Covering Ollie (Police and Fire: Operation Alpha) (On Call Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  Joe is pacing back and forth in front of the TV, still tense with angry energy. Some of it directed at me, because I wouldn’t go to the hospital to get checked out.

  I only blacked out for a second or so before my attacker was pulled clear off me, and Dylan was suddenly in my face, telling me to breathe.

  Chaos followed, coming to a climax when Joe came running into the backyard.

  It took a while for Keith and Agent Gomez to coax him inside, during which he barely looked at me. I get it; he’s wired up on adrenaline and anger, and to be honest, right now it’s more important for him to be briefed on what happened than for me to get a hug. Although one would’ve been appreciated.

  Agents Gomez and Roosberg just finished explaining that it looks like the guy had been holed up in a vacationing neighbor’s shed for what looks like days, just biding his time. It still gives me shivers to think he was watching when Joe and I were out on the deck last night, watching the stars. Me calling for the dog actually alerted Agent Roosberg, who was watching for access from the river. She radioed Dylan, who was watching the front of the house, and came running. She’s the one who got the guy off me.

  I look over at her. If I didn’t have a front row seat when she displayed her badass skills to subdue my attacker, I would’ve thought the small, blonde, fairy-faced woman was in the wrong profession. I don’t think that now, even if the top of her head barely reaches Keith Blackfoot’s shoulder. Maybe I should take some lessons from her.

  “So how the hell did he figure out she was here?” Joe asks, still trying to process it all.

  It’s Dylan who answers, and he does it heatedly. “Jasper has him in lockup at our office on Rock Point Drive. The sooner we’re done here with twenty fucking questions, the sooner we can fucking ask him.”

  “Dylan,” Agent Gomez admonishes him. “Stand down.”

  As much as Joe angry like this comes as a surprise, that goes double for Dylan Barnes. He’s been nothing but calm and kind, to the point I sometimes wondered if he was in the right profession. Looks like I was wrong on that too.

  Five minutes later, Joe walks out with the FBI contingent. He’d asked to be in on questioning the guy, which Agent Gomez refused—probably wouldn’t have been a good idea, with steam still pouring from Joe’s ears—but he promised a full report first thing in the morning, suggesting we get some sleep first.

  Keith was hanging back, and I had a sense he had something he wanted to address with Joe.

  My sense was on point, because the moment Joe walks back inside, Keith dives in.

  “We need to talk, my friend.”

  “Not now,” Joe grumbles, ignoring me and walking straight through the living room, kitchen, and out the back door.

  “Yes, fucking now,” Keith barks, heading after him.

  Oh boy.

  I have to twist my head to see from where I’ve been curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in the quilt—even though it’s not really cold. The two men are facing off out on the deck, but the door isn’t quite closed so I can hear them clearly.

  “Can’t deal with this now, Blackfoot.”

  “Funny how you know exactly what I’m talking about, right?” the other man sneers. “I get this was a fucked-up day. Powers going off the rails like that, man, I get how tough that is, but it has nothing to do with you. Getting a call your woman was attacked, that shit hits deep—and you know that I know exactly what that feels like.”

  “Back off, Keith,” Joe warns, but his warning’s ignored.

  “Here’s a head’s up, though, my friend: there’s a woman in there who came within an inch of losing her life tonight. The same woman, who just yesterday, you couldn’t take your eyes off of when she was goofing around with Red. She’s in there, curled up in a fucking ball on the couch, her eyes wide with shock, and you can’t even spare her a glance?”

  “Enough!” Joe barks right in his face, and I wonder if maybe I should wade in.

  “Not even fucking close.” Keith pokes a finger in his chest. “You’re a good man, an awesome father, and fucking great at your job, carrying the kind of responsibility that comes with all of that. It wasn’t for me. But it’s a short jump from responsibility to guilt—as you well know, Joe—and when you pile that on your shoulders too… Fuck, any man would buckle under the weight.”

