Indulgence: A Russian Mafia Romance (Grekov Mafia Book 1)

by Macguire, Jacee

  Indulgence

  By Jacee Macguire

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  Indulgence © June 2015, Jacee Macguire

  Cover Image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / PawelSierakowski

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in articles or reviews.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was a quarter ‘til eight and I was standing in line with several of my fellow coworkers, waiting to go through the security checkpoint in the lobby. From the looks on some of the faces around me, not very many of them could be considered morning people. Some looked bored. Some looked irritated. One, just one, seemed actually excited to be there. Me.

  Just three months ago, I had completed the rigorous hiring process for the Drug Enforcement Agency’s Houston Division. It was a long – and at times – painfully slow process with psychological assessments, background investigations, and a physical task assessment that could push even the most physically fit person to their limits.

  I was ready for it, though, had been preparing for years for it, although the running part of the physical assessment wasn’t exactly fun. While I spent my youth preparing for a career in law enforcement, my body had prepared for the transformation from girl to woman; a woman with large breasts. Even an ultra-snug sports bra had problems reining in that bounce, but I had sworn nothing would keep me from my dream, not even my own well-endowed body. I didn’t set any speed records on the course, but I got the job done. That’s what it was all about; getting the job done, no matter what.

  The line slowly snaked forward at a snail’s pace. At this rate, it would be time to go home before I reached the checkpoint, or maybe that was just me being a little less chipper. I usually needed at least two cups of coffee before the blood started flowing and the brain really started working. Unfortunately, a power surge in the middle of the night had reset my alarm clock, so I didn’t have time for more than a sip of my coffee as I frantically got ready for work. Mornings without coffee sucked. Hard. The clock on the wall tick-tocked merrily away, letting me know I was going to be late. The chance of grabbing a cup of caffeinated goodness from the breakroom before going to my desk became smaller and smaller with each passing minute.

  “Good morning, Glinda,” I said, turning towards the person behind me. Maybe the clock would move faster if I did something besides stare at it.

  “Good morning, Corsica,” Glinda said as she dug in her bag. “How are you?”

  “No coffee this morning but I’ll live. How about you? Feeling any better?” The dark circles under her eyes basically already answered that question but I figured it didn’t hurt to ask. She had recently returned from maternity leave, and the lack of sleep from caring for her new bundle of joy along with working a full-time job was starting to show.

  “Oh I’m fine. The baby just hasn’t learned to sleep through the night yet,” she replied. With a sudden smile, she pulled her badge from the depths of her extremely large purse like she’d just won the lottery. “There it is.” Her smile was part happiness, part relief. Without that little plastic card, there was no going beyond the checkpoint.

  Ten minutes later, after having our IDs scanned and bags x-rayed, we were exiting the elevator on our floor. The hum of computers and the shuffle of papers filled the room, but that was about as exciting as things got around here. It was a little disappointing. If anything ever happened here, I’d be shocked.

  Taking a seat at my desk, I checked my voicemail while my stone-age computer booted up. There were newer computers around the office but the newbies didn’t get those. After logging into the secure database, I printed out the documents that needed to be analyzed, slipping my glasses on as the printer shot out the stack of papers that would be my best friends for at least the rest of the day. Just another exciting day in law enforcement.

  The first document was a transcribed discussion between two Russian men. They were obviously planning something but were being very cryptic about it. I added my thoughts on the report and moved along to the next paper in the pile.

  “What makes a bad guy choose to be bad?” I mumbled to myself, looking over the report. Another Russian? Interesting. I made my notes and forged ahead, grabbing the next document. A quick glance made me sit ramrod-straight in my chair. I took a quick look through some of the other papers. Russian conversations. Lots of them. If there was a connection, I didn’t see it, but something was going on somewhere.

  For the past three months, I’d been analyzing a wide variety of documents and wiretap transcriptions before passing along my reports to the Special Agent handling the case, but this sea of Russian chatter was something new. I sat back in my chair, trying to relax. Whatever was going on, it would be handled by someone else, actual agents working in the field. I wanted to do more than read documents and listen to wiretaps. I wanted to know what it was like to have my adrenaline pumping away as I moved in on my mark and made an arrest. I sighed, looking at my desk, the mountain of paperwork waiting to be looked at. My time would come. I knew it would. I just had to be patient; patient and ready when that moment finally presented itself. In the meantime, it was almost lunchtime and I was desperate for a break.

  Rubbing my tired eyes, I walked over to the desk across from mine. “Glinda, I’m going on break. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure, honey. I’ll go when you get back.”

  In the breakroom, I grabbed a paper cup and poured a cup of what appeared to be the sludgiest coffee on the planet. I took a sip, grimacing as the thick black liquid crap assaulted my taste buds. The day was halfway over and still no coffee because that definitely didn’t count.

