by Nikki Sloane
His voice was harsh. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel.”
I flashed back to the night in my apartment after I’d been betrayed by Matt. Hadn’t we had the same exchange? I stared at the cold tile beneath my feet.
“I can’t believe you kept it from me. Is that it?” Silas demanded. “Anything else you want to unload?”
I sagged back to sit on the bed, shivering in the thin hospital gown. “Bennett wouldn’t come to the club unless I got on the table.”
All the air burst out of Silas like he’d been punched. “You fucked him?”
“No, no! I had Payton negotiate the deal and then I backed out. That’s when it all went to shit, and Julius came in to save me.”
Silas took in the red ligature marks on my wrists, and his cold gaze worked its way up to meet mine. “He could have raped you. He almost killed you. You made that decision without including me, because if I’d known, I never would have let you do it.”
It was all true. My voice was shot, but it was just as much my emotions as it was the physical trauma. “I’m sorry.”
It was brutal under his harsh stare. The ball of guilt in my stomach had grown so large I couldn’t even swallow anymore. There wasn’t room for anything else. Silas returned to his frantic pacing, his footsteps the only sound. The tension was suffocating.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. “Also, my name.”
He froze, sensing what was coming. “Don’t.”
“It’s not Regan Wilson, it’s Andrea Adams. Regan’s my middle name.”
The room was colder than a blast freezer, and I shivered under his gaze. It was filled with disbelief. Or maybe disgust.
“Goddamnit!” He kicked the trash can. It slid across the floor and slammed into the glass door with a loud crack. The guard was in the room in an instant, but I threw a hand out, gesturing to stop.
“It’s fine,” I whispered to the guard.
He glanced warily at Silas, then back to me for more confirmation. Silas returned to his angry pacing, not giving any attention to either of us. He looked too lost in thought. The guard hesitantly returned to his post.
“Please,” I eked out. “Keeping this from you has been one the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.” He only continued his pacing, making me feel like I was going to lose it at any moment. “Say something.”
His expression turned to stone. “You said you gave your card to one of Bennett’s aides. Is it why you came to my showing?”
I struggled to answer. “It . . . was one of the reasons.”
“You used me.” His glare cut right to my bones. He held it for a single breath, then turned and stormed to the door.
It was barely a croak. “Where are you going?”
“You’re FBI, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
I launched to my feet. “Wait, Silas.” And then I said the phrase I’d never uttered to another person in my life. “Please don’t go. I need you.”
My words had no impact. His sneer remained unchanged. “You’ve been lying to me since we met, Andrea. I’m done.”
I watched him shove the door open and storm off, unable to chase after him. My legs wouldn’t cooperate, and my voice was too far gone to be heard, even as I yelled hoarsely after him.
I was crying when Shane came into the room. Everything was blurry. He shoved me into the bathroom with my clothes and ordered me to get dressed. I was still crying quietly when it was done, no matter how many times I’d cursed myself for the tears. It was awkward as fuck crying in front of a male coworker, even if he was my friend.
I finally pulled myself together on the car ride back to my apartment. “What do I do?” I asked Shane.
“About Silas?” He kept his eyes on the road, not looking at me. “Give him a few days. I’m sure he’ll come around.”
Shane’s body language suggested he was lying.
When we reached my apartment, I told Shane I was fine and he didn’t need to come up. I just wanted to be alone. The only person I could tolerate suffering in front of was the man I’d wounded.
I’d barely made it inside when my neighbor knocked on my door. “I got this package in my mailbox the other day. I think the mailman read the number wrong.”
It was a mailing envelope, and sure enough, my name and address were on the front. “Oh, thanks.”
She’d peered at me with an anxious look. My eyes were red, but she’d probably assume I’d just been crying. Which was true.
The packing slip had a note from Silas. “I couldn’t find underwear. Socks will have to do. Your feet are always cold anyway.”
They were yellow and magenta with alternating blocks, and within those blocks were snow cones. His playful way of getting me to wear a snow cone after I’d asked him not to tattoo one on me several months ago.
My head was throbbing, and the shooting pain had grown too powerful to ignore any longer. I was surprised the migraine had held off this long. The brief oxygen deprivation plus the stress were sure to have been a trigger.
I grabbed my purse and the package, went into my bedroom, and sat down. I tugged off my white socks, ripped open the plastic on the new ones, and slipped them on my feet. The comical, bright design mocked me as I loaded the cartridge on the injector pen. Whenever my hands shook, I looked at the socks. I could do this.
When I was sure I had the dose properly loaded, I held the pen up to my bicep with my thumb positioned over the blue plunger. I didn’t even think about it. I slammed my thumb down, sinking the needle into my muscle, all while I stared at the pink fluffy cones with black straws and counted to five.
I retracted the needle. The pen was set on the nightstand and I collapsed backward on the mattress, letting the medicine shut off the pain receptors in my brain during the onslaught of the migraine, wishing it worked on emotions just as easily.
It’d been four days since the congressman had tried to strangle the life out of me. My throat still hurt, but it was a dull ache that I was learning to live with.
