Buried Lies

by Brittney Sahin

  “How about you watch me fight, instead?”

  If that meant watching him get his ass handed to him, then I was all for that. But I could care less about whatever poor sap Declan had arranged to fight because I was pretty sure whomever it was would throw the fight, to ensure the master of the universe kept his head remaining in Mt. Olympus. “Who are you fighting?” I faked an interest.

  “John Jackson. The pro-fighter.”

  Of course. Declan had invested in the club John Jackson owned, not too long ago.

  Memories jabbed at me as I thought about the club.

  “Sure. I’d love to watch,” I finally responded.

  “Declan!”

  No. I turned around to see Connor approaching us.

  “By the way, I invited Connor to come,” Declan whispered in my ear. His breath set my body trembling, and not in a good way.

  Connor focused on me as he stopped in front of Declan and I. His facial expression gave no indication of his feelings as he stared at me.

  I noticed his clean-shaven face and had to force myself to look at the floor for a brief moment.

  Sexy with stubble, hot with a beard. And no beard with smooth skin? Groan.

  I cleared the damn lump that had formed in my throat and swallowed the images—the memories—of Connor’s ripped body.

  “Hi,” I think I said at some point. I cursed myself for allowing my mind and body to succumb to the strange, primordial urge to have sex with him. We had a horrible past. Not to mention I was supposed to screw him over and probably arrest him. What was wrong with me?

  Declan tipped his head. “Ever seen this woman fight?” Declan nudged me in the arm.

  I forced a small laugh. I was growing impressed with my ability to act around Declan, but why couldn’t I use those same skills when it came to Connor? “I’m not that good.”

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t believe that. I saw you handle that guy by the pool in Vegas. Remember?” Connor’s eyes remained laser focused on mine.

  “Come on. Jackson should be here any minute, and I need to warm up before we fight.” Declan held the door open, and Connor gestured for me to enter first.

  “Thanks,” I said as I walked into the empty boxing area. “Too bad Bobby isn’t around. He would love to meet a famous fighter. Is he a boxing champ?” I played dumb.

  “UFC. Mixed martial arts champion,” Declan said brusquely.

  Hopefully, at the very least, I could watch Declan get knocked out by the pro. I tightened the knot in my ponytail, realizing what a mess I must look like.

  “You feel like getting your hands dirty?” Declan asked Connor as he removed his T-shirt. For the first time, I saw that his back was a canvas. Angel wings sprouted from each side of his shoulder blades; they appeared to move, to flap, as he cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, loosening up.

  Declan, the fallen angel.

  “I’ll help you warm up if you’d like. We can throw a few punches.” Connor stole a glance at me before removing his shirt. The man didn’t have any tattoos, but he didn’t need the paint. His back, his chest, his pecs were already works of art.

  And my mind was drifting to dangerous territory again. If the sight of Connor’s body could reduce me to a puddle of girly hormones, what business did I have in being an FBI agent?

  Then again, I’d helped the FBI take down a hitman in Boston last year. I needed to remind myself that I was also that woman—the woman who’d stared death in the face and come out on top. My first and only kill. And, I hoped, my last. Although the guy was a world-class felon and murderer, it was never easy to have blood on your hands.

  The sound of a fist pounding into flesh brought my attention front and center. Connor’s gloved hand connected with Declan’s stomach.

  Both men had abs of steel, but Declan was slightly leaner. Connor was a former Marine. He could handle Declan. I was sure of it. And I couldn’t help but stand just outside the ring, inwardly cheering him on.

  “You ready to make the deal?” Declan asked Connor as he ducked away from one of Connor’s shots.

  “I’m still thinking about it.” Connor’s answer surprised me—he had told me yes last night. Did he change his mind? Hope seized my heart, but how would I take down the entire evil empire without the help of intimate knowledge of the weapons exchange?

  We’d just have to come up with a new plan.

