“Hail a cab. It’s only a few miles away.”
“Thank you. Sorry to cut and run.”
“It’s fine. Whatever it is, go.” Dante was kind.
Parker was already turning toward the street.
WYATT SAT IN HIS HOTEL room, watching as Parker was shown around Chicago by a sickeningly sweet trio of friends—lovers, probably. This was a foolish way to spend his time.
Not that he could come up with anything better to do. Job hunting was on hold. He’d watched everything on TV. Parker was entertaining. Always.
The camera angle shifted, and Parker’s voice grew distant. Muffled but worried.
Curiosity and concern filled Wyatt.
A moment later, the camera tilted toward the ground, and Parker said, “No, it’s really not. I’ll pick this up from you later. I need to go.”
More snippets of conversation were exchanged, most of them bleeding into the surrounding noise of the city, and then the camera moved back to Dante and Julie. But the narrator’s voice was Christopher’s.
What the fuck was this?
Wyatt’s hotel room door slammed against the wall loud enough it sounded like a gunshot.
“Get down on the floor. Now.” Agent Landry pointed a gun at Wyatt’s forehead.
No. This was too familiar. The adrenaline racing through Wyatt’s veins dried his mouth. He flattened himself on the ground, hands out to his sides.
“Slowly, shift to your knees and put your hands behind your head,” Landry shouted.
If there was ever a time not to protest, this was it. Wyatt followed each command to the syllable. He didn’t complain when another agent jerked his arms behind his back and cuffed him. There was no joke to be made here, about them buying him dinner first.
“Wyatt Lindberg, you’ve violated the terms of your bond. You have the right to remain silent.”
Wyatt tuned out the rest. He kept the grunts to a minimal when they yanked him to his feet. He suspected he would have been half-dragged to one of the cars waiting in front of the hotel if he weren’t taller than the officer leading him.
People were out on the sidewalk and peering through their windows, several of them with cameras out.
Fantastic.
They shoved him in the back of the car and peeled onto the road. His arms were twisted at an awkward angle, and his neck ached, but there weren’t a lot of comfortable positions when he was cuffed like this.
“What’s this about?” Wyatt finally asked when he was mostly sure no one was going to shoot him.
Landry glanced back from his spot in the passenger seat. “You wanted your lawyer so desperately last time. I suggest you have him on hand again, before you and I exchange any other words.”
Wyatt’s gut threatened to cave in on itself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FIONA SOBBED WITH RELIEF when they let Parker join her in the questioning room Agent Spike asked her to wait in.
She sprinted the few feet to greet Parker and hugged him tight. He squeezed back, and the embrace helped put her back together.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your stream.” Her words were muffled by his chest.
He rested his forehead on the top of her head. “It doesn’t matter. Are you all right?”
“I’m better than I was five minutes ago.”
Parker led her back to the seat she’d vacated, took her spot, and pulled her into his lap. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Right. That was the least she could offer. “There was another bomb, near the hotel. They told me I’m not being charged. That this is protective custody. I asked if it was proof that they shouldn’t have arrested Wyatt. Apparently, since he was out on bond, it’s not proof of anything. They do think he’s got an accomplice who’s local, though.”
“Why did they pick you up?” The absentminded stroke of his thumb along the inside of her wrist was comforting.
“Because I’m the common thread in all of this, according to them. My business card, the photos of me on the phone, and that every explosion happened in a city I was in.”
“Well, fuck.” Parker’s breath was warm against her skin. “I called Nick. He’ll have an attorney here soon.”
She curled into him as much as was possible in the metal chair. “Thank you. Again.”
“What do you think of Chicago so far?” he asked, teasing mingling with his stress.
“The hospitality leaves a bit to be desired. I’m wishing I had a frequent-visit punch-card for police stations.”
His laugh rumbled through her, calming her nerves further.
They sat in silence, but it was different than being in the room alone. This was comfortable and right.
“Did you ask? Did they tell you?” Parker’s questions came out of nowhere.
Fiona didn’t need clarification. “I think they were trying to comfort me. Or threaten me. It’s difficult to tell with Agent Spike. Wyatt’s back in custody. They picked him up about the same time as me.”
“Not that you care?”
Her chuckle was bitter. “So much more than is healthy.” She was certain their conversation was being monitored. It didn’t matter. She’d already told the FBI enough about her relationship with Wyatt that none of this would be a surprise or damning.
The silence settled in again. She didn’t know how much time passed. Ten minutes? Thirty? It was probably only two or three. The door clanged open, and Agent Spike walked in with a man wearing a polo shirt and khakis.
“Fiona Walters?” Mr. Business Casual extended his hand. He had a faint French accent. “I’m Michele Cambuse. Your brother Nick has retained me to represent you.”
She extracted herself from Parker’s lap, to shake Michele’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course. Now”—Michele turned to Agent Spike—“why is my client still in custody? Is she being charged?”
“No. But we need to discuss the terms of her release.”
