‘Put the weapon on the floor and turn around, Fletcher,’ McGregor said.
The man didn’t respond. Ortiz and Bobby raised their weapons.
McGregor kept his weapon high, his finger tight against the trigger. ‘We’ve got five guns on you.’
Everyone was real tense. Fletcher didn’t move. He still had his gun raised, and in not putting it down, seemed he was thinking on his next move. It was real hard to assess what would happen. He was outgunned for sure, but, like a cornered grizzly, he might decide his only choice was to attack. I had to avoid a firefight. I needed Fletcher unharmed.
I took a couple of steps into the room. ‘Put the gun down, Fletcher. Don’t do anything crazy. Think about Mia. This doesn’t have to end badly.’
Two beats passed. No one moved. I held my breath. Felt my heart punching against my chest. What happened next was live or die; my deal with Monroe would succeed or fail.
Fletcher lowered the gun, and put it on the ground.
I exhaled. ‘Kick it away.’
He did as I asked. It rattled across the floorboards and stopped when it hit the edge of the brick hearth.
McGregor glared at me. Then said to Fletcher, ‘Hands high. Turn, slowly.’
He put his hands up. Turned to face us, his expression one of anger. ‘I want you to get the hell off my property.’
I cussed. Shook my head, glanced at McGregor.
McGregor looked furious. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
The guy scowled. ‘I could ask you the same damn question. My name isn’t Fletcher.’
He was right about that.
33
‘What the fuck was that?’
McGregor was real pissed, and that made him meaner than usual. He’d had to pay off the guy in the shack: a few hundred bucks to fix the doors; a few more to keep him quiet. Dollars worth spending, given the situation, but we were still no closer to finding Fletcher. As we debriefed back at our original meeting location McGregor was getting more agitated with every minute.
‘We acted in good faith.’ Rosas sounded defensive. ‘Ortiz sent a photo, you confirmed it was the fugitive.’
Jorge nodded. ‘In the picture he looked like Fletcher.’
‘But it wasn’t, and now we’ve revealed our hand,’ McGregor said. ‘That makes everything harder and the risks higher from hereon in.’
‘Yes,’ Rosas said. ‘But it was an honest mistake.’
McGregor glared at her. ‘Honest or not, mistakes cost lives in our business. It’s unacceptable.’
I didn’t know what McGregor wanted from Rosas. Maybe he wanted her to feel bad, maybe he just needed an outlet for his anger. Whatever it was, I’d had enough of this aggressive naval gazing. It wasn’t constructive, and it sure as shit wasn’t helping us find Fletcher.
I cleared my throat. ‘What’s done is done. We need to work out our next—’
‘We’re done when I say we are.’ McGregor turned on me, furious. ‘And what the hell did you think you were doing? I told you to cover the exit, not barge your way through the building. You could have got us all killed.’
‘We were blind. You weren’t communicating. I had no idea if you needed help or had things under control.’
Ortiz took a step back. Bobby Four-Fingers kept his eyes on the ground, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was clear neither of them wanted to be a part of this conversation.
‘I’d have told you if I needed you.’ His tone implied he’d never want my help.
‘Yeah, I doubt that. You’ve either ignored me or put me down ever since Monroe sent me your way. What the hell is your problem?’
‘I work in a team, and I work with professionals. I’ve asked around; I know who you are, who trained you.’ He looked at me like I disgusted him. ‘You’re a loose cannon. You’ve no discipline. There’s no place for insubordination on my team.’
‘You never gave me a chance.’
‘And yet you proved me right as soon as you could.’ He gestured towards the shack. ‘What the hell were you thinking in there, challenging me for leadership in the middle of a stand-off?’
‘I was trying to prevent a firefight. You were just waving your dick around. If that’d continued it was real likely that guy would have tried to shoot it off.’
‘It’s my team. My decision.’
Blasting through the door had been risky for sure; I could have waited for McGregor’s signal. But had JT trained me to use my initiative and I’d needed to be certain they had Fletcher. My fear for JT’s safety had spurred me on. So I glared at McGregor. Refused to back down. ‘You’re not my boss.’
