Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3)

by Clara Stone

  I laugh, turning back to look at Roberto. He’s now standing in front of the mirror, looking straight at us. He picks his teeth, then runs his tongue over them. Cute.

  “Just a stroke of good luck,”

  “Right. Right,” he says sarcastically. He rocks on his heels for an awkward moment. “All right, then. I guess I’ll take him down to holding.”

  I don’t even wait until he steps back inside the interrogation room before I’m walking out of the observation alcove. A round of applause breaks out as I walk past the office area, and I eat it up, waving and posing like a movie star on the red carpet.

  By the time I get outside, I’m over the moon. And the only person I want to share it with is Jess. I pull out my phone and text her.

  Me: Miss you.

  When she doesn’t respond immediately, I panic a little, remembering how uncertain her face looked as I left Rick’s office in handcuffs. I know that face. It was the one she wore all those weeks ago at the fight. I absolutely hate it.

  Me: I’ll be home in a few. Come over?

  By the time I let myself into my apartment, I still haven’t heard from her, and I contemplate whether or not I should call. My finger hovers over her number when I see a message has come in.

  Jess: Miss you more.

  An image comes through. The first thing I realize is that she’s wearing my sweatshirt, the one I’d been wearing last night before Neil called and I had to leave. For some reason, that makes me smile. Hell, I might even be grinning because my cheeks are starting to burn as I stare at her in my shirt, her hair splayed all over the pillow and her hooded eyes looking right at the camera. I don’t know if she was aiming for a sexy look, but damn if she isn’t hotter than a Playboy spread. Her long legs are bare, and if it weren’t for the one-inch strip of shorts peeking out from the bottom of my hoodie, I’d have thought she was naked under my clothes.

  And that would’ve had me running back to her in a heartbeat, screw the interrogation.

  I realize I’ve been staring at the image for far too long without a response, so I type: Hubba Hubba.

  I grimace. That sounds too seventh grade. Delete.

  I try again: Fuck. *groan*

  Too lusty. Delete.

  Me: You should wear me all the time.

  I blink, staring at the text. Yeah, no. Delete.

  Finally, I think of something that I hope will tell her how badly I want to be there with her.

  Me: I can’t wait to see you again. Kiss you. Snuggle you.

  Just as I hit send, there’s a knock on my door. My hand immediately goes to my gun as I slowly walk over and look through the peephole. It’s Fisher.

  I pull open the door immediately. “Come on in.”

  He does, moving past me without saying a word. He falls on the couch, resting his head back, his eyes closed. He looks tired.

  “How did it go?”

  Fisher opens his eyes and turns his head toward me. “Do you even have to ask?” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “About as well as it could, given it was Wilson.”

  “That must have been pleasant.”

  “Yeah, as pleasant as being force fed someone else’s shit.” He shudders. “He turned off the cameras and recording for like five minutes.” He squints, his eyes forming lines in the corners. “Dude, I could have lived through the rest of my life without those five minutes.”

  I laugh. “You so deserved that though.”

  I nods. “I suppose. After he was done ripping me a new one, they took a statement and I was asked a bunch of questions—you know, the usual protocol. And then I was let go.”

  I rub my jaw, thinking. “Did Wilson say anything about bringing you back?”

  He shakes his head. “No. But he did make me a consultant.” He looks disappointed, but recovers quickly. “You know who I did see him talking to, though?”

  “Lincoln?”

  “Yeah” he replies. “I think they were working on getting him into WITSEC. I saw a marshal heading that way when I left”

  I nod. “Good.”

  After that, we end up rehashing the last day and a half, just to make sure we’ve covered our bases and didn’t miss any triggers for Stamos to go digging around.

  “You mind if I crash here tonight?” Fisher asks several hours later.

  I jump to my feet and sweep my hand over the couch in invitation. “Knock yourself out. Be right back.” I head to my room to grab two pillows and a blanket from the nice sized closet and then head back to the living room. “Here. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Nah. I think I’m good. I’m planning to head back tomorrow, just in case Stamos gets snoopy. That way I can keep him out of your hair while you finish up with Gomez.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I slap his hand. “Good night, man.”

