Chapter 40 #2
When nobody else speaks, he bows his head chivalrously. “Great. Let’s move on, shall we?” He gestures with an open palm toward his partner. “Lila, you already know Agent Warren Andrews. Beside him is Agent Grant Hemsley. Don’t let the scowl bother you. It’s directed at someone else.”
He moves his hand from agent to agent. “That’s Agent Luke McBride, who was good enough to leave the ranch today. And this is Agent Bianca Carson, the smartest one in the room.”
She smiles warmly at me, allowing her frosty demeanor to thaw. “Hello, Lila. Nice to meet you.”
After some awkward small talk, in which I work tirelessly to avoid spouting distracting nonsense, Reed finally brings it on home.
“Lila, we need your help to find the person you know as Silas Everson.” A sour look crisscrosses his face as he grinds the dirty snake’s name out of his mouth.
“Based on your statement and other evidence, we know he’s a key player.
Let’s see if you can get him on the phone so we can reschedule your meeting.
If he answers, Carson will use cellular tower data to try to determine his location. We’ll be recording the call as well.”
I perk up at that. “And if you get his location, I won’t need to meet with him, right?”
“It depends on what he says on the call,” Reed hedges.
I press my lips together to stop from pouting. He notices and covertly puts his hand back on my upper thigh to soothe me.
Agent Andrews warmly adds, “He’s right. There are multiple possibilities here.
For example, Silas may say enough on the recorded call to incriminate himself.
Or maybe he doesn’t, but Carson gets his location.
Then we could start following him, and if he commits a crime while we’re watching, we could bust him.
In either of those scenarios, we probably wouldn’t need you to meet with him. ”
Probably? Ugh.
Noticing my deflating hope bubble, Reed squeezes my thigh tenderly. “But if those or any other ideas don’t result in actionable evidence, we’ll still need to send you to speak with him in person like we talked about earlier. Okay?”
“Yeah. I see.” I offer the smallest smile in the history of smiles. “Let’s do this then.”
They take turns giving me pointers for the phone call. How to respond to various questions he might ask. Options for how to redirect the call if I get in trouble. How far to push him. When to concede. What hand signals they’ll give me. Even the tone of voice I use.
Blah, blah, blah. Noise, noise, noise.
By the time they’re done with their well-meaning lecture, my brain is burnt toast. I’ll be lucky if I get out a single word without cracking. My confession would come out in a lingering stream of consciousness.
Hey Silas, oh my god, the FBI is listening right now, please don’t kill me.
Basically, the success of this first task—arguably the simplest of what I’ll need to do for the FBI to earn immunity—all boils down to my ability to play it cool.
Clearly, they don’t know me if they think I can pull that off.
Reed faces me with his brows lifted inquisitively. “You good to go?”
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
No.
“Absolutely,” I lie through a lunatic’s grin. “Fair warning; Silas probably won’t answer. My last text to him was snippy, and I sort of stood him up for our meeting. Plus, even when we were on friendlier terms, he never answered unless I texted first.”
“Ah. Because it wasn’t his only phone and was probably turned off most of the time,” Agent Andrews surmises.
“He said he wasn’t allowed to get calls at work,” I explain, detesting how flimsy the excuse sounds.
The agent who chooses his seats with open hostility twists toward me. “Just curious. What did he tell you he did for a living?”
I close my eyes to hide my shame and answer out of the side of my mouth. “Logistics supervisor.”
In the caring way I’ve grown to expect from him, Agent Dad tries to fluff my ego. “Don’t feel bad, Lila. No doubt he’s supervising the transportation of products and coordinating many moving parts in his organization. Ergo, logistics wasn’t a total lie.”
I was such a sucker to believe his BS stories about his life. Looking back, most of them weren’t even clever lies. Yet I gobbled them up like Mrs. Hayes’ peanut butter cookies.
All because I was so desperate to be loved that I clung to the first man in years who paid me the slightest bit of attention.
What are the chances I’ve fallen into the same trap with the man on my right?
“Lila, I think you should do what you’d normally do.” Using his chin, Reed points at my cell. “Send him a warning text.”
While blinking away my doubts and fears, I type out the message. My fingers tremble so much I have to backspace five times to fix my typos. “Okay. Sent. Are you tracking his location from the text?”
Reed shakes his head discouragingly. “The tech doesn’t work the same for text messaging.”
“Bummer.” I exhale some of my nerves away. “Do we just wait now?”
Reed responds, “While we wait, there’s something we want to play for you. It’s a recording from—”
The female agent—I think her name is Bianca—raises her index finger to cut him off.
“Actually, I got an urgent email from the SSA. She just got off the phone with the head of security at Oak Winds. They want Lila back to work tonight. We should prep for that before we get to the air vent recording.”
My eyes lose focus as heated fury floods my body.
The FBI is talking to my employer.
About me.
As part of a theft ring that’s been stealing them blind.
And the man I squirted on last night didn’t warn me about it.
Although I probably should have figured this out on my own, I didn’t. Is this a shame on me moment or shame on him?
In my defense, I’ve had a lot on my mind. And he couldn’t exactly give me a heads up whilst giving me head.
So, here I sit, blindsided.
And soon to be unemployed.
Fluffing heck.
You know what? Let me rephrase as a curse. No drugs required to swear this time.
Fucking hell.
Maybe I should ask Agent Dad to tear up my agreement. If I go to prison, at least I won’t have to pay rent. My lack of income will be irrelevant.
But wait. Considering they must know I’m marking cards, why would they want me there?
Is it so they can take me into the back room and deal with me Goodfellas style?
With rapidly blinking eyes and a trembling tongue, I ask, “Mr. Hanley knows about this? Does Mr. Votaw know too?”