The media knew nothing of the story. We’d suppressed the information, so the only thing reported was Bennett had tried to kill a prostitute. There’d been no mention of the club.
Caroline held true to her word. Marquis had been caught yesterday hiding out in his aunt’s house in St. Louis. I took pleasure in knowing he was going to prison for a long time, and the District Attorney promised he’d push for the harshest sentence possible for both men.
I sat in the FBI conference room chair, fidgeting with my phone. I always kept it in hand, waiting for it to ring or a text message to pop up. Anything from Silas. But there’d been nothing. I was determined to give him time, but the silence was agony.
“You’ll need to make this quick,” Agent in Charge Biller said, breezing into the conference room. My boss sat down in the chair across from me and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. His signature look. All the agents had worn fake plastic pairs on his sixtieth birthday as a joke.
Today I felt deadly serious. “What’s the plan with the club?”
Biller gave me a plain look, one that said nothing good was going to happen to the people who’d become my friends.
“Let me back up,” I said. “If my cover was still intact, what was the real timetable for the op? Did it run until I wanted out?”
He looked uncomfortable, his guilty gaze darting away. The operation hadn’t sat well with him from day one, but it was impossible to argue with results.
“Or,” I continued, “was the plan to bring someone else in when I requested a new assignment?” Because I was betting the operation was too valuable for the Bureau to walk away from.
“It’s a moot point. Your cover’s blown, Adams. We can’t get anyone else in now.”
“No, we can’t.” I leaned on my elbows. “But I can stay in.”
Biller’s eyebrows lifted in visible disbelief. “How’s that?”
“No one at the club knows I’m FBI except for Julius King. We have leverage. King may have immunit
y for his cooperation, but what about his people? He’ll keep me on to protect them from prosecution. If you put that offer on the table, he’ll take it.”
“You’re saying you want to go back?”
What I was saying was I would do everything in my power to save my friends. And I couldn’t admit it out loud, but the filthiest part of me didn’t want to let go, either.
I nodded slowly. “With full cooperation from King, yes. If I’m there, it ensures transparency.”
The muscles along Biller’s jaw flexed as if he were chewing on my statement. He muttered under his breath, “This operation is ridiculous.”
“It is, but we brought down a congressman. We’ve only had access to Bennett’s financials for three days, and how many payoffs have we discovered?” We finally had proof that Victor Bennett had taken bribes from a huge healthcare provider in exchange for favorable voting, and who knew what else we’d find as we dug deeper?
Biller’s scowl forced me to continue. “How many leads did we have in the Markovic case before I took on the assignment? We got someone on the inside.” It was something Biller had been trying to do for years. “My work will be a helluva lot easier if King’s handing over the information we need. I’ll still be available to work other cases like I do now. What’s the downside?”
“How about the part where we let a known illegal brothel continue to operate?” His voice was full of disdain.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that’s what we’ve been doing for the last year?”
His phone chirped. He glanced at the screen and the scowl intensified. “I’m going to be late.” He rose from the table, pushed his chair in, and then set his hardened gaze on me. “I’d rather this whole mess be done with.” He sighed. “But I’ll talk to the folks above and see what their thoughts are.”
I stood tall on my heels and smoothed my hands down my blazer. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. This whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
It was a terrible phrase to use, but I held my tongue, and squeezed out a polite smile.
I took the final sip of my coffee and stared at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. How much longer was the interview going to last?
My phone lit up with a text message from Shane.
I practically dashed to the conference room, and stood to the side as the rest of the agents filed out. As soon as the doorway was clear, I darted through it, drawing the attention of the man and the woman still seated at the table. A frown twisted on her lips.
“No. I don’t want to talk to you,” Payton said. She turned to her lawyer. “Do I have to talk to her?”
Payton’s brother closed the cover on his tablet and gave me an evaluating look. “Who is she?”
“I’m Special Agent Adams.”
He turned to Payton. “Oh. Then no, you don’t have to talk to her.”
“Please,” I said, stepping to the edge of the conference table. It’d been a week since I’d climbed on the table at the club. “You won’t take any of my calls.”
She turned her hard eyes toward me, and they were teeming with betrayal. “Why should I?”
“So I can apologize. So I can explain.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You know what? That’s too bad,” I snapped, “because you’re going to. I’m sorry for what happened, but I did everything I could to protect you. Your name didn’t get out, so you won’t have to testify. As long as you cooperate, which you obviously are since you’re here, no charges.” I gestured to the glass door. “Your involvement ends when you walk out of this office.”
I didn’t point out what Payton had been doing was illegal. Getting caught was always a risk, and even though she had, I’d fought to make it the best possible scenario. She stared at the table with an unhappy look on her face, but at least she hadn’t gotten up yet. I’d keep talking at her until she walked out the door if I had to.
“You should know that working there started out as an assignment, but it meant a helluva lot more to me in the end. I discovered a side of myself, and I feel like I can explore it now without shame, partly because of you.”
Kyle McCreary adjusted his tie, trying not to look uncomfortable. But Payton softened. I’d cracked her armor, just a little.
“I thought you were my friend.” Her wounded voice stabbed into me.
