The Protector: The Complete C.I.A. Romance Series

by Lilian Monroe

  But I knew the truth.

  I’d walked away from her as soon as her father had entered the room. I’d left her on her own, trapped between the three most dangerous men in her life. In her eyes, I’d walked away from her as soon as things became difficult, just like I had when we were kids.

  Once again, she was left there to pick up the pieces. Once again, Hailey was the one in danger, and I was the one standing on the sidelines.

  Not this time, I wanted to scream. I had to. This time, I had to leave!

  I watched as her father interrupted their conversation and wrapped his daughter in an awkward hug. Over his shoulder, her eyes met mine—full of hurt, fear, and betrayal.

  I did this for you. I walked away because your father would have ruined everything. There would have been no way to pretend that we didn’t know each other.

  But as I ducked out of the gallery and made my way back to Gary’s van, the same feelings plagued me as they had a decade ago. Shame. Guilt. Fear.

  I was losing her… again.

  Gary grunted at me as I slid into the seat next to him. He knew that Hailey and I were seeing each other, and I was pretty sure he could tell I was crazy about her. I slipped a headset over my ears and started listening. Through Hailey’s pendant camera, I could see her father’s face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to… to congratulate you. I never expected you to be so successful.”

  Hailey snorted and turned to Gianni. “Gianni, this is my father, John.”

  They exchanged pleasantries and then there was some shuffling. After a minute or two, I saw Hailey’s studio through the pendant camera as she whipped around toward her father.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I thought you said that I was a disgrace? That you never wanted to see me again? Do you remember saying those words? Because I remember them as if it was yesterday.”

  “Hailey, that was a long time ago.”

  “Not long enough. Do you think you can just barge in here, right when my career is going well, and claim any sort of credit for it?”

  “I’m not here for credit.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” Hailey spat. “You heard that your daughter is doing well at something you thought was going nowhere, and now you want to attach yourself to my hip and tell everyone what a great father you were. Well, newsflash: you weren’t.”

  “Hailey, I’m not the one who made mistakes—”

  “Did you ever once ask me about them? I wasn’t driving that car, Dad. Freddy was. I took the fall for him because I knew you’d ruin his life. I didn’t think you’d ruin mine, too—but apparently I was wrong about that.”

  “You seem to have turned out okay.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  Her father stared at Hailey, and I wished I could see Hailey’s face. The camera moved up and down as her chest heaved.

  Gary moved his headset off one ear and glanced at me. “This sounds private.”

  My eyes were still glued to the screen. I knew it was private. I knew we were intruding. But I just couldn’t stop watching. This was all my doing. The crash, Hailey taking the blame, her being disowned, and then a decade later being roped into this investigation—everything bad that happened to her was because of me.

  I knew I should have stayed away. I kept feeding myself this bullshit about protecting Hailey—when the thing I should have done was to just tell her to run.

  “Hailey,” her father said. His voice sounded hard. “Are you telling me you took the blame for something that loser did? Why would you do that?”

  “Because I thought you’d have my back. I thought you’d protect me. Turns out you cared more about your stupid reputation than you did about me.”

  “Hailey—”

  “You forced him to leave, didn’t you? You did your best to make sure I was broken and isolated and alone before you threw me out.”

  There was a beat of silence. “I’m sorry, Hailey.”

  “I’m sick of men apologizing to me. I’m sick of you all.” Hailey’s voice shook as she took a deep breath.

  “I didn’t force him to leave, Hailey. I offered Finch a choice.”

  I held my breath, panic gripping my throat. John LaFleur was about to tell Hailey about the money he’d offered me—about the contract. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her yet, and I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle him.

  But as panic iced my veins, I knew I’d been a coward all over again by not telling Hailey. I was going to tell her about the money. In my own time, when she’d forgiven me.

  But I’d waited too long. I’d been too scared.

