So Wrong It's Right

by Julie Johnson

  I stare at the styrofoam cup like it contains a cluster of garden snakes. “What’s this?”

  “Some call it coffee.” Conor leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Fair warning, it’s pretty shitty.”

  “I meant what’s this—” I gesture across the table, indicating his general presence. “The whole good-cop-bad-cop routine is pretty stale, don’t you think? Let me guess… she blows my whole world to pieces, then you swoop in — bearing coffee — to cherry-pick intel from the wreckage?”

  “Hunt, I hate to break it to you… If anyone here is good cop, it’s Sykes.”

  “Is that a threat, Gallagher?”

  “That’s a fact. Though I understand you not recognizing one, seeing as you’ve spent the past ten years of your life swallowing lies.”

  I flinch visibly. That might be the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to me… but it’s also the most honest. Which is probably why it stings so damn much.

  “Forgive me if I’m hesitant to trust facts from a man who dragged me in here like a common criminal when he led me to believe he was helping me.”

  “Not a common criminal.” He shrugs. “White collar. Much classier.”

  I glower. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

  He doesn’t answer. “Hunt, you can hate me all you want, glare at me till your face turns blue… you’re not going anywhere until we get some shit sorted.”

  “Am I under arrest? Because last I checked, it’s illegal to hold a civilian in custody without charging them with a crime. Not to mention interrogate them without reading them their rights or allowing them to contact an attorney.”

  He whistles. “Yoga instructors are really up on their law, these days.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve watched every episode of Law and Order: SVU ever made.” My eyes narrow. “You know, in my spare time, when I’m not helping launder money on behalf of Russian mobsters.”

  His lips twist. “Can I consider that your full confession?”

  I start clapping. “Bravo! Case closed! Someone give this man a gold star and a promotion!”

  Conor stares at me, attempting to keep a straight face, but I can tell he’s at least slightly amused. “You aren’t under arrest. That doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

  “Safe?” I snort. “Safe is the least of my worries. I’m hangry. I’m sleep deprived. My contact lenses are starting to chafe my eyeballs. I want to go home.”

  His expression flattens into that familiar blank mask. “You can’t go home.”

  “And why not?”

  “Firstly, because we still need you to go through the books and try to identify the men who attacked you from a group of Petrov’s known affiliates.”

  “I’m guessing there’s a secondly?”

  “It’s not secure. Plain and simple.”

  “I have a state-of-the-art security system.”

  “That did you a hell of a lot of good yesterday. Or have you forgotten what happened already?”

  “The system wasn’t armed yesterday,” I admit in a small voice.

  “What?” he growls.

  “I forgot to activate it when I left for yoga! So… when Righty and Lefty forced their way inside… they just used the keys in my purse.”

  His face contorts with rage and disbelief. “Hunt.”

  I wince in anticipation of the coming lecture.

  “You’re a woman who lives alone in a modern metropolitan area with half the damn Bratva out for her blood — not to mention all the everyday psychos who live on your particular block — and you’re telling me you don’t bother to arm your fucking security system when you leave the house?” Conor looks like his head is about to explode. “Christ. You’re smarter than that.”

  My attention snags on a minor detail. “Wait. What psychos live on my block?”

  “Not my point.”

  “Come on, Gallagher. You can’t just drop a juicy tidbit like that and not fill me in.”

  He hesitates for a long beat then sighs tiredly, as though he’s already regretting this. “The old lady in the green house, diagonal from you? She puts arsenic in cans of cat food and leaves them out at night to kill strays.”

  I gasp.

  So much for sweet old Susanna…

  “Couple two doors down, in the yellow house? They have BDSM swinger parties twice a month. Whips, chains, leather, the whole shebang.”

  I gasp again, louder.

  Looking at those two, you’d never guess their sex life resembled a Rihanna song…

  “And the family that lives around the corner, the ones who look like something out of a catalog? That house is triple-mortgaged and the husband spends most nights gambling away his paycheck while his wife works two jobs.”

  Really giving new meaning to the term ‘spousal privilege’…

  My jaw is practically on the table. “How do you know all that?”

  “I’ve been working this case for six months.”

  My eyes widen. “Translation… you’ve been watching me for six months.”

  “Your husband, actually. You were just collateral damage.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel so much better!” I snort. “I suppose I should be flattered you spent day after day monitoring my every move.”

  “Not every move,” he mutters.

  “Just most of them?”

  His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t refute me.

  “God, Gallagher! That’s such an utter violation of privacy, I don’t even know where to start!”

  “It’s not a violation of privacy,” he grits out. “Surveillance is part of my job.”

  “Whatever you say, stalker.” I roll my eyes. “What else have you learned in these six months? Hmm? I think I have a right to know. It is my life you’ve been spying on, after all.”

  He runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “The man in the house on the corner was charged with murder twice in his home state before moving to Massachusetts — due to the disappearance of his ex-girlfriends. Plural. Only reason he got off was a lack of physical evidence. The police never found the bodies.”

  “What?! Not the guy with the gorgeous petunias!?”

  He nods tightly.

  “Wow. What a shame.” I pause. “Honestly, his garden is unparalleled.”