‘Whatever. But on my team, you play by my rules.’
‘You told me that already, and I said you’re the one who’s supposed to be helping me.’
McGregor shook his head. Grimaced. ‘As a favour to Monroe, yes. And Lord knows I’ve tried, but you’re making it damn near impossible.’
‘I’m trying to get the job done.’
He stepped closer to me. ‘No. You’re letting your emotions rule you. Whatever deal you’ve brokered with Monroe, it involves that disgraced mentor of yours, doesn’t it? And whatever’s going on between the pair of you is messing with your judgement.’
I clenched my fists. Felt my nails digging into my palms. ‘My judgement is just fine.’
‘Blasting into a room where I’ve got a man who’s pulled a gun cornered? Getting close to him without a weapon drawn? Not having yourself a gun? That’s three counts of poor judgement in my book. You were reckless and that put the team at risk.’
I shook my head. ‘I took the initiative. I have to find Fletcher.’
‘The only thing you’ll be finding if you keep going the way you’re heading is an early grave.’
‘I—’
‘We need to move.’ Jorge’s voice sounded strained as he interrupted us. ‘That guy could talk. If the message goes out bounty hunters are in town, we can’t be here.’
McGregor exhaled hard. Nodded. ‘Agreed.’ He looked at Rosas and Ortiz. ‘Keep searching. Be certain next time. I don’t want another fuck-up.’ He turned back to me. ‘This conversation isn’t over.’
No, I thought, as I walked back to Bobby Four-Finger’s truck. It sure isn’t.
34
It was gone midnight when I got back to the hotel – and was three hours later in Florida – but I called the jail infirmary anyways. I’d been trying the number every fifteen minutes since I’d had a signal on my cell. So far they hadn’t picked up, but there was no way I could rest without knowing JT was alright. Please. He had to live.
This time they answered.
They couldn’t tell me much, just that he was comfortable and had been sleeping. His condition seemed stable, but they weren’t sure what had caused the cardiac arrest. I could hear it in the tone of doctor’s voice – the unspoken message that JT might not survive. I ended the call with shaking hands and sat on my bed as the shock of the situation ricocheted through me.
I thought of our last few conversations; of how pissed I’d been at him, and how stubborn he’d been; of how neither of us had been able to express our feelings properly. I longed for a do-over, to tell him that what really mattered to me was him and Dakota, for us to give being together as a family a chance, and for him to tell me the same.
Things had never been easy between us but, still, I couldn’t lose him.
With some men you never know where it is you stand, and JT was one of those men. Even though I knew that, it ate me up that he never spoke about how he felt or what he wanted when it came to us being together. Ten years back, I’d tried to mirror his behaviour, tried to act like what we had was just casual for me too; that I didn’t want more, that I expected to move on once my training was done. Oftentimes I managed to act that way. Oftentimes, but not always.
The morning I said it, I’d woken real early. The pale morning sunlight was filtering through the gaps around the shutters, and I could hear the birdsong waking
up the forest outside, like nature’s own alarm clock. It was early fall, but still warm enough to sleep with just a cotton sheet covering us. JT lay on his side, facing me, the cover pushed down to his hips, the deep tan of his skin dark against the white of the sheet.
I lay there a moment, watching him sleep. Noted how his dirty-blond hair had flopped across his forehead, and how his eyelashes fluttered as he inhaled. Watched the rise and fall of his torso. Noticed the grey hairs mingling amongst the blond ones across his chest; reached out and traced them with my fingertips.
He murmured something I couldn’t make out and pulled me to him. His arms tight around me, his skin warm against mine. I relaxed into him. Felt safe, happy. I kissed his chest and slid my hand around him, caressing his back.
I felt him harden. Let him turn me onto my other side, and pressed myself back against him. Exhaled as he entered me. I moved with his rhythm, slow and sensual, savouring the moment, the feeling. Then getting faster, harder, more urgent. Needing him. Wanting him. Racing each other to the climax until we were both spent.