  Fisher sprawls on the couch, placing his hands under his neck and adjusting his body to get comfortable. “Night,” he calls, just as I turn off the light to the living area.

  Once I’m back in my room, I strip down and head into a quick shower before getting under the covers. The clock reads 11:37 p.m. I wonder if Jess is still awake.

  Me: You awake?

  Jess: I was just thinking about you.

  Me: You can’t stop thinking about my sexiness, can you?

  Jess: *snort*

  Me: Wait, no. It must be my super amazing kissing skills.

  Jess: Is that all you think about?

  No. Not at all, Jess. I smirk as all manner of X-rated thoughts spring to mind.

  Me: I don’t think you want to know about all the things I think about when it comes to you, sweetheart.

  After a long-ass pause, she types: Oh my, how will I ever survive?

  Me: Is that sarcasm I hear?

  Jess: Me? Sarcastic? *gasp* Never

  Me: Why are we texting instead of calling?

  Jess: Because it’s almost midnight and I don’t want to wake up Cat.

  Me: Admit it, Jess. You’re afraid you’re going to fall in love with me if you hear my voice.

  It isn’t until I hit send that I realize what I wrote. My eyes stay glued to the word love as I wait a painstakingly long while for her to respond.

  Jess: *Smile*

  A smile? A fucking smile? What does that even mean? Before I can go any further with trying to figure it out, she sends another text.

  Jess: How was your day?

  I sigh deeply and type a really big message, telling her as much as I can without really giving away anything. And surprisingly, she takes it really well, seeming to understand why I’m not allowed to talk about it with her in detail. As much as I might want to. After that, we continue to talk about normal things, and I feel so domesticated. Like I’m truly in a relationship.

  Before I know it, it’s almost 2:30 a.m. and my fingers have started to cramp up. But I’m not willing to give up just yet. A few minutes later though, she types that she’s tired and I tell her good night. The moment I do, I miss her all over again.

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes, telling my racing heart to calm the hell down. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day.

  Sure enough, I get a call at 5:04 a.m. from Neil.

  “Good morning, Agent Lovelly.” Neil’s voice sounds tired and dull compared to his usual chipper greetings.

  “Harris, this better be good.” I rub my eyes and let out a big yawn. My body feels stiff as hell.

  “It sure is. As a matter of fact, this is probably the best news I’ve given anyone in my entire FBI career. Of course, that might not mean much, since I’ve only been in the FBI for a little less than two years, but—”

  “Harris!” I snap, trying to get his attention.

  “Roberto has been working for Stamos for the last three decades—”

  “I already know this, Neil. Either talk faster, or don’t waste my time.”

  He clears his throat. “Well, yes. I’m getting to the new stuff. I don’t believe Roberto is aware of it, but Stamos had Rober
to’s fiancé, Maria Sanchez, who was five months pregnant with his child, murdered.”

  I jerk up to a sitting position. “Holy shit.”

  “Exactly my thought. I’d say this should be enough to get Roberto talking. I mean, who wouldn’t want to take down the person who murdered your loved one?”

  He’s definitely right about that. That’s the exact sentiment that got us into this mess in the first place. But at least now, thanks to Neil, we should be able to get justice for both Fisher and Maria Sanchez. “You are one hell of an analyst, Harris. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. If you need anything else—”

  “Not at all. You’ve done plenty for me. And this information you just gave me . . . it’s the fucking jackpot.”

  He laughs.

  “Seriously, take the day off, and thank you again.” As soon as I hang up the phone, I pull on my suit and tie and run out the front door. I think I hear Fisher asking where I’m running off to, but I don’t have time. I need to talk with Roberto.

