6. Grayson
CHAPTER 6
Grayson
I s this what a fucking midlife crisis feels like?
I used to be perfectly happy with my life. Working long hours as an FBI agent, with casual, no-strings-attached sex on my day off.
It’s kind of ironic, because I used to be quite the devoted family man. At least, to all outward appearances. I was the husband who went to the farmer’s market every Sunday, contributed 50-50 to all the household chores, preferred tennis with his wife instead of golf with the boys.
Except, of course, it was all a lie.
I don’t think about those two years with Clementine.
It was a job I completed. Nothing more. When you’ve been deep undercover, it doesn’t do any good to go back over the job and think about what might have gone differently.
After Harvey Adler was arrested, I was showered with medals and awards. I’m the most decorated person in my department now, the obvious candidate for taking the Chief’s job after he retires. Our department is still close-knit. The Chief, Vivi, Nakamura, Williams, and me. We have the best prosecution record in Fraud. Even Senator Mancini has been to our office to give me a special commendation for my service. The walls of my office are sagging with the weight of all my awards for meritorious service to the country.
It’s everything I’ve worked for all these long years.
The promotions, the bonuses, the awards, the recognition.
Why aren’t I satisfied?
Maybe it’s because I’m a hardass perfectionist and, although the Chief would never admit it, our years-long governmental fraud investigation had one notable failure. We didn’t capture the kingpin. Harvey Adler was supposed to be the kingpin. But he wasn’t. We learned that after the exact same shit continued after he was jailed, just on a smaller scale. And there was the matter of the missing $50 million that was never recovered.
But I had done my job like I always had—by the book, following the orders I was given precisely. It didn’t do any good to break the rules.
Even though I had only done what I had to do to get the information to build a case against Harvey, I still tried to reach out to Clementine after the trial was over.
I was very uneasy about how she had behaved at the trial.
Why had she even attended?
I told her not to attend.
I left her text messages, left her voice messages, instructed her firmly not to attend.
It was going to be a long, brutal case.
Clementine did not have to testify. Her presence was not required at the trial. She was not under investigation. She had not done anything wrong.
She had always done as I instructed her before.
So why did she come?
Despite what I said, she came anyway. Every single goddamn day, sitting in the same place in the courthouse every time.
I tried to catch her eye, indicate to her that she shouldn’t be here.
But she never met my eyes.
I did my job. I answered every question truthfully, wondering why Clementine had disobeyed me.
Her silent, cool gaze slid over me, and I felt an uneasy prickling of fear at the base of my spine, but I drove it down.
After the trial was over, I went to the house we had shared, to give her some money against its sale. After all, she had done a lot to improve it, done landscaping and had a flourishing flower garden. I had paid for everything and she was still in graduate school. She would need money.
But the house was emptied of all her things.
I walked around to see if she was out back in her flower garden.
But she wasn’t there, and neither were the flowers.
They had all been hacked down, chopped into pieces.
Even the rare rose bush I had bought her on our second anniversary.
I stared at it for several long moments, then finally moved away.
Clementine was gone.
Where had she gone? Where on earth had she gotten money to move out?
I locked away my curiosity and refused to think about the answers.
Clementine was no longer my responsibility.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Chief Thomas asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.
I’m spare, sparse. A man of few words. That’s helped me more than once in my career as an FBI agent.
Chief Thomas is a craggy white man in his late 60s with a full head of white hair, calm and efficient.
“Because for two years you pretended to be her husband.”
The familiar prick of uneasiness, of wrongness, at his words sizzles across my skin.
“It’s fine,” I said. “It will be good to check up on her, make sure she’s doing OK.”
“You’ve wanted to check up on her before,” the Chief said. “And I would never let you. Before I give you her address, I want to make sure you are going to maintain professional boundaries.”
“Of course,” I said stiffly. “When have you ever known me not to put the good of this department first?”
Chief Thomas nodded and handed me the address.
I waited until I had left the room before glancing at it.
One thing I prided myself on was my iron control over my emotions. But I couldn’t prevent that first raw feeling.
She’s been that close this whole time?
I drove the thought down. I also prided myself on my professionalism. This was going to be good for both of us. A way for me to put any lingering feelings of guilt to sleep. To apologize for any pain Clementine had experienced. I wondered if, now that five years had passed, maybe she understood why I had done it. Why it was necessary to deceive her.
Her new house was very pretty. I was a little surprised how big it was, a huge white Colonial with columns and a big overflowing garden out front.
Clementine must be doing pretty well for herself. Or maybe she was married now and her husband was rich.
For some reason, the thought of her being married was a little uncomfortable to me, but I shook the feeling off.
I knocked on the door.
No response.
Not only was her house nicer than mine, but she also had a luxury SUV parked out front, also much nicer than the same governmental car I’d been driving for the last ten years.
I knocked on the door again, louder this time.
And then it finally opened.
It wasn’t Clementine at all. It was a tiny woman with long, silky chestnut brown hair, dark lashes and full pink lips. She was wearing a big pair of dark sunglasses and dressed like a model in white silk slacks and a tight tank top.
