by Clara Stone
Lincoln looks away, his expression equal parts crestfallen and haunted. I look over to Fisher, wondering what’s taking so long. Just then, Fisher quietly whispers a thank you and hangs up.
“Who was that?” I ask him as he comes back to help.
“Someone who’s willing to take us in for the night.”
I nod, knowing exactly why he didn’t call an ambulance and praying that whoever he did call has at least some sort of medical background. “Where are we headed?”
“Just a block down this way,” he responds, avoiding eye contact. He plays look-out while Lincoln and I half drag, half carry Krish toward the end of the alley. When Fisher signals that the street’s clear, we shuffle forward, following Fisher’s lead.
Just as we round the street corner, I make the connection and realize who he called. “Are you fucking serious, man?”
“It’s either this or your place, and we’re too far. He’ll never make it.”
I sigh and grumble as we make our way to Jess and Cat’s apartment. Stumbling and awkward, we head up the stairs. But before we can knock, the door swings open and we’re presented with a pissed-off Cat.
“You owe me big, ass—” Her eyes fall on me, then on Krish. “Holy shit. What the hell happened?”
“Tony,” Lincoln says.
She steps out of the way, letting the four of us in. Before we get any further into the room, she tells us to wait and not to move a muscle. She disappears into the back of the apartment and returns moments later with a blanket and a shower curtain.
“What the hell is that for?” Fisher asks.
“I don’t want blood on my furniture, asshole,” she snaps, just as Jess comes out of her room wearing Tweety-bird shorts and a t-shirt. She looks tired, and her hair’s pulled up in a messy, loose bun.
“What’s going on?” she asks as we lay Krish down slowly. Her nostrils flare and her eyes go wide when her gaze lands on all the blood. “Oh my god! Is that . . . is he . . . oh my god!”
Cat runs to her side, grabbing her as she backs away and forcing her to meet her eyes. I can hear her explaining about Tony, the fight, how we needed somewhere close, and all I can think is that once again she’s seeing me covered in blood. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my side as she listens and I know all she sees is Killshot.
“He needs a doctor,” Lincoln says, bringing me back to the task at hand. He’s right. Krish is losing too much blood. His skin’s taken on a sickly pallor and his breathing is labored.
“We can’t take him to the hospital. Too many questions,” Fisher responds.
“I can help,” Cat says as she reappears beside us. I resist the urge to look for Jess.
“Babe, I know you can be lots of things, but unless you know how to breathe life back into a dying man, I don’t know what you expect to do.”
“Shove it.” She grabs her cell and quickly dials a number. “Hey, John. Yeah, I know it’s late. Is Tracy working tonight?”
She pauses a millisecond before she says, “Good. Can you please bring her over. With a medical kit? Yeah. Yeah. Everything’s fine. Yeah, Jessica is fine. Okay, thanks. See you in a bit.”
“Who’s Tracy?” Lincoln asks, panic written all over his face.
Cat waves her hand. “Someone who can save his life. Or at least stop all that bleeding.”
Lincoln dips his head in thanks.
Fisher steps in front of me, blocking them from view. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
He pulls on my arm and I follow him to the corner of the room.
“What the fuck was that back there?” he demands, pointing his finger to the left hand side of the room—the direction of the alley. “Do you know what Stamos is going to do to you when he finds out you kicked his son’s ass?”
“Teach him to fight better?”
“Harrington, I’m being serious here, man.”
I totally get what he’s saying. I may as well have put a red bull’s eye on my back. But I don’t need a lecture right now. “What do you expect me do to, huh?” I turn so no one else can see us fighting. “I couldn’t just let our friend die back there. And you know that’s exactly what would have happened.”
“I do know that. But what about Stamos? What about everything we’ve worked for?” I see the glint of disappointment in his eyes. He thinks me getting involved was a very bad idea. And I can see why. He’s been trying to get justice for his parents for a long time and I may have just jeopardized that. But I couldn’t let a friend die for our mission. I couldn’t . . .
I look at my beat-up knuckles. God damn it. I really fucked things up this time. “I’ll figure that out when the time comes.”
Fisher’s eyebrows knit together. “You’ve only bought a day or two. Stamos won’t just let him go. Not when he’s planning to run.”
“I just need some time to figure things out, all right? He’s not dying tonight. Not when I can help it.” I turn around, done talking about this.
“No, listen to me, man. We’re so fucking close to nailing his ass and you—” He grabs my arm and I just about lose my shit. I whip around, swiping his hand from mine and twisting it backward. I shove his face into the wall.
“Don’t push me, Fisher,” I grunt.
“Hey, hey!” Lincoln comes running over, grabbing my arms. I hear Cat gasp.
“You got me, bro?” I smack Fisher into the wall, resisting Lincoln’s attempts to pull me off.
“Yes,” Fisher says.
I let him go and step back. I turn around and see Cat shooting daggers at me. But it’s what I see over her shoulder that makes my gut twist.
Jess is standing at the entrance to the living room, her hand cupped to her mouth, her eyes wide with fear or shock or horror, or maybe all of the above. I can’t tell.