  Thirty-five minutes later and a whole lot of security checks—once again, I forget to place my wallet in the bin, same as I do every goddamn time—I’m in a room with Roberto and Wilson is watching from behind the one-way mirror. Roberto’s eyes are wide with surprise as he stares at me. “You.”

  I slam a folder on the table.

  “You’re an agent?”

  “Sit down, Mr. Gomez. We have a lot to catch up on.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” he seethes.

  I tilt my head to the side and smile. “Oh, but you do.” I flip open the folder and slide it over to him. He looks at it, then at me.

  “Let’s talk about Maria Sanchez.”

  CAT BRINGS THE car to a screeching stop in her designated spot, a block from our building. My head bobs forward, then back, hitting the headrest.

  “You”—I unclick my seat belt—“need to learn how to drive, my love.”

  She laughs. “My driving is just fine. I have yet to get a ticket.”

  “Okay, you’re right. But your parking, that sucks monkey’s butt.” I slide out and slam the door. There’s a pause, before I turn around and open my arms wide. “You’re not coming?”

  “Oh, I’ll be coming all right . . . just not at our place.” She winks. “Fisher is back.”

  I cover my eyes. “Oh my god. I so did not need to hear that.”

  “You’re so easy to rattle, you prude.”

  I stick my tongue out. “At least I’m not one to kiss and tell. Or is it suck and tell?”

  She laughs. “Oh. My. God. Don’t. You suck at sexual innuendos. Like bad. Really . . . really . . .” She spreads her arms wide for emphasis. “Like this bad.”

  I shrug. “Meh. I’m not going for a PhD in it.”

  She laughs and slaps her steering wheel.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask.

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “Or Tuesday. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Well, okay then.” I turn and start heading toward our building.

  Before she takes off, she calls my name. I turn back to see her leaning toward the open passenger-side window. “You know, you could be having lots of fun too, if you’d let that boy of yours come play. He looks like someone who could drive zero to sixty in two seconds flat and take you there with him.” Then she takes off like the Devil’s out to get her.

  Laughing, I stay in place until her taillights disappear at the end of the road. She’s got one thing right. Even without sex, Harrington always manages to drive me crazy. I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like to get to that level with him. Part of me thrills at the thought of it, but there’s another part that shrinks away, whispering not yet. The fear of what it’ll be like with him and what it might do to me once that bridge has been crossed overpowers my desire, though I know I’m ready for the next step.

  It feels silly, given everything that’s happened between us in the past couple of months, but I am only human. And humans have insecurities about the stupidest of stupid things. But however hard I seem to be trying to find reasons to worry about my relationship with Harrington, I just can’t. He keeps finding ways to make me see otherwise. Just last night, we texted until my fingers were ready to fall off and my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. And he was right, I am afraid of the kind of things I’m willing to do when I hear him talk. It’s like his voice is a sort of siren’s call and I have no choice but to respond to it with a smile.

  But after the night of the raid, I made a promise to myself that I would trust him, truly trust him. I need to let myself believe my instincts about him if I’m ever going to follow Vincent’s advice and give our relationship a chance.

  “I’m surprised you don’t have someone watching over you.”

  I yelp, my hand over my chest, my heart in my throat. A figure dressed in black steps out of the shadows.

  “Tony?” I gasp, taking a step back.

  Since the last time I saw him, something dramatic happened. He has a scar running down the length of his face and his eyes . . . they look empty.

  Sixth sense is a funny thing. Sometimes it urges you toward something good, like with Harry . . . but then other times, it tells you that something is seriously wrong. And right this moment, mine’s screaming that I shouldn’t have gotten out of that car.

  “Where is he?” he asks, his voice as flat as his eyes, uninterested.

  “Who?” I choke out, swallowing the fear.

  “Your motherfucking boyfriend.”

  He takes a step forward, his face contorting into a snarl, and I realize I’m out in the open with a guy who, for some reason, has it out for me. And I’m alone.

  He shoves his fingers through his hair. “Don’t play stupid with me, bitch.”