  “I gave him enough money to pay for college if he chose to leave and never come back. Either that, or stay by your side. Freddy chose the money.”

  Hailey choked on a scream and she turned around. She mumbled something else, but the screen went dark as her hand closed around the pendant.

  In a flash, I was out of the van and sprinting around the gallery building. I skidded around the corner and made it to the studio door. Banging my fists on it, I called out her name until my knuckles were red. I nearly stumbled in when the door opened.

  Hailey stood there, fuming.

  “What? Did you hear all that? Are you here to apologize for walking away again? For leaving me there on my own in the middle of all that?”

  “I had to leave, Hailey. It wouldn’t have been safe for me to be there. Gianni would have found out we knew each other from before.”

  “Yeah? Whatever, Freddy.” Hailey thrust the pendant into my hands. “Here.”

  Then, she pushed past me, holding her jacket closed. Her father stared from inside the studio.

  “Wait, Hailey. I gave you my word that I’d protect you.” My breath came in short, staggered gasps. She needed to understand. I held out my hands to her. “I wouldn’t just drop that because your father showed up. I walked away to keep you safe.”

  Hailey whipped around. “Your word? You gave me your word? You also gave me your word that you’d stay by my side when I was accused of a manslaughter that you committed. So, do you think your word means anything to me? Your word doesn’t mean shit, Freddy. So no—I will not wait around while you continue to make empty promises. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to take all the money that you paid me, and all the money that Gianni paid me, and I’m going to use it to get the fuck out of here. I’m going to go to Europe, or Japan, or somewhere that isn’t fucking here. Somewhere far away from you.”

  Hailey’s eyes blazed. “For once, Freddy, I’m the one who’s leaving with a pocketful of cash.”

  “Hailey—”

  “Goodbye.”

  I watched her walk away until I heard the studio door close behind me.

  I turned around. John LaFleur still stood there, staring at me.

  “Never thought I’d see you again, Finch.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He threw up his hands. “I only told Hailey the truth. Something which, apparently, you omitted.”

  His words stung, because they were true. Anger boiled inside me. “Why did you throw her out? How could you do that to your own daughter, and then show up here like nothing happened?”

  “How could you walk away, and then show up here like nothing happened?”

  “Fuck you,” I said again.

  The old man just scoffed and brushed past me. He didn’t follow his daughter, and neither did I. If I made a scene tonight, not only would I lose Hailey, but I’d lose my job. Maybe even my life.

  So, with my tail between my legs, I went back to the surveillance van and waited.

  29

  Hailey

  Anger felt good. Being mad was the only thing gluing all the pieces of me together—the only thing keeping me from falling apart. Anger coursed through my veins and kept my heart pumping. It made my muscles twitch as I stomped away from Freddy and it made my spine stand as straight as a rod.

  Anger kept me going all the way out of th
e gallery and back to my apartment. I didn’t let myself break. Not yet. For the second time in a few months, I tossed all my belongings into a duffel bag.

  This time, I didn’t wait to call Tanya. She answered on the third ring and figured out pretty quickly that something was wrong.

  “Can I leave a bag at your house?”

  “Why? What’s going on? What’s wrong with your new apartment?”

  “It was never my apartment.”

  “What do you mean? Hailey…”

  “I just need to leave a bag at your place.”

  “Of course, yeah. You need me to come pick you up?”

  “I’ll grab a cab.”

  I hung up, stuffing all my belongings into my bags. I looked at my stack of sketchbooks and felt like throwing up. The past two months had been a burst of creativity, and I knew it was all because Freddy had reappeared in my life. But now, the thought of painting made me sick.

  I grabbed all the sketchbooks I could find and threw them in the trash. I stared at them for a few seconds, wondering why I wasn’t feeling anything. When I’d left Jayden, it had hurt enough to cry. This time, it hurt too much to feel anything. My body insulated itself against its own feelings.

