by Carsen Taite
He grinned. “Well, I did break in, but that was a month ago. I had a key made after that, so it was just the one time.”
She pointed at the open closet, which was full of his clothes. “Looks like you’ve made yourself pretty comfortable.”
“Well, I figured you could use someone to keep an eye on your place. You know, since you’re never here. That’s what I told the landlord, anyway.”
Royal vowed to have words with Mr. Withers the next time she saw him. The old guy would call the cops if he heard any of the tenants making noise past midnight, but he didn’t give a shit about handing out keys to anyone who asked. “And you figured you were that person?”
“Better me than some stranger.”
He had a point. “True.” She pointed at the empty Army-issue duffel bag in the corner. “Are you here for a while or do you have to ship out soon?” She watched his expression go blank and he looked away, avoiding her scrutiny. “What’s up?”
“Are you hungry?” he asked, obviously trying to change the subject. “I can whip up some pancakes.”
Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food and her memory of Ryan’s pancakes. Hospital food had sucked, and the slice of greasy pizza the guys at the FBI field office in El Paso had served her during her debrief sent her system into revolt. All she’d been able to think about for the past few days was getting home, such as it was, and sacking out for the next few weeks, but now Ryan was here and it was clear he was holding on to something they needed to discuss. “Yeah, pancakes sound good. I’ll take a shower while you cook.”
She locked the door to the bathroom, craving uninterrupted privacy. It had been so long since she’d had the luxury of isolation, and she wanted to savor every moment. She turned the shower faucet handle to the hottest setting and stripped off her clothes, leaning into the mirror to inspect her bruises.
She’d woken up in the hospital in El Paso several days ago with a fellow FBI agent sitting guard beside her bed. He’d called the doctor, who informed her she was extremely lucky—she’d suffered a concussion, bruised ribs, and some scrapes, but she was otherwise okay. The ruckus she’d caused in the van had distracted Danny, causing him to run a red light at a high rate of speed, flipping the vehicle when he crashed into a bus crossing the intersection. The rear doors of the van had broken open and she’d shot out onto the side of the road. Danny had died in the accident, and Eduardo didn’t fare much better. She was unconscious when she arrived at the hospital, but the ER nurse had called the emergency contact on her phone, which was the number for her handler, who’d made arrangements for the local field office to protect her until she was ready to be released.
That was what had really happened, but the official story was she’d died in surgery after the accident. It was a great cover, but she had regrets about not being able to witness the bureau take down the Garza family firsthand. This was better, though. They wouldn’t come looking for her and she could finally be done working undercover. She knew plenty of colleagues who did this gig until they no longer remembered who they really were and they became unrecognizable to friends and family. She was teetering on the verge, and it was way past time to stop pretending to be someone she wasn’t—no matter how much she excelled at it.
The shower was hot and she savored the comfort of the steam rising up from the tub and the pounding water against her neck. When she finally felt the muscles loosen, she let her mind wander to Ryan and what he was doing here, dressed in boxers in the middle of the day, with seemingly no place else to go. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. Or you’ll get it out of him one way or another.
When the hot water had run completely out, she turned off the shower, toweled dry, and fished a pair of Army sweats out of her dresser drawer, noting Ryan’s clothes lined up in neat piles next to hers. He really had moved in. She finger-combed her wet hair and then padded barefoot to the kitchen, where he was adding pancakes to an already perilously large stack.
He pointed at her with the spatula. “Do me a favor and butter these while they’re still hot.”
She reached for the butter and a knife, grateful for the menial and so very normal task. The pats of butter melted the second they touched the fluffy pancakes, and her stomach rumbled again. “These smell amazing.”
“They should. I added extra vanilla to the batter.”
“You learn that in the Army?”
“No, I didn’t learn anything that useful in the Army.”
She made a mental note of the growl in his voice and his use of the past tense, but she kept her tone neutral. “You want to talk about it?”
“No, but I guess I owe you an explanation.”
He did and she wanted to hear it, but she also wanted to chill, and she suspected whatever he wanted to discuss would be the antithesis to relaxation. “Let’s eat first and then we can talk.”
“Fair enough. There’s bacon in the oven. Grab that and I’ll finish with these.”
A few minutes later, they were perched on barstools at the kitchen pass-through, wolfing down pancakes and bacon. Royal ate way past when she was full, but the home-cooked food was impossible to resist after she’d been subsisting on takeout for months. Her entire plan for the day consisted of stuffing her face and then falling into bed and sleeping until she woke up from natural causes even if that wasn’t for a few days. When she finally shoved her plate aside, Ryan spoke.
“I guess now is as good a time as any to talk.”
Royal’s phone buzzed. She shot a look at the screen, planning to turn off the ringer, but it was a text that read Call me 911 from Mark Wharton, special agent in charge of the Dallas field office. “Crap. Hang on. I have to take this.” She answered the call and walked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. “What’s up?”
“Your debrief is scheduled for this afternoon.”
“I already debriefed in El Paso.”
“With the field office, yes, but the AUSA is here for a conference and he wants to talk to you.”
