Chapter 32
“It has to be Dec,” Ella says, pacing around my apartment as everyone listens to the news I received from Peyton.
“But how? Why? It can’t be him. We’ve been friends for a decade,” I tell her.
She stops and faces me. “I know, Nova, but it’s the only obvious choice. He has access to your accounts and the best hackers in the business, and he was recently appointed director, giving him even more clearance and control in the CIA and more sway with the board of directors. It just fits.”
“It fits except that he would never do that to me,” I snap, falling onto the large, leather chair next to the couch and burying my face in my hands.
Ella’s voice is quiet this time. “Do you think maybe your relationship with Dec might be clouding your judgment here?”
I know she didn’t say it to make me angry, but I can’t help the rage. My hands instinctively ball into fists, and I slam them against the armrests on the chair. “I don’t know!” My voice falls to a whisper an instant later. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
Ella places a supportive hand on my shoulder. “I’m meeting him for dinner tonight. We will figure this out.”
I nod, miserable, when Noell suddenly shouts and Eagans face lights up.
“We found it!” she screams.
I’m out of the chair before anyone can blink. Eagan swivels his computer around to show everyone.
“What am I looking at?” I ask.
“The money transfers,” Noell says, pointing to the screen.
I squint, trying to make sense of the numbers and words I’m seeing.
There’s a tense moment of silence. My eyes widen. “Italy,” I whisper.
“This is the proof we need! We can take them down, Nova. And it will likely help your case, too,” Noell says, beaming, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her smile.
“But what about Owen?” I ask, happy that we’re getting what we need to end the crime syndicate once and for all, but I’m still worried we won’t be able to save the man I’ve come to love.
Everyone stares at me blankly except Parker. His face falls, and it looks as though he might cry.
I pull back from the computer screen. “Compile all the evidence against the crime syndicate. Peyton all but confirmed their headquarters is the Vivario in Sicily. I do not doubt that if we raid the place, we’ll find the people in charge.
In the meantime, I’m going to Owen’s house.
He said he kept all correspondence with the CEOs of the companies he acquired.
I’m hoping there is something in there that can help us. ”
“Did he say there was?” Parker's hopeful voice makes my heart sink.
I shake my head. “He said it only implicates him further, but I’m checking anyway.”
“Oh,” is all Parker says as he slumps against the couch cushions.
On my way out, Parker blurts, “Do you want company?”
I don’t turn right away. I want to say yes, but I also don’t know if my heart can take it. I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold myself together in the one place that is completely and utterly Owen.
When I face Parker, he’s looking at me expectantly, with misplaced hope dancing in his eyes.
“I could use the company,” I squeak out.
Parker smiles, the identical dimple to Owen’s making an appearance. My heart clenches at the sight of it. He jumps up off the couch, grabs his half-drank coffee cup and his black leather jacket, and follows me out the door.
Noah’s waiting to escort us. He leaves behind a few of his security guards to protect the apartment.
None of us says anything on the thirty-minute drive to the small, stone cottage. Noah stations himself outside the house, checking the perimeter. Parker grabs the hidden key under the flower pot by the front door, and I roll my eyes at the idiocy of hiding it there.
When we both step inside, it’s silent. The only sound comes from the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
Parker walks toward the sink. A few dirty dishes sit there as if someone’s still living here. Nothing, it seems, has been touched since Owen’s arrest. It still smells like coffee, with a hint of pine. A hint of Owen.
I choke down the emotion threatening to burst and turn right, toward the living room.
The books haven’t been touched. Owen’s notes are still spread across the coffee table.
I blindly follow the directions Owen wrote on the piece of paper he gave me at the jail.
The folder we’re looking for is tucked under the couch cushion closest to the window.
Sure enough, when I pull the cushion up, there’s a sizable manilla folder overflowing with papers.
I smell a new batch of coffee and register the quiet clanking of dishes. I read copies of email after email. The reasons why Owen did what he did solidify with each one I read. Those men were monsters, and Owen knew it.
I’m so absorbed in reading that I don’t recognize Parker standing right in front of me until he shoves a steaming cup of coffee right under my nose.
