by A. Gorman
As I flipped on the TV to stare mindlessly at daytime television, my cell phone chirped. I reluctantly went over and checked it. The FBI had made me turn off my data (okay, they had called my service provider and made them disable it) but I could still get texts and calls. I had a text from “Jack-N-Jill” – the not-so-cute name they had made me add to my phone’s address book to indicate that the FBI was texting or calling.
The text read: He’ll come calling around 4.
I rolled my eyes. Cryptic much?
My reply: Who?
The response was immediate: Your knight in shining armor.
I laughed at that. At least whoever was texting me had a sense of humor. And here I didn’t think the FBI had one.
So my agent was on his way. I glanced at the clock on the phone. It was 9 a.m. Well yippee, I get to mope around my condo for the next 7 hours and hope the guy sent to babysit me arrived on time and was a decent person.
Deep down, though, I had a feeling I was in for a rude awakening, and the next 11 days until the trial was going to very much suck.
Chapter 5
Duke
The damn GPS sent me down the wrong road again. What the fuck is wrong with this thing? I pulled the cord from the cigarette lighter and chucked the entire device into the floorboard of the passenger seat. Spying a gas station up ahead, I decided to put away my man card for the first time ever and just ask for some damn directions.
Slamming the car door and fumbling with the little key fob lock thing, I managed to find the lock button. The government had given me a tiny little black Nissan 370Z sports car. The thing had speed and style, I’ll give it that, but I’m 6-foot-3 and could barely fit in the damn clown car. Another one of the government’s confiscated drug dealer cars, I was forced to take whatever they had to give me. After all, it’s not like I could go driving my vic around in a plain white sedan with government plates.
The small gas station’s door chimed as I entered. The smell of coffee and something sweet hit my nose. Deciding I could use some coffee, I filled a paper cup with the black nectar and secured a small white lid on top. Taking the cup to the counter, the young girl working behind it smiled at me shyly as I approached.
“I’ll take a can of Copenhagen Snuff,” I said to her, pointing at the display of chew cans behind her.
After retrieving the small round black can from the display, she plunked it on the counter and slid it toward me. “That’s six-nineteen,” she said with a cute Southern drawl.
I pulled some bills from the front pocket of my jeans and passed them to her.
She gave me my change and I said, “Hey, do you happen to know where Lakewood Street is? My GPS is jacked.”
Her light eyebrows furrowed together in concentration, and then as if a lightbulb had gone off in her head, she pierced me with knowing blue eyes. Snapping her fingers, she said, “Oh! Lakewood is downtown.”
I nodded. “Okay, well how far is that from here?”
She smiled. “Oh, you’re out in the country, sweetheart. You keep going another mile or so west and you’re gonna be hittin’ dirt roads that lead to the state park.”
Shit. Not right at all.
Seeing my stress, she continued. “Take Gerald Highway all the way to Four Mile Road, then take the 275 East to the downtown exit. Hopefully your phone GPS thing can help ya from there.” She nodded toward the phone attached to my belt.
That, I could do. “Thanks, gorgeous,” I drawled, lifting my coffee cup up to her as I headed for the door.
She slid some blonde hair behind her ear and her cheeks turned pink. “Anytime, Hugh.”
I stopped in my tracks and turned around and looked at her. “Hugh?”
“Yes,” she giggled, “you look like Hugh Jackman.”
I chuckled as I opened the Snuff can and shoved some dip into my bottom lip and then pushed my way out of the store. Wasn’t the first time I’d heard that.
* * *
The cutie at the gas station hadn’t been wrong. Once I reached the interstate, the vic’s address had been easier to find with my phone’s navigation thing. Who knew a city as big as St. Petersburg had so many unknown back roads?
I sucked in a breath as my car reached the edge of town where the waters of the Gulf of Mexico flanked the city. To my left, a huge bridge spanned over a breathtaking body of water, the late afternoon sun glinting off of the choppy waters of the bay. I continued on the interstate until I reached my exit. I followed directions on the navigation system until I reached a swanky new set of condos built on the edge of the water. I parked in the guest parking and got out, my hand hovering over the 9mm piece I carried under the light jacket I wore. I scanned the parking lot for anything suspicious but didn’t see anything. I then spied the unmarked sedan with government plates parked in the lot. I made my way slowly toward it.
The windows were tinted so dark, I couldn’t make out how many were inside, let alone the occupants. I rapped on the window once with my knuckle, and the window slowly lowered. My arm still unconsciously hovered over my right hip where my service pistol sat flush against my hip.
I showed the two guys sitting in the front seat my badge and credentials. One guy was white and one black, both equally as boring in their white shirts, loosely fitted ties, and short haircuts. They both looked up at me.
The driver didn’t look older than 25 as he said, “Knight in shining armor?”
I nodded. “Yep. Vic’s inside?”
He swung his chin toward the building. “First floor.”
I watched as the agent in the passenger looked down and began texting on his cell phone.
“Thanks. Y’all can go,” I muttered to them both, making my way toward the building’s front door. It was locked. I found a security box with a keypad and entered the code given to me in my packet.
It didn’t take me long to find suite 171 down a long hallway. I knocked on the door, something that could only be described as nerves churning in my stomach.