  Next, I went to my laptop and transferred the rest of my money to my LaFleur bank account. I had more money saved up than I’d ever had before, and I intended to use it all. Every last dirty penny. At least I should get some sort of enjoyment out of the torture I’d been through to earn it all.

  When I arrived at Tanya’s house, her face was lined with worry.

  “I’m going away,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Tanya kept talking, but I couldn’t hear her words. I just grabbed my suitcase and gave her a kiss. I squeezed my arms around her and inhaled the scent of her hair—the last bit of familiarity that I would have.

  “I need to go, Tanya. I need to get out of here. I need to see the world, get out of this place, and get as far away from Freddy as I can. I love you. Thank you for being there for me.”

  “Hailey, can’t you just get a haircut or something? That’s the normal reaction to a broken heart. Get a pixie cut and dye it pink. It would look amazing on you—and I’m not just saying that because you’re freaking me out right now.”

  I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

  Tanya bit her lip. I knew she wanted to hold me back—but instead, she just hugged me one more time and let me go.

  That’s why I loved her. Tanya was one of the only people that put her own feelings aside and thought about me. She did what was best for me, not what she wanted to do. Right now, she could tell that I needed some space—and while it might be crazy for me to skip town, she cared about me and had faith that I’d be all right. I always was.

  In the cab to the airport, I scrolled through my phone. I checked social media accounts for travel inspiration, and decided I wanted to go somewhere warm. I settled on Barbados—for now. Flights were extortionate this close to the holidays, so I might as well start somewhere relatively close. After that, maybe I’d head to Europe. I’d always wanted to go to Paris.

  From my phone, I booked the first flight to Barbados for the next morning—just as the cab pulled up to the airport. I paid, and then walked through the sliding glass doors into the departure lobby.

  I found a row of seats to slump in while I waited. Check-in wouldn’t open for hours. It was silly to be here so early, but I didn’t care.

  I couldn’t stay in my apartment, because it reminded me of Freddy. I couldn’t stay with Tanya, because she might convince me to stay. So, instead, I slouched in an uncomfortable airport seat and waited for morning to take me to the Caribbean.

  I didn’t sleep at all, and the exhaustion helped to keep my emotions at bay.

  I wasn’t ready to process any of them—I just needed to get away.

  I kept myself together during check in, the flight, and right up until I finally checked into a little beach hut on the southwestern tip of the island. There, I stared out at the white sand, clear blue water, and gently swaying palm trees. It was idyllic. I inhaled the salty sea air and collapsed into bed.

  But I still couldn’t cry. I tried. It’s weird to say that, but I did. I made the ugly-cry face and tried sobbing, but nothing came out. I could feel a tornado of emotions burning inside me, but they stayed there, buried deep inside my chest. They were killing me slowly from the inside, but there was nothing I could do to get them out.

  So, I just lay in bed, watching the ceiling fan go around, and around, and around above me until I finally fell into a hazy sort of sleep.

  Later, when I awoke, I drank from fresh coconuts and lay on the beach. On a bed of white sand, I stared up at the cloudless sky and slathered myself in sunscreen.

  I called no one. I felt nothing.

  I didn’t paint, or draw, or think about art at all. It was like my soul had been ripped out of me the night of the exhibition, and there were no feelings left inside me.

  And I liked it.

  Finally, after about three weeks, I sent a postcard to Tanya. I’m okay, I wrote. I have a tan.

  Things I didn’t say:

  I’m numb.

  I’m empty.

  I’m broken.

  A postcard only has so much space, after all.

  Freddy crept into my dreams every night. I’d wake up feeling the weight of his arm around my body, breathing his scent in my nose. The love he’d woken up in me burned my heart like a hot coal. If I breathed too deeply, it singed my flesh.

  So, I didn’t breathe deeply. I just floated along, feeling as little as possible, breathing as little as possible, doing as little as possible. I existed, but barely.

