by Chloe Barlow
She was hot, and the hungry look her black-rimmed eyes were giving his whole body promised an afternoon full of distracting trouble. The busy street outside hummed with a frenzied activity akin to complex circuitry. This untapped energy of the accompanying world around him seemed to be transmitting directly into his body.
That same nervous tingling continued through his limbs, bringing with it a familiar sense of wanting to command something — anything, anyone — for a brief moment. That urge was in his blood, and no matter what he did, it never seemed to go away. The only cure was to keep his “relationships” short and meaningless, to ensure he didn’t give a shit what happened to the woman — or women — beneath him on any specific night.
If Trey had more time, he would take this barista up on her flirtatious look — see if he could make other parts of her skin blush. Yet, the powerful impulse to get back to Jenna was far more important than his unquenchable frustration. Jenna needed him. That was clear in her voice when she’d asked to meet him.
He’d settled into a cozy, albeit temporary, way of life in Pittsburgh, with friends, including Jenna, who mattered to him. This meant playtime with a dirty little coffee-slinging minx was going to have to wait for another day.
Trey made his way back to the table where Jenna waited for him. Her face was schooled into its most serious expression, which was saying a lot since she’d already cornered the market on intensity.
“Damn, woman, you look all worked up. I hope this helps.” He placed her mug in front of her before sitting down. “It better be how you like it, because if you need more of that pumpkin spice shit in your drink, we’ve got problems.”
Trey gestured with his head to the line that had grown since they’d arrived. The place was pretty packed, but it was close to where Jenna had her UPMC sports medicine practice, and her schedule was too tight for much more than coffee.
“The world calls them ‘lattes,’ Trey. And most of America has been drinking them for ages now,” she teased with a slight smile, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I know. I’m still protesting the entire concept, no matter how long they’ve been around. I fought them growing up in San Francisco and I’ll keep doing it here.”
“You’re such a baby,” she teased.
“I’m not a baby, I’m a man…so it’s coffee. I drink coffee.” Trey made a tough guy face, hoping it would loosen her up a little.
Jenna rolled her eyes dramatically and released a burst of laughter from her mouth, but quickly let worry streak her face again.
Trey touched her chin for a second, forcing her to look at him before leaning back in his seat.
“All right, Jenna, if it isn’t your latte that’s bugging you, why’d you have to see me so urgently?”
Her sharp light-blue eyes darted between his and her frothy drink, while her long fingers twisted the cup in little half-circles — back and forth so many times he worried she might saw through the wooden table beneath it.
“I know you helped Tea’s fiancé, Griffen, with investigating Jack Taylor’s…you know…murder… And you told me you’ve been working with the FBI on it since then. Are you still doing that?”
“Yep.”
Trey had agreed to work on that case, and possibly any others the FBI needed help with. In return, they’d overlook how he’d played a bit fast and loose with the precise letter of the law, when helping his good friend uncover the facts behind Jack Taylor’s mysterious end — which turned out to be a tragic murder at the hands of David Murphy.
When Griffen and Trey handed them Murphy on a silver platter over a year ago, the FBI hadn’t been able to make any immediate headway in determining which nefarious folks had bribed Murphy to help them steal the sensitive, and valuable, robotics work, occurring at Carnegie Mellon University on behalf of both governmental and private groups.
The list of who would want such information, including both foreign states and shadowy crime syndicates, was long, but evidence was scarce. That’s when they’d come up with Trey’s “deal.”
Normally Trey would’ve told the feds to kiss his ass, and deal with whatever repercussions came. It wasn’t the first time he’d bent some laws, and it wouldn’t be the last. Yet, they’d dangled the promise of keeping Griffen completely free of any consequences related to their actions if Trey sat at a desk in the Pittsburgh FBI field office and helped them figure out their asses, versus their elbows, in the Taylor case.