What the hell?
Chapter 6
Rayanne
I flipped the TV off. There was no way I could watch even one more minute of it. Flicking my gaze toward the clock on the stove in the kitchen, I could see it was nearing 5:30 p.m. Where the heck was this knight in shining armor?
Pacing along the throw rug in my living room, I walked back and forth, chewing my thumbnail. What was going to happen when this special agent got here? Were we going to have to leave right away? Was he going to have to stay the night and watch me sleep? How did this work? My fingers twitched for my cell phone to try to Google it, but realized I couldn’t. No data. No Wi-Fi. No nothing. Cut off, sequestered, utterly alone.
I told myself I only had to endure this for another 11 days. That once I testified, it would all be over with. But did I truly believe that?
Yes, yes I did believe it. I had to, it was the only sliver of hope I had to cling to. I had to believe that after I testified, and the Watson brothers were put in prison, that I would be okay. I could go back to my regular life.
But what about Shane – the Watsons’ nephew? I’d found out he’d been recently indicted, too, but he was still on the run. Maybe he was the one sending me the creepy phone calls. Those calls scared me more than anything. I hated them. Most days I felt like just handing my phone completely over to the FBI and getting a new number. I couldn’t live with the fear for much longer. But I couldn’t. They needed for me to continue to get the phone calls in hopes they could find this guy.
I about jumped out of my skin when three loud knocks rattled my front door. Slowly making my way toward it, I wondered what I should do. Look through the peephole? What if someone was behind it, pointing a gun at my face? Should I ignore it, hope they go away? I doubted they would. I was scared for my life, but I knew the special agent was going to be showing up soon and it was probably him or her.
I stood to the side of the doorjamb and peered through the peephole. At the same moment, my phone chirped with a text. I
ran over to the dining room table where I’d left it and checked it.
Jack-N-Jill: Knight is there. Let him in. Name’s Hawthorne. Brown hair. Beard, blue eyes, tall. Don’t be afraid to ask him for I.D. ;)
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Pound-pound-pound. My door rattled again.
Seeing a tall, bearded guy scowling at me though the peephole, I slowly disengaged the locks and slid the door open, shielding the entryway with my body. The door was only cracked enough to allow my body to fit.
Swallowing down fear and some other feeling that made my stomach churn that I didn’t have the energy analyze, I said, “Can I help you?”
The guy was still scowling. He pushed his way past me, practically causing me to fall backwards. I threw my arms out to gain my balance, and then closed the front door.
“What the hell is your problem?!” I barked at him, all the frustration from the past few days bubbling over.
I watched as his eyes scanned my condo, his right arm tense and hovering over his hip. It was mid-September and I briefly wondered why he was wearing a jacket. I watched as he went into the kitchen, then quickly ducked into both bedrooms, then the bathroom.
He finally emerged back into the living room, and when he turned burning blue eyes to me, he gritted out in a deep gravelly voice, “You just open the door to anyone who knocks, Blondie?”
I stomped my foot and crossed my arms over my chest. I watched with amusement as his eyes scanned my chest during the gesture, but I kept my frown firmly in place. “First off, don’t call me blondie. Secondly, who the hell do you think you are, barging into my house like that?”
His posture didn’t change. “Didn’t the feds warn you I was coming?”
“Hi, I’m Rayanne. I’m good, thanks for asking! And you?”
The crease lines between his brows got deeper and I got a bottomless satisfaction over how pissed off he looked. I could already tell that this guy was a complete jerk, and there was no way I was gonna let him treat me like this.
“I’m not here for pleasantries, Blondie. And you didn’t answer the question. Did they tell you I was coming, or not?”
With my arms folded securely over my chest, I said slowly, “My name is Rayanne Lynch. Nice to meet you.”
“Special Agent Duke Hawthorne,” he growled. “Now, can we please act like adults and answer questions?”
I smiled smugly. “Sure. Yes, they did tell me you were coming, about two minutes ago, Duke Hawthorne.”
A look passed over his features I couldn’t decipher, but I just kept talking. “My turn. First question. Duke, are you always so rude and lacking manners?”
His dark eyebrows hit his hairline, and he relaxed his posture, placing both hands on the hips of his Docker-type pants. “Manners! I’m not here for pleasantries. I have a job to do…”
“And you seem to be oh-so good at that job,” I said dryly, cutting him off.
Before I could blink twice, Duke had closed the distance between us and was in my face, his thick hand closing around my thin upper arm. “First of all, Rayanne Lynch, I know a fuck of a lot more about you than you think.” I opened my mouth to rebut him, but he continued. “Secondly, your opinion means nothing. I’m paid to get you the hell out of St. Petersburg, and to make sure nobody puts a bullet in your head.”
I recoiled at his bluntness, a vision of my body lying dead on a sidewalk somewhere with blood leaking into a pool onto the cement began to take shape in my brain. My eyes filled with tears, despite me fighting them. That made me angry. How dare he scare me like that!
“Third, you will do everything I say. You hear me? Everything. If you won’t or can’t agree to that, then you can be on your merry motherfuckin’ way, and fend for yourself. You got that?”