  After four weeks in Barbados, I decided to move on. I went from island to island in the Caribbean, soaking up the sun and trying to forget that anything else existed.

  I drank at bars with other tourists and flirted with men, but still, I felt nothing. I just stared out at a shifting slideshow of beautiful, tropical landscapes while my insides turned to ice.

  But I didn’t mind. At least it didn’t hurt.

  When February rolled around, I finally crossed the Atlantic and made my way to the Mediterranean. More beaches. More palm trees. More sand. I went to France, making my way up to Paris when the weather warmed. I went to the Louvre, bracing myself for the tidal wave of emotions that all the artwork would create.

  That never happened.

  Art had propelled my life for so long, but now it meant nothing to me. I looked at the priceless art hanging on the walls, drifting from one painting to the next. The Mona Lisa was smaller than I’d expected. The colors were duller. I didn’t see any beauty in it.

  I went to my hotel room that night and cried myself to sleep for the first time in months.

  30

  Freddy

  Gianni Russo spat in my face when I sat across from him in the interrogation room.

  The day after the exhibition, we’d caught him as he loaded a truck full of artwork. As we’d suspected, thousands of bundles of cash were strapped inside the canvasses.

  Hailey’s canvasses.

  Everything went exactly according to plan, and we were able to expose him and his parents—as well as Liu Wei and many other associates. We even caught one of the Russo’s men at the airport with half a dozen girls they’d been planning to traffic.

  The investigation was a total success.

  Outside the Russo Art Gallery, we put Hailey’s art into evidence bags. It made me sick to see it like that. This piece of shit, Russo, had been using her all along, desecrating her art for months.

  Berkeley clapped me on the shoulder as Gianni was put in handcuffs. Francesca and Marco were stopped at the airport, where they had tried to leave using another set of false passports.

  Like I said—total success.

  And I hated every second of it. My entire career had led up to this point. All my time i
n Zane and Chris’ shadows had been spent wishing for my own mission to spearhead. I’d finally got that opportunity, and I’d executed it flawlessly. I know, because Berk told me.

  But it wasn’t flawless. I’d hurt the one person I cared about—the one person who’d opened her heart to me after a decade apart.

  The one person I loved.

  So, I volunteered to personally interrogate Gianni Russo in custody. When he snarled at me from across the table, I snapped. I lunged for him, throttling him around the neck as I jumped over the table. I tackled him to the ground. His chair clattered underneath us and I kicked it to the side.

  He punched me in the nose with his cuffed hands and I heard a distinct crunch. The taste of my own blood only heightened my fury. I wrapped my hands around his greasy little neck and squeezed, watching his eyes bulge as his head turned a satisfying shade of purple. Bloodlust wasn’t something I’d experienced before, but now I knew what the word meant.

  I wanted Gianni’s blood. I wanted to tear his jugular from his neck and watch it spray crimson across the walls until he took his dying breath.

  It took three agents to pull me off him, and I was shoved into an interrogation room of my own. I paced back and forth—my blood pumping harder than it had in a long time.

  That fucking maggot. He knew what he was doing with Hailey. He knew he was putting her in danger by having her in the center of his little trafficking network.

  But Gianni didn’t care.

  Well, I did.

  I cared a lot—but now Hailey was lost in the wind. She’d drained her bank account and taken off on a plane bound for Barbados.

  Yeah, I’d checked up on her.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a breath as blood poured from my nose. I touched it gingerly, wincing as a sharp pain penetrated my skull. Definitely broken. Great.

  The door opened. Berkeley stood in the doorway—dark, and angry, and intimidating.

  “Badge. Gun.”

  “Berk…”

  “Shut the fuck up, Finch. Do you know what you’ve just done? You could have compromised this whole investigation. And I’d just been thinking of fucking congratulating you. You’re on leave, effective immediately.” Berk held out his hand as his nostrils flared. My heart thumped. The tension in the room heightened as he took a step toward me, and I finally cracked.