by Skye Warren
“Laguardia,” he said impatiently. “The most wanted man in the United States? Surely you’ve heard of him.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
Shit. His stare was intimidating. It made me want to confess crimes I hadn’t even committed yet. Yet? Where had that thought come from? I didn’t even have a speeding ticket. I would never be a criminal. I would never be like my father. But secretly, fearfully, I’d always wondered if that was just a lie I told myself.
Brody tossed a manila folder onto the table, and a small stack of papers fanned out in front of me. “In the past year, twelve major players near Laguardia have been killed. Some of them were loyal partners. Others were competitors. In-fighting within the organization. Power struggles. They’re killing each other off.”
Since he seemed to be waiting for a response, I said, “Well…that’s convenient for us.”
A soft sound came from the man at the window, like a snort of amusement. Brody’s eyes raised like I’d said something inappropriate, and I supposed I had. Only, I suspected he wasn’t annoyed they were dying. Instead, he preferred we were the ones doing the killing. Or capturing.
“This is our best chance to bring them down,” Brody said. “We move hard and fast. While they’re licking their wounds, too busy to pay attention to what we’re doing.” He jerked his head toward the other man. “So I’ve brought in Ian Hennessey.”
The man at the window inclined his head in what I assumed was a greeting or acknowledgment. But he didn’t face us, even then, leaving me to make a noncommittal sound in my throat. What did any of this have to do with me? Maybe Ian Hennessey—his name spoken with a certain weight—was so important he warranted his own personal coffee-fetcher. Who would be me.
When Hennessey continued to stand there, Brody cleared his throat. “Ian is one of our best agents. He’s closed a hell of a lot of cases. The Di Mariano family. And the Mencia? Maybe you’ve heard of it. Big jewel heist in Manhattan. A lot of high-profile cases, and now he’s going to give this one a try.”
“I’m not going to try,” Hennessy said quietly. “I’m going to close the case.”
A shiver ran down my spine at the certainty in his voice. The ferocity.
My third foster mother had a thing for the stage. Plays would come on the public programming channel, and she would watch them late at night in between requests for donations. I would huddle in the hallway in my pajamas, watching with her. To this day I wasn’t sure if she figured out I was there or if she cared.
I didn’t know why those plays had caught my interest, when other kids my age were into boy bands and Nickelodeon. But there was something beautiful about the music and the drama, something pure. Even when they’d dealt with cold subjects like prostitution and death, it had all seemed far more elevated than the real-life version of Cops my childhood had been.
Just now, with Hennessey so focused, I was reminded of Les Miserables. Police Inspector Javert had been bent on capturing a man who had been a thief in his former life. He became obsessed with it. Except the police inspector wasn’t the hero of the story. The criminal was.
Brody cleared his throat and turned to me. “So what do you think?”
“Oh. Me?” My mind raced, trying to figure out the question. What did I think of what? Hennessey closing the case? “It’s good. I mean, I think he will. Close the case.”
“Good. And you,” Brody said, his gaze clashing with mine, “are going to be his partner.”
“What?” The question left my lips at the exact same time as Hennessey’s. We both stared at Brody, me in confusion and Hennessy in irritation. I could guess why Hennessey was mad, the big-shot getting stuck with the rookie. The cause of my own annoyance was a little murkier.
I had been working here six months. HR had contacted me just last week with some forms I’d neglected to fill out on hiring. NEW was practically stamped on my forehead, but Brody was assigning me to a high-profile case? Even Lance had gotten here a month before me. It sounded fishy as hell, like some sort of equal opportunity mandate, putting a woman—any woman—in the field to cover their asses. I didn’t want a pity assignment, even if it was my only chance.
Brody shrugged, unfazed. “Until such time as Carlos is apprehended or terminated, you two are going to be partners.”
“Whose decision was this?” Hennessey asked tightly.
“Mine.” Brody’s gaze sharpened. “And the director’s. You’re free to take this over my head, but I think we both know you won’t.”
Hennessey swung away, staring out the window, radiating displeasure. He wasn’t sightseeing now. He was pissed. “Does she even know what happened to the last guy?”