  I took a seat and let my mind wander, doing my best to force down another sip of the sludge because crappy coffee was better than no coffee. As usual, my imagination wandered to the day when I’d be able to go out in the field, dressed in black slacks and a DEA jacket, taking a hardened criminal to the ground, my knee in the center of his back, pinning him to the ground. I could almost feel the cold metal of the handcuffs in my hands as they clamped shut – click click – around the criminal’s wrists.

  When I was a teenager, I’d found my little brother dead from a cocaine overdose. It was the worst day of my life. I tried to stamp down the image of Jackson lying on the floor, his lifeless green eyes looking up at nothing, tried to replace that dark memory with something better – something more beautiful and happy – but it always came back. There was no escaping it. I guess that was my way of always remembering why I chose the path I did, why it was so important to do a good job and be the best I could be. My brother’s memory depended on it. Every bad guy we put away, every drug we took off the street, every pill-mill medical clinic we shut down, helped to save hundreds of lives... maybe thousands. It was worth it.

  I had worried the psychological assessment I took during training would destroy my chance at helping people. The memories of that fateful day had seeped deep into my subconscious, and the nightmares that brewed from it hit me hard… especially when I was stressed. Thankfully, it hadn’t hindered my acceptance into the DEA. I was finally right where I wanted to be. I could make a difference now. I could finally help save someone else’s brother, sister, mother, father, friend from experiencing the trauma
associated with the dark world of drugs. Now if I could just get out from behind that damned desk.

  The Houston Division of the Drug Enforcement Agency was one of the busiest in the country. As far as drug trafficking was concerned, Houston was a gateway used by criminals from all over the world to move their weapons, drugs, and in some cases, people, around the world. Because of the Port of Houston and being relatively close to the Mexico border, Houston had become a primary distribution hub over the past few years. I wanted to help close the hub.

  That’s one of the reasons I had requested to work in the Houston Division. They needed all the people they could get to fight the good fight, and I was ready to kick ass and take names. Unfortunately, being a newbie in the agency didn’t allow me to get straight to the kick ass and take names part. For me, it was computers and printers and hours of reading documents and listening to recorded conversations as an Intelligence Research Specialist, which was basically a very fancy-sounding name for a desk job.

  It didn’t really come as a surprise. I knew how things worked. I had to work my way up the ladder like everyone else, prove myself worthy. When the research position was offered, I took it with honor and a sense of pride.

  I knew it was an important job. It just wasn’t the job I wanted, and it was easy to get lost in the fantasy of it all. Seeing the agents around the office only stoked the fire within me to one day be upstairs with them, receiving orders and heading out to spy on the underlings working for the current bad guy on our radar.

  Others were fine with sitting behind the desk. They liked the routine of showing up and going home at a set time, having lunch on a particular hour. Not me. I had no intentions of letting my time behind the desk make me soft. I had trained hard to prepare for this. At five-feet, ten-inches tall and a solid hundred and fifty pounds, I was all muscle. With my breasts and my hips, I’d never be mistaken for a guy but I wasn’t soft. I liked food. A lot. That just meant I had to exercise harder, and I did, on a daily basis. When the chance to step out from behind the desk came, I’d be ready.

  Smiling, I pictured myself, gun drawn, DEA in large letters on my jacket, flashing my badge and saying the words I dreamed to say. “Corsica Moretti, DEA,” I whispered softly. That day couldn’t come soon enough.

  A female voice snapped me out of my daze. “Hey there, Corsica.”

  “Hi, Bridget.”

  “Still daydreaming about working upstairs?” Bridget asked, shaking her head.

  None of the women could understand why I wanted so badly to be upstairs, why I was so eager to move from a position where the most dangerous thing that could happen was a paper cut. But I more than wanted it. I needed it. I yearned for the adventure that came along with it.

  “Of course!” I said, excitement in my voice. “Don’t you wonder what it’s like up there?”

  “Girl, I’m happy where I am… but I did hear from an agent last night that they might have a position available soon. You should look into it.”

  “Pillow talk again?” I asked.

  Bridget flashed a wicked smile.

  I laughed. “Those guys will tell you anything. Let me know if you find out more.” Sliding my chair under the table, I waved goodbye and headed back to the growing stack of documents on my desk that were begging for my attention.

  “Later, girl,” Bridget called out as I stepped into the hallway.

  Back at my desk, I slipped on my headphones and got busy with the latest wiretap. We weren’t given any details about the individuals or the cases, which was sort of frustrating, but everything around here worked on a need-to-know basis, and that type of information wasn’t needed to get our portion of the job done. I couldn’t help being curious, though. Who were these people I was listening to? What had they done? More importantly, how close was the DEA to busting them and putting them behind bars? Some might call it nosey, but I just wanted to know everything there was to know. Yet another reason to look forward to moving upstairs, where’d I’d be able to find out more about what was going on.