Afterwards, we lay on our backs, catching our breath. I reached out and touched his face, ran my fingers across his stubble. He smiled. Kissed my palm. Pulled me to him, and kissed me long and slow. Delicious.
I smiled. ‘I love you.’
He didn’t speak. A couple of seconds passed, then a few more. The silence seemed deafening. I didn’t know what to do. Put my head on his chest, my face hidden from his as I blinked back the tears of hurt and humiliation.
I never should have told him that I loved him. It was the truth, but it was a fool move and I knew it. We were a temporary deal; he’d told me that from the very start, and I should have known better than to fall in love.
I glanced up at him. He looked at me all intense, his expression impossible to read. Still he said nothing. Instead he ran his hands up my arms and pulled me to him. Pressed his mouth against mine, and kissed me like his life depended on it. I kissed him back, but I felt real sick. I’d put my feelings out there, told him how I felt about him, and he couldn’t even acknowledge what I’d said.
I knew right then how it would end: in pain, with him walking away, and me being alone again. I could see our path real clear, and yet I couldn’t stop going along it. I didn’t want to stop; even the fatal inevitability of the situation couldn’t dim what we had right then.
A little while later, me killing my husband, Thomas Ford, did that; JT asked me to leave and I went. But I wasn’t alone for long; nine months later Dakota was born. We had each other. I didn’t need a man, JT, anyone. And it had been that way ever since. Except him coming back into my life near on ten years later had upset the balance, made the memories of what we’d had before resurface. Messed with my head.
On that event-filled drive from West Virginia to Florida we’d gotten close again. We’d both changed. I’d toughened up. He’d got less reclusive. It felt like we had another chance.
*
I wiped the tears from my cheeks. Told myself all this thinking on the future wasn’t helping nothing. Maybe McGregor was right and I wasn’t acting as neutrally as I usually would on a job. But I couldn’t just switch off my emotions when JT’s life was on the line. I needed to bring in Fletcher and get Monroe to pull strings to get JT out of jail. I needed him safe. And I needed to be back home with my child.
Sitting on the bed in my hotel room, sleep tried to claim me. I fought it, trying to figure out a plan, my next move; one of JT’s rules was to always have a plan. But rather than a plan forming, what buzzed around in my mind were the questions still unanswered about this job: who had been impersonating Donald Fletcher? Why did Gibson want Monroe to leave him be? Why was there missing information in Gibson’s police file? What else did Mia know? Why did Monroe need my help with catching Gibson when he had the resources of the FBI at his command? Who was after me in Florida and why had they beaten on Red, but only left me a note?
The more I investigated, the more questions this job raised. None of it made much sense, but it did give me a whole bunch of trails to chase down. If fate took my side – and Lord knows she kind of owed me – one of them had to lead to Gibson Fletcher.
35
Monroe’s call woke me. I’d missed morning checkin again and he was real pissed.
‘McGregor tells me you messed up last night.’
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, propped myself up against the pillows. ‘That’s one version of events.’
‘So what’s yours?’ Monroe’s Kentucky drawl was clipped, his tone all business.
I got out of bed, switched on the coffee-maker and started to pull on my clothes. ‘The spotters got the wrong guy.’
‘That much I know. Tell me what happened in the cabin?’
So I told him how things had gone down. How McGregor had put me on the B team, and that once we were inside the shack we were blind to what was happening with the target. How there’d been shouting, confusion, and that McGregor hadn’t answered on the comms channel, so I’d taken the door down to make sure they weren’t in trouble and that they had Fletcher.’
‘That’s not the way I heard it. McGregor said you tried to take over. That you put the team in danger and nearly got everyone shot.’
I cussed under my breath. ‘The man had a gun and McGregor was acting all macho. I talked him down. If I hadn’t, things would’ve been a whole lot worse.’
Monroe didn’t speak for a moment, but I could hear him breathing. I wondered what he was waiting for, what he was thinking. I felt the tension tighten my chest. ‘Monroe, you still there?’
