“They want me back, Si. The Bureau.”
The same one that was currently blackballing me. They gave a dedicated agent like me pure shit for the past twelve months. The more I thought about it, the more Horton interview was sounding like one big cosmic joke. One directed at me.
I felt myself shaking.
Angry tears burned hotly as they rolled silently down my cheeks. I wouldn’t even sniff to give myself away. I’d never felt so betrayed.
“And your answer for them?”
“I—I don’t know… The bar’s doing well, but I’ve got this itch, ya know? This itch to get back out there, Si.”
“And you’ve got perfect timing, it seems. The Bureau basically pushes me out of the door, and there you are, waiting beside it, to come inside. How convenient.”
“It’s not like that, Si.”
“Oh, isn’t it? Speaking to Horton? Feeding me Horton’s words? I get it… I was close to something big with the Donovan Bishop/Castalano case… and you just want in on some of the action.”
His voice rose the first time all night, searing my senses. “That’s horseshit, and you know it, Si!”
“All I know is that one of my best friends went behind my back and brokered a deal with the devil. But hey, you’re right. You’re the golden boy; I’m not. Tell Horton he can rot in Hell. Save yourself a place there, too, while you’re at it.”
“Si…” he called out.
I hung up the phone, more furious than I had been in a long time. I couldn’t believe it.
Javi lied to me, had been lying to me.
A thin line separated him from the Agent Hortons of the world or even the Parker Daniels, and at the moment, despite everything, I was almost willing to take my chances with the latter.
I hadn’t even told Javi the worst part of it all…
***
“So, you’re saying this Salt of the Earth stuff is a myth or isn’t?”
Ang chomped on a potato chip, mumbling through a mouthful of food. My last friend in the fucking world didn’t understand the gravity of my situation, but I was trying to explain it to her.
I was going to need someone to identify my body… just in case, Javi was right.
“Isn’t.” I flipped the black card Parker had handed me between my fingers, fanning myself with it. It was a thick piece of parchment, seemingly weathered and wizened, but I had the feeling it was done for effect. It looked like a page ripped straight out the original Bible… only it was blackened.
The typeface on the front of the card wasn’t familiar to me, but the words were all too recognizable. The print read “Salt of the Earth.” Four simple words. The back had an address on it, one that I could only assume was Parker’s, in a district that I later found out was in the most expensive part of town.
What was a couple million on a mortgage for someone who worked for a man who, according to the FBI, had handled billions more?
If what Parker was saying about himself was true…
The tale of international imposter, Salt, and his agency was supposed to be a myth. A story passed down to me when I was young in the Agency, I had assumed it was nothing but that—just a story. A few of the federal agents were always fucking with me, and when I’d heard the talltale of a criminal who lived in secrecy, a man of unknown origins, purported to be behind only the most underground backdoor deals, I’d laughed at it like it was the biggest joke.
His roots were said to be nothing but rumors, whisperings. Agent after agent carried the legend on between each recruiting class, and by the time I’d heard the account, I was already well-aware of this so-called phantom agency, a firm called Salt of the Earth, mixed in with only the deepest of scandals, steeped in some of the world’s darkest secrets.
And the man behind it all, the head of the organization, was a person I started thinking of as a ghost, nothing more than a fairytale told to Federal Agents who didn’t have much imagination.
Salt of the Earth didn’t exist. It couldn’t, in my mind. The Feds would have moved in on the organization eons ago.
Never made sense to me that, for a group of such talented federal officers, they could be taken in by this anecdote, bested by no more than a far-fetched bedtime story.
And yet Parker was saying that it was real.
If that were true, then the thought of the crimes Parker had seen or been privy to as an employee honestly made me ill. I sighed into my phone speaker, taking my time. “But I don’t know why he’s being so open with me. I mean, the man gave me his business card. A business card for a business that isn’t supposed to exist!”
Angie got quiet. I could imagine her platinum eyebrows drawing together. I was dying to know her thoughts. I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“What, Ang? Just spit it out.”
She snorted. I didn’t even know a snort could be sarcastic until this. “I hate to say it, but… it’s most likely the promise of pussy that’s pushing him into it, Si. I won’t even tell you the things I’ve seen men do, just at the mere thought that they could get some from me.” She laughed, and I could practically hear the potato chips fly out of her usually red lipstick-stained mouth. “Vag is a very powerful being.”
“Ang…” Only she could bring a conversation like this back to sex. “Vagina is not an entity in and of itself. Vagina isn’t a person.”
“Oh yeah? Then how come she and I are such good friends?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you feed her a healthy helping of cock twice a week?”
Ang laughed. “Jesus, Si. I’m dating ‘em. Not alway screwing ‘em. And maybe yours would be nicer to you if she wasn’t always starving.”
I laughed into the open air, snorting loudly. Goddammit, if Angie wasn’t right. But cock was the last thing my “she” needed. She needed to learn not to respond to Parker Daniels… and “she” was going to have to shape up…
Because I was meeting Parker in less than five minutes.
My gun tucked, locked and loaded in places it really shouldn’t have been, I walked to the address on the back of Parker’s card, prepared to shoot the overly arrogant bastard if need be.
