by Clara Stone
I want to sleep. Just close my eyes and let sleep consume me. So I crawl under the covers of my bed and do exactly that.
I KNEW THE time would come. From the moment Fisher crashed on my couch, I knew it would only be a matter of time before Wilson decided to hand me my ass on a silver platter. But I didn’t expect it to be now. Right when I’m finally done with all thirty-nine thousand freaking pages of paperwork and about to be well on my way home.
“What the hell am I going to do with you, Lovelly?” Wilson barks. I look up to see him standing there, looking at me over the wall of my cubicle. He gestures with his hand without waiting for me to answer. “Take a walk with me. And bring your report.”
It’s one hell of a long walk back to his office, and I keep my mouth shut as I follow him. When we get there, he holds the door open for me. I step inside, and he shuts it firmly behind us. The room is so deafeningly quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
It’s just me and Wilson. I watch him move around his desk and take a seat, feeling cross-eyed from the past several hours of paperwork, filling out reports and chronicling every tiny detail of my talk with Gomez, the raid, and the investigation at large.
“I take it you and Fisher have talked?” he says, breaking the silence as he leans forward and picks up the paper weight on the side of his desk.
I nod, standing a little taller. “Yes, sir.”
He purses his lips and spins the paper weight over his desk, not looking at me.
I can’t help but fidget. Wilson’s been pissed at me before, but never like this. Never in a way where he was literally lost for words.
“Sir, let me explain.”
He looks up, lifting a questioning eyebrow.
I gulp. “I know I should have told you about Fisher, and that he was involved with Stamos. But if I had told you initially, you’d have—”
“I would’ve done whatever I had to,” he yells. The way he’s gripping that paper weight, I wouldn’t be surprised if he chucked it at me. Those championship dodgeball skills might have to be put to good use in a few seconds. He sighs heavily, like he’s trying to compose himself. “I have always stuck up for you, Lovelly, regardless of how many times you’ve gone off and done your own thing. But unless you start getting your shit together, I won’t be able to help you much longer.” He looks up at me with an expression I’ve seen many times before—on my father. It’s a mixture of disappointment, pity, and resigned sympathy. I feel something akin to shame form a hard pit in my stomach. I hate that look. “Your inability to respect authority and penchant for doing what you think is right won’t fly for much longer.”
“But sir—”
“Let me finish.” He glares at me and I stop. “The rules and regulations are there for a reason, Lovelly. You need to learn to follow them if you want to survive within the FBI. I know you have potential and you get things done, but it takes a lot more than that to be a great agent. And even more to survive the politics of this place.”
I grind my teeth and clutch the folder in my hands even harder.
“Do you understand?”
I nod. “Loud and clear, sir.”
“I’ve cleaned up your mess with Assistant Director Benson, and Fisher is now officially authorized to consult on this case. But try anything like this again, Lovelly, and I won’t be saving you from that woman’s wrath. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Wilson relaxes, setting the paper weight back in its original position and leaning back in his chair. “Okay, now that that’s over with, let’s talk about what you found out from Gomez.”
I hand him the file. “My assumptions about the fight on the twenty-first being a front for something bigger were accurate. Gomez was all too eager to give me the details on what Stamos is calling Project Gemini once I’d proven to him that Stamos ordered the hit on his fiance.”
“And what exactly is Project Gemini?” Wilson asks, perusing the file while he listens.
“It’s some kind of round-table gathering of international crime lords. Gomez was a bit fuzzy on the details, since Stamos keeps much of his operations close to the vest. All he knew were the names of the four he’d been tasked with providing security for: Costello, Masseria, Bruno, and Shinodo. All four are being brought in the day before the fight.”
Wilson’s eyebrows go higher and higher with each name. But I don’t stop there. I continue rehashing what I had already written in the file for the next thirty minutes, including the itineraries for each suspect, what I know of Gomez’s planned security details, and the basics of my proposed plan of action.
“With these four all getting together under the same roof, security around the fight is going to be beefed up. There’s no doubt. But we also know the exact time and place each of these men are landing on US soil. If we time it right, we might be able to catch them all without losing too many good men in the process.”
Wilson laughs.
I look at him with confusion. “Gotta love young blood.” He tosses the file on the desk and looks at me. Then he sighs, heavily. “Trying to control the godfathers of drugs, weapons, trafficking, extortion, and gambling. Stamos is ambitious. The question is now, how do we catch them all and make sure it sticks?”
I don’t know how to respond to that. That’s definitely above my paygrade.
He slides the folder toward me and sighs again, getting to his feet. “I suppose that’s my problem to deal with.”
I pick up the folder and wait for further instructions.
“Nice work, Lovelly. You’ve uncovered quite the crime ring. For now, I want you to concentrate on nailing Stamos. Stay as close to him as possible. See if you can get us any other information about Project Gemini, and let me worry about the rest.”
I nod, my chest puffing.
“I’ll do my best, sir,” I respond.
“I know you will. That’ll be all, Agent Lovelly. You’re dismissed.” He nods slightly, just a tilt of his chin.
“Thank you, sir. For everything.”
