Re/Leased (Doms of the FBI Book 5)

by Michele Zurlo

  She didn’t want to lose him either. Their talk had the opposite effect she thought it might—he believed her, and he didn’t want to be finished with her. Opening up to him hadn’t driven him away, and it had made her feel closer to him. Though his declaration wasn’t much of a clarification, it was enough for now. “We should talk when you get back.”

  “Yeah.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Headache?”

  “Dread. I have to tell you something, and I know you’re not going to like it.”

  What could he have to say that could possibly be worse? She already knew about his mother and his negative relationship with his father. She rubbed his shoulder. “Is it worse than when you released me?”

  He looked up, and the pain in his eyes apologized more eloquently than his words. “I’m sorry about that, Sugar. It was wrong of me, and I won’t do it again. I generally learn from my mistakes.”

  “That’s promising.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek, but he caught her lips with a tentative brush of his. It felt so good, like coming home, and though he’d kissed her last night, so much had happened since then that it seemed like forever ago. Then he deepened it, and passion exploded. All the pent-up feelings that had built up inside streamlined in the direction of that pressure valve. She ran her fingers through his unkempt hair, and he eased her back until her head hit the pillow.

  He touched her—soft caresses over her clothes that teased and had her fumbling for the buttons on his shirt. He wrapped his hands around her wrists, halting her actions, and he ripped his lips from hers. “Wait. Autumn, I have to talk to you first.”

  She relaxed, and he released his hold on her wrists. “Okay. What’s this thing I won’t like?”

  “There are two things. First, Dean is going to be tailing you while I’m gone. It’s for your safety, Sugar, and you don’t have a say in this.”

  For a second, she wondered why he felt she needed someone to watch out for her, but then she remembered the brake lines. And Jesse had said that someone had called the police on her that morning. It could be a coincidence—one perpetrated by a random dickhead and the other by a concerned citizen, but she wasn’t a huge believer in coincidence. “Why not Jesse?”

  “Jesse is going with me. Dean is trying to get Frankie here so they can switch off. She’s wrapping up another case right now, but it may take a few days.”

  While she wasn’t crazy about the idea of being followed, she also appreciated having someone look out for her. “I’m okay with it. Do they want to come in and hang out with me? It can’t be fun sitting in a parked car all day. I have a bathroom.”

  “But if someone is targeting you, I’d rather they not see that you have protection. We want to catch the person doing this.”

  “Makes sense. This is what gave you a headache?”

  “No.” He eased his weight from her and sat up. “Let’s go in the living room.”

  She followed him, worried because his tone had gone flat. “Is something else wrong?”

  He sat down and patted the cushion. Once she joined him, he opened a manila envelope and poured out the contents. He spread out several pictures. Most were familiar because she recognized the people, but not the pictures.

  She picked up the one familiar pair. One depicted her as a four-year-old, and the other was of Summer as a six-year-old. They were grainy because they’d been blown up. “This is from my shoebox. You took my pictures?”

  “I took pictures of your pictures.”

  “You’re right—I don’t like hearing this. You had no right to do that without my permission.” She set them back down and snatched up the one familiar photo of her father. “Why would you do this?”

  “For all the reasons you already know and some I can’t tell you yet. I wanted to know who you were, why you’ve only legally existed for six years. It’s impossible to be completely off the grid. Autumn, your father wasn’t who you thought he was.” He dug a photo from the bottom of the pile and handed over a picture of her father that she had never seen.

  He was younger, but she recognized his handsome face, sparse freckles sprinkling his cheeks—just like the ones on her face—and the magnetic charm that oozed from his pores. “This is my dad.”

  “This man’s name is Eugene Bowen. He served six years for a string of robberies, though he was suspected of a lot more.”

  Autumn held her breath. She’d always known that her father’s name was an alias. He’d never hidden his true nature, and growing up, they’d frequently changed their names. “So what? I knew he’d spent time in prison. That’s why he took such extreme precautions to keep the government away from us.”

  “You knew his real name?”

  She shook her head. “I only knew the names he told me. We used aliases a lot, but we always reverted to the Sullivan name when we were alone.”

  “That’s why you and Summer chose to use it when you came out of hiding?”

  “Yes. They’re our real names, David. I never lied to you about that.”

  He smoothed her hair away from her face. “No, you didn’t. I’m sorry I doubted you, Sugar. You had no way of knowing it’s not your real name.”

  She bristled at his claim. “Look, just because my dad didn’t start out with that name doesn’t mean it’s not mine. Summer and I grew up with it. It’s our name more than Bowen ever could be.”

  Next he picked up a paper that had FBI letterhead. “Eugene Bowen had a family when he was arrested. He had a wife and two daughters. Summer and Autumn were two and four when he was convicted. His wife, Jennifer Bowen, had information on several important criminals. She cut a deal with the Feds, divorced him, testified, and then disappeared with the kids into WITSEC. He tried to find them when he got out, but he was unsuccessful. So he found two more little girls playing in a yard, and he—”

  “No.” Autumn shot to her feet. She wasn’t going to listen to this tripe. He had no right to denigrate her father’s memory. All the previous hurts of the day fed her anger, sharpening it to a dangerous point. Fists clenched, she stomped her foot. “Don’t. Get out of my apartment.”

