by Krista Holt
“He did,” I admit, “but not how you’re thinking. I found out some things about him, and…and he just wasn’t who I thought he was.”
She starts to say something, but I shake my head. “I need a drink. Where’s our table?”
“Over there.” She points to somewhere over my shoulder. I turn around, taking off in that general direction. “Reagan, wait!”
I glance back as we dodge people waiting in line. “What?”
“When you texted me, I already had plans with Devin.”
“Okay?”
“So, I just added one more to our reservation.”
My steps slow. “You shouldn’t have done that. I don’t want to interrupt your night with Devin.”
“It’s not just Devin, it’s—”
We round the corner, and I stop abruptly, spotting Devin waiting for us. With Nate. Damn it.
I’d forgotten all about Nate and our run in outside the FBI building yesterday.
“Nate’s here, too,” Becca announces needlessly from right next to me.
“I gathered that.” I force a smile. “Uh, hi.”
“Reagan, good to see you again.” Nate grins, gesturing to the seat across from him.
Dropping my purse and coat into the offered chair, I nod at Devin. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really need something to drink. I’ll be right back.”
“Reagan,” Becca calls after me as I head for the bar lit with obnoxious neon signs.
The bartender notices me almost immediately. “What can I get you?”
“Patrón.” His brows rise. “In a glass, no ice.”
“Sure thing.” He grabs the bottle, pours the clear liquid until it hits the two-finger mark, and then slides it to me. “Rough day?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” I take a long sip.
“You could tell me all about it, sweetheart.”
I grimace at the endearment. It doesn’t sound nearly as good coming from him as it had coming from Nic. But that, too, is something I need to forget about.
“Just a refill, I think.” I push the empty glass back to him. “Can you add it to that table over there.” I point toward where Becca is sitting.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me. You look like you needed it.”
“Thanks.” I salute him, glass in hand.
Needing to summon up the nerve to go back to that table, I take a deep breath. I hadn’t planned on painful small talk tonight. I thought it’d just be Becca and me getting a little drunk. It’s not like I can’t, it’s just different, and one more thing that hasn’t gone my way today.
Nate smiles, all charm and polite manners, as I approach the table and slide into my chair. “Feel better?”
“So much better,” I lie.
* * *
Becca and I insist on paying this time, snapping up the bill the second the server lays it on the table. The boys complain, and Nate looks a little horrified, which pleases me no small amount.
“It’s only fair, right?” I tell him. “It’s not right for you guys to pay for everything when we go out as friends.”
Nate grimaces slightly, trying to hide the action behind a napkin as he quickly wipes his mouth. “Right, dinner, with friends.”
“Becca and I aren’t friends,” Devin says, tossing himself into this doomed conversation.
“We aren’t?” Becca tilts her head to the side, her expression warning him to proceed carefully. I almost feel bad for starting this. Almost.
I drop my card into the black bill holder and then hand it to our server as she passes by. Devin pitches forward, getting closer to Becca, resting some of his weight on the edge of the table.
“No, we are,” Devin clarifies. “But, we’re not just friends, you know?”
“I do?”
I hide a smile behind my glass. I don’t know if it’s the earlier shots of tequila or the subsequent pitchers of margaritas, but I’m fighting back laughter. Becca is just screwing with him. She likes him a lot, maybe even loves him a little, but she’s not afraid to make him work for it. And I love that about her.
“Well…” Devin glances nervously at Nate, who seems to have checked out of this conversation, and then at me. I nod encouragingly. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re more than friends. I thought you knew that?”
“Did I?” A giggle slips out of her mouth, and relief washes over Devin’s face.
His head falls back as he groans. “You really had me there for a minute.”
“I know, babe.” Becca leans across the table, still laughing as she reaches for his hand.
He squeezes hers gently. “You’re gonna pay for that later.”
A blush stains her cheeks, and I drop my eyes to the table, not wanting to intrude on their moment. I force back the longing that clenches my heart. The desire for that connection, that ability to just reach across the table and touch the person that holds a special part of you, hits me like a tidal wave. My defenses already down from all the tequila, I can’t quite stop the loneliness from creeping up on me. Even sitting at this table of four, I feel completely alone.
Still, I force a smile and, reaching behind me, grab my coat. “I should probably get going, I have to work early tomorrow.”
“Me, too.” Nate stands and picks up his coat as well.
My roommate and her boyfriend lead the way out of the restaurant, leaving Nate and me to follow silently. I thank my lucky stars that he doesn’t angle for anything more from me. Two awkward dinners is two too many.
Once we all reach the sidewalk, Becca pulls me to the side. “I’m going home with Devin.”
“I figured.” I smile, pulling her in for a quick hug. “I’ll see you later.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She pointedly raises her brow. “About earlier…”
I nervously glance at the guys. “Nic never hit me. That’s not why we ended things.”
“Then what happened between you two? You won’t talk about it.”
“It just ended. Becca, there’s nothing more to it than that,” I lie, again. To my best friend. Right to her face. To the person who has been there for every high and some very low lows over the past couple of years. But, I remind myself it’s for her own good.
