by Eden Summers
He’s on edge. His glances pointed.
He’s been spooked, which forces me to feel the same.
“It looks like a typical night in their shady lives if you ask me.” Easton speaks softly. “And even if they were up to something you know you’re not the person to be handling this. Why don’t you let me take over?”
“I’ll leave soon.”
He laughs. “You’re lying to me now?”
“No. I’m tired.” Emotionally and physically. Cole has that effect on me. “I’ll go home in a few minutes. I promise.”
“Is that a hint that you want me to leave?”
I don’t answer, letting him form his own conclusion.
“Okay, Fox. I’m outta here. But only if you promise to call me when you get home.” He opens his door and waits.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Just fucking call me, okay? I’m not going to sleep until you do.”
He’s such a nice guy. A protective, caring, thoughtful man. Why can’t my libido be turned on by those attributes instead of predatory darkness?
“Fox?”
“Okay. I’ll call.” I shoo him away with a wave of my hand. “Get out of here.”
He gives me a final look of concern, then closes the door to walk down the street behind me and turn the corner.
For each second of the next twenty minutes, I sit in hope of Cole doing something to give me an excuse to barge into the restaurant. I pray he’ll cause a scene or break the law so I have a valid reason to strut my ass in there and face him.
In the same seconds, I fight to drag myself away. To place necessary distance between us so I don’t fall deeper into obsession.
I hate what he’s done to me.
I absolutely loathe how he took a hammer to my morals and made it impossible to piece them all together again.
I was an honorable FBI agent once. Now, I’m nothing. At least I won’t be when everyone finds out how I assisted in criminal activity. No, not just assisted. Participated. Instigated.
I start the car and pull from the curb, driving past the restaurant. For a second, I think Cole’s gaze meets mine. That there’s a tiny spark of recognition in his eyes. But then it’s gone, another passing car stealing my attention before I’m forced to focus on the road.
I have to stop doing this. Why am I doing this?
Stock-holm syn-drome.
Police sirens wail in the distance as I start toward home. Red and blue lights flash up ahead. I slow behind banked traffic and lower my window, peering outside in a vain attempt to understand what’s happening. I can’t see anything but cars. There are only frantic shouts for help from unseen people.
I pull over and get out, jogging along the sidewalk. I pass one parked vehicle after another, a crowd building up ahead, as an officer stands on the other side of crime scene tape, staring them down.
“I need you all to take a step back,” he growls. “Better yet, go home. Have some respect.”
Respect?
The crash comes into sight as I pass the next parked vehicle.
It seems like a truck plowed into a Suburban in the middle of the intersection.
A familiar Suburban.
The plates are Luca’s.
I run harder, approaching the group of people with their phones at the ready. I shoulder my way to the front, my pulse pausing at the two dead bodies on the road. One up ahead to the left. Another splayed yards away to the right. The crime scene is so fresh the victims haven’t had a chance to be covered.
“What the hell happened?” I ask.
The lady nestled against my shoulder casts me a sideways glance. “There was a shooting. This one guy gunned down both men and kidnapped a woman. Even placed her in the trunk of the dead man’s car and took off. The only person left behind is the lady currently being interviewed by police.”
She points to the Suburban where two officers are nestled close at the open passenger door.
I don’t pause for contemplation. I grab the crime scene tape and duck beneath it, running for Luca’s car.
“Hey,” the policeman yells. “Stop.”
“I’m family,” I call over my shoulder and keep running, needing to see the survivor, having to confirm who was taken.
Shattered glass blankets the asphalt as I approach Luca’s beat up car. The smell of gasoline permeates the air. I close in on the officers at the passenger door and hear the shorter blond guy talking calmly to whoever is caged in front of him.
“I already told you,” a woman snaps. “I have no idea what happened.”
I know that voice.
It’s Hunter’s fiancé.
“Sarah?” I skitter to a stop as the policemen turn to face me.
“Ma’am, this is a crime scene.” The taller officer stares down his nose at me, his hand moving to his holstered gun. “You need to get back behind the tape.”
“I’m her friend.”
I’m not even stretching the truth. It’s a blatant lie.
The closest I’ve come to being friendly with Sarah is the silence we shared on opposite ends of a private jet when she escorted me home from Greece.
I lean in, seeing her slumped in the passenger seat, her nose bloodied, one cheek bruised. She straightens at the sight of me, her eyes alighting with strategy as she cradles her ribs.
“Yeah, a friend.” She nods. “She’s here to take me home.”
“She’s not taking you anywhere until we’re finished talking,” the shorter officer warns. “Two people died and another was taken. This is clearly gang-related, yet you’re claiming you’ve got no idea what happened.”
“Can’t you see she needs medical attention?” My blood boils. “Where are the paramedics?”
“She refused medical help,” the taller man snips. “Now, get behind the barrier tape before we’re forced to escort you.”
Sarah shuffles forward in the seat, wincing as she attempts to climb from the vehicle. “I’m going with her. I’ve already told you all I know.” She jumps to her feet, whimpering on impact. “She can take me to the hospital.” Sarah jerks her chin at me. “She’s got more authority here than you, anyway.”