  “Hunt. The man is an accused killer.”

  “And an exquisitely talented gardener!”

  He shakes his head at me in disapproval.

  “You don’t think…” I trail off.

  His brows lift.

  “Never mind.”

  “Spit it out, Hunt.”

  “No.”

  “Been watching you six months, never seen you blush before. Call me intrigued.”

  “They never found the bodies!” I blurt before I can talk myself out of it. “You don’t think his gardens are so gorgeous because… he’s using some extra special… fertilizer…” I wince. “Gives a whole new dimension to the concept of community farming, doesn’t it?”

  “You really have watched every episode of Law and Order, haven’t you?” He shakes his head at me, eyes glittering with humor. “That’s dark, Hunt. Seriously dark.”

  “I am not dark!” I scoff. “I’m a rainbow of kittens and unicorns!”

  “And I’m the fucking Tooth Fairy,” he says flatly. “Now, can we get back to the important shit? Namely, the fact that your neighborhood — cat killers and sex addicts aside — is no longer a viable option for you to return to.”

  I bite my lip. Honestly, after everything he’s just told me, I’m in no race to get back home.

  Who knew my neighbors were such freaks?!

  Still, the thought of staying here — in a holding cell, at the mercy of federal government officials who may or may not have my best interests at heart, seeing as they suspect I may be an accomplice in my husband’s unsavory activities — isn’t one I’m eager to entertain.

  You have to understand — normally, in a situation like this, I’
d call my friend Phoebe. Her husband Nate runs Knox Investigations, the best private security firm in Boston. Nate’s boys have helped out in the past whenever any of my friends have run into trouble, whether it’s a scheming cousin, dangerous car chase, school of loan sharks, or hostage situation. There’s no doubt in my mind they’d be able to keep me safe from anyone on this earth — even Russian mafia members intent on revenge.

  Regrettably, Nate and Phoebe are currently off on their honeymoon, soaking up the sunshine on a beach in the South Pacific. And I’m not about to call them and ruin their happily ever after. No freaking way.

  Which means… I’m on my own.

  Well… except for a blue-eyed special agent who seems to enjoy pissing me off to no end.

  “You know I’m right,” Conor interjects on my thoughts with impeccable timing. “You can’t walk out of here and go back to living your life like nothing has changed.”

  “Well if you think I’m staying here, you’re insane.”

  “Not here. We’ll set you up in a safe house. Somewhere off the grid where you can hide out until we track down your husband.”

  “If I trusted you — which, for the record, I don’t — I might consider that offer. As it stands, I think I’d rather take my chances with the Russian mobsters.”

  “Hunt, don’t be pigheaded.”

  “Are federal agents supposed to insult civilians?”

  “Technically, you’re still a person of interest.”

  “Oh, give me a break. We all know I don’t have jack-shit to do with Paul’s foreign interludes. If I did, I wouldn’t have wound up tied to my damn dining room furniture yesterday and I sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now, chatting with you.”

  “In all this debriefing, did you somehow miss the part about bad men being after you?”

  “Did you miss the part about me not trusting you?”

  We glare at each other across the table. My blood is boiling over with rage. Rage and something else. Something I’ve decided not to acknowledge, for the time being, because the thought that I might be feeling anything other than pure, absolute loathing for Conor Asshole Gallagher is too absurd to contemplate.

  You hate him, my inner voice reminds me as our gazes clash like swords on a battlefield. He’s gruff and grumpy. And bossy. And not at all hot when he pins you to the spot with those mega-blue eyes, like he’s looking straight down into your soul.

  We’re so tangled up in each other, neither of us notices Sykes has entered the room again until she clears her throat gently. Our heads both snap in her direction. The look on her face is a mix of speculation and amusement as she sets a thick binder on the table.

  “If you two are finished bickering… I have the books for Shelby to look through. And I also have an idea that might work for everyone…”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Gallagher.”

  “Sorry, did you not hear me?” Conor growls. “I said absolutely fucking not.”

  Sykes sighs. “You aren’t seeing the big picture.”

  “I’m seeing the big picture, Lucy. It looks a lot like our primary asset getting herself killed.”

  I try to ignore them as I flip through the book of mugshots. I’m on page fifty and their argument is still going strong. On the one hand we’ve got Agent Sykes, who wants to send me home with an invisible net of protection, hoping my presence might draw Paul or Petrov out of the woodwork long enough for them to make an arrest.

  On the other hand, Conor is vehemently opposed to any plan that involves me walking out the door of FBI Headquarters without an armored vest and a full battalion of guards, en route to a safe house in the middle of nowhere.

  “You’re too close to this case,” Sykes tells him, shaking her head. “You aren’t being objective here.”

  “Oh, piss off, Lucy. You know damn well I’m just protecting my asset. You’d do the same, if you’d put in six months on this case. I’m not about to fuck it up just because you want to take a shortcut. Not when I’m this close to the finish line.”

  “She’d be fully protected the whole time.”

  “She’d be bait,” Conor snarls. “It’s not happening.”

  “Gallagher—”

  “She’s going to the safe house. That’s final.”