Trey couldn’t bring himself to refuse. Fact was, even though Trey had nothing left in life to lose, he knew Griffen had a brand new future nestled precariously in his grasp. He was about to be a stepfather and a husband. People needed him, and as much as Trey wanted to avoid complications, he’d figured doing Griffen this additional favor wasn’t too big a hardship.
Yet, weeks of helping the FBI had turned into months, and Trey had been hitting roadblocks of his own since he’d joined the investigation.
“So, does that mean you’re still spending a lot of time consulting at the Pittsburgh FBI office?” Jenna inquired.
“Yes. I was there today, actually. It’s how I made it here so fast,” Trey answered slowly.
“Oh, good. I didn’t know since you left town recently, for God knows where.”
“I had a little side issue to look into, but I’m back now, at least until I can finish helping them sort out the Jack Taylor case.”
Trey looked into the dark liquid in his cup, letting the import of his recent trip to Shanghai enter and leave his mind. When he’d accepted the FBI’s offer, Trey had promised Griffen he’d use the arrangement to guarantee all those who’d lead to Jack Taylor’s murder would be found and punished. Trey never broke a promise to a friend. Well, not anymore.
Yet, a different vendetta had taken him to Shanghai — an unresolved debt still lingering after the loss of A.J. His buddy, Stephen, the leader of a CIA task force, had brought Trey to the glamorous Chinese city to follow up on a lead. It turned out to be good enough to drag him away from the Taylor case — if only for a few days.
Trey had wanted to keep the trip to himself. Even though his Pittsburgh friends didn’t know where he’d gone, the fact they knew he’d left at all was still more information than he was accustomed to sharing about himself with others. It seemed like every day he spent in Pittsburgh he was becoming more wrapped up in other people’s lives, which never turned out well.
His heart clenched whenever he thought about the last time he’d made that mistake. His mind would follow on its own dark path, tormented by memories of A.J.‘s desperate screams, followed by the vision of awakening in a dark cell, waiting for his own solo rescue, which did not extend to the life of his helpless first love. His father had paid Trey’s ransom and managed to make yet another hacking crime disappear. After he’d pulled every string — and lined many pockets — at Stanford to keep them from pressing charges related to the Starling Virus, it was as though nothing had ever happened.
The school may have cooperated with protecting Trey’s freedom, but they didn’t want him back. The feeling was mutual, because when no amount of effort or money had managed to recover whatever was left of A.J., Trey couldn’t bring himself to step foot anywhere near that campus. He certainly didn’t want to see the building housing the “Adler School of Computer Science,” erected a year after a bullet ripped into A.J.‘s beautiful body a mere one hundred yards from where they broke ground.
Despite knowing what a waste it was to let himself care for people, he wasn’t quite ready to go back to his closed off existence. Another month or two of pretending to be an ordinary person who had a beer with his friends on the weekends, and listened to their problems, was just too tempting.
After taking a deep breath, Jenna met his eyes, breaking him from his own maudlin reverie. “I was hoping to talk to you about someone.”
“Who?”
“Claudia McCoy, Wyatt’s sister.”
“What about her? Not sure what she has to do with me.”
“She’s in Pittsburgh…assigned to the FBI office here…”
“I heard that,” Trey said slowly, regaining his cool as he took time with his words.
“Can you look out for her, Trey?” Jenna blurted.
Trey almost choked on his coffee at the sheer mention of that family in relation to him.
“It’s not crazy for me to ask. You helped Wyatt before.”
“No. I did that for you. I helped him try to fix things for you after his stupid ass broke your heart and almost ruined your career.”
“And I’m still so grateful. For all you’ve done since we became friends this past year, but I think you’re being a little dramatic, Trey.”
“Right. Well, it seemed pretty fucking dramatic at the time when everyone in the world was saying he seduced you as the consultant on his shoulder to save his starting quarterback spot. And even though I worked with him to protect you from all the crap he put into motion, it doesn’t change how I still think he has the capacity to be a piece of shit. I don’t know if I’ll ever think he’s good enough for you or that he’s made up for the harm he caused.”