I cringe, knowing what’s coming next as the cops straighten to their full height.
“More authority?” they ask in unison.
“She’s a Fed.” Sarah hobbles toward me. “She can give me a ride.”
“This isn’t a Federal case,” the shorter officer warns. “You’ve got no jurisdiction here.”
I muster bravado that I seriously lack the energy to maintain. “Not yet it isn’t. But one phone call and it could be. So do the right thing and let me take this woman to a hospital. You can ask your questions later.”
“I don’t even have her name.” Short guy frowns. “I need details.”
“Jane.” Sarah reaches my side and leans into me. “Jane Doe…erty. Jane Doherty.”
Goddamnit.
She’s not even striving for subtlety.
“I’m going to need to see your badge.” The taller man demands of me. “And I’ll be noting this in our report.”
Fuck.
I do as he asks, snatching my ID from my pocket to flip open my credentials.
I’m going to get in so much shit for this—the involvement in a police matter. Escorting a victim/witness from the scene under false pretenses. And, no doubt, the disappearance of said victim/witness when they later search for her.
Sarah won’t go to a hospital. They’ll never find her again. Not once Cole gets involved.
“Is there anything else you need from me, Officer?” I keep showing my badge as he takes note of my details.
“No. Get her to the emergency room. We’ll check in with her once we’re finished here.”
“Great.” I keep the sarcasm from my tone and start for my car while Sarah hobbles at my side. Once we’re out of listening range, the wail of more sirens approaching in the distance, I shoot her a glance. “What the hell happened?”
“Don’t know. Can’
t remember.” Her words are sharp. Pointy.
“Right.” I stop in the middle of the street, the peanut gallery on the footpath watching our every move. “Maybe I should leave you with the cops then.”
She glares, the expression made all the more fierce by the bruising and swelling taking over the bridge of her nose. “I need a goddamn phone. Can I borrow yours?”
“No problem, just as soon as you tell me what happened.”
She scoffs, then winces. “You’re going to be that bitch? Really?”
“I’m trying to help you. At the expense of my career, I might add, seeing as though you just threw me under the bus.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own agenda.” She shuffles ahead, moving away from me.
“An agenda? What agenda could I possibly have right now? I got you out of there and all I want in return is to know if Robert was involved. For my own fucking safety.”
She shoots me a skeptical glance, the faintest hint of surprise flashing in her gaze.
“Yes, I know he’s still alive.” I follow after her. “Cole came to see me last night. I need to know if this was Robert’s doing.”
“I can’t remember.” She shrugs. “And I would’ve kept telling the cops the same thing.”
“Okay. Fine.” I walk faster, outpacing her. “Find your own way home. God forbid you take my help.”
A string of muttered curses brush my ears as I place a few feet of space between us
“It’s not like you’re more gracious than I am,” she snarls. “You were just as thankful for my help when I brought you back from Greece.”
I scoff, not stopping my stride until I reach the police tape and duck underneath. “There’s a big difference.”
“Of course there is,” she calls from behind me. “Because I’m in a shitload of pain… and I’m fucking scared. Okay?”
My heart squeezes. Twists.
I keep hold of the tape. Not moving.
I’ve learned a lot about Sarah through my investigations. About her massive loss. Her orphan status. I don’t blame her for falling in with the wrong crowd when she had nobody else in her life. And for her to be scared after everything she’s been through would surely mean a woman like me should be petrified.
I wait for her to catch up before I meet her gaze. “Why are you scared?”
Her face hardens. “I don’t know, Miss Priss. Maybe because someone plowed their truck into my face, then sprayed bullets like confetti.” One hand fidgets at her side. “I really need a phone. Can’t you let me make one call?”
“Who was the shooter?”
“Don’t know.”
Again with the short and sharp response.
She’s hiding something.
“It was Robert, wasn’t it?” I scope our surroundings, taking in the potential witnesses. “He did this. He tried to kill you.”
Any number of nearby people could probably confirm my suspicions. I could simply start asking them. I know what Robert looks like. I’ll never forget his features.
“I honestly don’t know,” she repeats. “I blacked out. I didn’t see him. Now can you please give me your goddamn cell?”
“Fine.” I reach into my pocket, seeing three missed calls from Easton on the screen before I hand it over. “Make sure you choose your words wisely. That’s a work phone.”
I continue to my car, giving her privacy as I attempt to figure out how the hell I’m going to explain this to the officers on scene. To Easton. To my boss.
This will act as another nail in my career coffin.
The long list of grievances the Bureau has against me is currently superficial. They align me with the bad name of my father. They despise me for being Cole’s alibi when his father escaped custody. But this…
My actions here go against protocol. I’m helping a criminal flee a crime scene.
What the hell am I doing?
I bypass a traffic cop now directing the banked up vehicles away from the area, and slump against the hood of my car, watching Sarah.
She’s frantic in her conversation, sheer panic etched across her face.
I want to help her despite our differences, even without the connection to Robert.
It has to be another side effect of Stockholm.