“Are there cutbacks since I was last in the office?” she asked. “I don’t recall you setting up appointments for me in the past.”
“You’re hilarious. I’m calling you because I’ll be at the courthouse this afternoon, and I want you to come see me when you’re done.”
Something about his tone caused the hair to raise on the back on her neck. “I was planning to take some time off. I’ve got it coming. I’ll do the debrief, but then I’m headed to the beach for a few weeks.” The makeshift plan fell from her lips. Yes, she had been thinking about a vacation, a real one, for a while, but it was a distant imagining she hadn’t assigned any specific detail to yet. Now that she’d voiced her preference for a locale, she warmed up to the idea. “I plan to sit on the sand with a bucket of beer and a good book.” She gave it a beat, but he didn’t respond before prodding. “I deserve it, don’t I?”
He cleared his throat. “You deserve a lot, and you’ll have it all someday. But right now, you’re the best UC we have, and I have a case that can’t wait.”
“Wait, you want me to go undercover again?” Silence beat through the line, and her stomach roiled. “I told you, this was the last time.”
“Come in and talk. That’s all I’m asking.”
It wasn’t all he was asking. She knew it and he knew she knew it. He had the power to fire her if she said no, and she carefully weighed her options. This job was her life. She might not want to play pretend all the time, but her role as law enforcement and the relationships she’d made during her tenure defined her in a way that was all-consuming. If she quit, who would she be?
“I’ll talk, you listen,” he said, his voice pleading now. “Come by after your appointment and hear what I have to say. Okay?”
She had a choice, but since making it might blow up her world, she opted to buy some time and hear him out. No harm could come from simply listening to what he wanted to say. “I promise to listen, but I’m making no other promises. Got it?”
�
��Got it. See you then.”
Royal stared at the phone in her hand, but he was no longer on the line. What had she just gotten herself into? Could he seriously expect her to jump back into a case when she was only hours out of being someone entirely different? This couldn’t be happening. Or could it?
“Royal, are you coming back out here?”
Ryan. For a moment, she’d completely forgotten he was here, in her apartment, with stacks of pancakes at the ready. She might not have control over her own destiny, but she could find out what was going on with him. “On my way.” She shoved her phone into her pocket and headed back to the kitchen. Ryan was seated at the table, a grim expression on his face. “You look sad,” he said. “Do pancakes make you sad?”
She sighed. “I have to go to work.”
“You just got back.”
The undercurrent of pleading in his voice surprised her. “You know how it works.” She pointed at the duffel bag in the corner again. “Duty calls, right?”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You’ve been here for a month and I get the feeling you’re not in any hurry to get back, but you haven’t found your own place, which tells me you’re not out for good. Something’s going on.” She waited, and he finally met her gaze.
“I’m out. I don’t have a job lined up, and I don’t have a place to stay. It was between your apartment and the trailer park, and I knew you were gone, so I picked here. I can be out by the end of the day.”
The despair in his voice was palpable, and as much as she wanted details, she knew he needed acceptance more. She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “Stay. As long as you want. I’ve got to be somewhere, but let’s go get dinner tonight. Steaks. On me. We’ll talk then. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
She resisted the urge to ask more and went into the bedroom to change. She ran through the selections in her closet and found a charcoal gray suit and a white shirt, still in the dry cleaning bag from when she’d picked them up from the cleaners months ago. As suits went, it was her favorite, but she’d much rather be wearing the sweats she had on. Every job demanded a costume of some kind, and today was headquarters at the FBI day, so she’d dress accordingly, but if things went her way, she’d never dress up as someone she wasn’t again.
❖
Exactly an hour and a half after she’d entered, Siobhan strode out of Francine’s shop, feeling ten times more relaxed than she had when she’d walked in. Celia’s wedding was turning out to have hidden bonuses.
She reached into her purse to check her phone, acutely conscious of the fact she’d been off grid longer than usual. The first text was from Dominique. Meeting before dinner. Don’t be late.
She checked the time, pleased to note that even with her excursion into Francine’s she still had plenty of time to go home and change before heading to the Mancuso mansion. Dominique’s text was completely unnecessary since she had never been late to anything. It wasn’t her style. She typed a quick I’ll be there, stepped off the curb, and started a new text to let her assistant know she would not be returning to the office. She barely typed three words before a loud shout and the roar of an engine revving jerked her attention from her phone, and she gasped at the sight of the SUV barreling straight toward her.
“Stop!”
She whipped her head around and saw a woman in a suit gesticulating wildly in her direction. She took a step back, but her heel caught on a grate. The woman stopped waving her arms and started running as the SUV bore down. Siobhan heard the screeching of tires and a second later, had the breath knocked out of her as hands grabbed her from behind and slammed her to the ground.
She lay quietly for a moment, in the arms of a stranger, struggling to process what had just happened.
“Are you okay?”
She turned to face her savior, surprised to see the person who’d rescued her was a woman. Her face was drawn in concern, her blue eyes both piercing and kind. “I think so.” She shifted so she could sit upright. “What happened?”
