by Krista Holt
I squeeze her hand, bringing it to my lips. “Good, I want you with me.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
* * *
“We’re staying here?” I stare at the expansive mountain mansion. It has to be worth upwards of a couple million dollars.
“Yup,” Garrett supplies from behind me.
“How?”
“Confiscated it from the Mexican drug cartel.”
“You’re shitting me?” I glance at him, my mouth hanging open. “I was obviously in the wrong line of work.”
“Not funny.” Reagan appears beside me, offering herself up as support. I’m still a little shaky on my feet, so I take her up on the silent offer, putting an arm over her shoulders.
“And no one’s gonna know we’re here?” I ask.
“No, but if anyone asks, your name is Pablo,” he retorts.
Reagan laughs. “Well, if we’re making up fake names, I have some suggestions.”
“Shut up, both of you.” I kiss her cheek, grinning as she fights a smile.
“Okay, children,” Tommy calls from a few feet back. “Get in the house. The whole point of being here is to remain unseen.”
“This is not a house,” I mumble into Reagan’s ear as we make our way over the threshold.
Floor-to-ceiling windows wait inside, showcasing tree-covered mountains and an impressive deep-blue lake. Reagan helps me into a chair near the window, overlooking the view.
“I should have done this sooner. Look at this place.”
“I know.” She kisses me quickly, trailing her fingers through my hair. “I’m going to get our things settled.”
With another kiss, she leaves, carting her things upstairs to the bedrooms. Though, her bemused voice travels down from the second story moments later as she mutters something about the ridiculousness of this place, and it brings another smile to my face.
“Not bad, right?” Garrett huffs, sitting down in the chair next to me.
“No, it’s not bad at all.” I close my eyes, enjoying myself. “When’s dinner?”
“Do I look like a maid?”
I open one eye, squinting at him. “Maybe…”
Reagan comes running downstairs when I shout, rubbing the arm he just assaulted. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Garrett interjects. “Just establishing some ground rules.”
She looks between the two of us. “Anything I need to know?”
“Nope,” we both reply.
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “It’s going to be a long couple of months, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” we answer in unison.
* * *
She’s been asleep for a couple hours when I ease outside, dialing a number I’ve never called, on a phone no one knows I have.
I stare at the snow-covered mountains barely visible against a pitch-black sky, and fight off a chill as the frigid night air blows across the monstrous patio balcony.
“Why are you calling me?” he answers, his voice just as gravelly and firm as I remember.
“How do you even know who it is?” I ask, leaning against the railing.
“Because I only gave one person this phone number. Is she safe?”
“She is.”
“How’s the chest?”
“Fine,” I grit out, annoyed he knows about the failed hit.
“So, why are you calling me?”
“To let you know that she knows everything.”
A long pause follows. “I told you it wasn’t your place to tell her anything.”
“Yeah, well, asking me to keep a secret from your daughter wasn’t your place either. I don’t want secrets from her, not anymore.”
He sighs, and silence lingers over the phone again. “What did she say?”
“She’s not exactly thrilled. Of course, that’s compounded by the fact that you’re a spy.”
“I knew someone was digging into my past…” He trails off. “You should have kept your mouth shut, though. There’s a reason I hid that from her, from her mother. They weren’t supposed to know.”
“Ethan, I don’t really care what you think. This was a courtesy call to let you know I’m giving her this number. She’s already lost a lot because of me, and I want to give her something back. Even if she never calls you. She deserves to at least have the choice.”
“And what makes you think I’ll pick up the phone again?”
I grip the cold iron railing, my knuckles turning white. “She already thinks you’re a complete coward. I guess it’s up to you whether you prove her right or not.”
Ending the call before he can get another word in, I head back inside. Reagan rolls over, slowly waking up as I slide into the large bed.
“Are you okay?”
“We’ve got to start asking each other something else,” I complain, opening my arms to invite her closer.
“Fine, where were you?” She nuzzles in next to me, her head on my chest.
“I was talking to your father.”
“What?” She bolts upright. “Why? How?”
“I have a phone Garrett doesn’t know about.”
“Do I even want to know why?”
I shake my head. “Consider it contingency planning.”
She purses her lips. “But why did you call him?”
“To tell him you know, and to tell him that I was giving you his number.”
“I don’t want it.”
“You say that, sweetheart. But I think you’re lying to yourself. You want to talk to him; you want to understand. Yell at him, scream at him if you want, but just call him. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Pulling her back down, I kiss the top of her head. “The choice is yours, but I wanted you to have the option. We agreed, no more secrets, right?”
I exhale slowly, hoping the nudge was enough to get her talking.
“Uh, Nic…?”
“Yeah?” I fight a slow smirk.
“I have something to tell you. It’s not a big deal.”
“If it concerns you, it’s a big deal to me.”
She takes a deep breath, her warm skin pressing against mine. “I was fired.”
“I know.”