The rev of an engine draws my attention to the back of the waiting line of cars. The deep vibration transforms into a screech of wheels, then a streak of black as a familiar Porsche accelerates along the parking lane to stop behind me.
Cole climbs out, stalking forward, cell in his hand, scowl set in stone. The closer he gets the deeper his brows pinch, until he’s glaring at me.
“Thank Christ.” Sarah jogs toward us, her arm tight around her ribs. “I tried calling Hunter but he must be on the phone. And Luca isn’t answering. Where is everyone?”
“My house. Or on the way there. What the fuck happened? Where’s Penny?”
Penny?
Sarah doesn’t speak, but the fear in her eyes says it all as she stares at Cole.
“She’s meant to be here?” I ask. “She was in the car with you?”
They ignore me, Cole’s face tightening, his shoulders stiff.
“Robert has her?” I push from the car, demanding their attention.
“I was out of it,” Sarah pleads with Cole. “I don’t know if she ran or if she was taken?”
My stomach free falls.
“She was taken,” I confirm. “Witnesses watched a man put a woman in the trunk of a car before he sped off. I need you both to tell me everything you know.” I step closer, right up to Cole. “What information do you have on him?”
“The time for shared knowledge is over,” he states in a flat tone. Emotionless. Detached. “That was your choice.”
“Don’t be an asshole. If Penny’s in trouble—”
“Penny is none of your concern.”
“Cole,” I warn. “Listen—”
“No, you listen. You made your choice. Now deal with it.” He glares at Sarah. “Get in the car.”
He stalks to the passenger side of the Porsche, and I follow as he opens the door and helps her inside.
I’m poised to plead my case when he turns on me, his eyes filled with animosity as he says, “Keep your mouth shut. Breathe one word of this and you’re going to have a problem on your hands.”
“You’re threatening me?” My hackles rise, the hair on my neck tingling in response. “What are you going to do, Cole? Kidnap me again?”
He smiles, the curve of lips different than anything I’ve witnessed from him before. There’s no flirtation or superiority. It’s pure hostility. One hundred percent venom. “No, Anissa. Our days jetting across the globe are over. You won’t be treated that kindly again.”
Like so many times before, I’m assaulted with the wrong emotional response.
I should be shocked at the audacity of him calling my abduction a kindness. I should be pissed that I’m being treated like the bad guy. I should even be so entirely fearful for Penny’s life that his menace doesn’t matter.
Instead, I’m left empty at what he called me—Anissa.
My full name.
Without abbreviation or flirtation.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
5
Cole
I walk past Anissa, skirting the hood of my car to slide into the driver’s seat.
I’ve never had to clutch tighter to my threadbare restraint than I do right now.
Tonight has been a fucking nightmare.
The party at my restaurant was meant to draw Robert from the shadows. I had an extensive team of hired men scattered throughout the neighborhood to catch that fucker. But what I hadn’t expected was the revelation that Benji, my own brother-in-law, has been working with him.
It doesn’t matter that I know my sister was the driving force behind the betrayal. Benji made the decision to follow Layla’s lead. He was the one in my inner circle, playing me like a fool. And he will be the one who pays the heavy price
.
I’d already been on edge, not only due to the threat of Robert, but because Anissa had gone against my directives to stay hidden, choosing instead to flitter around the fucking city all damn morning before outsmarting the men I had following her.
Nobody had been able to find her until she turned up out the front of the restaurant. Right where I didn’t want her to be.
I shouldn’t give a shit. Not one iota.
After watching Easton walk from her bedroom last night, it should be easy to forget her. Instead, all I want to do is spend my days destroying his life, and making her watch.
I’ll show her how pathetic he is. I’ll make him wish he’d never laid eyes on her, let alone his filthy hands.
But seeing her here now, after the bullshit of the last twelve hours, only makes my blood boil.
I fight the instinct to gun the engine, escaping in a screech of tires, and pull from the curb slowly, pretending she has no effect on me as she stands on the footpath, her eyes pained.
“Tell me everything,” I demand of Sarah. “Don’t leave out any details.”
“I seriously don’t know what to tell you. One minute I was driving; the next, Penny was yelling. I caught sight of the truck plowing toward us for a split second, then I blacked out on impact. I didn’t see the driver. And Penny was gone when I gained consciousness.”
“What did the police say?”
“They think it’s gang-related. The security guard you had tailing us is dead, and I overheard them talking about the murder of an innocent bystander who tried to help Penny. This has to have been Robert.”
Fuck.
Luca is going to lose his shit.
And Robert… that fucking prick will make Penny regret her freedom.
“I have no idea what’s going on between you two.” Sarah fastens her belt. “And I know she’s a Fed. But Agent Fox was really only trying to help.”
I ignore her, pressing the button on my steering wheel to activate my cell. “Call Hunt.”
The car speakers come alive with the ringtone as I inch toward the banked traffic. I blare my horn until the long line parts enough for me to cut through and head in the opposite direction.
“We’ve got a situation,” Hunt growls in greeting. “And I can’t find Sarah. She’s not answering her fucking phone.”