“I was, Payton. I am. I swear I didn’t lie about that.” I pulled out a chair and sat across from her, getting her to make eye contact. “I can’t talk about cases. I can tell you that we’ve gotten convictions off of connections from the club. Some of them were white collar, but some of them . . . I’m talking about organized crime. Men who operate underage sex rings.”
Her lips parted as she inhaled a sharp breath.
Usually I didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought, but with her, it mattered. “I’m sorry I had to deceive you, but I needed to do my job, and I’m not sorry about the results.”
Her shoulders pulled up tight to her ears and then relaxed, like she wasn’t sure what to do or how to feel. She said it hesitantly. “I can’t be friends with a liar.”
“No more lies, I promise.”
Her eyes sharpened, studying me. “Prove it.”
Prove it? My face contorted with confusion.
She cast a glance at her brother, and her focus swept back to me. “Did you watch Dominic and me on the monitor after your fake negotiations last year?”
I blinked. I hadn’t needed to watch them. I’d already landed the job, and her safety with her fiancé certainly hadn’t been an issue, but Joseph offered. How could I turn it down? “Yes.”
Payton didn’t seem to mind my confession. Like Joseph, she was a full-blown exhibitionist. Her eyes warmed. “What happened between you and Tara the night you stayed in the room at the club?”
Did she think I would lie about this? “I went down on her, and then I blew Silas.”
She crossed her elbows on the table and leaned on them. “Did you like it?”
The air in the room grew a shade thicker. “Yes. A lot.”
“Do you think Kyle’s hot?” She turned her attention to her brother.
“Payton, what the hell?” He acted like he was annoyed, but I could see in his eyes, he wouldn’t mind hearing my answer.
I took in his perfectly styled brown hair and the maintained scruff covering his defined jaw. His suit was expensive and he filled it out nicely. Kyle’s body language was confident, even though I could tell he wasn’t comfortable in this setting. He probably had confidence in spades back at his father’s law firm.
Was he all flash and no substance? Doubtful. His eyes were calculating and smart. I’d bet he worked as hard on himself on the inside as he did on the outside.
I smiled. “Yeah, he’s hot.”
“Hotter than Dominic?”
Where on earth was she going with this? “I’m sorry?”
“Tell me the truth. If you had to, which one would you rather fuck? My brother, or my husband?”
Such a loaded question, but I’d answer honestly. I considered it. “Sorry, Kyle. I’m a sucker for blue eyes.” Like the ones attached to a gorgeous artist who I hadn’t spoken to since he’d stormed out of my hospital room.
“Well, shit,” Kyle said. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, dug out a dollar bill, and handed it to Payton.
She pocketed it with a triumphant look and refocused on me. “You want to fuck my husband?”
“I don’t believe I said that.”
Her smile reached all the way to her eyes. “By picking Dominic, at least I know you’re not lying. Because . . . Dominic.”
Kyle stared up at the ceiling, irritated.
Payton straightened and put her purse on her shoulder. “Okay, here’s the plan. You take me out, liquor me up, and maybe . . . Maybe I can get past this. Joseph won’t be so easy. All this shit you just told me, you need to tell him, too.”
“I know.”
&nb
sp; “We’re both stubborn. Be prepared for a lot of work.” She climbed to her feet, and her brother did as well. She ran a hand through her thick hair, as if sorting her thoughts. “I’m free tomorrow night if you want to start putting water under the bridge. Vodka’s Dominic’s favorite problem-solver.”
I pushed back in my chair and stood. “Thanks for the tip. I’d like that.”
Her gaze went to her brother. “Am I okay to leave?”
“You’re under no legal obligation to stay.”
He’d just finished putting his tablet in his briefcase when her hand shot out and gently grasped his elbow. “Hey, thanks for doing this.”
It was impossible to miss the appreciation in her voice. Even though Payton oozed confidence and possessed an ‘I have zero fucks to give’ attitude, it had to be awkward as hell to let her brother in on this part of her life. He’d taken it in stride, it seemed.
His voice was affected. “Of course.”
I watched them go, and as I made my way back to my desk, I checked my phone. No new messages. I left him one on Tuesday, once my voice had come back, asking if we could talk. He didn’t return my call. I tried again on Thursday and was met with the same lack of response.
I was fed up with this bullshit. If Silas wanted things over between us, he was going to have to tell me directly. Otherwise, he was going to let me apologize again and forgive me. I wasn’t going to give up on what I wanted.
Andre was seated behind the desk at the back of the gallery, speaking on the phone when I entered. So I strolled through the gallery while I waited. The space that had been occupied by the red fog painting was now the charcoal piece Silas had been working on when I’d interrupted him. The pattern began hard and focused in one corner, and as it drifted over the canvas, it broke. It morphed into a different pattern. Softer. Lighter.
“Do you like it?” Andre asked.
“I don’t know. It’s . . . yeah, I like it.”
He smiled. “I think it’s you, but he won’t admit it.”
My gaze went back to it. Was that how Silas saw me? A transition from hard and exacting to one that was soft and open?
There were several new pieces in the gallery. “He’s been busy. Is he around?”