“There are no terms. You can’t hold her indefinitely. We’re going home.”
Spike stepped between Michele and the door. “This is for your client’s safety. We need her someplace we can have an agent watching her at all times.”
Fiona didn’t like the sound of that. It felt so... Big Brother.
“Ridiculous,” Michele spat. “I read the highlights of the case. She hasn’t been in the vicinity of any of the explosions. What good does that do?”
“She’s the only link we have, and we’d hate for the next bomb to be the one that reaches her, if she’s the target.”
“It’s all right. An agent watching me is no big deal.” Fiona wanted to go home. Or back to the hotel. Someplace that wasn’t here.
Spike looked at Parker. “You’re the boyfriend? The one shooting all the video?”
“That’s me.”
“We have another request. We’d like copies of all of the footage you’ve shot since you met Wyatt Lindberg. And we’d like a look at your cameras, as well.”
Parker snorted. “That’s my livelihood. Literally. You can’t take it away.”
“You can surrender everything now, and we’ll turn the hardware around as quickly as possible, or I can get a warrant, and the devices may sit in an evidence locker for months.”
Fiona felt like Agent Spike was enjoying this a little too much.
Parker nodded. “I’ll bring it all by tomorrow.”
“He wants receipts for everything,” Michele said. “And if any of it comes back with even a scratch, you’ll replace it.”
“Bullshit.” Agent Spike rolled his eyes.
Michele shrugged. “They’re doing you a favor. You could try to get a warrant...”
“Fine.” Spike stepped aside and opened the door. “You’re free to go. A local officer will see you back to your hotel, to gather your things, and we’ll relocate you.”
Fiona wasn’t going to argue. She had a suspicion she needed to save her strength to fight more important battles. This wouldn’t be the last one.
/>
They were driven to their hotel in the back of a squad car. It smelled like soap, mixed with vomit. Fiona didn’t know if she was grateful or not that she hadn’t eaten in several hours.
The officer said he’d be waiting outside the door. At least they had a little privacy.
The moment they were in the room, Fiona called her brother. She set the phone on the table and put it on speaker, so she could work while she talked.
“Hey, Red.” Nick’s tired voice was hollow, coming from the tiny device. “Parker was sparse with details. What’s going on?”
Fiona filled him in on the custody, the bombing, everything she knew, and thanked him for sending a competent lawyer to watch over her.
“You’re welcome.” Nick sounded like his soul had been beaten down.
Fiona frowned. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
“We can talk about it later. You’ve got a lot to worry about.”
That didn’t sound right. “I’m in a holding pattern. Tell me. Why do you sound as though you’ve been tugged through the wringer?”
“Your connection with Wyatt was leaked to the media. The shipping company knows about your affair. They’ve canceled our contract.”
I’m sorry felt like a weak comeback. Then again, so did, We knew it was coming. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. Please, don’t do anything.”
The request cut her to the bone. “Nick?”
“They’re threatening legal action. For non-disclosure. Breach of contract. If they make good on even a tiny portion of what they mentioned, we won’t survive financially.”
WYATT DIDN’T HAVE THE luxury of being processed into holding this time. He was booked, stripped of his belongings, and given a stunning orange jumpsuit.
He was seated in a questioning room and told his attorney was on the way. Landry refused to give him more information.
Wyatt didn’t know how long he’d been waiting, but the numbness in his ass and the number of times the Jeopardy theme had repeated in his head indicated it was a while.
It was even longer before the door finally creaked open and Charles joined him.
The lawyer sat across from him. “I’ll tell you everything I've been given, and then my advice is to stop protecting this woman and spill everything you know.”
Wyatt growled at the term this woman.
Chuck rolled his eyes. “She already told them she was with you. If your story matches hers, it will be a lot easier.”
“What did she tell them?” Wyatt should be more focused on his situation, but if Fiona had talked to someone and he was still here, he was fucked either way. He loathed the idea of taking her down with him.
Who was he becoming?
“You'd better hope you know what she said, at least to an extent.” Charles’s tone was matter of fact. “Because it’s the best chance you have to get out of here.”
“Fine. Tell them I’ll talk about all of it. Stop me if I get too damning.”
Charles strode to the door and hammered on it until agent Landry opened it.
“We’re ready,” Charles said.
He and Landry returned to the table. This time Charles sat next to Wyatt.
Landry set a digital recorder between them. “The camera is also on. This is to ensure there’s no misunderstanding.”
“Fine.” Wyatt preferred that, anyway. He didn’t trust this man to not twist his words. Landry reminded him too much of himself. “Do you have questions, or do you just want me to start rambling?”
“Tell me about the afternoon at the winery, and I’ll stop you if I need details.”
Wyatt did. He left out the part about asking Fiona to leave the panties at home and what happened after. He did disclose that, at the time, she had no idea who he worked for.
“But you knew who she was.” Landry had an odd habit. He’d trace his finger along the edge of the recorder without making contact.