  Five o’clock arrived and I had succeeded in clearing my desk... as usual. I didn’t believe in leaving things for another day. Who knew if that one document I decided to save for the next day might be the smoking gun that could help put a bad guy away? Because of that, I made it my number one rule to never put off completing a single document. If it was on my desk, it was getting taken care of before I went home.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Day in and day out, I lived the same boring day over and over again – just like that poor schmuck on Groundhog Day – but today I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach that just wouldn’t go away. I had woken up early, an hour before my alarm had a chance to rip through the silence of my apartment, and prepared for the day. The unsettling feeling that rippled through my body stayed with me all the way to work, never giving me a minute’s peace. It was unnerving, making me doubt myself. I double-checked the coffee pot to make sure I turned it off before leaving, and triple-checked to make sure I had locked the front door when I was leaving. Nothing seemed out of place, but butterflies shifted chaotically in my stomach, like winged beasts hell-bent on escaping their torturous prison.

  When I stepped off the elevator at seven-thirty my heart fluttered, my eyes darted around the office, taking in the madhouse before me. Special Agents were hustling around with files clenched in their hands, lips pressed into tight lines, emotionless looks plastered on their faces. Something was wrong. I could sense it, as well as see it in the way the men from upstairs carried themselves. They clustered around the office, spoke in hushed whispers, and then rushed to the elevators, disappearing upstairs, where I could only assume there was even more chaos. I didn’t have a clue what was happening, and from the look on my coworkers’ faces, they didn’t either.

  As I approached my desk, I looked around, noticing all the faces that I didn’t recognize. Not all of the suits had disappeared back upstairs. Who were these people and what the hell was going on? I’d just sat down at my desk and began my routine start-up process when Bridget tapped on my shoulder. Startled by the unexpected contact, I swung around to face the person that touched me, my hand clenched in a fist, heart beating a mile a minute.

  “Did you hear what happened?” Bridget choked out, eyes red and puffy and filled with tears. “Oh my god! I just can’t believe it.”

  “What? What happened?” I grabbed Bridget’s hand, pulling her to the chair next to my desk. She sat still for several minutes, seeming to stare into space. I was getting ready to ask her if she was okay when she suddenly looked at me, pain etched onto every inch of her face. The words that left her mouth hit me like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath out of me in an instant.

  “They’re dead. Three agents.” Bridget sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. Three dead agents explained the chaos running rampant around the office, but who were they and how did they die?

  Bridget finally calmed down enough to share what she knew about the situation, and I was dying to hear every word. For the next ten minutes, she talked softly and quickly about a failed mission. Agents had been given bad intel and ended up walking straight into a trap. From what Bridget had overheard, an undercover agent working for the Grekov mafia family had been killed when his cover was blown. Two other agents had been led to their deaths for getting too close to the heart of the Grekov operation. I just couldn’t believe we had lost three agents overnight. It was one of the worst things that could have happened.

  It was bad news but Bridget seemed to be taking it especially hard. “The guys upstairs will see that the bastards responsible pay for what they’ve done. You know that,” I said.

  “I know, Corsica, but... but Neil, the man I was sl... I mean dating, was one of them.”

  “Oh!” No wonder she was so distraught. “Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry.” I pulled Bridget close and gave her a tight hug, her body slumping into mine as she continued to sob. I knew neither my words nor the hug itself would take her pain away
but maybe it would soothe her heartbreak a little. My heart was breaking for her. I felt so bad for her. I knew firsthand what it was like to lose someone close to you.

  The rest of the day was somber and gloomy, slipping by at a snail’s pace. Stories circulated around the office about the incident but very few details were shared. The next day, however, shed a lot more light on the subject. The chaos was more controlled, but there were more nameless suits lingering around today. My supervisor, Mr. Dancer, had a short departmental meeting informing us of the upcoming funerals if we wished to pay our respects to the families of the fallen agents. Heads nodded all around the office, as if any of us would turn our back on the families. Please. We were better than that.

  The conference room on our floor was filled with agents and supervisors around lunchtime. Even with the door closed, I could hear raised voices, and worried faces could be seen through the glass. Their frustration was evident. I didn’t know what they were talking about, but it was a heated discussion for sure. My desk was just outside the door to the conference room. I was trying as best I could to keep my head down and get my work done, but I was drawn to whatever was going on. It was none of my business but it was going on right there, with voices occasionally getting so loud it sounded like the person was right beside my desk. I practically had no choice but to listen in, although the glass door muffled the voices. I could hear them talking but I couldn’t tell what they were saying.

  Resting my head on my hand, I tilted my head in the direction of the meeting when a man in his forties pointed in my direction. In a matter of seconds, several heads turned and looked directly at me. I’d been caught red-handed eavesdropping on their meeting. Fuck! My cheeks blazed with heat as I snapped my head away quickly, attempting to look busy; busy doing the work I should have been doing in the first place.