was able to penetrate Dom’s HQ as leverage.”
What a crock of shit. I know too much about Sal Rivaldi to buy that. “It was a setup then. But Carlos was his own son. That’s pretty fucked up, even for Sal Rivaldi.”
Chucky’s hum tells me he’s thinking the same thing. “Yeah, apparently, Carlos was sowing some dissension among the lower lieutenants and Sal decided he needed to clean house. On the down low. He contracted the hitman himself, but he’s selling that Dominick killed Carlos for being in his club. Sal’s wanted to declare war on the Angeline’s for a while, and this way, he’s getting a two-for-one . . . rid of his asshole son and riding into battle like some sort of avenging father.”
“We can’t let that war happen,” I growl. “Those two kick off, and the streets are going to turn to rivers of blood.”
“No shit,” Chucky replies. “You’re the one working with the guy. What’s he like?”
I shrug, looking over at Maggie. “He’s careful, methodical, and strategic. More businessman than loose cannon, even if he is a crime lord. He’s scary, but it’s like a controlled burn with him. If we let the Rivaldi’s get even a small foothold on more power, Sal will destroy the city and everyone in it with his crazy power plays. He’s more like a wildfire . . . it’ll be chaos.”
“That’s what I’m seeing too. You want to call it in?”
“Not yet, that’s a lot of bureaucratic red tape I’m not ready to jump into,” I reply.
Chucky understands and laughs softly. “I gotcha. I’ve looked at this from every angle to see what the best move is and to be honest, I’m not sure, man. It’s your call.”
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, doing the same analysis Chucky says he’s done and coming up with the same results.
Maggie clears her throat. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 19
Maggie
The tension hums in the air as Shane turns to look at me and Chucky goes silent across the phone line. Shane’s looking at me with both respect and anticipation, while Chucky . . . well, he’s at least not talking. “Whatcha thinking, Angel?”
“You said Dominick is the better choice for the city, and Sal Rivaldi used his own son as a pawn to incite war,” I reply, trying to put words to the thoughts that have been tumbling in my head for only a few moments. I’m trying to put it together with what I know about Dominick, the city . . . everything I’ve learned in my career in journalism. “We have to appeal to Dominick to prevent the war. The FBI can’t exactly go in officially and tell Dominick he’s their pick as crime lord . . .”
“That’s an understatement,” Chucky says, interrupting. “But . . . they might be willing to work under the table if necessary.”
“Exactly. He’s the best option we’ve got,” I add as Shane gives me a pondering look. “And he can help with the hitman, might be the only one who can.”
Shane taps his hands on the dash, his head nodding quickly as he thinks. “You want us to go back to Petals? To Dominick?” he asks before his nods change to shakes. “That’s a suicide mission, Maggie. No.”
I want to challenge Shane, but Chucky interrupts before the stare-off can reach ridiculous levels. “Actually, I’m thinking she’s on to something. You could go back, maintain your cover, share the intel, and nudge Dominick the right way.”
“Almost right, Chucky,” I interject. “If we go back, we go back honestly. We have to come completely clean with Dominick. If we hold back anything, he’ll know and doubt the rest of the information. Besides, having a waitress and a security guy going back doesn’t carry weight. A reporter and an FBI agent . . . if we go in and show all our cards, he’s more likely to believe us and not go after the Rivaldis. It’s risky, but it’s the best play.”
Shane looks at me incredulously. “You want me to tell Dominick Angeline, head of the Angeline crime family, that I’ve been undercover with him as an FBI agent for a year and that he’s had a fucking reporter working as a waitress in his club, and expect to walk out of that room alive?”
I bite my lip, thinking it through. “Yes. Besides, we can offer Dom things that he would want to take advantage of.”
“Like what?” Shane asks, and for the first time, I feel like grinning. “What’s going on in your head?”
“Dominick’s going to be surprised, and angry, that the FBI has infiltrated his organization,” I say, knowing the description is kind at best, stupid at worst. “But if the FBI gives him a tacit agreement for some breathing room, a willingness to back him, even if it’s under the table . . . he might be willing to help.”
I know I’m pushing it, but Shane needs to understand that I’m all in on this, and I need him to be too.
He nods, obviously thinking through what I’ve said. “We’d need a safety mechanism, something that will make Dominick talk first and hopefully, not shoot later.” He pauses, thinking for a moment before grinning. “Not a safety mechanism, but a safety person. Allie. We use her as a liaison, make sure she’s there for the meeting. I don’t think Dominick will kill us in front of her.”