“I need to get cleaned up.” I stare pointedly at her, meeting her terrified gaze instead of slinking away like the guilt-ridden monster I am. “Can I use your bathroom?”
She nods slowly and walks back toward her room. Without another word, I follow her down the hall, all the while hating the fact that I nearly lost it on my best friend.
I DON’T KNOW how to feel anymore. Numb, mostly. I stand off to the side, watching without really seeing as Tracy works on patching the holes in Krish’s torso. She and John showed up a few minutes ago and went straight to Krish, asking what happened, how long ago, and other questions pertaining to his injuries. After working in the ER for the past two years, she probably isn’t fazed by much. Since they arrived, it’s been a flurry of action and medical supplies and frantic voices.
I don’t comprehend any of it, feeling like the eye of a hurricane, frozen in the middle of a sea of chaos. All I can think about is the look on Harrington’s face, and the fact that every time I think I have him figured out, something like this happens.
I run my hands over my face, trying to wake myself from this weird fugue state, and then turn away. I’m not helping anyone by lurking in the corner. And I don’t want to face Harrington right now.
I walk down the hall and toward my room, intending to lock myself inside and hide, when I realize that Harrington’s still in the bathroom. My steps slow involuntarily as I draw close to the mostly closed door. I can hear him talking. He’s on the phone?
“Yes sir. I need to get him out. He needs medical attention immediately. Yes, sir.” Harrington’s voice is muffled, and I know I should keep moving, should give him his privacy, but I can’t help it. I creep up to the cracked door, flattening myself against the wall next to it, and listen, trying to figure out who he’s talking to. Stamos? 911?
“This is our opportunity, sir,” he says. “We’ve got Tony for assault with a deadly weapon, and Neil just informed me that Roberto Gomez is in town.”
Who the hell is Roberto Gomez?
“Yes, sir,” he says again, after a pause. “Yes, sir. I’m certain. Now’s our chance to put Stamos behind bars.”
My heart rate spikes and a sick coil forms in the pit of my stomach. Wha
t’s going on here? Better yet, who the hell is Harrington?
“I understand, sir. I’ll be careful. Yes, we’ll be here.”
I realize that his conversation is about to come to an end and, snapping out of my haze, I hurriedly try to head to my room before I’m discovered eavesdropping. I end up knocking my music sheets and a couple of books from the table next to the bathroom door instead.
Shit. I crouch down to pick them up as blood rushes to my ears in a frenzy, my hands shaking as a million questions race through my head. How much of what I know about Harrington is even true? Who does he really work for? What’s he doing here? Worse yet, who does he have coming here to find him?
When I reach for a loose paper to the left of me, another hand reaches for it too. Startled, I look up. Harrington’s crouched in the doorway of the bathroom, holding the paper out to me like a peace offering.
He gives me a tentative smile, and I pull the sheet music from his hands. I finish pulling everything together and stand, placing it on the table and looking away from Harrington.
I hear the floorboard creak as he shifts his weight and my back stiffens. After another long moment later, he speaks. “Um . . . thanks for letting me use your bathroom.”
I don’t know what to say, so I stay silent. As does he. We stand there awkwardly, until finally, he says, “You look really nice tonight.”
I slowly turn around and look at him. His eyes look sad. His mouth is quirked upward, but that smile doesn’t feel quite as cocky as it usually does. I notice a new bruise on his left cheek and try hard not to stare at the blood coating his clothes. “Who do you work for, Harrington?”
My question catches him off guard. Something flickers in his gaze before he closes it off, hiding behind a mask of indifference. “Is that a trick question?”
“I heard you. In there.” I point toward the bathroom, but keep my eyes on him. “Who were you talking to? You said you were going to put Stamos behind bars.”
His eyebrows arc high in surprise and I notice his hair’s grown out since our first meeting. It’s maybe an inch long.
His eyes study mine. He takes a step forward, and I take a step back, retreating into the safety of my bedroom until the backs of my legs touch the desk chair behind me. He notices my reaction, but continues to follow me across the threshold, closing the door behind him. My heart rate spikes in fear as I realize that I let myself be cornered.
“How much did you hear?”
I consider lying for a moment. But reconsider when I realize that the lies between us are exactly the problem. Lying, even if it’s just holding back the truth, has never worked for us. “Enough to know that you’re not working for Stamos.”
He takes a deep breath.
I look away from him and down at the table where I’m drawing circles in an eight pattern. “Are you an undercover cop?”
He shakes his head. The fear already coursing through my blood gets stronger, the chances of him being a good guy plummeting by the second. What if I’ve let a psycho into my bedroom? What if he lied about Tony being the one to stab Krish? He did turn on Fisher . . .
I can feel myself starting to hyperventilate.
“FBI.”
There’s a moment when nothing moves. We stare at each other, unblinking.
“I work for the FBI,” he repeats, keeping his watchful eyes on me.
I suck in a breath and fall into the chair behind me, gazing up at him as a sort of relief washes through me. He’s standing in the middle of my room, his hands stuck inside his jean pockets as he waits to see how I’ll react to his admission. My throat constricts tightly, making it nearly impossible for me to speak. “And . . . and Stamos? Fighting for him?”