“He’s not like that. If you two would just give each other a chance and not fight every time you’re in the same room, then you’d see that. I don’t get why you’re so hostile still about him.”
“I get it. You’re happy now, and living together, and all that shit. I’m glad you’re crazy about each other and everything, but I don’t have to like him, and I sure as hell don’t have to do anything for his fucking family. Some people only know how to hurt the ones they love,” Trey added, disgusted to hear how much his words about Wyatt sound like the ones, which had rattled in his own head over the years about himself.
“You’re such a poet, Trey. He doesn’t hurt me, though. We love each other, and I want to look out for him and his family as much as I can. You know I wouldn’t come to you about anything involving Wyatt unless I were really concerned.”
“I feel like I should’ve made a New Year’s resolution or something to keep me from the McCoy family and all their bullshit — but it’s fall now, so I guess I’m screwed. Either way, I’m pretty fucking done after what happened with you and Wyatt.”
“I know that. I hate even asking you for this, Trey…” Jenna twisted her cup between her hands again, this time with a precision consistent with her occupation as a surgeon.
“Thanks. Then you should also know I’m pretty sure I’ve already had more than enough of Wyatt McCoy — a feeling which extends to his relatives — so I’m not sure why you’d want me to do anything for his sister.”
“Then do it for me,” she pleaded, placing her hands together as she begged.
“That’s not fair,” Trey said with a laugh. “Fine. What’s wrong with her — other than being a McCoy.”
“I’m going to ignore that last part. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s awesome, actually, but she can be hardheaded and Wyatt will have an aneurysm if anything happens to her.”
“Like what?”
“She’s very young and is going through a tough transition with moving here and starting at the FBI. I want to make sure she’s…taking care of herself. I can’t say any more, but I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t trust you. You know that.”
“Why don’t you ask her boss at the Bureau — Assistant Director in Charge Jacobs?” Trey’s voice dripped with snide disdain at the title. Jacobs was a pompous ass, who wasn’t qualified to look after a lemonade stand, but he was Agent McCoy’s direct supervisor.
“I don’t know him. I know you. I don’t want to humiliate her, or mess up her career. I just want to get her through this rough patch. She’s stubborn…”
“And you know all about stubborn McCoys.”
“Exactly. Look. You have relationships in her office. You’re there all the time, but you aren’t in the FBI.”
“So, you want me to babysit Wyatt’s spoiled little sister? Even if I were willing, I’m not sure your boyfriend would appreciate my oversight — seeing as he and I have such a kick-ass relationship, and by that I mean, we want to kick each other’s asses.”
“He doesn’t have to know. Actually, it’s better if he doesn’t.” Trey arched a brow at her, but she dismissed his facial expression with a shake of her head. “Please, Trey…”
He could hear the desperation in her words — her feeling of helplessness, even if he didn’t know what was causing it.
“Fine, I’ll do it…like you said, for you, not for him.”
“I’ll take it. And Trey…”
“Yes?”
“Don’t sleep with her.”
“With Claudia McCoy? Don’t worry. Seriously, Jenna, who do you think I am?”
“I know exactly who you are, which is why I’m telling you not to sleep with her.”
“I didn’t sleep with you.”
“Wow, you amaze me with your self-restraint. And you know the decision was mutual.”
“True, neither of us wanted to screw the other. That definitely helps with abstaining. But I’m trying to turn over a new leaf in general. I’m practically a model citizen these days.”
Jenna let loose a rough laugh, before adding skeptically, “That would take a lot of leaves, Trey.”
“A whole tree’s worth, huh? But seriously, I’m almost a brand-new person nowadays — you should be more encouraging.”
“I’m really proud of you, Trey,” Jenna teased.
“I’ll take that as a thank-you for the huge favor I’m about to do for you. You’re welcome. I better get going if I want to get this errand over with.”
Trey stood to leave, but Jenna grabbed his sleeve to stop him.