And now I had that to worry about. What the hell had happened to the last guy? And the last guy of what?
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Brody said with equanimity.
Hennessey laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh.
A shiver ran through me.
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Brody said, as if this were some sort of date.
In a way, it was. The arranged marriage of law enforcement partnerships. Brody shot Hennessey a glance I couldn’t quite dissect before standing. Envy, maybe. As a supervisor, he could only assign the cases, not work them. And something else…a hint of concern. Concern for who, though? Does she even know what happened to the last guy? Shit.
Brody paused on his way out, speaking low enough for my ears only. “If you want out, tell me now. I’ll speak to the director.”
Gratitude pierced my growing worry. The biggest opportunity of my career, of any career with the Bureau, and here he was giving me a choice. I wouldn’t let him down. I wouldn’t let myself down. “No, sir. Happy to be here.”
He nodded, granting me a rare look of approval. “Be careful.” He glanced back at Hennessy. “And watch out for him, will you? He doesn’t realize he’s getting old.”
I suppressed the laugh that wanted to escape and managed a quick nod. Clearly there was some competitiveness between them. That was common enough around here. And I could see why he felt threatened by this man. Anyone would.
Hennessy cut a striking form against the window’s glow, but the silver streaking his honey-brown hair at his temples proved he was older than me. Much older, in both years and experience. Despite the obvious differences between my new partner and me, it felt good to be part of the club. A sense of contentment and happiness swelled inside me. However it had come about, this gig would lift me out of the professional gutter in a way that coffee runs and paper filing had never done.
The door closed me in with an audible click. My walk across the carpet, however, didn’t make a sound. Years of rigorous training, both inside the academy and out, had left me as agile as any practiced field agent. Still, I felt sure he tracked my every movement, effortlessly, with the kind of awareness born of experience. How long had he been an agent? Ten years, twenty? Criminals had shot at him, tried to blow him up, paid money to assassinate him. Any agent with a resume like his would have been a target. His survival gave testament to his skill.
Eyes the color of sheet metal stared at the window, unseeing. Small imperfections marred a handsome face: a slight curve of his nose where it had broken, a small scar on his chin. A line of white scar tissue split a brown eyebrow. He’d done more than evade these criminals; he’d fought them.
“You should’ve taken him up on his offer,” he said quietly.
Brody, he meant. Had he heard the low conversation we’d exchanged? Or did he just deduce what was being said? It didn’t matter.
“I’m not interested in his offer. I want this case.”
“You have no idea what this case is even about, rookie.”
Questions sat on the tip of my tongue. So what’s the case about, then? When can we get started? But only one came out.
“What happened to the last guy?”
That finally got his full attention. He looked at me, and I felt the gaze of his gunmetal
eyes like a blow. It stole my breath and rendered me speechless. He looked me up and down. His mouth set in a flat line, unimpressed by my gender, my youth, or maybe the pink blouse I wore. Whatever he saw, it made him answer.
“He died. The last time I went after Carlos Laguardia, my partner died. A punk kid who thought he could bring down a monster.”
Want to read more? Don't Let Go is available now.
About the Author
Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of dark romantic fiction. Her books are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.
Visit Skye’s website for her current booklist:
www.skyewarren.com
Follow Skye Warren on Twitter:
twitter.com/skye_warren
Like Skye Warren on Facebook:
facebook.com/skyewarren
Sign up for the newsletter:
www.skyewarren.com/newsletter
Other Books by Skye Warren
On the Way Home
Wanderlust
Below the Belt
Dark Erotica Series
Keep Me Safe
Trust in Me
Hear Me
Don’t Let Go
The Beauty Series
Beauty Touched the Beast
Beneath the Beauty
Broken Beauty
Beauty Becomes You
Fem Dom Series
Sweetest Mistress
Dystopia Series
Leashed
Caged
ISBN: 9781940518107
ON THE WAY HOME
Copyright © 2013 by Skye Warren
Cover design by Book Beautiful
All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author does not condone sexual acts without consent.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