  “What’s holding you back?” Declan snuck an uppercut, but Connor jerked his head, saving himself a blow to the chin. They were both taking it rather easy.

  “I’m not sure how I feel about making a deal when I don’t really know who else I’m doing business with.” Connor threw a right hook, followed by a left.

  Declan dodged both and answered, “I’ll ask my contacts if they’re willing to meet with you if you sign the contract.”

  I sucked in a breath at Declan’s words. A face-to-face!

  “That’d be ideal.” Connor lowered his guard, and Declan took the chance to send a hard jab.

  The sound of the punch smacking into Connor’s cheek had me cringing.

  Surprisingly, Connor didn’t let it affect him too much. He sprang back at Declan with his own shot. “I don’t think we need these.” Connor’s eyes focused intently on Declan as he slipped off his gloves and held his fists up in front of his face.

  Declan nodded and followed suit, but before either could take another swing, the doors to the room pushed open.

  “Declan. My man!”

  It must have been John Jackson, and he had two other men at his sides. I took a step back, gasping, but tripped. My butt smacked hard against the concrete floor.

  I grimaced and looked up at Connor’s hand reaching for mine, helping me up.

  “Are you okay?” Connor stared at me like I was the sun and moon all rolled into one.

  I focused on his sweaty chest for a moment, before pulling my eyes back up to meet his. “Yeah. Clumsy.”

  He smiled and released my arm. “Guess the big shot’s here,” he joked in a low voice.

  I tried to return his smile, but I was too nervous. I lowered my head and stared at my sneakers, hoping to avoid notice.

  “Connor Matthews, meet John Jackson, lightweight champion of the world,” Declan said as he ducked between the ropes.

  John Jackson was about six feet. His body was pretty fit but not too bulky, and his arms were banded in flashy tattoos. His head was shaved, his nose a little crooked, and his ears massively swollen from one too many punches. “Hey, man.” He slapped Declan on the back and nodded at Connor.

  The two men who had entered the room with John Jackson both greeted Declan as well.

  “You up for a few rounds?” Declan tapped John on the arm.

  John’s eyes were on me, and I did my best to keep my balance, still terrified of being identified by the men who had come in with John. I’d known they were back in the city; I’d been expecting to see them at some point. I had just hoped they wouldn’t see me, too.

  “And you are?” John angled his head and held out his hand.

  “Just leaving.” I gripped his hand fast and hard before dropping my arm back to my side.

  “You don’t want to stay for the fight?” John glanced at Declan.

  “I’d hate to see my boss get beat up.” I couldn’t exactly go with “fighting isn’t my thing,” could I? That’d never fly. But damn, I needed to get out of that gym and fast.

  “You should stay,” Declan said in a voice that was more a command than a suggestion.

  Connor looked over at John. “Where are you from? Your accent . . .”

  “My mother’s Russian. I grew up outside Moscow and moved to the States when I was fifteen,” John responded.

  Connor reached for the T-shirt he had discarded and pulled it over his head. “Congrats on being champion.”

  “Thank you.”

  He rooted around in his bag and pulled out his cell, then tapped at the screen. “I have a meeting in Jersey, so I should probably hea
d out.” He toyed with his phone another second before looking up at me. “Walk with me?”

  Oh God. He was saving me. “Is that okay?” I asked Declan, knowing he’d say yes. He needed to make Connor happy to get him to agree to the deal.

  A deal that apparently involved selling an advanced weapon to terrorists.

  “Sure.” Declan nodded at me and focused his attention on John. “Get changed. I don’t have all day to kick your ass. I have meetings, too.” He laughed.

  “You’ve never beaten me. And you never will.” John cracked his knuckles but kept his eyes on mine.

  Chills dashed up my spine, and I averted my eyes to the floor again, worried that John’s friends would call me out. All would be lost. But I was equally anxious that I’d lose control and lunge at the men—claws out, ready to kill.

  “You ready?” Connor slung his bag over his shoulder.