“Thank you so much for your help with this. You’re the best,” Jenna said quickly, standing to give him a hug.
He squeezed her back, and laughed. “You’re right. I am pretty damn awesome. You’re lucky I like you, blondie, because you are seriously a lot of trouble.”
CHAPTER TWO
Claudia’s boots made a cringe-inducing crunching sound as she treaded over a smattering of dried leaves and gravel. The sound was almost thunderous against the silent backdrop of the abandoned steel mill site to which her very first tip had led her, forcing her to pause for a moment as the echoing noise dissipated. The delay was also helpful in allowing her racing heart to slow, if only a small amount.
Insidious shadows overtook the many nooks and crevices of the metallic wasteland surrounding her. Ribbons of violet, yellow, and dusky orange, which had been streaking flamboyantly above the length of the Ohio River, were rapidly surrendering to the much more inky, and menacing, dark shades of impending twilight.
With a shaky breath, she took out her phone to look at the satellite map images she’d collected before leaving her duplex. Claudia relied on the glow from her phone and made a quick left turn between two small buildings.
They appeared to have once been designated for storage during a now bygone era, the idea of which felt almost wistful on that desolate night. Yet, in the brutal present, after years of neglect, the decrepit metal structures had become merely broken-down artifacts of a way of life long-since departed from the former “steel town” she was now calling home. It was hard not to be depressed by the rejected and disgusting relic of a world no one seemed to want any longer.
It had been decades since generations of dutiful workers reported to this place every day to craft some of the metal, which formed the backbone of Pittsburgh’s development. Now, its only visitors were graffiti artists, and perhaps the occasional drunk hoping to find a peaceful spot for their escape…and at that moment — apparently — her.
The entire scene was lonesome and anachronistic in a way, which made her uncomfortable with the task she’d put upon herself. It also seemed like a damn fine place to get tetanus, so Claudia was treading carefully.
She put her phone away and zipped up her light leather jacket, her fingers quivering with a treacherous, uncontrollable energy. The evening autumn air was cr
isp, and had been seeping through her jacket and thin tee shirt, chilling her blood. It seemed to be so much colder down by the river, the rusted-out hulls of dozens of aluminum buildings creating a whistling wind tunnel, which buffeted her small body with merciless, cutting gusts.
This collapsing, metal ghost town seemed a universe away from the sparkling high-rises of downtown Pittsburgh, and the tree-lined brick streets of its historic neighborhoods. Her nerves started to get the better of her, causing her heart to race and breath to quicken.
Calm down, she chastised herself, before panic could set into her blood. I’m the one who wanted to be tough — a real field agent. That means I need to suck it up, find the box the tipster told me about, and then I can get the hell out of here.
This private pep talk seemed to work, steeling her nerves enough to keep walking with more confidence in each step. With another sure-footed step, she turned sharply to maneuver between two more buildings.
Her feet, and her pulse, stopped short when a shadow flashed across the corner of her vision. At first, she could almost convince herself it was just her imagination, but she whipped her head around and caught sight of a form ducking behind a corner. She caught enough of a view to see it was a man — tall and broad-shouldered beneath his hooded sweatshirt.
Claudia made sure her Glock was quickly accessible, but she wanted to do all she could to avoid using it. This interloper could either be dangerous, or the person behind her tip — or both. Seeing as she wasn’t even supposed to be there, discharging her FBI-issued weapon was not a good idea. She took advantage of her own petite frame and maneuvered forward delicately, venturing toward a more open area of the mill site.
When the light was bright enough, she caught his shadow move more closely behind her.
Perfect.
With one quick motion, Claudia spun around with a roundhouse kick to his stomach. The muscles of his abs were firm beneath her blow, but she’d thrown him off-balance, and the force elicited quite a few expletives from under his breath. Taking advantage of his distraction, Claudia moved herself closer to the ground, to increase her body’s leverage for a more effective attack. Supporting herself with her hands, she spun around with a low kick, taking him off his feet and landing him on his ass.
