by Clara Stone
“Shut up.”
“John agrees with me.”
She turns around slowly and a hurt look appears on her face. “You guys talk about me? Behind my back?”
“No. Not talking behind your back.”
She shakes her head, like she doesn’t believe me.
“We weren’t,” I insist. “Remember that night when we were supposed to hang out with John and Tracy, and you showed up late? Well, Tracy was joking around about how you were probably holed up with your secret boyfriend and, well, John and I kinda froze. We didn’t tell her anything, but we both kinda drew the same conclusion. I mean, Fisher might as well be your boyfriend. Hell, he brings you pink carnations every time he comes over.”
She pouts.
Something catches my eye out in the crowd and I smile. I point my finger and say, “Well, well. Speaking of Fisher . . .”
Cat waves her hand dismissively and turns away. But I realize she keeps looking in the direction I pointed while serving her customers watching as Fisher makes his way toward the bar.
“What are you guys still doing here?” Fisher asks, sliding into the space vacated by last customer as I slide a beer glass to yet another college kid.
“Um, working . . . ?” I say, clearly confused.
His face turns a shade darker. “Didn’t Cat tell you? I asked her to get both of you out of here.”
“What are you talking about, Fisher?” I glance at Cat, who’s pretending to ignore him. “All she said is that she’s kinda really pissed at you right now.”
“What? Why?” He looks as confused as I feel, but his eyes keep darting off into the crowd, searching for something.
“When you talked to her earlier, you forgot to say hello or ask her how she is.”
“Damn it, Catherina.” He swears under his breath.
“Yeah.”
He looks nervous. I place a hand over his arm, and he stops scoping out the VIP lounge upstairs and looks at me.
“Is he okay?”
He knows who I’m referring to. Again, I see that dark cloud of confusion and anxiety cross his face
“Didn’t you get his message?”
My eyebrows crunch together. “What message?”
Fisher leans forward and says, “He called you earlier—maybe an hour or so before I called Cat—to tell you that neither of you should be at the club tonight.”
My eyes turn wide. “What? Why?”
He looks at me pointedly, like he’s telling me to put two and two together. It takes me a moment, but then I remember. The phone call from Neil. Was something about to happen? Here?
“Oh. Shit.”
“Exactly. Can you guys like go home sick or something?”
“Both of us?” I hiss. “We’re the only ones working the bar tonight. We can’t. There’s no way Rick’ll let us go.”
“Shit.” He shakes his head. “He’s not going to be happy to see you here.”
“Well, I guess he’ll just have to deal with it.” I press my lips together in a grim line.
He taps his fingers on the counter as he scans the crowd again. I see a thick knot of people heading up to the VIP lounge and my stomach clenches. Is that . . . ? I can’t tell if Harrington’s with them or not.
“Just do me a favor and keep a close eye on her, okay?” Fisher says.
“Where are you going to be?”
“I’ll be back.” He gives me a look that I’m pretty sure was meant to be reassuring but that actually looks concerned instead. “Everything will be fine, Jessica. Trust him, okay? No matter what happens tonight, everything will be fine.”
His words send chills up my spine. What did he mean, no matter what happens? I watch Fisher disappear into the crowd, heading toward the VIP lounge upstairs and the group of guys waiting up there.
When I turn around, Cat’s standing next to me. I nearly jump out of my skin. “What the hell, Cat?”
She’s watching Fisher make his way upstairs, her expression somewhere between hurt and pissed as hell “What did he want?”
I don’t know what to tell her. Cat hasn’t been let in on the truth about Harrington’s identity, and since it isn’t my secret to tell, I go with a half truth. “He wanted to know what we’re still doing here.”
She snorts. “Still? What an ass.” Then she turns around and walks back to her station.
For the next twenty minutes, I move like nothing major is happening. Because, in truth, I don’t actually know what to expect. It’s not like I’ve been forewarned. And Fisher still hasn’t returned from his trip to the VIP lounge.