“I’m seriously going to hurt Garrett,” she exclaims over my chuckle. “Are you mad?”
“What?” I wait for her to meet my eyes. “Why would I be mad?”
“Because I kept it from you.”
“I wish you hadn’t, but I understand why you did. You were busy being my rock, and I love you for it, Reagan. But, I need you to tell me things like this in the future.”
She nods against my chest.
My hand travels over the t-shirt covering her back. “How are you doing? You loved that job.”
Her hand moves gingerly over my chest, avoiding bandages and bruises along the way. “At first I was hurt, and then I was pissed. Now, though, I realize I could have continued working there for the rest of my life and done really good things, but it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d never be known for anything other than being the mobster’s girlfriend.”
“Ex-mobster.”
She smiles, lifting herself up enough to kiss me. Slowly, longingly, maddeningly.
“Ex-mobster,” she amends and then presses her mouth to mine once more. “No more secrets. I swear.”
CHAPTER 42
Nic
Nine weeks later
A LIGHT KNOCK SNAPS ME out of a deep sleep.
I get up, careful not to disturb Reagan, and crack the door open.
Garrett is waiting on the other side, dressed in jeans, his hair disheveled. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Quickly, I pull on some clothes, and step out into the large hallway, silently latching the door behind me. “What’s going on?”
“The jury finally came back.”
I stagger back slightly, my back hitting the door. “And?”
“Guilty. On all counts.”
/> My mouth falls open. “Guilty?”
“Guilty. He’s going to jail for a very long time, Nic. Thanks to you.”
I exhale loudly, scrubbing a hand over my face, wanting to make sure I’m not dreaming. “I thought I knew how this would feel, but it’s not even close. It’s not even close.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “It’s finally over. Things will be quiet around here today. Take some time to wrap your head around the news. I’ll be downstairs if you have any questions.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Garrett…?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything. I mean that.”
“I know you do. But you did most of the work.”
“Still…”
He smiles congenially. “I’ll see you later, Nic. Make sure you tell her.”
“I will,” I say softly, slipping back into our room.
I slump into the closest chair as my mind tries to wrap itself around the news, around the future that suddenly seems so wide open. This is the start of something, the beginning of the rest of my life. The beginning of my life with her.
She turns onto her side, pulling the sheets off the bed and mumbling my name in her sleep. My heart squeezes in my chest, more lost to her than I ever thought possible.
She holds it all in those hands of hers. All my days. My hopes. My dreams.
I would do anything for her. Anything.
And I have. We’re both a little banged and bruised from my decisions, but we’re still here, still together. And while I can’t speak for her, I know that I’m so in love with that woman. She’s the reason my heart beats. The reason I’m still alive, and I can’t possibly imagine a life without her.
With any luck, I won’t have to.
CHAPTER 43
Reagan
I WAKE UP SLOWLY, STRETCHING under the sheets before rubbing my left hand over my face.
Something sharp and cold pokes my skin. “Ouch!”
I sit upright, staring down at my hand, gaping at something that wasn’t there last night. “Oh…”
Someone shifts across the room, and my eyes find Nic, sitting in a chair, watching me. Like he used to. Eyes intent. Brow pulled down. My heart flip-flops around in my chest, rioting at the surge of emotions racing through my body.
“What is this?” I shake my diamond-adorned hand at him.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No.” I push some hair out of my face. “Not really. Not to me.”
“We’re engaged.”
I laugh, but it sounds more like a gasp. “This isn’t funny, Nic.”
“It wasn’t a joke,” he replies, his voice deep and rough, scraping over the words.
“We’re not!” I stammer, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. Wanting to feel the solid ground beneath my feet. “I never agreed, and you, you never asked.”
He stands, and slowly moves to my side of the bed. His eyes are dark and stormy, full of intense love and adoration. Air catches in my throat, and my eyes go wide as he carefully lowers himself to one knee, and then both.
“Reagan, I’m yours. All yours. Forever.”
He reaches for my left hand, bringing it to his lips, and gently kisses the finger that holds his ring.
“Marry me.”
CHAPTER 44
One week later
“YEAH?” AGENT BRADFORD ANSWERS HIS desk phone as he flips through an old case file.
“It’s Garrett.”
“What’s up, boss? How’s the Italian asshole?”
“Fine. Mostly.” The soft sound of a door closing travels over the line. “Have you been keeping tabs on his father like I asked?”
“Sure have. Nothing to report, really. He’s had no visitors, not even his wife. And he’s been behaving, no incidents with the rest of the inmates. He’s kinda boring, actually.”
“Has he made any friends?”
“You know how the Italians are at Rikers. Everyone is a friend of someone. There’re only two or three men he regularly acknowledges. Other than that, he sits around and glares at everyone.”
“Who’s he talking to?”
“Two are small-time Russians, in for breaking and entering at some properties out in Brighton Beach. And the other guy isn’t even a part of the Selvaggio gang. He’s actually part of Goretti’s troop.”
