Chapter Fifteen
James
“Connors,” I snapped.
“I heard you, asshole,” his voice hissed in my earpiece.
We were outside the Mayor of Boston’s estate, at the Boston Beneficiaries Banquet. The house was nothing short of grand. Pretentious. It was a Greek Revival style home, nestled in a gated community outside of the city. Inside was brimming with first class society, dripping in wealth and sin.
“Was that Chris Evans?” Gwen asked in a hushed tone from beside me. She was my date this evening. Jeremy would remain outside, and Dean found an alternate way in.
“Yes, he's from Boston,” I deadpanned, looking down at her. Her eyes were wide with awe.
She made a sound of approval. “Well, Antman was right about one thing. That is America’s ass.”
“Baby girl,” Dean growled in our ears. “I'm not against killing Captain America tonight. Do not fucking test me.”
“Great, Captain America is fucking here, and I'm stuck in the damn getaway car,” Jer grumbled next.
My eyes shot to the night sky, my patience obliterated. A warm hand slid inside my tux jacket stopping right over my heart. When I looked back down, Gwen was in front of me. “Remember this, agent. It will be your greatest asset,” she said gently.
“Gwen, I don’t have the time for this—”
“Don’t lose your heart to the darkness, James, because when we get our girls back, your girl is going to need it,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. The small voice in my head knew she was right, but my anger didn’t give a fuck.
My princess was taken from me, and I wanted blood.
“Let’s go,” I ordered, brushing past her.
She kept her composure, my rudeness leaving her unaffected as she fell into step beside me and taking my arm. We got through security easy enough with our fake identities, thanks to Casey.
“Mr. and Mrs. Clawson. Welcome to Graystone Manor,” a butler said to us as we stepped over the threshold. We mingled for a few minutes before we split up, venturing through the grand rooms in search of Collin Stevens.
He was here, my gut told me what I needed to know the second I stepped foot on this property. Gwen veered left, the shimmering of her navy dress making it easy for me to spot her in the crowd if needed, and I went right.
In the living space, men were sprawled out, smoking cigars and sipping brandy. I noted three men of interest, but no mafia hitman—none of Romano’s men were here. If Collin was supposed to be here, then where the fuck was his back up?
After ten years on this case, I had built a pretty good rap sheet, a list of men who served Romano without fault.
Collin Stevens was at the top of that list, and respect came with the rank.
Charles Tipponi confessed to me before I blew his face off that Stevens was more than just a hitman, and Connors said the same thing.
There was more to this than just balancing the books and running errands for the devil.
Which could only mean one thing. Ray Romano knew Collin was his bastard son.
Why else would you give the man so much responsibility? He practically handed him the keys to the kingdom while he mourned the death of his legitimate son, Tony Romano. I made my way from room to room, smiling at anyone who made eye contact, playing the role I had given myself for the evening.
“No sign of them,” Gwen said through the earpiece.
I didn’t bother answering. She knew I heard her.
“I have two armored vehicles pulling up to the front with bullet-proof glass, packing a lot of heat,” Jer said.
“Go on,” Dean pressed.
My eyes flicked to the ceiling. The baseball player preferred to hide in air vents, but unfortunately, this house was over a hundred years old, so that wasn’t an option tonight.
Curiosity peaked as I did a secondary sweep of the party for him.
“Stop looking for me, Garner. You won’t find me,” Dean said flatly.
I smirked at his confidence. The bastard.
“Jones, what kind of heat?” I asked quietly as I approached the bar, holding up a single finger.
“C-4.”
“Son of a—oh! Excuse me,” Gwen said.
As every hair on my body stood up, I calmly swiped my drink off the bar and turned, bringing the glass to my lips.
I spotted her across the room by one of the windows.
She threw her head back after a moment, her curls following as she laughed at something the man in front of her said. Her hand was on his upper arm.
“Two seconds, baby girl. I’ll take his life right here,” Dean growled.
Reluctantly, her hand fell away from the man, and he gestured for her to go out into the backyard with him. When he turned, my jaw clenched, my hand balling into a firm fist at my side. The man was on the Boston PD, a detective. I had worked with him once before, years ago. Michael Smith.
