by Freya Barker
“I think it’s safe to assume the same protocol was followed for the actual killings,” I suggest.
We’re at the police station in the briefing room, meeting with Underwood, Detectives Garcia and Bissette, and a couple of federal bureau investigators who joined us this morning. Purpose of the meeting is getting the agents up to speed on our progress, which is quite a bit since breaking through last Thursday.
We’ve been able to compile gamer handles, found some names and locations associated with those, the relevance of the hashtags, and access to the game. Unfortunately, what we don’t have is information on who is behind the game, or what the motivation is. The feds have profilers for stuff like that.
“Possible,” SAC Sanders says with a hard look in my direction, “but we prefer dealing in hard concrete facts than making assumptions.”
Asshole. I’m sure he’s had a look at my file and dismissed me before he even stepped into the meeting; never mind what I can contribute to the case.
“Not an assumption if everything we’ve uncovered is pointing exactly in that direction,” Underwood comes to my defense, but I can tell Sanders is one of those guys who won’t easily be swayed from his views.
“Be that as it may, we can’t go off a civilian’s opinion. Agent Sarah Dunn is our computer specialist.” He waves at the other agent, who has so far been a quiet presence in the room. “She will be taking over your online identity.”
“Like hell she is.” The woman, along with the others in the room, turn their eyes on my outburst. “No offense, Agent Dunn,” I add for her benefit. “But if you think I’m handing over my computer, my contacts, my files, or my online reputation, you are mistaken.”
“None taken,” she mumbles with a shrug. Out of everyone, I’m sure she is the one who would understand how invasive that would be.
Sanders doesn’t give a fuck. “If you want to make this difficult, it’ll take me less than an hour to get a warrant for you to hand over all you have.”
I bet it will, he’s probably right, but I’m not about to hand over access to all of my online history to someone I don’t trust. And I definitely don’t trust Sanders any more than he trusts me.
“Actually,” the soft-spoken Dunn surprises by addressing her boss. “It would probably be far more beneficial if Mr. Jansen and I were able to collaborate. Time-saving as well. I’m sure I could catch up—” The tiny smirk twitching the corner of her mouth underscores her cocky claim. It may not be clear to everyone else, but Agent Dunn just tossed down the gauntlet, a challenge from one hacker to another. “But why waste time? We’d be able to work much faster together.”
“You’re welcome in our office,” Bree jumps in, sending me a warning look not to object.
Not that I was going to. Not after Agent Dunn provoked me. I want a chance to see how good she really is.
“We need to get familiarized with the case and conduct some interviews first,” Sanders announces.
“The door will be wide open Monday morning,” Yanis offers. “We can offer you the use of our conference room and facilities whenever you need.”
Sanders hesitates and looks in Agent Dunn’s direction, who raises an eyebrow at him.
“Fine,” he agrees less than graciously.
“Pleasant guy,” Bree comments when the three of us walk out of the police station a few moments later.
“Sanders has eleven years with the Bureau,” Yanis explains. “This is his first case as Special Agent in Charge. He’s flexing his newly discovered muscles.”
“You sound almost sympathetic,” Bree observes, eyeing our boss curiously.
Yanis shrugs. “Being the boss isn’t always easy. Comes with a lot of strings and restrictions.”
The look he throws Bree is one of regret, I’m sure of it. Something has been brewing between these two as long as I can remember. I used to think it was because Bree had a chip on her shoulder, being the only female operative in a male dominated industry, but it’s more than that.
Bree stares back at him and I suddenly feel like the proverbial third wheel. I’m about to head for my truck when Yanis suddenly turns to me.
“I’ve got some shit to do. Drop Bree off at the office and you guys go home. I don’t want to see either of you until Monday.”
Without giving Bree another glance, he stalks to his vehicle and we watch as he peels out of the parking lot.
“Let’s go,” she says, and starts walking toward my truck.
“What was that all about?” I ask when I get behind the wheel.
“Who knows?” She clips her belt with jerky movements and faces forward. “And who cares?”
I turn the truck toward the office and intend to give her some space when she suddenly turns in her seat.
“Wanna go dancing?”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah. Jake mentioned Rosie was going to Hot Spurs for some line dancing with a few friends. It’s a new bar on Main, we should go.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Oh, come on, live a little,” she coaxes.
The truth is, I have no sense of rhythm whatsoever. I don’t dance, I can’t sing either, and the only music I enjoy is classic rock. Line dancing means country, which tends to give me a headache.
“Sure,” I answer anyway, because Hillary said she had plans. Logic dictates if Rosie is out dancing, one of those friends she’s with will be her.
The only person I’d subject myself to country music for is Hillary. Hell, I’ll even hit the dance floor if it’ll get her to listen.
Hillary
“Yoohoo! Over here!”
I do a double take when I spot Grant. Not that hard to do, since he’s done up like a rhinestone cowboy, complete with fringed, sparkly vest over a black western shirt and a huge gaudy belt buckle holding up black jeans. But it’s the large white hat that takes the cake; the colored lights around the dance floor reflect in the pattern of shiny studs, making him look like a beacon in the sea of moving bodies.