My eyes went wide. I couldn’t help it. His closeness was making me uncomfortable but not in the way it should have. I swallowed hard. My gaze flicked down to where his hand still gripped my arm, then back up into his infuriatingly sexy blue eyes. “Uh, yeah. But, Duke?”
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Could you not be such a freaking jerk? I mean, you could have some tact and be nicer –”
“No,” he growled, letting go of my arm. “No, I can’t. And I won’t. Now go pack a suitcase, and don’t keep me waiting.”
Huffing but saying nothing, I snatched my phone from the table on my way to my bedroom. I saw I had another text.
Jack-N-Jill: Don’t worry, Knight’s bark is worse than his bite. Good luck.
I smiled in relief. I was beginning to like whoever was sending these FBI texts.
I sure liked them a hell of a lot more than I liked Duke.
* * *
My suitcase sat by the front door and I looked at Duke, who had both of his meaty thumbs typing away on his phone. I stood there, waiting for instruction. My coat was slung over my arm.
He looked up from his phone. “What?”
Cocking my head to the side, my light eyebrows furrowed. “What-what?”
“Why are you standing there?” he asked, his demeanor still tough and unrelenting.
I huffed. This guy was the worst communicator ever. “I’m just waiting to leave, Cowboy.”
His fingers paused over the screen of his phone. He looked at me, a confused expression passing over his ridiculously handsome face before he finally spoke. “Blondie, it’s after 6 p.m. Where we’re going is a 12 hour drive. We’re not going anywhere tonight. Go turn on some Real Housewives or some shit, and make yourself comfortable. We leave at first light.” He jerked his chin toward the front window, where early evening light was still streaming in.
First light? Who talks like this?
I felt the anger seep up from my core and expel itself from my mouth. “You’re kidding, right? You bark at me to pack a bag and then tell me we’re not even leaving ‘til tomorrow?”
Duke pocketed the phone and I saw a little bit of amusement dance in his eyes as if he’d found a button to push. “Yes, that’s right. First light comes early and I wanted you to be ready.”
“You are unbelievable!” I yelled at him, turning on my heel, heading back to my room to sulk.
I heard him snort. “You got a big ol’ bed, don’t you? Got room for me?”
I stopped in my tracks at his words. “What?”
He smirked at me but said nothing.
“You’re kidding, right?” I pointed at the couch. “Hope you like that.” My eyes moved from his too-big feet to the top of his brown hair. “Because it looks like you’re couching it tonight.”
I stomped to my bedroom and slammed the door behind me.
Special Agent – were they for real? This guy was like a comedic parody of a special agent. Someone you’d see on TV pretending to be one. Like some slapstick television show about guys who were just paid to act like special agents. Larger than life, that Duke.
And he’s got the Hollywood good looks to go with it, my subconscious snarked at me.
“Shut up,” I said aloud.
Mad at myself for even caring, I went to my linen closet and pulled out a blanket and pillow and exited the bedroom. Instead of throwing them at him like I wanted to, I calmly placed them on the oversized armchair next to the couch. I briefly caught his eyes and he almost seemed… grateful. Almost.
Chapter 7
Duke
Was she for real with this Barbie-sized couch? Who, in their right mind, would buy something like this? It looked like it came from some high-end store and belonged in a showroom, not in a real, live living room. I looked around and didn’t see any sort of recliner or La-Z-Boy like I had at home to watch football. There was just the red suede sofa and loveseat, and some small, uncomfortable looking armchair, all perched on wooden legs I hoped could hold my weight. I shrugged out of my jacket and duty belt and laid them on the small chair. Pulling the handgun from its holster, I checked to ensure it was loaded and ready. I grabbed the pillow and blanket from the fancy chair she’d set them on and tried to l
ie down on the longer of the two sofas. I definitely didn’t fit and they weren’t going to be very comfortable, but I told myself I needed to get some shut-eye in preparation for the long drive ahead of us tomorrow. I’d slept sitting up in the middle of a sand-pit in the freezing cold in Afghanistan more times than I could count so I could deal with half-sitting-sleeping. I tucked the gun under the pillow.
God, that drive tomorrow was going to suck. My leg was starting to ache and I hoped that it wasn’t worse when I awoke tomorrow. I hadn’t bothered to check to see if that little sports car they’d given me had cruise control but I prayed it did. I was going to need it if this leg acted up on that damned drive. Absentmindedly, I reached down and rubbed the scar. Part of me wondered if it really did hurt or I was having some sort of phantom pain. After all, the doctors had hauled me into surgery immediately upon arriving at the hospital in Germany…
“Sergeant Hawthorne, I need you to calm down. I’m going to help you, but if you keep swinging and thrashing, I’m going to have to sedate you. I cannot help you if you don’t calm down.”
“Motherfucker, I’ve got a fucking piece of metal sticking out of my fucking leg. I cannot calm the fuck down, and if you don’t get it out, I’m gonna kill something, starting with you!”
“Hawthorne, come on, you can’t talk to an officer like that. Man up, guy,” Ellis Anderson says to me, his jaw ticking with annoyance as he glances apologetically at the military doctor who has been trying to calm me.