“What’s going on with you then? The not sleeping, not eating?”
“Just because we decided to end things, doesn’t mean he didn’t break my heart in the process.” My lips press together, fighting against the ball of emotion that squeezes my throat tight. “It’s going to take me a little while to get over it. Over him.”
Becca’s eyes bounce over my face, and then she wraps her arms around me, tugging me back in for another hug. “I’m sorry. I still think he’s an asshole, but I’m sorry for you. You know that, right?”
“I do,” I reply, embracing her. “And I love you for it.”
“I love you, too.”
“Babe,” Devin calls out, interrupting us, “we got a cab.”
“Yeah, okay.” She glances at him quickly, then back at me. “Want to come with us? We could drop you off first?”
“No, I need to run an errand. I’ll just see you tomorrow.”
“You’re sure?”
“Completely.”
“All right. Call me if you need me.”
“I will. Goodnight.” I wave half-heartedly to Nate, who does the same.
They climb into the cab, Nate catches another one, and I walk away, heading down a couple of blocks to the corner market. Shopping hasn’t been a high priority lately, but I don’t think I can squeeze any more toothpaste out of the tube I have at home.
After walking down a couple of aisles, I finally find the right one. I stand there, scanning the boxes for the brand I use, when someone else turns down the aisle.
It’s completely normal, this is a busy place. But what’s not normal is the way I’m suddenly hyperaware of this person’s presence. A tingling sensation runs down my arms, and
without cause, my heart starts racing in my chest. I glance around, but no one’s there. Just a glimpse of a shoulder as someone rounds the corner, walking away.
I straighten, hesitating. Torn between following after them and just shaking off the weird feeling. Checking around me again, I reach for my phone and tap the most recent unopened text from Simmons. I haven’t spoken to him since I hung up on him the night Nic kidnapped us, but I know he’ll respond.
Are you following me?
The thought bubble blinks on my screen until he replies.
No. Which you’d know if you bothered to answer any of my calls.
A second later another text from him appears.
What the hell is going on?
I have no idea. Tossing the toothpaste into my handcart, I head down the aisle, toward the same spot the person disappeared from.
Common sense is telling me to get the hell out of here. Telling me I should heed the uneasy feeling sweeping through me, not chase it down. I turn the corner, and nothing is there. No one is lying in wait. No shadow, just the lights inside a nearby freezer unit flickering to life.
You’re paranoid, Reagan. I shake myself, but the feeling is still there. It’s like I’m playing hide and seek with a ghost. I can sense a presence, but I can’t see it. Slowly, I walk the length of the store, checking the aisles for anyone I might recognize, only to come up empty-handed.
“I’m being ridiculous,” I utter to myself. Tightening my hold on the basket, I gather the rest of my items and pay for everything. I’m about to leave when someone darts past me. I barely catch the same suit-clad shoulder as it disappears out the main door and into the crowd on the sidewalk.
I grab the plastic bag from the clerk and rush outside. The door chimes with my exit, and my eyes hurriedly scan the passing faces. There’s not a single person in a suit, let alone someone that could match the man I saw.
Maybe I am losing my mind. Hurrying down the sidewalk, I keep checking around me. There’s no sign of Nic, of the Mercedes, but as I walk down another block it still feels like someone is watching me. I move a little faster, willing the bumps on my skin to go away. Wanting the shiver snaking up my spine to stop rattling my composure.
On the other side of the street, a woman shouts, and my head snaps toward the sound. My heart stalls. My body freezes. It’s him.
At least, I think it’s him. He’s tall, but not overbearingly so. Dark blond hair is styled messily and his black suit is wrinkled. He ticks all the boxes of the man who tied us up after Scott and I almost escaped. Still, I can’t be sure, I only saw glimpses of his face that night.
A fraction of a second passes before he catches me staring. He stops and quickly turns his back to me, facing an illuminated storefront window.
I don’t know if it’s him. He moved too fast. It was just a quick glance of his profile. Maybe I’m wrong…maybe it’s not him.
I’ve heard that’s common, for victims of traumatic events to see the perpetrator’s face in a complete stranger, their mind tricking them into thinking their nightmares are present when they really aren’t. Maybe that’s what happening to me. Maybe I am going crazy.
But then, he glances over his shoulder, revealing more of his face and removing all of my doubt. It’s him.
Our eyes lock and he takes off, hurrying in the opposite direction, back up the street.
“Hey!” I shout, keeping pace with him from the other side of the road. “Hey! Stop!”
He moves faster, but so do I, almost jogging to keep up. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m following him. I’m not really thinking, but I want him to know that I see him. That I remember. That I know his face. That I didn’t forget.
“Stop!” I dart into the street, sprinting across it. He bursts into a headlong run, dodging pedestrians as he tries to get away.