The club’s gotten even more crowded, and far more rowdy. I push my anxiety aside as much as I’m able and focus on serving drinks as quickly and as efficiently as possible. It almost works.
And then the front door opens wide and people scream at the front of the club.
The music and lights go out, and the screaming intensifies in the darkness. I freeze completely, my heart pounding in my chest as fear rushes through me. Ten long seconds later, the back-up generators kick on and the lights come back. People are everywhere, running and tripping over each other as they scrabble to get out of the chaos.
My eyes widen and I look to Cat, who looks just as shocked as me. My pulse is pounding in my ears and my hands shake. Cat reaches for me as thoughts race through my mind. What’s happening? Where’s Harrington? Fisher? Hell, where are the bouncers?
“FBI.” I hear a deep voice yell. People scream and shove each other, trying to get out any nearby exit and causing the fire alarms to go off.
Guys in black gear with “FBI” written in yellow across their torsos make their way to the middle of the club. Their faces are masked behind their helmets and they’re carrying assault rifles. Almost everyone has emptied out of the club, except for a handful of overly drunk kids.
“Secure the perimeter,” I hear someone order.
“Yes, sir,” answers another.
Five or six of the men peel off, gathering the few of us left—including Rick, the wait staff, and our bouncers—in the middle of the club, while a few others go up the stairs to the VIP lounge.
Rick’s spewing off about how they have no right to barge in, how he’s going to sue them, how this is an outrage . . . I stop listening because it only brings more anxiety.
Everything is going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine. I mean, if Harrington planned this, I should be fine. Right? Cat should be fine. And the people around us.
Cat and I both yelp, our entire bodies jerking, as gunshots echo through the now empty club. Cat starts crying, and I’m trying my best to hold it together as we cling to each other like our lives depend on it.
I think I hear sirens blaring outside, and maybe a helicopter, but I can’t be sure. The music came back on with the lights, and between that and the gunshots, my ears are ringing.
A few moments later, we see the FBI guys walking down from the lounge with five guys in cuffs. One of them is Fisher, another Lincoln. I realize that one of them must be the suspect they were after. But I’m too scared to notice anything else as Cat and I hug each other. My body starts to shake, and my mind is racing so fast I can’t pin down a single one.
“Area secure, sir,” some faceless FBI guy says.
A new guy walks in through the still open front door. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest, but otherwise looks like he just came from a business meeting, with his slacks and white button-up shirt. He surveys the scene, obviously in charge. As he comes closer, I can see the name Wilson embroidered on the left side of his vest.
Wilson? The Wilson? As in Harrington’s boss, Wilson?
“Casualties?” he asks one of the men.
“Three armed men, fatally wounded,” the guy responds. “Suspect in custody.”
“Good,” Wilson says, his hands behind his back. “Clear the area and let’s move.”
“Yes, sir.” The guy turns away, speaking to the rest of his unit. I don’t hear what he says, but the men split apart s
currying off to fulfill their orders.
“Ma’am,” some guy addresses Cat. “I need you to come with me.”
Cat looks at me for a second, and I give her reassuring nod. “It’ll be okay,” I say, more for myself than her.
Then another guy comes to stand in front of me. Without even looking, I follow him obediently, all the while wondering where Harrington is. With all the masks, it’s hard to tell if he’s even among them. I don’t realize I’m in Rick’s office until the door shuts behind me.
“Jess.”
I swing around, my eyes widening in surprise as I see Harrington standing beside Rick’s desk, his hands cuffed behind his back. “Harry! Why—”
I trail off as my stomach drops in horror. Why would they arrest him too, unless this wasn’t his plan and he’s . . . ?
That’s when I stop and see the way he’s looking at me, really looking at me, studying me like he’s searching for answers I’m keeping locked inside. Or maybe he’s trying to tell if I’ve been hurt in any way? Concern is clearly etched across his features, but I’m not sure if it’s concern for me or concern over me finding out he lied. I don’t even know if that’s true, though. Did he lie? It’s the only thing that makes sense, but doubts cloud my head until it feels like it’s spinning and I don’t know what to think.