  “That’s it.” Joe apparently has had enough, since he shoves the door open and barrels in, heading for the stairs. “Lost one good woman, there was nothing you could do,” Keith calls after him from the kitchen, sliding the door closed behind him, and Joe freezes on the spot. “Lucky to find another good woman, and she’s still here—so what the fuck are you doing?”

  “She stopped breathing,” I hear Joe whisper before he storms up the stairs.

  Chapter 23

  Ollie

  I wake up to the distant sound of Joe’s voice.

  Rolling over, I note his side of the bed is untouched since I’d put the clean sheets on. Clearly he never came back upstairs.

  The sick feeling I finally fell asleep with, in the early morning hours, is right back.

  I knew something was up when he barely looked at me last night, but I assumed it was all the heat of the moment. After the exchange on the deck I witnessed, it became clear whatever was bugging him had something to do with me. But last night after Keith left and I followed Joe upstairs, I realized something was very wrong.

  The shower had been running, and I stuck my head in the door. I could see his silhouette through the frosted glass, both hands braced on the tile, arms stretched, and the stream of water hitting his hanging head.

  “Not now, Ollie,” he snapped, without even looking.

  Figuring he needed some time to process, I closed the door, went into the boys’ bathroom, cleaned up there, and tried hard not to look at the angry bruises forming around my neck. In the bedroom, I got ready for bed, waiting for the shower to turn off. When it finally did, I was expecting him to come to bed, at least come talk to me, but I could hear the door to the landing open and the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs.

  Then I got pissed off.

  I spent most of the night waiting, my eyes wide open against the dark, switching between reliving those few moments I was sure my next breath would never come, and the feeling of Joe disconnecting after—all of it making me madder than hell.

  Then I cried. Big ugly, angry tears, because the man who’d made me feel safe for the first time in years—the first man I’d let under my skin and into my heart in fucking forever—took one look at the marks on my neck and instead of having my back, he turned his.

  I freeze when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and quickly close my eyes, feigning sleep when the bedroom door opens. My breath sticks in my throat when I feel his weight hit the mattress behind me, and I battle the urge to dart out of bed when his arm circles my waist and his mouth brushes my neck.

  “Breathe, my Sweets.”

  I blow out the breath, suck in another one, and then I roll out of his hold, my foot hits the floor and I swing around letting my pent-up anger fly.

  “You cannot be believed.” In a distant part of my mind I register he looks awful—gaunt with dark circles under his eyes—but I’m too far gone to let that hold me back. “I’ve been independent my whole fucking life. Used to looking after myself. You,” I stab a finger in his direction, “are the one who convinced me to let you in. To let you look out for me.” With an angry swipe of my hand, I brush the hair that keeps falling in my face. I’m Italian, I talk with my body, so the hair and the hands fly. “Then when I need it the most, when just a hug or a brush of your fingers on my cheek would’ve been enough for me to hold on to that safety you promised, you leave me hanging.”

  “Ollie—”

  “No, Joe.” I shake my head when he reaches for me. “You don’t get to do the hot and cold thing anymore. You did that already. It wasn’t fun for me, but I let you have that play, ‘cause I could tell you needed to work through
something. But last night? Last night wasn’t about you and your needs, Joe. I’m the one who was picked up and tossed to the ground, I was the one who had a man twice my size hold me down and strangle me.”

  I know I score with that when his head jerks as if struck.

  “Baby—”

  “Don’t!” I lean down and wave a finger in his face. “I took in my last breath, Joe. I knew—I fucking knew—there wouldn’t be another one. But there was—and for the life of me—I can’t understand why that would turn you into someone I guess I don’t really know after all.”

  Hopping on one leg does not exactly a grand finale make, but that’s what I do, all the way to the bathroom.

  I walked away, but I’m still hurt when he doesn’t come after me. I turn on the shower to drown out the sound of my crying.

  I’m a mess. I can’t go home, and I sure as fuck can’t stay here. For a moment I consider calling Autumn, but given how close Keith and Joe are, that would be uncomfortable for everyone, so I can’t do that either. My only option may be Grace. I could crash on her couch. Jesus, as much as I miss my Trinny, I’m so fucking glad she’s not here. Or the boys, for that matter.