There was no way he was getting the drop on me again. Not this time. My .45 was strapped to a very strong garter belt underneath the skirt of my silk dress. And even now as I crossed the crowded street in heels, it was weighing on me.
Not so much the actual gun, but the thought surrounding it, that I couldn’t get away from: What if I had to use it?
And, as always, Ang could be counted on to cut inside of my thoughts. She munched loudly in my ear.
“Are you going to let this Parker guy feed your friend?”
I tightened my teeth. “I’m not letting Parker Daniels feed one damned thing. Especially not my vagina.”
“Well, God only knows it needs something. Oh!” She gasped. “We can get you a vag-acial! A vagina facial! I heard about it on this talk show, and I’m pretty sure it can turn both of our lives around. Not as if I really need one… but you can’t be too sure. You never know. Charlie Hunnam could come walking through the door…”
I let Ang ramble as my gaze traveled up to the fifteenth floor. Well, the thirteen, fourteenth and fifteenth floors that were all part of the penthouse where Parker stayed.
One text with his address was all he sent, and just looking at the windows of his loft made my throat go dry. I hated that I allowed myself to get talked into meeting on his turf, but frankly the curiosity was compelling me.
I was meeting a man who wanted to date me, not shoot me. Parker and I were still dealing under the pretense of something romantic, and as long as it stayed that way… I had the upper hand.
It wasn’t like the man knew I’d been an FBI agent… I relished in the knowledge that it was a fact that would remain mine. At least, until his criminal trial was scheduled… I stood on the corner of his penthouse suite, wrapping my silk wrap further around my shoulders, breathing the night air of the country’s capital city in.
The district still had a chill left over from spring, and it soaked into the sexy red fabric of my expensive dress, making my equally red lips chatter. The cold breeze felt like a warning, a icy chill amidst the summer smog.
But it was now or never.
Either, I’d go through with this, satisfy the long-standing curiosity about this man and his myth… or I would solidify myself as the Bureau’s biggest loser. I remained speechless as I saw another window light up on one of the condominium’s top floor.
The decision was made. I was going in.
“Ang,” I spoke softly into my cell. “I’ve gotta go now.”
“Wait!” she cried. “Tell me more about that senior citizen sex shindig. You never gave me the full det—!”
I cut the conversation with her before I made it to the front door of the building.
There, a door man with a thick brown mustache ushered me in. He tried to escort me towards the elevators, but as soon as he turned his back, I ignored his advice and took the stairs. Elevator lifts were too cramped, even in a luxurious apartment building. You couldn’t leverage your high heel in such a small space. And I was going to need as much leverage as I could get.
Parker Daniels was taller than me. Strong. Much stronger. I was going to need any weapon I had at my disposal for a man as built as he was, as solid as he felt. I thought of how his arms encircled me in the bathroom of that wedding anniversary/soon-to-be orgy and let a shudder run down my spine.
What emotion lay behind the shudder, I had no idea… and I had no interest in finding out.
I climbed up the stairwell, getting off the floor before the penthouse where I knew the public arrangement of steps stopped. One floor left to go, and my palms were sweating.
All of me was sweating by the time I made it to the level above. Beads of perspiration had formed near the nape of my upswept hairdo, and the beads felt like ice when I exited the elegant elevator doors.
Turned out Parker Daniels wasn’t alone… I gazed around. Fuck me.
I was in the middle of another goddamned party. An expensive masquerade one, at that…
I stepped inside anyway, taking it all in.
The women were draped in diamonds, the men in Rolexes and platinum. Filtered recess lighting set the rooms in hues of scattered subdued gold, and I realized that this was nothing like the senior citizen soiree I’d just been in. This was swanky.
Instead of swinging and jiving to a ’50s beat, the partygoers swayed to a simple sultry one. Some Bruno Mars. A little Alessia Cara made its way into the music and I looked around, searching for a man I knew I wouldn’t find.
Because the reality of the situation was… I still had no idea what Parker Daniels looked like, and I sure couldn’t try to identify every standing man by voice.
I wandered around the expensive apartment.
The walls were floor to ceiling glass, magnificent. The ground was dark and hard beneath my feet, and everywhere the light touched it bounced into a million facets, sparkling off quartz surfaces and marble backdrops.
Parker’s place was beautiful. If it was even his place…
I didn’t know. I didn’t know where he was, and I was unprepared. Maskless amongst the disguised masses that drank and dallied and sniffed coke in the corners of the expansive room.
I felt like I was being set up. Again. And I didn’t like it.
How many times would I chase after Parker? How many times would I let the faceless man lure me into another trap before I removed myself, checked out of this craziness and stopped the charade?
Maybe Javi had been right. Did I never listen?
A frustrated scream danced on the tip of my tongue and before I could release it, the loud speakers sounded overhead, interrupting my silent suffering. The crowd stilled and turned towards a small elevated platform that doubled as a stage—a stage I hadn’t seen until now.
I, too, stopped when I saw the man entering the center of it. His presence sucked the very air out of the room. Tuxedo blacker than night, his hair inkier than even that, he had the awareness of a man who knows he owns the room.
