31. Colton #2
“We want to believe you aren’t behind this Ms. Mathers, and while Agent Graves has maintained your innocence, he also wasn’t able to provide any proof of that innocence.
” I flinch at his words, seeing a moment of confusion flit through the group across from me, no doubt wondering who Agent Graves is.
The confusion is short lived as Sadie’s face contorts in rage for not recognizing earlier that my identity had been forged.
She wanted to believe I was who I claimed to be.
Anders continues, not aware of the damning effect his words have on me salvaging any relationship with the group across from us.
“Between this murder last night, the history of your family and of those that work here,” his eyes dart to Sadie, “and what appeared to be a message drop to you this morning, we had to act.”
Wade speaks first, his voice pitched low, “What are you suggesting?”
Bronly, the dumbass, just can’t stop himself from throwing this bit of information in their faces, like he’s a genius and not some power-hungry sadist with a department of data to fuel his arrogant tirade.
“You have a junkie working at the same club that is tied to drug trafficking, who’s to say she hasn’t taken her expert knowledge and turned it into a career? ”
Even hearing Wade’s anger at the beginning of this conversation could not have prepared me for the wrath that pulses around him as he stands, the chair he once occupied toppling over behind him as he makes to lunge across the table, Bronly’s neck a target gleaming in the low light of the club.
A small hand settles on his arm, instantly halting him from any forward progress.
Harper is looking up to meet his eyes with a subtle shake of her head.
While it may appear this is a move designed to keep from getting on the DEA’s bad side, to keep an employee in line, I know what she’s telling him. Not your kill.
He's breathing hard as he grabs the back of his chair from the floor and rights it before settling back in, chest rising and falling as he struggles to bring his temper in check.
“Smart move,” Bronly snides from where he sits, blissfully unaware that the damage either Mathers’ sister could inflict would see him begging for Wade in minutes.
At least Wade has Harper’s guidance to steer him away from a possible assault charge.
I, on the other hand, have no such person in my corner, just my own will-power that I can feel unraveling the longer we sit here.
Wade simply grins, no doubt his imagination running through fantasy after fantasy of ways to make Bronly suffer.
Get in line.
“How did you know I got a message today? Your informant wasn’t with me,” Harper asks, spitting the word out with such venom, it takes everything in me not to wince.
Both Wade and Sadie look at Harper, it’s subtle, but a hint of doubt creeping in that only someone who knows all their tells would be able to see. My own reaction is not quite so dignified as the reality sinks in that she kept this from me today.
Hypocritical? Absolutely. Knowing the ground I walk is crumbling under each step doesn’t seem to be aiding in my self-preservation as I growl, “And why wasn’t I told about it?”
Harper doesn’t acknowledge my question, just raises an eyebrow at Anders, waiting for her own answer.
Look at me
“We’ve had you trailed outside the club since early this morning, once we got wind of the dealer’s death last night, and it paid off. Agent Graves could monitor you inside well enough, but we had the perimeter on surveillance in case he couldn’t be present for something,” answers Anders.
“Ah,” is all Harper gives them in response, lightly thrumming her nails against the top of the table.
Anders and Harper stare at each other for long enough to make the rest of the table shift uncomfortably, waiting for one of them to break. You never realize how long three minutes is until it’s filled with silence and tension.
Bronly helps them out, breaking the silence and, to Anders chagrin, declaring Harper the winner of what I can only assume will be the first of many power struggles.
“Well, what was the message? You claim innocence and yet have done nothing to prove it.”
Him, Harper looks at, but the smile is anything but friendly.
“Have you learned nothing in your time with the DEA honey? I don’t need to prove my innocence, you need to prove I’m guilty.
And since I’m sitting here in my club, not an interrogation room, my rights haven’t been read to me, I am free to walk out whenever I damn well feel like it, I feel confident that I am not under arrest,” she stands, gracefully putting both palms against the table, “because you cannot prove I am guilty of anything.”