  “You weren’t even supposed to bring her here! Not until we’d officially cleared her of involvement. Now you want to send her to a safe house when you know as well as I do that she’s our only chance at closing this case?” There’s a heavy pause. “I know this is your op, Gallagher, but if you refuse to see reason here… I’ll have no choice but to go around you.”

  “To who, Shapiro?” He laughs, but it’s cold as ice. “Try it, Sykes. This is my division. I don’t answer to Shapiro. And though you seem to have forgotten, you answer to me. Unless you’d rather find another department to work for.”

  Conor is in charge of the whole division?!

  “Look, I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be of value to you if I didn’t speak my mind. Isn’t that why you brought me in on this case?” She pauses and her voice grows hesitant. “I’m concerned your personal involvement is becoming a roadblock, here.”

  I don’t look up, but I can practically hear Conor’s jaw ticking.

  Personal involvement?

  I’m not sure I understand what she means by that; I am sure it’s probably safer to be left in the dark on this subject. Or any subject concerning Conor Gallagher.

  The sooner he’s out of my life, the better.

  “What am I supposed to think?” Sykes asks him, her tone softening. “You show up here, no warning, no paperwork… It’s just not like you to break protocol.”

  “Protocol went out the window the moment my asset was kidnapped.”

  “Still. Bringing her in was a huge security risk. And in the three years I’ve known you, you’ve never taken any sort of risk like this for an asset—”

  “You do realize I can hear you?” I interject, looking up from the book of mugshots.

  Both agents glance at me from the corner of the room, twin looks of surprise on their faces. Clearly, they’d forgotten I was still within earshot.

  “Not very stealthy for two badass special agents,” I point out.

  “Yes. Well.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say Sykes is blushing. “Have you made any progress with the book?”

  I spin the binder around so they can see it and point out the men toward the bottom half of the page. “These two.”

  Sykes bends forward to read. “Viktor and Vladimir Evanoff.”

  “The Evanoff brothers?” Conor growls. “Great. That’s fucking great.”

  “I’m guessing they aren’t known for their winning smiles and charming dispositions?” I ask, wincing.

  “Not quite.” Sykes looks rattled. “They’re two of Petrov’s top men. They spend most of their time in Moscow. If they’re here…”

  “It’s serious.” Conor’s voice is flat. “Which is what I’ve been reiterating for the past hour.”

  “This could be huge,” Sykes murmurs. “The Evanoffs have been on the Most Wanted list for years, since they set off that car bomb at the American Embassy a decade ago. If we can bring them in…”

  “Picture your promotion later, Sykes. We’ve got more important things to deal with. Namely, getting Hunt to a safe house. Now that you understand the threat, surely you’re on board with that plan.”

  “On the contrary,” she retorts. “I’m more certain than ever that we need Shelby to return home — under constant surveillance, of course — to draw these bastards out into the open so we can finally take them down.”

  “Out of the question,” Conor growls.

  “It’s not just your decision!” she snaps back.

  “Like hell it isn’t. She’s my asset. This is my case.”

  “This is bigger than one asset! Bigger than one case, even!” Sykes is breathing hard. “Five Americans died in that embassy bombing. Don’t we owe it to them to take down their killer
s when we have a chance?”

  “Stay out of this, Sykes.”

  “We might never get this opportunity again, Gallagher. You know I’m right, even if you don’t want to admit it. ”

  His hands curl into fists.

  An ugly silence descends over the small room.

  “Um,” I chime in, clearing my throat delicately. Both of them whip their furious faces my way, and I gulp. “Yeah. Hi, there. Me again.”

  They keep glaring.

  “So… Are you planning to keep up this verbal sparring session until one of you drops dead of exhaustion? Or would you like to hear my thoughts on the matter? Since your entire plan hinges on whether or not I decide to cooperate?”

  “No,” Conor says flatly, frowning.

  “Yes,” Sykes says at the same time.

  I take a deep breath. “If these Evanoff brothers are as bad as you say they are, I’m not going to be safe at some remote location. I’m not going to be safe anywhere.” I pause, ignoring the racing of my pulse. “So… I might as well go home and let you catch them when they come calling again.”

  “You don’t understand what you’re risking.” Conor takes a step toward me, expression furious. “You don’t understand how much danger you’ll be in.”

  “They could’ve killed me yesterday,” I point out. “They didn’t. They barely laid a hand on me.”

  “I doubt they’ll be so merciful the second time.”

  “Like you said, they think I have information about Paul. Even if they get close enough to hurt me, they won’t — not before I can tell them what they want to know. That gives you the perfect opportunity to take them down.” My eyes move to Sykes. “Right?”

  “Exactly.” She’s actually smiling. “We’ll have eyes on the house at all times. They’ll never get close enough to touch you.”

  “Forget it.” Conor crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s too risky.”

  I meet his cold stare. “This is Paul’s mess. My mess. If there’s something I can do to help fix it, I’ll do it.” I sigh. “I just want this over with, so I can finally move on with my life.”

  “Hunt, you might not have a life if you go through with this plan.” Conor leans in, trapping me with an intent look. “You’re not putting yourself in the crosshairs. I won’t allow it.”