Her hair was partway pinned up, but it was all running down her back in messy curls.
I had been half-heartedly off and on with Vivi for a few years after the trial, and was always too busy with work for anything but casual sex. Still, when I wanted to fuck someone, it was easy to find. There was no shortage of women to slake my lust with, and Vivi was always hinting she’d like to pick things up again.
So I was surprised how intensely I wanted this random woman, lust coursing through my body at the sight of her.
Clementine must have a roommate.
I felt another pang of sympathy for her. It had been way too easy to seduce the shy Clementine, to get her to do what I wanted and give me the information I needed. And now, with this absolute knockout as a roommate, she must feel shyer and more unsure of herself than ever.
Damn, this was going to make my job way harder. Because I was absolutely going to fuck this woman. Everything about her seemed like it was constructed to appeal to me personally. The way her tits were perfectly shaped, a delicate gold necklace falling into her cleavage. The way I could see a touch of tanned stomach. The way her perky little ass was filing out those clingy slacks as she stood sideways in the door.
I opened my mouth to ask what her name was, when suddenly this absolute goddess reached behind the door and came back with a baseball bat.
I had barely any time to react when she swung it at me with both hands.
I grabbed it, but not quite fast enough to fully prevent her blow from cracking painfully across my ribs.
“Hold on there, sweetheart,” I protested, grunting in pain. “I’m with the FBI.”
That only seemed to further enrage this gorgeous creature, and since I had the bat trapped in my hand, she aimed a kick at my thighs with her 5-inch heels.
I let it land, wondering who on earth this spitfire was, when she followed it with another blow to my calves.
Now I was wondering if she had some sort of active warrant out, which would be unfortunate, because I wanted her flat on her back immediately.
She tried to pull the bat from my hands, but when she didn’t get anywhere, she let it go and tried to slam the door on me instead.
I put one foot in the door to block her. Now I was sure had an active warrant out.
“Calm down, sweetheart,” I repeated soothingly, putting my hand on the door to pry it open, getting close enough that I could smell her. It smelled like she’d been outside and for a second there was something vaguely familiar about it. She smelled liked sun on skin, and I wondered what she would taste like, what it would feel like to run my tongue up her throat.
My words made her hiss like a little wildcat, and suddenly she had a goddamn hammer , and I was only able to move my fingers away at the last minute, but her blow sent splinters shooting out from the door.
“Whoa!” I said, worried she was going to hurt herself. “I told you to calm down! Do you want to get a ticket for assaulting a police officer?”
She sucked in her breath, a sharp harsh inhale.
“Oh, I’d love to see you try to arrest your own ex-wife, asshole!” she snapped. “I’ll have a lawsuit filed faster than you can pick your Viagra up from the drug store.”
Wait, that voice. . .
“Why would I arrest my ex-wife?” I said, before my brain could catch up.
Then she ripped off her sunglasses, her eyes narrowed in fury. “Who the fuck do you think you’re looking at, dumbass?”
My jaw dropped.
“Clementine?”
My wife had been a sweet pretty little thing with long hair she always pulled back in a severe bun, and clothes designed to hide her sweet little curves. She was shy and anxious, often asking me to order at restaurants because she didn’t want to talk to anyone.
This woman carried herself like she knew exactly the queen she was, wore clothes like she knew exactly how goddamn hot she was, and wasn’t afraid to look me directly in the eye.
I gaped at her, my ribs still throbbing from where she had hit them.
“You can’t be Clementine,” I said stupidly. But now that I saw her eyes and heard her voice, it was obvious. Those long dark lashes sweeping over her cheeks. The plump kissable mouth.
I was staring, and she swung the hammer again, connecting with my thumb, sending a blinding sear of pain through my arm.
“Stop it!” I bit out, grabbing the hammer and ripping it from her hands.
Undaunted, she kicked me, connecting painfully with my shins.
“What are you doing here?” she yelled at me. “I never wanted to see you ever again, you disgusting cheating bastard! Get the fuck out of my house!”
This was not how I expected this to go at all. I expected to find a quiet, sweet Clementine, maybe even feel bad for her because she was still carrying a torch for me.
I didn’t expect to see this confident goddess. Or that she’d be trying to maim me with a hammer.
“I’m here to protect you,” I said.
Her jaw dropped open. “From what? The only person I’ve ever needed protection from is you .”
OK, that stung more than I expected.
My brain still had not caught up with the sweet little angel I expected to find.
“I was just doing my job,” I said, my eyes taking in every inch of Clementine, from the top of her perfect silky hair to the tips of her pointy sexy as fuck heels.
“I’ve come to warn you that your father is about to get released from prison, and the FBI has decided to give you some protection in case he tries to contact you or in case any of his associates come around.”
“Send a letter next time,” she said, trying to shove the door closed on me. “Goodbye now.”
But my thumb was throbbing, and I wasn’t about to leave.
It felt like we had unfinished business.
So I opened the door and came inside.