“Jess—” he says, and my name is small, pained.“I-it’s not what it looks like.” I start to back away without even realizing it, my chest heaving as my heart wars with my eyes. I don’t want to believe that I was wrong about him, but the evidence in front of me is pretty hard to ignore.
“I-I’m fine,” I say, but I’m not sure if it’s for his benefit or mine. “I’m fine, Harry.”
“Look at me, sweetheart.” He steps forward, but stops when my eyes zero in on the cuffs again. He awkwardly lifts his hands toward the guy standing behind me. “A little help here, man?”
The guy pulls off first his goggles, then his helmet. Then he walks over to Harrington and removes the cuffs. “Sorry, Agent Lovelly. You told us to make it look real.”
My eyes widen, looking between the officer and Harrington, who rubs his wrists as if trying to erase the feel of the cuffs. I’m so confused. What’s happening right now?
“I didn’t know you were still—”
“I promise, I’m fine. I’m a little shaken up, but see . . . ?” I run a hand over my cheeks and make a show of it. “No tears.”
He looks at me, hesitant, like he isn’t sure if he should touch me or not. And everything from the last week comes back to me in a rush of emotion. The moments we shared, the way he protected me from Jarod, the little touches and kisses and the way he looks at me . . . even now. I can’t look at him, feeling ashamed for doubting him, for jumping to the worst case scenario and making assumptions when . . . when . . . he’s never given me a reason to do so.
“I-I’m sorry. It’s just that, with everything—”
Then he has me in his arms and his mouth is on mine. “Don’t apologize, Jess. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He’s kisses me again. “I tried to call you. I even called Rick to talk to you and he hung up on me, telling me no personal calls.”
“I know,” I whisper, looking at him. He pulls me into a tight hug, again, and this time we stay like that for a moment. Until a knock on the door comes. “Agent Lovelly.”
“Just about done,” Harrington responds, coolly, letting me go.
“So, is it over?” I ask.
Harrington shakes his head, turning around so the guy can put his cuffs back on. “We’re going to transport the suspect back to headquarters and interrogate him. We need to know what we’re up against next month”
My face falls. “So you’re going to be gone?”
“Yes.” His response is almost sheepish, and just a touch sad. “I wish I didn’t have to. But—”
I shake my head. “No. I get it.” I clasp my hands in front of me. “This is your case.”
He pauses, uncertainty flickering in his hazel eyes. The other agent nudges him toward the door, but he hesitates. “Jess.”
“Yeah?”
“Are we good?”
How do I answer that? I know what Harrington’s doing is a good thing. He’s helping people, saving them from people like Stamos. But I don’t know if I want to commit to something like that for a lifetime. He isn’t asking about a lifetime, Jess. He just needs to know if things are okay for now.
So I nod. “We’re good.”
He dips his chin slightly, letting me know he heard my response. Then the door opens and he’s ushered outside, just as Cat comes running in.
“Oh my god. What happened? Everything okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Everything will be fine.”
I’M STANDING OUTSIDE the interrogation room, looking through the one-way mirror as Agent Oakwood offers Roberto Gomez his coffee. Roberto seethes at him and seems to have said something. I don’t have the sound turned on though, so I don’t catch it. The door to my left opens, pulling my attention away from Roberto for a moment. Agent Wilson enters, along with Assistant Director Benson.
“Agent Lovelly.” Benson greets me with a dip of her head.
“Long time, no see, Assistant Director.” I extend my hand to her. She gives it a firm shake. “Sir,” I say to Wilson, offering him the same.
“Agent.” He greets me back, giving my hand a quick shake. “So, what did we miss?”