“She and her boyfriend are minor internet celebrities, and his shtick was based on her job. Everyone watching knew.”
“Why didn’t you tell her who you were?” Landry’s expression never shifted, but he wiggled his fingers.
Son of a bitch had a tell, and he thought he was getting what he wanted from Wyatt. Too bad that wasn’t good news. “I was trying to win the same contract she was, and I didn’t want her to know.”
“So you were actively trying to destroy her career.”
Wyatt cringed at the phrasing. He’d worked so hard to convince himself his actions would do the opposite in the long run. But it was denial then. “No.”
Landry raised his brows. Another break in the facade. Interesting.
“I didn’t care about her job. It was all about mine.”
Landry clenched his hands, but his fingers still twitched. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“Because it could ruin her career.” Wow, that sounded weak. Next he’d be saying, but I’ve changed.
“It could keep you out of prison.”
That was the wrong approach for Landry to take. “Apparently not,” Wyatt said.
“I’m not understanding this. You know she has a boyfriend, right? Not that that means much to some people, but I've seen them together.”
So had Wyatt, and he wasn’t going to argue the intricacies of their relationship with this man. Fiona loved him as much as she did Parker. It should have been an egotistical thought, but it hurt instead.
Because Wyatt felt the same. This was a real shitty time for personal revelation. Especially if it required admitting he might not have a chance to make things right. In an attempt to exercise control, he’d surrendered the one bit of it he had left.
His entire thought process took a heartbeat, and he wasn’t going to share any of it with Landry. Case details, sure. His fucked-up heart? No. “I figured my innocence would win out,” Wyatt said. “No reason to slander her if I wasn’t going down.”
Landry snorted. “Wow. You almost made me believe that innocence line. Who’s your accomplice?”
“I’m sorry—what?” Wyatt would have feigned ignorance anyway, but he had no idea what Landry was talking about.
“The bomb in Chicago. You were here the whole time. Who helped you plant it? Did they know? Did you trick them into it, the same way you tricked Ms. Walters into keeping you company before she knew who you were?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with the bombs.” Wyatt needed to get into this guy’s head. Figure out what approach it would take to sell him. Wyatt could convince anyone of anything. The truth shouldn’t be such a difficult pitch.
Landry stood. “I was under the impression you were going to tell me everything.”
“I’ve told you everything you’ve asked. You want more details about the time I spent with Fiona? I’ll give you those. You want my travel schedule for the last couple of months? Every stop I’ve made? Every appointment I had? I’ll give you that. But I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.” Landry turned toward the door. “You can stay here and keep us company until your arraignment.”
If they thought a couple of days in jail were going to break him into admitting something he didn’t do, they were stupid. But if his only choice was to cool his heels, he’d do it.
An officer put Wyatt back in his cell. It turned out not having anything to do for hours on end was a dangerous way for a mind to pass the time. The first day or so, he looped through everything he knew about his arrest, searching for clues he’d missed. Ways to prove his innocence. Indicators of who’d framed him.
He kept coming back to Devin. He’d given his ex’s name to Charles and Landry.
Devin had alibis that were apparently better than Wyatt’s. How that was possible, Wyatt had no idea.
When the string of circular thoughts ran its course more times than he could count, his mind fell back to Fiona. The one place he both hated going and wanted to stay at.
Was she all right? They
thought she was the target, for whatever reason. Was Parker doing okay? At least they were taking care of each other...
It was an odd perspective to take, and when his mind veered in that direction, he had no choice but to follow. He’d spent so much time telling Parker how lucky he was. It was meant to be lip service, but Wyatt meant it.
Fiona was lucky too. Wyatt had replayed that last live stream in his head enough that he knew it was her, calling and that Parker had dropped everything without hesitating, to be what she needed.
Wyatt had shoved them both out the door under the flimsy excuses of protecting them and staying in control.
He was such a fucking idiot.
What would it be like, to be part of what Fiona and Parker had? Each time the question made an appearance in the rotation, he latched onto it harder, asking, Why can’t I?
Because he might have fucked up that chance. Did he want to be a part of it?
Damn straight, he did.
The last time he saw them, she didn’t believe anything he said to push her away. Neither did Parker. But Wyatt pushed anyway. Did he break his chances?
No. He wouldn’t believe that. If he made it out of here, he’d find them. He’d drop the masks. He’d ask—beg—for a second chance.
If he made it out of here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SIX MONTHS AGO, THIS was Fiona’s life. Work for eight hours. Go home. Watch TV and online videos. Eat. Sleep.
There was none of what back-then-her would have called irresponsible behavior. Now-her had learned to enjoy—even crave—the different city every few days, the new samples of culture, and the sex with two incredible men.
Okay, so her old self might have a point about that last one being irresponsible. All of Nick’s emails were terse and business only. He didn’t reply to any personal questions. Even to, How are you?
Parker sat next to her on the couch, where she was working, and kissed her on the cheek. “How’s the deadline coming?”
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