“Daniel Goretti and Adriano used to be allies.”
“I know, I know. But there doesn’t seem to be anything happening.”
Garrett sighs, and tense silence settles between the men. “Still, it doesn’t feel right. I expected more from Adriano. One failed hit isn’t his type. He’s relentless, ruthless. Something else has got to be happening.”
Bradford leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk. “What do you want me to do? Request Selvaggio be put in isolation?”
“No. That won’t help if something is already in motion.” There’s another pause. “Let’s get someone in there and record his conversations.”
“You want me to send an undercover agent into Rikers?” It makes sense. But damn, it’s a risky move. Most of the FBI’s New York agents are responsible for the current population bump at that place.
“Yes, I do,” Garrett finally answers. “Pull a male rookie from Quantico, a fresh face Adriano won’t recognize, and have him get close enough to overhear. We’ve got to know if something is heading our way.”
“How good does this rookie have to be? Is he actually gonna need to talk to the guy?”
“No, we don’t have the time to set up a cover that deep, and Adriano isn’t going to trust anyone. Just get the agent within twenty feet of the guy. Have him double as a janitor or guard, I don’t really care, but we need to get ears on him.”
“You know our boss isn’t going to be thrilled about this. We’ve bent over far enough for Nic Selvaggio.” Bradford glances around the bullpen, trying to find the older man in charge of the Organized Crime Taskforce. Surprise, surprise. He’s nowhere to be found.
“I know,” Garrett replies. “Get me the paperwork though, I’ll sign off on it. It’ll be my name on it if it all goes to shit.”
“Okay, you got it. Give me a couple days and then I’ll have a report for you.”
“Bradford?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s probably best that we keep this between the two of us.”
“Understood.”
* * *
Six days later
The sweaty rookie flips the switch on an audio recorder hidden underneath his janitorial uniform as he hovers near Adriano Selvaggio and the mystery man.
It doesn’t last long. Only a few sentences in quick Italian pass between the two.
And then it’s over.
They go their separate ways, back to opposite sides of the chain-link-surrounded prison yard. Barely acknowledging the other exists.
The rookie’s shaking hand stops the recording, and he hurries out of the yard. Out of the prison and into the waiting black van parked in the visitor’s lot.
“Did you get something?” Bradford asks, gesturing for him to hand the device over.
“Yeah.” He shoves the black recorder at him. “Here.”
“Who was he talking to?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t any of the guys he normally chats with.”
“What’d he look like then?”
“I don’t think he was a prisoner. He wasn’t wearing an orange jumpsuit.”
“How the hell does someone who’s not a prisoner get in that yard?”
“I don’t know.” The rookie shrugs. “Maybe the same way we did? Maybe they know someone on the inside?”
Unease expands in Bradford’s gut as he plugs the device into the waiting laptop. With a couple of clicks, the audio plays.
“Damn it.” He groans. “You speak Italian?”
The young man shakes his head. “No.”
“Great, now I’ve got to track down a translator.” He saves the recording on two different fl
ash drives. Just in case. “Describe the guy Selvaggio was talking to.”
The rookie closes his eyes briefly. “Tall, like six-one, with blond hair. Combed back. I didn’t get a good look at his face, but he had a bump on his nose. Strong jaw. Built.”
“Built?”
“Like he works out, you know?”
Bradford stares at him blankly.
“Jacked up?”
“You’re sure you got into the FBI academy on your own? No one cheated for you?”
“No, dude. I’m the top of my class.”
“That’s frightening.” Bradford finishes jotting down the mystery man’s details before kicking the rookie out and locking the door behind him.
After replaying the audio once more, he calls the linguistics department of the FBI.
“Megan,” he says once the soft-spoken woman answers, “I need you to listen to something for me. I’m gonna do it over the phone because I’m pressed for time. Tell me what was said.”
Holding the phone close to the laptop speaker, he hits play.
“Did you get that? No? I’ll play it again.” He turns the phone back toward the sound. “What about now?”
Bradford slowly exhales. “You’re sure? One hundred percent positive that’s what he said? Okay, thanks. I got to go.”
He pushes out of his chair, steps out of the van and heads toward the prison doors while making another call. “Garrett?”
“Do you have something?”
“Selvaggio talked to someone today. He wasn’t a prisoner, but the rookie didn’t get a great look outside of a generic description. I’m going to speak to the prison administrator and try to figure out how a civilian got inside Rikers, but that isn’t as important as the audio we got. Garrett, you need to get out of whatever safe house you’re in, immediately.”
“Wait, wait, hold on. What did he say?”
“Only a few words in Italian. Linguistics translated it for me. All he said was—”
WHACK!
Bradford drops to the asphalt. His phone lands beside him, the screen cracking on impact.
Heavily tattooed fingers pick it up seconds later, disconnecting the call over Garrett’s shouts. The stranger slowly straightens, carefully watching as two men load the unconscious agent into the back of a bakery van.