I turn my attention back to the interrogation room. “Nothing good so far. Unless you want to know the contents of his porno collection and the drinks he had when his grandpa died. Other than that, nothing. Nothing at all. He’s talking, just not about what we want.”
“Have you tried—” Wilson starts.
“Yup.”
“And the—”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Maybe—”
I turn to Wilson and Benson. “He isn’t afraid of any of the threats we’ve lobbed at him. He needs something that’ll make him afraid. Something worse than anything Stamos might do in retaliation.” I cross one arm under the other and look back in at the interrogation. “It’s just. . . .Wait.” I quickly pull out my phone and dial the one person I know who might be able to help.
“Agent Lovelly,” Neil answers on the first ring.
“Neil. Just the man I wanted to talk to.” I rub my jaw. “Can you dig a little deeper into Roberto’s past?”
“Like what, exactly?” he asks.
“Like, I want to know where he was born, what he did before he met Stamos, any girlfriends he had, family, ex-girlfriends, anything.”
“You got it, Agent.”
“Hey, Neil, can you get that to me as soon as possible?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“You are the best,” I say to him before hanging up.
Wilson raises an eyebrow; Benson waits for me to give an explanation. I think I detect the hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth.
“Everyone has a weakness. We find it and . . .” I make a bursting noise with my mouth and gesture with my hands.
Benson opens her hands wide, as if asking for more. When I don’t respond, she looks to Wilson, who simply shrugs.
I turn back to watch the exchange between Oakwood and Roberto. Oakwood tries all the tactics taught to us during our time at Quantico. But he’s not budging. He stares Oakwood right in the eye, challenging him.
Oakwood leaves the interrogation room and comes around to our side moments later, swearing left and right. He stops as the door closes behind him, takes one quick look at us, and then he’s straightening his tie and dress shirt, his hand extended. “Assistant Director Benson. Ma’am.” Oakwood greets her with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Agent Oakwood,” she responds.
Wilson throws a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the sullen Roberto in the other room. “So, how far did you get?”
“Not far, sir.” He scratches his head. “I’ve asked him, threatened hi
m, bribed him with coffee, but nothing. Short of putting him in jail, I’m not sure what else to do.”
“Then I say you get the bastard in a cell,” I say.
“What?” Oakwood says, looking at me in surprise.
So I repeat myself. “I said, throw him in jail until he’s ready to speak.”
“What if he asks for an attorney?”
I laugh. “He’s not going to.”
Benson eyes me the way a teacher eyes a student and asks, “Why wouldn’t he?”
I look at Wilson, then at Oakwood. “If he wanted a lawyer, he’d have already asked for one. There are only two reasons why he wouldn’t.”
Wilson is the first to answer. “He doesn’t want to get out.”
“Or,” Oakwood interjects, “he’s waiting for someone to bail him out.”
I snap my finger. “Bingo. And I’d bet my right arm that it’s the Armenians he’s waiting on, not Stamos.”
“Why would you say that?” Benson asks.
“Because he was planning to double-cross Stamos and he won’t risk getting caught.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” Oakwood says.
“As a matter of fact, I do. He was planning to run before we caught him. Why else would he do that? I have Neil checking up on all things Roberto, so I’ll be doubly sure as soon as I hear from him.” I wave my phone around.
Oakwood glares at me. But it’s the Assistant Director who responds. “Get him into confinement until he asks for a lawyer. And if it ends up that he does ask for a lawyer, make sure he gets one. Just not quickly.”
“Assistant Director, are you suggesting . . .” Oakwood shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable.
“I’m merely suggesting that we get him what he asks for . . . at the end of our seventy-two hours. We can hold him without charging him until then.” She gives us a conspiratorial smile. I knew I liked her for a reason.
Benson and Wilson trade a few more formalities and then leave Oakwood and I in an awkward silence.
“So, how did you end up on this case, anyway?” Oakwood asks. I can practically see the envy dripping off him. “Isn’t this your first undercover assignment?”