  He stood, but he made no move to leave. “Sugar, I know this is hard to hear, but I’d rather you heard it from me than from the FBI. The man you knew as Brian Sullivan kidnapped you and your sister. He renamed you, and raised you as his own.”

  “No.” This wasn’t real. Why would David say things like this to her? Had his apology been a ruse so he could hurt her even more? She was stupid and sentimental. Her father had warned her about these weak spots that someone would eventually exploit. Damn her for wanting so badly to trust David. Her heart and head felt like they were going to explode. “Get out.”

  “Sugar—”

  “Don’t. Don’t call me that. I hate you, David. I think you get off on being cruel to me, and it stops now. I never want to see you again. We’re through. Now get out before I call the police.”

  He tried to grasp her shoulders gently, but she circled her arms to sever the contact. Then she lost control. She swung her fists wildly. She’d never been a violent person, and she had no idea how to fight, but some primal force deep inside drove her to hurt him the way he’d hurt her.

  Only it didn’t quite work that way. David was a skilled fighter. He deflected her fists. Through a thick sea of fog, she heard him tell her to stop, but it didn’t seem real. None of it seemed real. She kept fighting, hitting and kicking at him with everything she had until she couldn’t move or breathe.

  When her brain snapped into gear, she found herself wrapped in a blanket—swaddled, like an infant—and sobbing against David’s chest. He’d somehow subdued and bound her, and now he lay next to her, his arms around her, and one hand caressing a soothing rhythm up and down her spine.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “I promise we’ll get through this.”

  “I hate you.” Her voice came out hoarse and raw, and it hurt her throat. Even swaddled in that blanket,
she shook from a chill deep that had seeped into her bones.

  “No, you don’t.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re upset.”

  “I want you to leave. I never want to see you again, David. I may be upset, but I wasn’t kidding. This is over. Let go of me and get the fuck out of my apartment.” Tired of crying, she embraced her anger. She rolled away from him, and the blanket loosened, freeing her.

  He came around the bed and knelt in front of her. “If that’s what you really want, then I’ll go. I’ll give you space for now. But I’m a phone call away, Sugar. Always.”

  She watched him go. The front door opened and closed, and she heard the deadbolt engage. The anger remained far longer. She showered, fuming the whole time. Who the hell did he think he was? Just because he wished he wasn’t related to his father didn’t give him the right to try to tear her away from hers. Brian Sullivan had been a great father—the best she could ever hope to have. He’d been devoted to Summer and her. Though her upbringing was unconventional, they’d been happy. David was jealous—that’s why he’d fabricated this elaborate story. He wanted to corrupt her memories and shatter her family ties.

  Baking always helped her cope, but she didn’t have ingredients. Or money to buy them, thanks to Jesse and Dean interfering in her little venture. The days she had left in her apartment were numbered, and so was the amount of time Summer had left at Sunshine Acres. A state-run hospital was in her sister’s future, and thinking about that made Autumn’s heart ache with grief and helplessness. She hated feeling helpless, and she knew Dean wouldn’t let her supplement her income the only way she really knew how. And so she threw on shoes and grabbed her bag, but instead of getting in her car, she stomped over to where Dean was parked.

  He rolled down the window, baffled. “Can I help you?”

  “I need money.”

  “How much?”

  She started high. “A hundred.”

  Dean fished a couple of Benjamins from his wallet, which the pickpocket in her noted was kept in his inside jacket pocket where it was most difficult to lift, and handed them over. “You’re not supposed to know me.”

  “Fine. Pretend I’m a working girl, and you’re paying for services rendered.”

  He frowned. “David fucked up again, didn’t he?”

  “If by ‘fucked up,’ you mean that I’ll kill him if I see him again, then yes, he fucked up.” She tucked the bill into her bag and set off in the direction of the grocery store. The two block walk would help get her mind off David’s assholery, and it meant she didn’t have to get on the ground to check her brakes.

  Dean followed from a safe distance. Her phone rang several times, but she didn’t answer. The only person she would speak to right now was Julianne, and none of those had been her ring tone. On her way home, she saw Dean talking on his phone, probably reporting to David.

  Julianne called while she was mixing batter for a cake. “Please tell me that you took the day off to sleep in and have sex, and that you’re not sick.”

  Autumn laughed, and though it was genuine, it sounded foreign. “I slept most of the day, but I’m feeling better now.” It wasn’t quite an answer to what she’d asked, but it would do. “How are you?”

  “Great. My mom is dropping off the stuff you ordered tonight. I’ll bring it when I come to see Summer. Will you be there?”

  She glanced at the clock, mentally rearranging her baking schedule. “Yes, but probably not until seven.”

  Julianne giggled. “I’ll see you at eight. And guess what? I went out with the same guy again. That’s twice in one week, which is a new record for me. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Hanging out with Julianne was exactly what the doctor ordered. After the hell David had put her through today, she needed to retreat somewhere safe to lick her wounds.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Autumn awoke the next day, relaxed and refreshed. She hadn’t cried herself to sleep. After visiting Summer, she and Julianne had spent two hours at a café just talking. The topics shifted with their thoughts, and by the time Autumn arrived home, she’d managed to push David out of her head. He didn’t deserve to occupy valuable brain space.