“Part of the assignment.” He takes another step toward me.
I realize suddenly that this is the first time he’s been inside my room and resist the urge to glance around, feeling self-conscious about what it looks like. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, that really shouldn’t be my priority right now.
“I told you before, I don’t get into fights without a good reason . . .” He smiles, shy and full of chagrin. “Well, for the most part, anyway.”
I don’t know what to make of any of this. He’s FBI, so that means he’s one of the good guys, right? Does that mean that him fighting should now be okay? My head rings from all these thoughts. So I ask the only thing that I can: “So, what happens now?”
He tilts his head to the side, confused.
“I mean, now that I know you’re undercover, will I be arrested or get in trouble with the government or something?”
He laughs out loud, showing his teeth. “Why would you think that?”
I shrug. “Because I know your secret. And I might tell someone about you.”
He closes the distance between us and I end up having to stretch my neck back to look at him. He squats down before me and looks me in the eyes. “Do I have a reason not to trust you?”
I shake my head.
“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
I lick my bottom lip and he zeroes on my mouth. He swallows thickly.
“Just like that?” I ask.
“Well . . .” He pauses and I realize he’s crept a tiny bit closer, his hand is warm as he places it against my knees. “There is one more thing.”
My heart’s ramming in my chest, hard and fast. But this time, it’s for a whole different reason. My body buzzes with new sensations that feel an awful lot like anticipation, desire, lust, and my earlier reservations slowly fade into the back of my mind.
Suddenly, my desk chair decreases in height and I squeal with surprise. I look down to see his other hand is hidden under my chair and realize he must have hit the lever. “What was that for?”
I freeze in place when he rests his hand against my cheek, lightly caressing the corner of my mouth with his thumb. “I know there’s something in your past that has you running from me.”
Blood rushes in my ears as heat assaults my cheeks. He’s FBI. Did he do a background check on me? I mean, why wouldn’t he? And I’m sure there’s a criminal record or two for my step-mom’s former lovers that probably has me listed in them by association.
“I don’t know what it is, but I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to tell me.”
“You didn’t check up on me?”
He shakes his head. “I was tempted. But no. I didn’t. I didn’t want to violate your privacy.”
I let out a ragged breath. Okay, so maybe he really isn’t all that bad, but I’m still not convinced that Harrington and I will ever work, especially now that I know his secret. His life is filled with so much violence, so much blood and death and . . . lies.
“I’ve missed you, Jess. I miss spending time with you, and I miss having you there by the river, making fun of my stone-skipping skills.”
I take a deep breath and look up through my eyelashes. A small smile appears over my mouth. “You’re stalking our spot?”
He runs his hand through his hair and sighs heavily, like he’s about to let me in on a secret. “I’ve been by there every day around the same time, hoping to see you.” He licks his lips—is he nervous?—and looks down. Then he sits up a little straighter and looks at me, a sot of calm coming over him. His gaze is smoldering and my heart beats a little faster. “I like you, Jess. Like a lot. The kind that makes me think of you constantly.”
My jaw drops open. He closes it with his index finger and grins.
“I didn’t say I love you, sweetheart. Just that I like you. One step at a time, okay?”
I nod, I think. I don’t know what to make of this information. On one hand, a round of butterflies exploded in the pit of my stomach at the possibility of us . . . but on the other, this doesn’t change the fact that there’s a side of him I fear. My head’s telling me that this doesn’t change anything. It can’t.
“So where does that leave us?” I ask.
“You tell me.”
When I stay silent, he asks me a
nother question.
“Do I still scare you, Jess?”
I shake my head, then nod it. “I-I don’t know. I mean, how do I know that you’ll never lie to me or hide something from me? What if you go off on another assignment and I don’t see you again? What if you find someone who isn’t as broken as me on one of those assignments?”
He cups my cheeks between his huge hands and moves in closer until our breath dances together in the space between us. “I can’t promise you eternity of happiness, Jess, or that I won’t keep things from you. But I can promise you one thing. I’ll always do everything in my power to keep you happy, to try my best to come home to you.”
“Why?” I ask, my throat feeling heavy with emotion. “Why me?”
“Because you make me forget about all my worries for the few minutes we’re together. You make me want to risk everything for a chance to see where this goes, where we go.”
“Why?”
“Because something about the way your eyes sparkle when I flirt with you makes me happy. And if that isn’t a good enough reason to be with someone, then I don’t know what is.”
“THIS WAY.” A woman dressed in a short skirt and what have to be six-inch heels directs me toward the back of Stamos’s preferred lair—the night club in Jacksonville. I’m being summoned, which I’m sure is the direct product of what transpired between me and his worthless son last night.
Two guys in black suits accompany me to the same office I was in before. Once I’m safely inside, they shut the heavy doors behind me and I hear the tell-tale click of a lock.
Good to know I’m safe and sound in my posh holding cell, with nothing but the electric eel to keep me company. Unlike the first time, I don’t help myself to the brandy, and I don’t have to wait long.