  “I—” His hand flies across my face, stopping me from speaking. My vision blurs and I stagger, feeling the left side of my face go numb. I reach for something, anything to help me stand straight. My fingers touch something brittle and bumpy. I place both of my hands on it, trying to steady myself.

  Sharp pain sears through the back of my head and neck as he grabs a hold of my hair and pulls it back like he’s trying to control a wild horse.

  “Hmmm.” I clench my teeth so I don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurting me. Sadly, I know a thing or two about men like him. Men like Tony.

  I grit my teeth as his face comes real close to mine.

  “Now, you listen to me . . .” His face is blurry from him striking my face and the strength with which he’s pulling my head backward. It takes everything in me to not cry out.

  “Let me go.”

  He ignores my demand. “Tell him that we have our eye on him. And Stamos doesn’t take lightly to one of his guys going missing without him knowing.”

  “You don’t scare me.” I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds.

  He leans forward. “I should. From what I can tell, Killshot’s disappeared, and I don’t see anyone here to save your pretty ass. Maybe I should finish what I started back at the club, Jessica.” He sneers and I feel fear pool in my stomach. Fear I’ll die before I let him see.

  My pulse rams against my chest, urging me to find a way out of this dangerous situation.

  I reach for my phone inside my jacket and frantically start to dial, blindly feeling out the number and hoping I get Cat.

  “Now, tell me where he is.”

  “I don’t know.” My head’s throbbing, and I’m not certain how much longer I can keep myself up. “Even if I did, why would I tell you?”

  “Because I’ve had my eye on you for a long time, Jessica. Ever since the day at the restaurant. Do you know why people are afraid of Stamos?”

  I shake my head. “No. But I’m sure you’ll tell me.” I’m panting now from the amount of energy it takes to keep from crying.

  He jerks my head back, nearly taking one of my legs off the ground in the process. I find my balance only by fumbling onto the tree for support. “Oh, what I’d d
o to that smart mouth of yours.” His laughter is evil. “Too bad Stamos just wanted you warned.” He licks his lips. “God, I hope Killshot messes up one more time and I get to have my way with you.”

  “I guess this is the only way you can get laid, huh? Using Stamos’s name—”

  “Shut your fucking mouth, whore.” He lets go of my hair and I stumble to the side, breathing heavily. “I do what he asks me, but I’m the one all those men listen to.” He comes so close to my face, it takes everything in me not to flinch. “I’m the one who plans and makes things happen. I’m the one who does his dirty work. Not him.”

  I laugh. “So, you’re basically his bitch.”

  Yep, that hit a nerve.

  “All I hear is I take care of this, I do that for Stamos. So, that makes you his bitch, doesn’t it?” I clarify, in case he needed further explanation. And because apparently I’ve lost my mind.

  He rams his fist into the tree next to me and I cover my head with my arms, biting back a scream.

  He brings his face really close to mine and stares into my eyes; there’s a devilish gleam in the way he looks at me. “Until next time, Jessica.”

  Then he’s gone. Completely, utterly gone. I slide down the tree and cradle my neck. The streetlight flickers like someone’s playing with a switch. Something warm trickles from the side of my mouth; I wipe it away using the back of my hand. I squeeze my eyes shut as some of the images from my past start to make their way into my present. I shake my head.

  No. No. No. I can’t let them rule me. I can’t let them overpower me.

  I get to my feet, determined to get inside. I put one foot in front of the other and don’t stop until I’m safely inside our apartment’s bathroom. I turn on the light with a flick of the switch and stare into the mirror.

  My face is white as a sheet and my eyes are dilated; it makes me look eerie, especially with the bright drop of blood oozing from the corner of my lip. I bring up my hand and notice that it’s trembling.

  But still no tears.

  I turn on the faucet and splash water on my face, wincing when the sting of the cold liquid splashes over my split lip. Turning off the water, I dab my face and then head to bed, zombie-like. I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I’ve left the lights on and that I’m still in the clothes I wore while working at the bar. But right now, I really don’t care.