  She didn’t know if David had, in fact, arranged for her to work from home, so she went to work. Since he wasn’t expected to be there, she felt relatively safe with that decision. Because she had no accounts, she started with David’s emails—the internal ones that he mostly had her deflect. Within an hour, a shadow loomed over her.

  “Good morning. I didn’t think you’d be here today.” Malcolm flashed a sympathetic smile.

  She didn’t know how much he knew—or thought he knew—about her, so she didn’t comment. “Hi, Malcolm. I meant to thank you for giving me a ride home.” By the time she’d arrived, she’d been barely holding herself together. She didn’t recall saying a word to him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “David isn’t in today. He’s expected back early next week.”

  Confusion wrinkled strategic places on his face. “I know. When I saw that you were here, I came to see how you’re doing.”

  “Fine.” Channeling the good feelings from last night, she summoned a brilliant smile. “I’m over it. Two weeks is a short time for a relationship, but it seemed a lot longer than that. It was time to move on.” Her smile faded. “Wait—how did you know I was here?”

  “I check the sign-on codes every morning and confirm them with the closed circuit security feed.” He pointed to something that Autumn had thought broadcast the wireless network signal.

  “Those are cameras? Good to know. I’ll refrain from picking my teeth when I think nobody’s looking.”

  He chuckled, a mercy laugh. “Look, I know you’re newer to the scene. If you want, Darcy’s available to talk to you about D/s relationships. She’ll keep whatever you share with her between the two of you.” He handed over Darcy’s business card. “That’s her cell number, and I wrote her email address on the back. It’s a lot easier to navigate this world when you have someone you can trust to talk to.”

  Trust? No fucking thank you. Julianne was the only person left who she trusted, and even that friendship had limits. She’d been right not to share details of her life with anybody. David had provided a necessary lesson. But she didn’t say any of that to Malcolm. She took the card. “Thank you. That’s sweet and thoughtful.”

  “You’re welcome. Now for official business—David wants to know if you’re planning on answering the phone when he calls.”

  “I think we’ve said everything that needs saying, so I don’t see the point.”

  Malcolm opened his mouth to reply, but Mr. Calder interrupted. “Autumn, where is David? He was supposed to send a status report this morning, but he hasn’t.” Clearly irritated, Mr. Calder scowled, and Autumn recognized a resemblance to David.

  “He’s out of town, Mr. Calder. He plans to return early next week. Can I take a message?” This was her real boss, and she treated him with respect. He didn’t have control over how evil and heartless his son had turned out to be.

  “No. I called, but it went to voicemail.” He pointed at her. “If you call, he’ll pick up. You wouldn’t mind calling him on your cell phone for me?”

  Cheerfully, she rummaged through her bag. “Sure.” She dialed, and David picked up on the first ring.

  “Autumn. I’m so glad you called.”

  “Hang on a sec.” She handed the phone to Mr. Calder, who took the phone into David’s office and closed the door.

  “That wasn’t nice,” Malcolm said. “He’s worried about you, and there’s a reason he’s avoiding his dad. He’s trying to protect you, and you’re making it very difficult for him to do that.”

  “I’m fine.” The first twinges of guilt seeped into her bones. She’d never been vindictive a day in her life, and even though David had it coming, this didn’t sit well with her. “And I don’t want anything from him.” That wasn’t exactly tr
ue, but if she kept saying it, then eventually it would become her new truth. That’s how brainwashing worked.

  “You’re a pretty good liar, but I’m better at detecting them.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “Autumn, Keith wants to talk to you about this. He’ll do a DNA test first to make sure you’re a match.”

  She did not want to discuss this, not with anybody. Her father wouldn’t—couldn’t—do the horrible things these men so casually accused him of doing. “No. I won’t get a test, and I won’t consent for Summer to have one. These are lies David made up because he wants to hurt me. Don’t get sucked in, Malcolm. I thought you were better than that.”

  Frowning, he rubbed his jaw. “David didn’t make up anything. Keith fed photos into facial recognition software that ran it through every government database to find a match. He left the evidence with you so that you could look through it. Maybe tonight you’ll do that. If you have questions and you’re still too angry with David, call me.” He took Darcy’s card and scribbled his number on it. “I’m on your side, Autumn.”

  The door to David’s office opened. Mr. Calder emerged, red-faced, and handed her phone back. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She spoke to his back because he hadn’t stayed for pleasantries.

  “I’m heading back downstairs. I’ll stop by this afternoon to see how you are.”

  Before he could disappear, she said, “Are you my tail for when I’m at work?”

  “No. But I won’t lie and pretend that I’m not looking out for you.” He threw her a two-fingered salute and headed toward the elevators.

  She stared at the phone on her desk, wondering how David inspired such loyalty in his friends, when it rang. She hadn’t given David a special tone. Julianne only had one because she’d fiddled with Autumn’s phone one afternoon and changed it herself. But his name popped up, all the confirmation she needed. She answered. “Nothing has changed.”