I can no longer claim that she is calm, though still not showing an ounce of worry, rage is starting to penetrate the stoic shield. She leaves the table, and before I can decide whether it’s a death sentence to follow her, she’s reappearing from her office, envelope in hand.
She tosses the envelope on the table, the contents peeking out as she returns to her seat.
“I am not involved with whomever is running this operation. I have been doing everything I can to stop it and figure out who is truly behind it. These lovely messages are threats to back off, which I have no intention of doing. So, are you going to do your jobs or should I keep doing them for you?”
The next hour is the small group of us as the rest of the agents clear out, going over everything that has happened and all the little love notes the Joker has been leaving Harper.
The rest of my side of the table agrees that for the enemy to have gotten this far, someone in the club is either the Jester themselves, or at the very least, helping them frame Harper.
Harper never believed the break-in to her office was a coincidence, and the more we talk it out as a group, the more I’m convinced she was right.
We still don’t know the real reason behind it though.
Nothing appeared to have been taken, so we either didn’t notice what was changed, or I interrupted them before they could complete their task.
I listen to it all laid out, my team nodding along at the information passed from Harper like a checklist, her account of past events confirming the information they already have.
Because of me. Each tilt of my boss’s head in confirmation is another nail in my coffin, exposing my every act of treason against Cirque. Against Harper.
I’m on the wrong side of the table.
I look between the two sides of the same coin, unsure how I can convince Anders that I’m not compromised in my duties when I can’t convince myself.
I couldn’t convince James, who wanted to pull me out basically as soon as I was in, apparently seeing what I never wanted to acknowledge. I was lost from the start.
I had no idea what this assignment would do to me.
I was so sure of my purpose, what my job was.
Lead by my own righteous indignation, I have never questioned the things I’ve done to get answers, to get to the truth.
We are saving lives, cleaning up the streets, stopping drug rings from growing and taking over families and neighborhoods.
I have never regretted any lie I’ve ever told, any web spun to achieve my goal. The end justifies the means.
Then Harper finally turns her head in my direction, reluctant and slow, painful in her awareness of my presence, and I feel that surge of regret.
It’s the same feeling I’ve had every time I met James for a check in, the reason I’ve been avoiding his calls and giving perfunctory answers that offer minimal insight.
Suddenly all those reasons, in their infinite wisdom, couldn’t compete with lying to the woman I loved.
“No, I didn’t exactly have time to tell the rest of the staff about the rat problem.” Clearly, I missed some part of the conversation while I was busy rethinking every decision I’ve made in the last four months.
I know I should be insulted, but I can’t seem to care because she’s looking at me. I feel something loosen in my chest, like her scowl is the warmest ray of sunshine, lighting me up.
“So, who does know that Colton is one of us, an undercover agent?” asks Anders, the constipated look a sign that he’s thinking some new plan through.
Harper sits back in her chair, gaze trained on my own, “Just the three of us.”
“Good, then we can keep Agent Graves in his role,” Anders declares. And despite the announcement leaving no room for argument, Sadie is keen to give it a shot, anyway.
“No,” she crosses her arms.
“I’m sorry, do you not want to aid the DEA in determining who from Cirque is aiding or leading this operation?” He looks from Sadie to Harper, laying on the implications of denying aid on thick. “I was under the impression we wanted the same thing. Was I wrong?”
Sadie and Wade aren’t sparing me a glance as they wait for Harper’s response, knowing that this decision, ultimately, will be her call.
She hasn’t broken eye contact with me, but unlike her standoff with Anders, this isn’t a game of chicken. This is a battle of wills for Harper and Harper alone. Her desire to keep Cirque in the good graces with a federal agency at war with her distaste for me being in her home.
“Fine, he can stay. He didn’t get what he wanted from his first mark. Hopefully, he has better success moving forward,” she answers before steering the conversation along to next steps and contact plans.
How easily she’s forgotten a promise made just a few hours ago. I got everything I could ever want. And I plan to keep it.