“What on earth?” Maggie mumbles behind me.
“That’s Grant, and the little redhead he’s dancing with is Rosie,” I explain.
I’d shared with Linda we’d probably be joined by some friends and her easy response had been, “the more the merrier.” Of course I had not warned her about Grant’s bigger than life presence, but one look at him would tell her enough. I figured the two would probably hit it off since Linda herself has a louder personality, in contrast to her wife who is more of an observer.
Linda’s arms are already over her head, hips swinging, as she makes her way through the bodies on the dance floor to where Grant is still waving.
“I think Linda just found her soul mate,” Maggie mutters.
I hook my arm through hers and we follow her into the throng. By the time we join them by the edge of the dance floor, Grant is already spinning Rosie with one large hand and Linda with the other.
“I’m gonna need a drink first,” I tell him, when he tries to engage me as well.
“Me too,” Maggie agrees.
“We’ve got a table over there.” He points at two massive cowboy boots in the middle of a table a few feet away.
“Yours?” I ask with my eyebrows raised, as I check out his sock-covered feet.
“Works to keep poachers away.”
“Order me a Mai Tai?” Linda calls out.
Rosie and Grant add to the order and I manage to snag a waitress on our way to the table. By the time the three of them file off the dance floor and take a seat at the table, a collection of cocktails are lined up. Linda does the honors, introducing Grant and Rosie to her wife as if she’s known them forever. That’s the way she rolls, making friends is as easy as breathing to her. Maggie is a bit more reserved, but that doesn’t last long with Grant cranking up the charm. In no time flat he has everyone roaring with laughter, and our table is drawing some attention despite the loud music.
This is just what the doctor ordered, a fun night out with friends who can ma
ke me laugh. I’ve been a bit down in the dumps the past few days, struggling to resist the temptation to respond to Radar. I know I’ll eventually have to answer, but I need time to build up my resolve. It sucks because I really like him, but I don’t know if I can handle being an afterthought instead of a priority. That’s a bar I set for myself many years ago but have failed to meet, resulting in a sequence of short-lived affairs that inevitably ended with me disappointed. I’m afraid if I started something with Radar, I wouldn’t be left simply disappointed. I’d be devastated.
Hope can be a brutal bitch and I’ve been letting her toy with me too long.
“The Git Up!”
Linda jumps up at the first notes of the popular song and grabs Maggie’s hand, dragging her to the dance floor. Grant is not far behind her with Rosie in tow.
“Come on, Hillary,” he calls over his shoulder, but I wave him off.
I’m good right where I am, sipping my Long Island ice tea and watching the four of them dip and twirl, giggling like crazy on the packed dance floor.
“Oh no, you can’t be sitting this one out.”
The voice so close to my ear startles me. It belongs to a nice-looking guy who seems out of place, with wire-rimmed glasses and thinning hair, wearing chinos and a golf shirt. Not exactly the kind of patron you’d expect in a bar like this, but his smile and the sparkle in his eyes seem genuine.
“I guess I can’t,” I agree, taking the hand he offers me as he leads me to the dance floor and finds a spot for us on the opposite side from my friends.
“You must be Hillary,” he says, ignoring the crowd following the dance instructions the song provides them with and holding on to my hand while his free arm slips around my waist.
I feel a brief moment of panic, but he quickly introduces himself, putting my mind at ease. Then he starts to move, and boy, he may not look the part, but the man can dance. He expertly leads me into an elaborate two-step, dirty dancing style, and moves us slowly closer to where my friends are dancing.
Rosie spots us first and a smile spreads over her face. Then Grant catches sight of us, and his mouth drops open.
“What? Honey, what are you doing here?”
Before Richard—Grant’s husband who decided to surprise him by coming home early—has a chance to explain I feel an arm circle my waist, pulling me back against a warm body.
“You’re gonna want to let go,” Radar’s familiar voice snarls over my head.
Richard immediately releases me, and I’m dragged off the dance floor toward the exit.
The last thing I catch before the chilly outside air hits me is the shit-eating grin on Rosie’s face.
Chapter Thirteen
Radar
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She struggles against my hold and I reluctantly let go. The moment I do, she swings around. She looks pissed. Good, I’m angry too. If I’d known going out with some friends included letting some guy with slick moves grind on her, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to chase her down these past few days.
“Saving you from making a spectacle of yourself,” I snap, almost instantly regretting my words when I see her face pale, but my temper overrides my brain. “The guy was nearly fucking you right on the dance floor.”
She inhales sharply before she gives it to me, both barrels.
“You’re an idiot, Radar Jansen—or whatever the hell your name is—you know that? You’re behaving like a goddamn caveman, and for what? I wasn’t that important to you a few days ago, what changed?”
Fuck. That’s a lot of questions and I decide the best course of action is to focus on one at a time.