“No need to thank me, Lovelly. Just prove to every single bastard in the bureau that it was the right call to keep you on this case.”
With that, I leave. Before I can head home, though, I need to make more quick stop. I head toward Harris’s office, which is on the second floor of the building. As per usual, he’s still working, typing away in his cave illuminated by the four monitors surrounding him.
I knock on the doorframe. “Got a second?”
He puts up his finger and continues typing something. I wait patiently until his fingers finally stop moving over his keyboard and he looks up at me, rubbing his eyes. “Excuse the mess, Agent Lovelly.”
“Not a problem, Harris. Just wanted to give you my notes on Gomez before I headed out.”
He extends his hand and I hand the file over to him. He immediately flips it open the and starts to read through it. I wait for a few more seconds, but he doesn’t look back up.
“So, I’m just going to go then,” I say, backing toward the door.
“See you later, Agent Lovelly. And thank you.” He continues to read my notes, looking between the folder and his computer screens as I turn around and retrace my steps back down to my cubicle.
Well. That’s that.
At least I’ve done my part. I can go home and get some sleep now, before I go see Jess in the morning. As I gather up my things and head for the lobby, I wonder for just a moment if she’s home yet from her shift at the bar and if she’d want to see me.
Just as I think that, my phone buzzes. I pull it out and look at the screen, grinning widely. I quickly swipe accept, answering the call as I push through the front doors of the lobby and step into the cool night air.
“Hey, I was just—” My blood runs cold as I hear what sounds like a scuffle on the other side. Words are being exchanged, but she’s not directing them at me. Instead, I hear a male voice, one I recognize answering her in the background. Shit. I run to my car and unlock the door. “Jess!�
� I scream into the phone. She doesn’t answer, and I can hear more muffled words being thrown back and forth. I hear her say something about being Stamos’s bitch, but my mind is a giant clusterfuck and I can’t think.
My blood boils when I hear her scream and I beat the steering wheel three times, trying to stay in control enough to function. Tony motherfucking Stamos. I’m going to kill him for this. Before I even realize it, I’m jetting out of the parking lot, the Evo’s tires squealing in protest.
I drive faster than I’ve ever gone, not even caring about the hundred traffic violations I’m breaking in the process. I floor the pedal, pushing the limits of my car, trying not to look at the phone that now sits silent on the passenger seat.
I swear to fucking God, if even one hair is out of place on Jess’s head, there’s going to be hell to pay. I don’t care if he’s a crime lord’s son or not. That bastard is going to pay with his life.
I’M RUNNING.
As fast as my thirteen-year-old legs can take me. But I’m not fast enough. Al, my step-mom’s fourth boyfriend, is much faster.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
I find the small space under the cabinet and sneak into it. I close the door and stay as still as I can.
“I know you’re in here, Jessica.” His feet come into view and I gasp in surprise. I slap my hands over my mouth, but it’s too late to stifle the sound.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The door to the cabinet flies open and there he stands, smiling so wide it hurts just to look at him. “I’m sorry,” I say, knowing it won’t do any good. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
He bends down and grabs a hold of my hair, pulling me out of my hiding place and dragging me through the bedroom to living room. He shoves me hard onto the floor. “You messed with what’s mine, and you need to be punished.”
What he doesn’t say is that he’s the reason I spilled his “hard-earned” money on the floor in the first place. If he hadn’t come up behind me and grabbed me inappropriately, I would have been well on my way into the sanctuary of my room, door locked, unnoticed. But instead, I startled and jerked away, knocking over the stack of cash on the table in the process.
“Bad girls need to be punished, Jessica.” Then he grabs me and takes the cigarette butt from my step-mom’s fingers. She sits there watching, half zoned out, while he sticks the burning ember right into the palm of my hand.
I scream, unable to stop myself from fighting back. I writhe and claw at him, wanting free of his grip, but I am only one-third of his weight. There’s nothing I can do.
“Stop.” I flail. “Please stop.”
“Jess. Sweetheart.” Harrington’s voice seeps through the nightmare. “Wake up, Jess.”
My eyes fly open and I jerk. I look to my right, then left. When I see Harrington lying on the bed beside me, I freeze. When did he . . . ? How did he . . . ? Where am I? I’m all sorts of confused.
“Harry?”
He pulls me into his arms, wrapping them around me, snuggling me into the length of his body. He kisses the back of my shoulder, gently. A shiver shoots up my spine.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and then quickly add, “Not that I’m not happy to see you.”
I turn in his arms, coming face to face with his white dress shirt. That only adds to the confusion though, as it’s not his usual clothing style. I notice that the sleeves have been rolled up halfway, making his forearms look strong and . . . beautiful. But the crease between his eyebrows looks like it could squeeze the life out of a travel-size toothpaste.
I run my fingers over that troubled spot.
“I’m so sorry, Jess. I’ve been so careless about you.”
“What are you talking about?”
He places his hand on my neck, over my pulse. “When I heard your voice . . .” He looks at me through his lashes, swallowing thickly. He stares into my eyes and blinks, like he’s trying to erase whatever bad thing he’s imagining. “Do you know how hard it was to not be here . . . ?”