He cuts a hard left and disappears into an alley. I push myself harder, trying to catch up. Running as fast as I can, I round the corner and skid to a stop. The alley opens up in front of me. It’s dimly lit, but in the early twilight I can make out vague shapes. A dumpster here, bags of trash there. Steam rises from several vents, obscuring all the dark corners where he might be hiding. The sounds of traffic and my heavy breathing break the eerie silence.
I take a tentative step into the dirty space, and then stop. Unable to go any farther. Because even if I found him, then what? What could I possibly do?
Nothing.
My heart pounds from my running, making it hard to hear, but I listen for any sound. Any noise. Any movement. I don’t even know if he’s still there. He could be long gone. But there’s a chance that he might still be here, and I don’t want to waste it.
“You’re a coward,” I call out, my voice shaky. “You can watch me from afar, but the second I see you, you run? That’s pathetic.”
My mind is screaming at me to shut up. To take back the words, to silence myself and run away. But I don’t. I’m so angry. Enraged at this guy for what he did to me, for what he took part in. But mostly, I’m livid at Nic. He had to know about this. He had to sign off on his creepy little friend following me around. Even after he begged me to trust him.
“You tell Nic—Nicola, whatever the hell you call him—that I’m done with this. I don’t care what his twisted reasoning is. If I ever see someone following me again, I will call the police. I will talk to the FBI. And I will tell them everything. I don’t care anymore.”
I’m not going to be beaten down by this any longer. I refuse to be a prisoner in my own life for one more second, even if I’m scared. And this game with Nic, the having someone watch me while he keeps his distance like I’m some possession he can control, I’m done with that, too.
Sweat beads at the small of my back as I wait. Wait to see if he’ll reappear. To see if my words will to draw him out.
They don’t.
I take a step back, slowly leaving the alley.
“Tell him that I’m done. For good this time.”
CHAPTER 5
Nic
I KNOCK ON THE CLOSED door of my father’s study, waiting for his gruff, “Enter,” before opening it.
He closes a desk drawer before glancing my way. “Who pissed you off?”
“Frankie.” The general manager at the not-so-much-of-a-gentlemen’s club I just left.
“Ah.” He leans back in his chair. “Find anything on Saul?”
I shake my head. “No, Frankie hasn’t seen him in a couple of days. No idea where he’s gone either. I’m officially out of ideas.”
He frowns. “This isn’t good, Nicola. I’ve been thinking about what you said, about how he might be the leak.”
I still, my forehead furrowing as I study him. “It was a joke.”
“I know.” He waves a hand at me. “It makes sense, though. He’s been unhappy ever since you came home. Maybe he saw the signs and thought he’d jump ship before you took over.”
My mouth dries instantly. “What?”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Which part of that confused you?”
“The part about me taking over.”
“You’re surprised?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Half the time you act like you can’t stand the sight of me, and now you’re implying that this has been your plan for a while?”
He sighs heavily, and when he faces me, weariness stares back. He’s tired. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this, weakness fully exposed. Vulnerable. And it knocks my world all out of order.
“Now is probably not a great time for this conversation, but given that Saul seems to have disappeared for reasons unknown, it’s necessary.”
I stay still, refusing to move, afraid that if I do I’ll wake up, shatter this dream, and pull myself out of whatever parallel universe I seem to have stumbled into.
“It’s always been you, Nicola. I know that I haven’t always been…demonstrative with you…”
That’s one way to put it. Cold-hearted is another.
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“…but,” he continues, “I love you very much, son.”
My mouth drops open, and then quickly closes.
He notices, though. “You doubt that?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think. It always seemed like you barely tolerated me.”
“It was better, for appearances, that I never showed you favoritism or affection. If I had, it would have made you look weak to them. The men. It was better that they saw what you were, what you are capable of. It’s better that they fear you.”
“What about respect?”
He leans back in his chair and carefully steeples his hands over his chest. “Respect implies you’re equals. Fear breeds loyalty. You need them to be loyal to you, Nicola. It’s what keeps the wheels on this whole institution running. It’s reciprocal. If they fear you, they want to please you. And because they please you, you don’t take what they value from them.”
“And if they don’t value anything?”
His hand moves in a cutting motion across his throat. “Then find someone who has something to value. But as long as they do what you want, be benevolent. Let them fear what you might do. Power is only beneficial if it’s preserved. If you’re always throwing it around, if you’re always heavy-handed with them, they’ll try to overthrow you.”
“I see.”
“I think you do. And I think you’re ready. If you’re willing, that is?”
I can’t think. I can’t decide. The only thought running through my mind is Reagan.
Reagan. Reagan. Reagan.
“Son?” He clears his throat, and I realize that I’ve been silent for too long.
Meeting his gaze, I school my features. “Of course. I accept.”
“Good.” He smiles at me, genuinely smiles. “This won’t progress until we find the leak. If it’s Saul, it’ll be sooner. But I want this congressional investigation wrapped up as well.”
“I think it will be soon. I’m going to talk to the girl one more time, but I’m sure it’s done.”
“Excellent.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. I need you to deliver a message.” He unlocks the top drawer of his desk and reaches inside before producing an envelope. “Here. Take this to Daniel Goretti’s brother.”