He’s right. I hate to get Allie involved in this mess. She’s my friend, and I don’t want her to be in any more danger. But I think Shane might have found the only way to insure we get in and out alive and with any chance at securing Dominick’s help with the hitman.
“Okay. We’ll talk to Allie.”
Shane reaches over, taking my hand and giving it a supportive squeeze. “All right, Chucky, you got all that? I’m going back offline. I’ll text you the meet info when it’s set.”
We hang up, and then it’s just Shane and me in the truck. The lies, the hiding, and the stress of the crazy situation melt away as we look at each other, our hands touching, leaving just the chemistry, the connection we’ve had even when we knew we shouldn’t, couldn’t pursue it.
I feel naked, vulnerable under his gaze like never before. Unconsciously, my knees pull up to my chest, but I don’t drop my gaze. His dark eyes stare back at me, and he gives my hand another little squeeze. “Don’t do that, Angel. Don’t try to hide now, not when I can finally see you. And you can see me.”
I let my knees fall to the side, facing him. My voice is quiet but steady as I meet his eyes, needing to see every nuance of his reaction. “Is this real for you? Because it’s real for me. And as scared as I am about all this crazy mob stuff . . .” I wave my hand around, gesturing outside the truck, then place my hand on my heart. “I think I’m more scared that this is some pretend piece of the character you’re playing and that you’re going to walk away from me when it’s all done, leave me alone, broken, and not knowing real from pretend.”
Shane grabs my arms, pulling me across the seat and into his lap. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he looks into my eyes, his voice raspy and intense. “It’s real for me too, Maggie. So fucking real, and I’m terrified that I’m taking you into the lion’s den and won’t be able to keep my promise to keep you safe. And I can’t stand the thought of that. I need you. I love you.”
The doubts in my heart burn to ash as he kisses me, the truth of his words resonating through me. Yes, we’ve only been intimate for a few days, but I don’t care. For months, I’ve been watching him, dreaming of him, needing him. “Shane, I love you too.”
He kisses me again, leaning me back in his arms to lay along the bench seat before covering me with his body.
Shane kisses down my neck, and I lift my head to give him greater access. He groans into the soft skin at the curve, sucking to refresh the mark he’s already given me as he grinds the ridge of his dick against my core. “I want to take my time with you, Maggie. Worship every inch of your skin, but I don’t want to risk anyone seeing us here. Let me get you somewhere safe for the night so I can make love to you.”
I look up at him and pout, wanting more, wanting him now. But he’s right. We’re too exposed here and I feel like I just found the real Shane. I can’t lose him.
With one
last fiery kiss, I nod and we wiggle back into our seats, buckling up. “First thing, though. We’re getting that arm bandaged.”
Shane looks at his arm, chuckling before nodding. “Okay. We’ll find a pharmacy or something. Just . . . I love you, Maggie. I promise to keep you safe, no matter what happens.”
I take his hand, interlocking our fingers, my tiny hand engulfed by his giant one. “I love you too. I know you’ll keep me safe. We’ll do this together.”
He dips his head, handing me the phone. “Call Allie. Don’t answer any questions or give her any indication about where we are. Tell her to set up a meeting tomorrow at noon at the club. She needs to meet us at the front door with one guard of Dominick’s choosing. Once we’re inside, it’s Dominick’s show. Whatever he feels is warranted, as long as he listens to us.”
I bite my lip, suddenly nervous as we’re at the point where the poop hits the fan. “Is that smart? Shouldn’t we try to limit the guards, give us a fighting chance if things go awry?”
Shane shakes his head, sighing. “If he wants to kill us, it won’t matter if there are two guards or ten. Better to let him feel in control about as much as possible, because we’re going in with a big favor to ask and demanding that he put the one weakness he has, Allie, at risk at the same time.”
I take a steadying breath, turning the phone on and dialing Allie’s number, glad I have it memorized. Allie’s voice is hesitant when she answers the unknown number. “Hello?”
Good, she’s not dancing yet, or maybe she’s not dancing at all after the shooting. “Allie, it’s me, Meghan.”
It feels strange to use my fake name again, but it’s all Allie’s ever known, and it’s like a firecracker to her. “Oh, my God, Meghan! Are you okay? What the fuck happened to you? Where are you? Are you with Shane?”
She’s shooting questions rapid-fire style, and I can’t even answer one before the next starts. I try to reassure her. “I’m fine. I’m with Shane. Are you okay?”
Dirty Deeds Page 15