In many cases, I was sure he had.
He’d been wealthy when I’d known him—rich.
The mask on his face had been pushed above his brow, and when his eyes circled the room, you could almost feel the power, the privilege emanating from them.
The remnants of his mafia royalty.
One-by-one, as each face in the crowd came into view, I noticed the rapt attention in every gape, the fear and respect reflected in each eye. They were enamored with the man on the stage… and afraid. Nobody blinked. But who could when the person you were staring at looked that good?
Two years in prison had done nothing to change the power of his presence, and as I stared at Marco, the former love of my life, his black beady eyes swept the room before they finally landed on the one thing I feared they would most.
Me.
Back to Black
SIENNA
He always did know where to find me.
I searched for the bathrooms, any sign of escape as he descended from the tiny platform. The front door was too fucking far away, and Marco was headed in my direction, his attention momentarily taken by the botoxed harpies hoarding in his way..
Ducking was too conspicuous, and I very well couldn’t make a run for it to the exit. I bit my red lip. I was trapped.
Marco’s stride was strong and long. He lost eye contact with me among the party, but I could tell he was desperate to find it again. The crowd moved like an angry wave as he parted it with his hands. It practically pushed into me as I tried to duck away, scampering.
I didn’t make it far. Body after body slammed into me in the crowded room, and as I heard the small commotion, the sound of Marco storming through the dancing mob, I knew it was only a matter of minutes—if that, before he found me.
I knew what would happen when he did.
I reached for my .45, gripping it. I prepared to brandish it as soon as Marco came by, but then a dancer swept me into his arms, blocking Marco from my path. The tall man shielded my face and body, setting up a human-sized wall just as Marco came strolling by, his dark head of hair on a swivel.
He was gone just as soon as he had come, and the rest of the partying crowd closed around him. I couldn’t see him anymore.
I was holding my breath so hard that my lungs hurt. I hated to face what seemed to be the awful truth…
That Parker was Marco.
My fingers were actually trembling. I hadn’t realized that most of me was shaking. Not until the man that had me in my arms grabbed those fingers, slid them in his and squeezed tight.
The room was pretty dark, but even under the very soft amber-colored lights, I could see that he was attractive.
He smelled like sex on a stick, and pretty soon my thoughts were no longer on Marco but on the savior between my arms—a decadent-smelling Adonis with broad shoulders and an eloquent black mask on his face.
I couldn’t see much of his eyes, despite the fact that they were the only parts of him uncovered. My head was turned from his, but I could tell his hair was short, blond. His beard was full and even around, and even at this angle, with my head tucked near his chest, I saw that there was a deliberate scruffiness, an interesting rugged quality that added intrigue to his hidden features.
It was only supposed to last for a moment—the charade. But my quick close-up with the slowly swaying stranger was proving to be anything but.
The surround-sound music began to wax and wane, and as it filtered into a soothing transition of another Amy Winehouse song, I was wrapped up in it, abandoning reason and reality to situate myself in the hands of my temporary hero to the sensuous melody of “He Can Only Hold Her.”
I clung to him like a magnet.
Something stronger than me drew me to him, and when we fell into the rhythm of the beat, it was as if it was somehow meant to be. As if we were meant to touch…
meant to brush our bodies beside one another’s and soak in the surprising sparks that were starting to strike. I fought the urge to dig my fingertips into the fabric of his suit.
How strange to experience such a force with a stranger.
I shook my head, trying to shed the feeling. My throat thick, my damp hands slick, somehow I managed to speak to him.
“Thank you,” I uttered slowly.
“No problem.”
“How could you tell I was in trouble?”
“Your eyes.” His tone was tempered. “You couldn’t mistake the emotion emanating from them.”
His chin was nearly near my neck. Small sweeps of his beard pricked the place where my shoulder was bare, and as we swayed, I considered the consequences of putting the tip of my chin in the crook of his, battling an action that seemed oddly natural.
“You have a grudge against the ‘man of the hour’ or something?” I refused to say Marco’s name.
That brought forth the stranger’s laugh. His snort was soft and sweet-smelling against my skin.
“He doesn’t mean dick to me. Just don’t like to see a beautiful woman troubled.”
I smiled despite myself. I felt euphoric. The coke in the corner must have kicked in through the air filters, because it certainly didn’t make any sense. I was hitting on a man in the middle of a party with Marco, a man who could easily murder me. If I stayed there, I was afraid that’s exactly what he would do because he saw me. I know he saw me. Which meant he could circle around and come back to that spot at any minute. I raised my head, stepping back.
“Thank you for the dance,” I declared to Mr. Mask. “But I should be going now.”
He looked at me. “Where?”
I sighed. “Anywhere but here. In case you didn’t know, I’m not a crowd favorite. And you won’t be soon… not when Marco returns to this spot and finds me.”
Mr. Mask shook his tousled head, his dirty blonde hair whipping over mine and settling just below his covered forehead. His voice held a laugh.
Among the Flames (Kisses and Crimes Book 3) Page 8