“Murray.” At the blank look on her face I feel compelled to clarify. “Murray Jansen is the name on my driver’s license. My dad started calling me Radar when I developed an interest for technology.”
She shakes her head in disbelief.
“That’s all you come back with? Your name?”
I open my mouth to tell her I was getting to the rest when we’re interrupted.
“Everything okay here?”
Shit. Bree—who I left inside—and she’s not alone. Jake is glowering at me over her head.
He’d been sitting in a corner of the bar when we walked in earlier, nursing a beer while watching his wife have a blast with her friends from a distance. One of whom, I was relieved to find, was Hillary. He seemed surprised to see us here, but Bree explained she’d arm-wrestled me into checking the new place out. I only had to make an occasional sound to pretend I was listening to their conversation about this afternoon’s meeting with the feds, but my eyes never left Hillary.
I caught the older guy closing in on her, watched as he whispered something before she let him take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. It took half a second for me to jump to my feet when I watched them start bumping and grinding.
“It’s fine,” I tell Bree, but my eyes are on Jake’s hard ones.
“What the fuck is going on? What do you want with Hillary?”
“Nothing,” she answers herself. “Absolutely nothing.”
Then she turns toward the parking lot and starts walking. After a few steps she stops in her tracks and curses softly, probably realizing she caught a ride. I didn’t see her car when I got here.
I ignore Jake’s question and catch up with her, putting my hand on her arm.
“I’ll take you home.” I keep my voice low so only she can hear.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Jake insists loudly.
“That’s because it’s none of your business,” I return.
Hillary turns her head, her eyes suddenly without fire and the look on her face almost pleading.
“Like hell it’s not,” Jake barks, when I hear the front door of the bar slam shut.
“He’s right,” Rosie’s soft voice interrupts her husband. “It isn’t your business.”
“Are you kidding me? Someone has to look out for her. He’s—”
I’m not sure what it is he’s about to say, but it’s safe to assume it won’t be complimentary, so I cut him off. Keeping a firm hand on Hillary’s arm, I turn to face him.
“I’m taking Hillary home. If you want to discuss something with me, you can do it on Monday. On office hours,” I can’t stop myself from adding with a bitter taste in my mouth.
I considered Jake a friend, but I guess that friendship only goes so deep. It’s not like I’m known as a man whore, someone who goes through women like tissues. I’ve never given my team any reason to doubt me, so his distrust is cutting deep.
“I’ll call you,” I hear Rosie yell out to her friend, as I steer Hillary toward my truck.
Once inside she turns on me.
“You were afraid I’d make a spectacle of myself? There was no chance of that until this little stunt of yours. That man is Richard, who is not only gay, but also married to Rosie’s friend, Grant. You’re the one who turned this into a circus.”
Oh hell. I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. I just wanted a chance to talk to her, how the fuck did this get so out of hand?
She stays silent, brooding the entire way home, while I attempt to analyze what went wrong in the first place. But by the time I pull into my parking spot, she doesn’t wait to jump out of my truck, my focus is sharp and completely on her.
“Lady, wait,” I call out when she takes off toward her apartment. “Hold on.” I rush around her to block her path. “You know I’ve been trying to apologize to you for days. I didn’t think I’d have to do it again so soon.”
I’m surprised to see a watery smile tug at her lips when she looks at me, shaking her head.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says, despite the smile, a sad tone to her voice.
“Like hell it doesn’t,” I counter, putting my hands on her shoulders. “I fucked up. Again. I wasn’t thinking…I just reacted. You mess with my head.”
She snorts at that. “I mess with your head? You scramble mine, but lik
e I said, it doesn’t matter. This…thing between us, it’s not going to work.”
I take a step closer and slide my hands along her shoulders and up her neck, tilting her chin with my thumbs so she’s looking up at me, instead of down at my feet.
“It could.” She tries to shake her head, but my hold restricts the movement. “Yes, it could. I’m gonna fuck up, that’s almost guaranteed, but I promise I’ll work hard to keep that at a minimum. And you…” Her eyes flare with fire, but I continue anyway, “You’re gonna have to relax those defenses you have up, because, Lady, you’re giving up before we even get started.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“Not yet,” I counter, “but I plan to. One thing I do know, though, is that you’re not a quitter. So why start now?”
Hillary
I was so sure I was doing the right thing.
Heck, I was actually enjoying myself tonight without thinking of him every second. Then he shows up and rattles my conviction with that unexpected alpha display. I didn’t see that coming, both literally and figuratively speaking. It’s a side of him that is as infuriating as it is attractive. Either way, it stirred my blood.
Now he challenges me, calls me out from behind my wall, and damned if I’m not tempted to take that leap.
Jesus, I’m a mess. My whole life I’ve set my course using my head, but for some damn reason this time my heart is louder.
What am I supposed to do now?
“You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear you,” he says before brushing my lips with his. “I need to take Phil for a walk before she springs a leak. Walk with me?”
He takes my hand, slides his fingers between mine, and waits for me to take the first step, which I do almost without thinking.