I finally look away from what I’m doing and mumble a quick thanks as he plops down next to me. He takes a large sip of his own coffee before asking, “Find anything?”
I shake my head. “Aside from the fact that all of these emails make me want to murder these men all over again?”
Parker raises a brow. “That bad?”
“That bad.”
“But nothing that might help him?”
“Not yet.”
We sit in companionable silence for a while as Parker reads the emails I’ve finished, the crease in his brow deepening with each one.
I’m three-quarters of the way through, and am about to give up, when a single word catches my eye on the next paper.
Kill.
I quickly read the email, my heart rate kicking up and my back tensing.
Parker senses my change in demeanor. “Did you find something?”
I don’t answer right away. I race to finish what I’m reading, but the tension in my body increases with every sentence.
“Shit. I think I may have something,” I finally say, grabbing the next one, hoping for even more.
“What is it?” Parker asks.
I stop, even though I want to keep going, to see if this is actually real or not.
“There’s a small chance we can lessen his sentence or even get him out of this,” I say at last. “‘Small’ is the keyword here. Owen thought the emails would implicate him further, but I think, due to a few choice words used, we may be able to claim self-defense.”
Parker’s mouth drops open. “Really?”
I nod. “These men weren’t careful in how they spoke to him via email. There are pretty clear death threats in here. And if I can get Peyton to testify that he was hired to kill him, we might have a chance.”
“How the hell are you going to get Peyton to testify? Won’t that land him in jail?”
“Not if I can work out a deal with him. To drop the cases against him in exchange for helping take down the black snake crime syndicate and testify on behalf of Owen.”
“Well, shit,” Parker says, running his hands through his curly blond hair.
My heart beats as though it might burst out of my chest. I don’t want to get my hopes up. I don’t want to have to rely so much on Peyton. But I also can’t believe there’s even a chance Owen might walk away from all this.
My hopes are instantly dashed when I hear Noah yell from outside, followed by a series of rapid gunshots.
Snatching the papers, I stuff them into the folder and drop to the ground, pulling Parker with me.
“Get behind the couch and stay there,” I demand, pushing him toward it.
“What about you?” he asks, his voice high-pitched.
Pulling a gun from the back of my pants, I shove the folder in his arms.
“I’ll be fine. Trained agent, remember?” I say with a slight upturn of my lips, hoping to ease his fear even though my panic is creeping dangerously close to the surface. I don’t know how many men are out there, and there’s only Noah and me.
I hand Parker my phone. “Call Ella. She’ll know how to get us help.”
I crouch and slink toward the front door and the sound of shouting and gunshots. Noah, you fucking better be alive.
Peeking my head above the window ledge next to the front door, I notice three shadows among the trees on the opposite side of the driveway. When I scan the area they’re shooting at, I finally relax, if only a little. Noah crouches behind the car, reloading his gun.
He’s alive.
A plan takes root in my head, and instead of trying to reach Noah, I decide to use him as a distraction.
I slink along the floor, careful to not be spotted through the windows.
When I reach the dim hallway, I stand and make my way to Owen’s bedroom.
It’s dark, with the curtains drawn across the French doors leading to the outside.
His bed is only half-made, and the desire to crawl in it and breathe him in is strong.
Shaking my head at the stupidity of my body's response to being in this place, I make my way to the closed curtains.
Peering through the small crack between them, I search for other shooters. When I find none, I peel back the fabric and inch the doors open. Careful to stay hidden, I slink along the side of the house, sticking to the shadows.
I still hear gunshots and the voices of the men in the trees shouting directions to each other. Inwardly, I smile at their frustration in not being able to get a good enough angle to take Noah out.
Noah’s booming voice echoes across the field of flowers in front of me, taunting them.
I shake my head, mumbling, “Cocky bastard.”
When I reach the corner of the house that faces the driveway, I plaster my back to the cold stone behind me and ready myself. I know I need to be quick. I won’t get more than one or two shots before their guns are turned on me.
Time seems to slow when I step around the corner, my pistol pointed at the man closest to me.
He doesn’t see it coming, and the bullet pierces him in the back, exiting through his chest. His cry thunders through the air as he falls, but I don’t spend another moment on him.
I release a second bullet aimed at the person twenty feet from him.