The stranger reached over and brushed off her shoulders. “Not sure. Either that SUV had a very bad driver or he was trying to run you over.” She pointed down the street. “Either way, he’s gone.”
Loud footfalls sounded on the pavement, and Siobhan saw Neal running toward her. She made a subtle motion with her hand, signaling for her to slow her approach. She turned back to the stranger, who had risen to a crouching position and was holding out a hand. She slipped her hand into the woman’s, momentarily distracted by her warm hands and strong grip. She started to say something when she caught the woman grinning at her, and she couldn’t help but grin back while she struggled to her feet, trying to balance on one heel.
“I think it’s a goner.” The woman pointed at the grate where her shoe was still wedged in the bars and bent at an angle that confirmed her analysis.
“I know I should be grateful just to be alive,” Siobhan said, “but that’s a vintage Louboutin, circa 1999.”
“I have no idea what you just said.” She pulled out her phone. “But we should call nine-one-one so you can file a report.”
Siobhan shook her head. “I’d just feel stupid. Other than a broken shoe and feeling silly for not paying attention, there’s been no harm.”
The woman examined her closely before slipping her phone back into her pocket. She looked at Neal, who stood nearby. “She a friend of yours?”
“Yes.”
“Then if you’re okay, I need to go.”
Siobhan wanted to offer her a reward, anything to get her to stay for a moment, so captivating were those eyes. “How can I thank you?”
The woman grinned again. “Maybe don’t cross the street while texting in the future?” She touched a hand to her forehead as if in a tiny salute and walked away. Siobhan watched her go until Neal interrupted her thoughts.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She pointed at her shoe. “This is the only real casualty.”
“Who was that?”
“A Good Samaritan. Did you get any info on the SUV?”
“Yes. We’ll have Roscoe run the plate. It was coming straight for you. Someone is trying to send a message.”
“Then we’ll need to send one back. Let’s go.” Siobhan looked around for the woman who’d saved her, but she had disappeared from sight.
“You want me to go look for her?” Neal asked, following the line of her gaze.
She did, but her desire to see the woman again wasn’t entirely rational and she needed to focus. “No. We should get going.”
A few minutes later, as Neal navigated her way out of downtown, Siobhan couldn’t help but scan the streets on the off chance she’d spot the woman, but no such luck. Probably for the best.
Traffic was unusually light, and they managed to swing by her place and still be at the gate to the Mancusos’ on time. Lou, the guard, barely glanced into the car before waving them through. True, he knew her and Neal well, but she made a mental note to have a word with Michael, the head of security, about running some tests to make sure their first line of defense was never compromised.
Salvador, the Mancusos’ houseman, was waiting for her at the front door after Neal dropped her off. “He’s finishing up a call, but he asked me to have you go on in. Martini?”
An ice-cold martini sounded delicious, but the scene at the dress shop was as much as she was willing to let loose until after her meeting with Don Carlo. “That sounds perfect, but after. Okay?”
Sal nodded, his smile knowing and kind. He’d run the Mancuso household as long as she could remember, and he’d taken special care of her after her mother had died, making sure the kitchen always stocked her favorite macaroni and cheese, checking her homework, and telling her vague but comforting stories of her mother. She’d come a long way since the days she’d wandered through the house, a brooding
child, and aside from Carlo, Sal had been the biggest constant in her life.
“Go ahead and have a drink, Shiv,” Dominique called out as she swooshed into the room. “You don’t have to be a suck-up all the time.”
“Really?” Siobhan said, feigning disbelief. “I had no idea. I thought my sucking up was a requirement of being part of the family.”
Dominique fixed her with a stare and then burst into laughter and Siobhan joined in. She was used to D’s constant needling. When they were younger, it felt like the kind of teasing sisters did, but lately D’s jabs were more frequent and less friendly. Even so, she’d long since stopped letting it get to her even if there might be an undercurrent of truth buoying Dominique’s brash remarks. As for the drink, she’d stick with her plan to save it for later. Dominique, a Mancuso by blood, could drink all she wanted before meeting with her father because she didn’t have anything to prove when it came to her role in the family, which made it difficult for her to understand Siobhan’s delicate position. “Are you joining us?”
“I am and I hear alcohol is in order,” Dominique said. “Sal, make my martini extra, extra dirty.”
Sal nodded and raised his eyebrows at Siobhan as if to say are you sure you don’t want one too, but she shook her head. Whatever Carlo wanted to discuss, she needed to keep a clear head.
She knocked on the door to the den, but before anyone responded, Dominique pushed her way in. Don Carlo Mancuso was seated behind his large desk, completely alone in the room, which was odd considering one of his capos was almost always in attendance. He smiled at the sight of his older daughter and waved them both into the room, rising to meet them.
Dominique reached for his hand and kissed it. “It’s Friday, Poppa. Dinner is almost ready, and Celia and Tony will be here to discuss last-minute details about the wedding. Maybe take a break for a few hours?”
He waved her off. “I will, but we have a few things to discuss that won’t keep.” He motioned to Siobhan, who’d hung back to let Dominique have a moment with her father before they got down to business. “Come closer. I want to see that you are unharmed.”