‘I’m here. Look, McGregor’s view is you’re a liability. He wants you off the team and off the job, says he’ll find Gibson Fletcher without you.’ Monroe sighed. ‘Personally, I’m wondering if that might be the best way to go.’
Fear knotted tighter in my chest. I felt breathless. I needed to stay on the job for the deal to be in effect – for JT to get free. For Dakota.
‘So you’re taking McGregor’s side over mine?’ I said. ‘That’s real nice. I broke down that door because I was worried they were in trouble, to be certain we caught Gibson for you. I talked him down so the bullets didn’t start flying and people – Gibson – didn’t end up dead. And because of that you’re threatening to fire me?’
‘Lori, I—’
‘McGregor had an issue with me from the minute I arrived. He doesn’t like the way I’m trained, and he doesn’t like who I trained with. I’m thinking he also doesn’t like that I’m a woman; that he’s got some kind of problem working with women. He was the same with the female spotter last night – laid all the blame about them getting the wrong guy on her, aimed nothing at her male partner.’
‘He’s a straight-up guy, I’ve never known him have a—’
‘How many woman has he recruited to his team?’
Monroe was silent a moment, then said, ‘I can’t remember any.’
‘Yeah.’ I grabbed the cup from the coffee-maker. Took a sip. ‘That’s what I thought.’
Monroe exhaled hard. ‘Okay, look, stay on the job, on Fletcher, but don’t keep rubbing McGregor up the wrong way. He’s letting you work with him, but if there’s any more shit I doubt he’ll let that carry on. If that happens, you’re off the job and our deal is off. I need McGregor’s extraction team more than I need you right now.’
So whatever I said, as far as Monroe was concerned, the issue between McGregor and me was mine to fix. I shook my head. Swallowed down the anger. ‘Got it.’
White-hot fury burned through my veins as I ended the call. Monroe was losing patience, and I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to stomach McGregor’s patronising bullshit.
On the screen of my cell was a photo of Dakota at the fourth of July parade; her face was painted with the Stars and Stripes, ribbons in her braids, a funnel cake in her hand as she grinned a sugary smile at the camera. I stared at the picture. I’d taken it less than a month ago but it seemed like a lifetime. She looked
so carefree – a world away from the sick little girl not expected to survive long enough to see her tenth birthday. But her birthday was just weeks away now, and the cancer was still in remission. I had to make sure it stayed that way. If it wasn’t for her, and for JT, I’d have gone from this place and this job a long while ago.
And now McGregor had tattled on me to Monroe and tried to cause trouble. He was an escalating threat; he had sway with Monroe and it was real clear he wanted me gone. Bastard. I couldn’t have him jeopardising the deal with Monroe. JT’s life and therefore Dakota’s future depended on it. He wanted me off the job, but there was no way I was going to give him that satisfaction. We needed to get past our dislike of each other and get on with finding Gibson Fletcher. Fast.
I grabbed my car keys and headed to the McGregor’s bond shop, determined to have it out with him.
*
Bobby Four-fingers was sitting at his usual workstation. He had his earbuds in, his head nodding along to whatever tunes he was listening to. He didn’t notice I’d arrived until the shouting started.
McGregor had me in his crosshairs. He strode around his desk to face off with me, his expression grim. I’d had my mind on apologising. Knew I needed to call a truce between McGregor and me, and that an apology was no doubt what he’d be waiting on.
I forced out the words even though it felt like they might choke me. ‘Last night didn’t work out good for either of us. I’m sorry if my methods don’t sit well with you, but we need to find a way to make this work.’
McGregor shook his head. ‘What’s that meant to be? An apology?’ He laughed – it sounded bitter. ‘You put my people in danger, Lori. I don’t want you on my team, and I’ve told Monroe that.’
‘Yeah, so he said. But he says I’m staying and we need to work together, so here I am.’
McGregor cussed. ‘You’ve got no place being here.’
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