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to steady my breath, to hide my heaving chest.

  “Enjoy your night off.” Declan reached for a water bottle before switching his attention to Connor. “Can you make a decision by tomorrow?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Connor was quick to reply, his voice steady.

  I shuffled past John and his men, avoiding eye contact, and released a breath once outside the boxing area. “Thanks for saving me. I didn’t feel like hanging out in a room full of egos and testosterone.” Or having my cover blown.

  “Of course.” We started past the free weights, passed a row of treadmills, and stopped outside the ladies’ locker room.

  I was hanging on by a thread, my sanity at the threshold. “How come you haven’t told Declan that you’ll make the deal?” I moved out of the way for a woman to enter the locker room and stepped back closer to him once she was gone.

  I needed to tell him the truth.

  “Having second thoughts. Not a fan of getting into bed with strangers.”

  Because he was a good guy. Well, except for when he screwed me over. “I’d better shower.” The words rolled off my tongue by some small miracle.

  “You’re off tonight.” He slung the weight of his bag behind him and pushed his hands into his pockets. “Maybe we can get together?”

  My heart started flapping like it had grown wings. “Another business dinner? We got interrupted at our last meal.”

  “I have a friend coming in from out of town tomorrow, and I’ll be tied up for the next few days. I might swing by the club at some point and let Declan know my decision, but I’d like to see you tonight if that’s okay.”

  “Why?” I didn’t mean for the little three-letter word to slip from my lips, but it came out before I could clamp my mouth shut.

  He took a step back from me and removed his hands from his pockets. “I have no idea why to be honest.”

  What was I supposed to say? “I was going to grab dinner with a friend tonight.” A big fat lie. “But maybe I can change my schedule around. Can you call me later? I’ll let you know.”

  He frowned as he programmed my number into his phone. “We shouldn’t see each other, right?” His doubts mirrored my own. But my reasons for holding back were so much bigger, and he had no idea.

  “I don’t know.” I sighed and touched my neck. It was impossible to think clearly, knowing those men were still so close.

  “You okay?” Connor’s hand was now on my arm.

  “I’m just thinking about my sister,” I said, and it felt good to be honest for once.

  My skin grew cold at the loss of his touch. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “It’s okay.” Lie. Lie. Lie. “I’d better shower.”

  I needed to cool off, to strip away the pain, anger, and fear that crawled beneath my skin.

  Before he could say anything else, I shoved open the locker room door and disappeared inside.

  ***

  Connor

  “Just sent you some photos. They aren’t the best. I had to snap them fast and without notice.” I leaned against my kitchen counter and stared out the window, which offered a view of Central Park. A light mist of rain had started.

  “Who are they?” Jake asked.

  “The one in the middle is John Jackson, a pro-fighter. All three had Russian accents. Can you see what you can find out about them?” I moved to my fridge and grabbed a beer. I’d spent ninety minutes in traffic and had decided to head home instead of back to the office.

  “I’ll do my best. The picture quality isn’t great, but maybe this Jackson guy has prints on file, and I can cross reference his name to any known associates.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “I looked into Lauren Tate’s background.”

  “And?”

  “She’s clean. Born and raised in New York. Her father is a construction worker, and her mother never worked. She graduated from Rutgers with an undergrad in business law and finished her MBA August 2015, right before she started working at Matthews Tech. She has no record. Not even a parking ticket.”

  I took a sip of my dark wheat beer and processed what he’d said. I was having a hard time believing Lauren was legit. “She always lived in New York?” I probed.

  “Born and raised. Her parents are native New Yorkers, as well.”

  “Then her background is bullshit.” I set my beer down and pressed my palms to the counter. “She has an accent. It slips out every once in a while.”

  “She’s trying to hide an accent?”

  “I asked her about it, and I think she lied to me.”

  “Do you think you’re just paranoid?” he tested.

  I stood up straight, pinching my shoulder blades together. “No. If she wasn’t so damn up, close, and personal with Declan, then maybe I would let it slide.”