Reed answers flatly. “Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mention that.”
No more nipple play for Reed.
Well, for a little while. I rather loved revving him up that way. Thus, denying him would be a punishment for me as well.
There’s no point in looking at him with all this irritation still blinding me. “Why would they allow me to work if they know I’ve been marking cards?”
“We need you to keep doing it so we can catch as many of the cheating players as possible. Casino wants it to be a big, splashy bust. Front page news that’ll send a message to other would-be cheaters.”
Considering that was an unfamiliar male voice and lacking a country twang, I’m guessing it’s Agent Angry Chair Chooser.
A warm hand rubs my upper back in small, soothing circles. That’s my man, detecting my reaction and trying to make it right the best he can in mixed company.
Later, he’ll need to apologize in another way for springing this on me.
I shake off the rest of my ire and lean toward Reed’s side of my chair. I want to soak up his support while I come to terms with this new development, even if I’m not touching him.
Despite being ticked at him, I realize it isn’t his fault. He’s saving me from a mess of my own making.
“Okay,” I meekly agree. “I can do that. No problem.” I bunch my lips to the corner of my mouth. “Correction. There is one problem. Two, if you count that I gave the dye rings to Reed for evidence.”
“You’ll get those back for this,” Andrews explains. “What’s the other issue?”
No longer hiding my eyes, I answer him head-on. “I’d have to coordinate with Silas for this plan to succeed. Otherwise, he won’t send players to my table, and I won’t know who to signal when the decks are marked.”
“Then set that up when he gets back to you,” Bianca suggests.
“If he replies to me at all, I seriously doubt he’ll believe I’m suddenly on board with helping him cheat.
The last few times we talked, I told him I was done marking cards.
And the meeting I blew off last night with my snarky text was to discuss how I could help him in exchange for letting me walk away.
Why would he believe I’m suddenly back in? ”
My throat feels dry, so I have to swallow before I finish. “Let’s face it. The only way I’ll ever see him again is when he shows up to put a bullet in my head.”
Wow. I just said that like it didn’t matter. Put it out there, stating it flatly as if it’s a forgone conclusion. Unavoidable.
Because it’s starting to feel that way.
Once more, I’m stuck.
I traded Silas’ hamster wheel for the FBI’s.
The only silver lining is that I’ll be on the right side of the law this time, hopefully saving innocent people from further harm. When Silas takes me out, my conscience will be clean.
“Clear the room, please,” Reed orders in a clipped tone. “And cut the recording.”
I stiffen and watch them leave. The red light on the camera in the corner of the ceiling cuts off.
The door hasn’t even closed yet, and Reed’s already dragging my chair away from the table. He spins it toward him, yanking me forward until our knees touch.
With his hands planted on the elbow pads of my chair, he locks me in. It’s oddly comforting. “Listen to me, cookie.”
“I’m sorry,” I start, the apology automatic in response to how severe his tone and expression have become.
As if he’s inside my mind, he softens them both to settle me. “Don’t apologize. Just listen. Okay?”
Desperate for his touch, I try to get a grip on him, but our positioning is awkward from the way he’s caging me in. I end up with my hand hanging on one of his strong biceps as if it’s a pull-up bar. Not that I’d know what it’s like to hold one of those.
Reed takes pity on me, releasing my chair and taking both my hands.
He turns my wrists so my palms are facing each other.
Then he places his big hands on top of mine, covering them entirely.
Slowly and carefully, he lowers our joined hands onto my lap.
It’s an unusual gesture, but I understand why he’s doing it almost instantly.
Not only is he preventing me from fidgeting, but he’s holding my hands safe. Building a wall of protection around them.
And he’ll do the same for the rest of me.
Lazily, he trails his thumbs over my knuckles and fingers. Each graze of his skin brings warmth and love.
Nothing about me is small or light. But somehow, in this man’s hands, I feel like a tiny feather. One he found discarded in a pile of trash, thought it was beautiful, and decided to cherish it.
I’m bombarded with a dizzying array of emotions as I stare at the loving way he cradles my hands. He doesn’t rush me or force me to look at him. Nor does he tilt my chin like he often does when he impatiently wants my focus. He doesn’t do any of that.
It’s as if he knows I need a moment to find my center again.
I meet his eyes. And I know I’ve found it.
“Lila, you once pointed out how stubborn I am when I have a goal. Something about how you had no doubt I’d get into the FBI if that was what I set my sights on. Remember that?”
Fuzzy memories gradually crystallize. “I recall something along those lines.”
“In all my life, nothing has mattered to me as much as keeping you safe and bringing you through this shit unharmed. That’s my goal. Trust in that. Believe in it. There isn’t a force on earth strong enough to stop me. I will protect you at all costs.”
The certainty in his voice and the earnestness of his expression somehow dwarf the meaning of his words. If he can believe that so ardently, maybe I can too.
I can’t speak. There’s nothing I could say that would be worthy of sharing space with his vow.
When I don’t respond, the devastatingly perfect man doubles down.
Either he thinks I need more convincing, or he’s trying to make me cry.
“I wasted my entire life without you, cookie. I’ll be damned if I lose you now.
Not to a fucking criminal. Not to a prince or a billionaire.
Not to the fucking Bachelor from TV. Not even to the old flirty fucker who sits at your blackjack table. Nobody is taking you from me.”
We share a sparse laugh, just enough to debride the tension.
As the room grows silent, he cups both of my cheeks and burns his gaze into me, sending his love directly to my soul. Every time he holds me this way, I fall even harder for him.
Instinctually, I tip my chin up to beckon a kiss. “I believe you.”
His mocha eyes briefly glance at my lips. “So much for treating you like an ordinary CI,” he whispers before capturing my mouth in a tender kiss.