I put on a show for his benefit. He wouldn’t know about what happened yet, would he? “What are you talking about? It’s only been a couple days, and we’ve been texting . . .”
“I’m talking about your call a few hours ago, sweetheart. When Tony . . . when I heard your voice . . . I-I . . . well, I lost it.” His eyes close and he curls his fingers into a tight fist.
Shit. Shit. It was him. I called him last night, not Cat, like I thought.
It was Harrington.
I place my hand over his, gently. He slowly opens his eyes, looking at me with a gaze that is unguarded, vulnerable. I see fear, and something much deeper that I haven’t seen in him before.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Jess.”
“Harry?” I lift my head to look at him.
“I promise. I won’t,” he mumbles.
“Harry . . .”
“And that fucker—”
I press my mouth to his, shutting him up. When I pull back, he’s in a sort of trance, frozen with his eyes closed. But a small smile finally graces his beautiful mouth. I peck his lips again. “I’m okay.”
That seems to do the trick; his features relax. I slide my hand into his and lace our fingers together. I let my gaze wander over our joined hands and then jerk up, pushing up on my elbow. I run my hand over the fresh bruises on his knuckles that look too raw to touch. I frown.
“Di-did . . . ?” Our eyes connect, and I know. Or at least I think I know. I swallow the emotions tugging at me from the depths of my soul.
“I didn’t hurt him, yet,” he whispers. “I needed to be sure you were okay first.”
I close my eyes as a sob-like noise escapes my throat.
My heart’s beating fast, so fast I can hear it in my ears. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Shit, Jess, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. Did he hurt you?” He mistakes my response to mean something else.
I open my eyes and stare up at him. “Don’t. Please don’t hurt him.”
Anger flares in his eyes and he lets me go, backing up slightly.
“Please, Harry. For me,” I beg him. I can see his conflicted thoughts in the way he studies me. I know he only wants to keep me safe, but the thought of him drawing blood to avenge me . . . I just can’t stomach that. Even if Tony deserves it. “Please.”
Another moment passes before he lets out a deep sigh and kisses my hair, pulling me back into him. And I know I’ve won this fight.
I run my hand lightly over his bruises again, wondering how he managed to get them if he didn’t punch Tony.
He places his free hand over mine, stopping the caresses, and I look up at him, questioning.
“My steering wheel may have won the fight this time, and maybe the hood too,” he says, sheepishly.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim. “Is your car okay?”
He chuckles softly. “I tell you that I punched through steel and you’re worried about my car?”
I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss it gently. “Well, I can kiss your boo-boos away, but not your car’s.” I give him a small, teasing smile. “So, is this how it’s going to be? Someone threatens me and you punch the living daylights out of your car?”
His grins wide, relieved. “Next time, I’ll pick a fight with a pillow. I promise.”
“You’re unbelievable, but cute.” I snuggle in against him again, my head on his chest, my hands over his stomach, and my legs tangled between his. “Apart from my dad and Vincent, no one’s ever beat up their car for me before.”
He kisses my forehead, pulling me closer. “I’ll always fight for you, Jess. Until my last breath.”
And I believe him. I kiss his neck tenderly, hoping to impart how much I feel for him right now.
A deep rumble surfaces from deep in his chest, like he’s half opposing and half approving of what I’m doing.
“Oh, you love it.” I giggle.
He nods. “I’m a masochistic, no doubt. But I a
lso have something very important to ask you.”
I snuggle further into him. “Hmm, that sounds serious,” I tease.
“Yup. Very, very serious.”
I want to look up at him, but I’m too tired, so I just wait for him to ask.
“I’ve realized that I have yet to take you out on a proper date.”
That wakes me up, and I lift my head to look him in the eyes. “Yes, you have. We went out to eat after our last meeting by the river.”
“That’s different. I fed you because your stomach was growling. It wasn’t pre-planned. Hell, when I came up to you, I didn’t even know what to expect.” He smiles. Even under the dim lighting of my room, I can see how strikingly beautiful this man is. “So, I have to ask. Jessica Owens, will you do me the honor of going out with me?”
I swallow thickly as I look up through my eyelashes. “Yes. Yes, Harrington Lovelly. I’ll go on a date with you.”
Then he’s kissing me, slow and tender, making me feel like a million bucks.
“OH, HOW FANCY pantsy,” Cat squeals.
I huff, falling backward on my bed. “I have nothing to wear, though.”
“I’m not gonna lie, Jessica.”
I hear her rustling around in my closet and push up on my elbows to look at her. She’s holding a whole bunch of my clothes, her face the very picture of disapproval.
“I’m not gonna lie, Jessica, your closet is shit in the worst possible way.” She chucks the bundle of fabric at me and I yelp, blocking my face with my hands.
She jumps onto my bed, making me bounce.
I sigh. “I really never thought I’d need anything fancy. Until now.” I cover my face, the need to scream building up inside me. I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal out of this, but ever since Harrington asked me out officially, my insecurities have increased a thousandfold. He comes from wealth, so the girls he’s dated probably have to. I don’t want him to think he made a mistake with me.