  “What type of accent?”

  “Russian, maybe.”

  “Shit. That can’t be a coincidence.”

  I reached for my drink again, needing to cool my brain before it overheated. “Why would Declan even want me to meet those guys?”

  “I don’t know.”

  This was giving me a headache. “When’s your flight? We can talk more about this in person.”

  “My flight leaves Dallas at nine. I should be at LaGuardia around noon.”

  “I’ll pick you up. Text me when you land.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Thanks for coming. See you tomorrow.” I tossed the burner phone I’d bought in Jersey on the couch and brought the beer to my lips. How much did Olivia know about Declan? Although my judgment was clouded by both anger and by lust, I wanted to protect her, even if she was on the wrong side.

  I dug into my pocket for my regular cell and scrolled through my contacts.

  Olivia Taylor. I still didn’t understand why she wasn’t going by Olivia Scott. She mentioned fudging her resume, but why her name? There had to be more to the story, and I planned to find out.

  A half hour later, I parked my car in the garage around the corner from her apartment building. The clouds opened up, and I was hammered with rain as I made my way down the street to her building.

  I pushed my wet hair off my face with both hands, shaking my head like a damn dog.

  I impatiently waited in the empty lobby outside the set of elevators. I shook my T-shirt and was thankful it wasn’t drenched. The rain had only started to pound onto the street just as I closed in on her building. I didn’t want to make it a habit of needing to strip and have my clothes dried every time I was around Olivia.

  Once inside the elevator, I pressed my hands to the wall and shut my eyes.

  Part of me hoped Olivia wouldn’t be home. I needed to talk to her, and yet I knew it was such a bad idea to be going back to her place. My mind spun with all I wanted to say. A knot formed in my stomach, the kind I used to get when I was positioned on a rooftop in Iraq or a mountain in Afghanistan, my brow sweating as I peered through the scope—waiting. Watching.

  What was it about Olivia that had me feeling like I was in the middle of a war?

  I opened my eyes at the
sound of the elevator doors popping open, and I attempted to ease the tension from my neck as I walked to her room.

  At her door, I hesitated for a moment, my fist hanging in the air. I could hear music playing inside her apartment. Was she alone?

  I never got the chance to knock. The door opened, and I dropped my hand to my side.

  Olivia leaned against the door frame and crossed her arms. “I thought you were going to call.” She fought the smile that threatened her lips. “Were you so confident I’d rearrange my dinner plans for you?” There was the feisty personality I remembered from our youth—and God did I love it.

  “Of course,” I responded and tipped my head down a little, but kept my eyes on hers.

  Her cheeks bloomed to echo the red of her T-shirt, and she stepped back, allowing me entrance.

  I pulled the door closed and followed her into the living room. “Was there ever a dinner?” I challenged.

  She approached her iPad on the coffee table and lowered the music. “Maybe,” she said as she flashed her dimples. “Why are you here?” Her mood shifted pretty damn fast, and an underlying edge cut through her voice. “I thought you said seeing each other was a bad idea. You’re confusing me.”

  I was confusing myself. “We should talk.”

  “About?” She remained standing a few feet in front of me, just inside the living room by the coffee table, with her arms folded in defiance across her chest.

  “I want to talk to you about your job.”

  Her forehead creased, and her lips parted a fraction. No sound.

  “This deal with Declan may not be legal, and I’d hate to see you get caught up in the middle of it all,” I confessed, although I couldn’t outright tell her all my concerns. She’d betrayed me in the past, and I wasn’t certain she wouldn’t do it again, even though my gut was telling me she was innocent.

  “So, you decided not to do the deal?”

  Was that relief? Her face changed to a blank slate before I could be sure. “I am doing the deal, but I don’t think you should be involved. It seems risky, and I’m getting the vibe that Declan’s business partners may not be on the up and up. But my father’s company might fail without a partnership with Declan . . .”