  I turn off the water, and slide the door open to grab my towel from the hook but it’s not there. That’s because Joe is standing by the sink, holding it open for me. Instead of letting him wrap me up, I snatch it from his hold and wrap myself. I do my best to ignore him as I squeeze excess water from my hair over the sink and grab my moisturizer.

  I’m aware he’s not taking the hint that I’m done talking when his arms slip around me from behind and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

  “She wanted to come home to die, with her family beside her.” His voice is soft and I try to concentrate on what I’m doing, but it’s hard when his intense eyes are focused on my reflection. “We had full-time nursing, but still when the end was close it was just me and the boys with her. The cancer had gone through her so fast, yet the end dragged on. Her organs shut down, she had to struggle for every breath, but still she smiled—for the boys.” My moisturizer long forgotten, I find myself moved by his story, and I hold his eyes in the mirror, a shiver rolling down my spine. I don’t think he noticed when he continues, “I questioned it—the wisdom of having two young kids watch their mother die—but Jenny said she didn’t want them to fear death. She was afraid they might if she suddenly wasn’t there anymore. She wanted her boys to live life fully and fearlessly, and showing them she wasn’t afraid to leave this life was supposed to be her legacy to them. She smiled. Through the pain, through the countless hours of struggling for her next breath—she smiled.”

  I stifle a sob, thinking about how strong his wife had been. What a great mother. Knowing she wasn’t going to see her boys grow up, yet still managed to be focused on them as she was dying.

  Joe clears his throat. “Crazy courageous, but then she’d always been. She was still smiling when the last puff of air escaped her lips and the light went out behind her eyes.”

  “Oh, Joe…” I can barely see him, mainly because those emotions I just managed to get under control are now freely streaming down my face.

  “It was a mistake.” His voice drifts over my head and I can tell he’s somewhere else; his mind on what I’m sure was a traumatic time in his life. “She always liked to challenge herself, challenge me, challenge the boys. Her expectations were too high for anyone to live up to. It had been traumatic, for the boys, but also for me. The first six months after her death, I would often find Ryder standing next to my bed in the middle of the night.” I take in a sharp breath, thinking of his youngest, who seems to crave closeness wherever he can get it. “His little hand would be hovering over my mouth, feeling my breath.”

  Oh my God.

  I swing around and bury my face in his chest, hands sliding around his waist and fisting his shirt in the small of his back.

  “I fucked up,” he mumbles, burying his face in my hair. “Last night—I fucked up big. I was driving here like a madman, Damian talking in my ear, and the whole time all I could think was: how am I gonna tell the boys?”

  I lift my head and tilt back, looking up at him. “I’m okay, honey.”

  His hand comes up and brushes the wetness from my cheeks even as his eyes scan my face. “Yeah, you are.” He bends down, kissing me softly and leaving his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. The thought of losing you—”

  I press my fingers against his mouth. “I’m here.”

  “I know. Should’ve expressed it last night, but thank fuck for that.”

  Joe

  “Got your head outta your ass?”

  Blackfoot is standing by the door leading to the FBI offices when I get out of my vehicle. If it wasn’t for him tearing into me last night, I might’ve still had my head firmly lodged up there this morning, so I guess I owe him. Still, his words grate on me. Mainly because after all that, it still took me the night to sort through my feelings.

  “It’s sorted,” I bite off, walking up to him, not really feeling like sharing. Did enough of that with Ollie this morning.

  “You may be,” he persists, opening the door for me so I can step through. “But what about Olivia? She sorted or did you leave her bleeding some more?”

  I swing around and get in his space, glaring, but Keith being who he is, doesn’t bat an eyelash. He glares right back. “I know you’re looking out for her—the only reason you’re not spitting your teeth on the floor right now—but when I say it’s sorted, I mean it’s sorted.”

  Slowly his glare morphs into a grin, and as if we weren’t just locked in a heated stare down, he claps his hand on my shoulder. “Smart man.”

  Inside we find Gomez, Greene, Dylan Barnes, and Cruz Livingston, who flew in this morning. He’d demanded questioning John Trivisonno, whose identity was quickly confirmed through his DMV records, wait until he could get here. Dylan called me and I shot off a message to Keith. The only one missing is Agent Roosberg. She’s at my house with Ollie.

  The guy may be behind bars, but that doesn’t mean the threat is over. He’s the tail of the snake; the head is still very much alive.

  “Ah, the gang’s all here,” Cruz says, getting up from the conference table to shake my hand. I introduce him to Blackfoot. “Let me get you up to speed quickly, and then we’ll see what Mr. Trivisonno has to say.”

  “These guys never talk,” Dylan comments.

  “Don’t be too sure about that. Wouldn’t be the first time a guy like Trivisonno sells his soul to avoid the death penalty,” Cruz contradicts. “These types, by mere merit of what they do, often feel invincible—like nothing can touch them. Not until they’re caught and faced with the consequences. Besides, we have a little additional leverage over Mr. Trivisonno; our tech team dug up on his desktop computer.”

  What that is comes out when, after three hours of questioning Trivisonno still doesn’t budge, Cruz pulls out his ace in the hole.

  Livingston and Gomez are the only two in the room with the hit man, the rest of us crammed together in the small viewing room adjacent, when Cruz asks a question that has the blood drain from Trivisonno’s face.

  “Maybe you can tell me something—how interested do you figure Guisseppe Montenegro would be to find out not only is his trusted henchman fucking his lovely wife, Gina, but has been doing so for the past seven years?”

  Good thing the small anteroom is soundproofed, because the collective snorts and chuckles at this revelation fly unchecked.

  “Holy fuck,” Dylan breathes out behind me. “Is he fucking suicidal? I mean, I’ve seen pictures, the bitch is not hard to look at, but surely she’s not worth that kind of trouble?”

  I look at Keith, who grins and turns to Jasper, also sporting a knowing smile.

  Dylan may not know this yet—since he’s the one single guy in the bunch—but the right woman is worth all the trouble she can bring you.

  Just learned that lesson myself. I treated Ollie like shit, so far up in my head; I could
n’t see what was in front of me. I knew I’d fucked up, but didn’t realize how badly until she reamed me a new one this morning.

  She revealed a lot in her outburst, making it clear I wasn’t the only one with a lot invested in what we have. We’ve both been cautious—protecting vulnerabilities—but she’s right, she took a risk with me and I threw that in her face.

  It was time for me to do a bit of sharing myself, so I did. The results were spectacular. First in the bathroom, where she lowered herself on her knees, pulled down my sweats, and took me in her mouth. Then we moved the party into the bedroom, where I had her hang onto the headboard while I ate her from behind, before fucking her hard. When Dylan called, she was still in bed, her cheek pressed to the mattress, lips soft and open, and fast asleep.

  “Fucking cut it out,” Blackfoot bitches, looking at me.

  “What?”

  “I know that smile, and I don’t fucking need to see it.”

  Jasper chuckles, but Dylan looks a little lost.

  I’m still smiling that smile as I watch a very skilled Cruz Livingston pulling notepad after notepad of information from a now very terrified Trivisonno.

  Chapter 24

  Joe

  “Is there news on Christian?”

  It’s Friday morning; Ollie just got out of the shower, walks into the kitchen and finds Agent Livingston nursing a coffee at the counter. I’m leaning with my butt against the sink, sipping my own. I get why her mind immediately translates the FBI agent showing up into bad news.

  “Morning, Olivia,” he says with a grin, and she mumbles an embarrassed morning back. “Checked for you before I came. Barring any complications, the outlook is good. His body is healing and today they’re slowly waking him up.”

  I can see relief wash over her and she walks straight into me, planting her face in my chest. My arms automatically close around her. Her voice is muffled against my chest. “I know he’s not a good guy, and I’ve kept my distance for a long time because of that, but he’s still my brother.”