He was a dirty cop and should be in prison, but my director thought it would be best to let him continue working for the mafia. We'd been keeping tabs on him for the last two years.
So, if he was here, then were the fuck was the mafia?
A low growl of frustration resonated in my throat as I turned away to go into the next room. Making my way down the hall in a rush, I didn’t see the woman until she crashed into me.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry—”
“My apologies, I wasn’t paying attention,” I mumbled as we righted ourselves, me straightening my jacket and her fixing her dress. Blonde hair. She looked up at me, and—
My blood boiled as my spine stiffened, my muscles going on high alert.
“Karina?” I whispered. Her eyes were wide, not with happiness, but with fear.
“James,” she said, a warning. I put my finger to my ear, ready to call for Gwen, but she yanked my wrist down.
“No. James, no,” she pleaded.
Fuck.
“Karina,” I growled, stepping closer to her as people squeezed past us.
“Goddammit,” she rasped, looking around, her blue eyes bouncing from face to face. She found what she was looking for, putting her hand over my wrist, dragging me into the nearest closet.
I let her push me in, knowing she might need a quiet space to get her head on straight. Victims of Stockholm Syndrome normally had a hard time adjusting to being, in fact, a victim. The door was shut quickly before she flicked the light on. I assessed her quickly, checking for injuries.
She looked good—healthy and alert. Her pupils were normal, no sign of drug abuse. Her skin was flushed. Her blonde hair was swept up into an elegant updo, and she wore a strapless, blood red gown that drifted down to the floor.
“James, listen to me,” she began.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, stepping closer to her.
“No, James. I need you to listen.”
I put my hands on her bare shoulders, ignoring her, already formulating a plan to get her away from Stevens. Jer would have to meet us at the front door, because there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the hitman wouldn't let her go without a fight.
“You are safe now; I'm going to get you out of her. Where is he?” I hissed, getting right down to business. She grabbed my jacket with both fists, shaking me as much as she could.
“You aren’t listening to me, James,” she said, yanking out my earpiece. She pulled it down, the wire coming around my torso and out of my jacket.
My stomach sank as my jaw clenched. She was compromised…
“Ms. Jones, assaulting a federal agent is against the law,” I warned as she took a step back from me, wrapping the wire around the device.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, hush. Haley assaults your dick every chance she fucking gets, and I don’t see her behind bars,” she snapped.
The sound of her name.
I got close to her until we were nose to nose, baring my teeth. “She better not be behind fucking bars, or I will kill everyone in my damn path. You understand me?”
“She is in a king size bed, drowning in luxury with the finest care, Garner. Back off,” she hissed, pushing me away, baring her teeth to me in return.
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“You on his side now, Karina? The enemy? Am I going to have to put you in handcuffs too?” I seethed, anger boiling up inside me. The itch to burn down this damn house was strong.
“Sounds kinky, but unfortunately, hot FBI agents aren’t my type,” she snapped. She sounded like herself. Shit.
“I don’t have much time to explain, but I'm safe. She is safe. You have to let me go,” she continued, looking to the closet door.
“Absolutely not. Try again,” I deadpanned, getting in her space again.
“Let. Me. Go. James. Things are in the works, and –”
“Gwen is here,” I said gently, reminding her of the people that cared about her. Her best friend, her sister.
That shut her up, and she held my eyes.
“Your brother is outside, and thank fuck I made him stay out there, because if he saw you, Karina, no one in this building would survive his wrath.”
She sucked in a breath, her bottom lip trembling as I pressed on. “We are here to bring you home,” I said quietly, putting my hands on her shoulders as I shoved my fury down.
She looked away from me, her teary eyes focusing on the row of coats beside us. She brought her hands up, playing with her fingers. She sighed as she looked up at me, her throat working. “If I tell you where Haley is, will you leave me alone?”
My brows came together. “You will tell me where she is regardless. And you are coming with me.”
“Then I will go kicking and screaming, Agent,” she said, tilting her chin up, meeting my eyes. “I will scream for him. He will come. And he…” She paused, taking an unsteady breath. “He'll kill you for touching me.”
“Sweetheart, I already planned on killing him,” I said, chuckling darkly, folding my arms over my chest. “Leave no room for doubt when I say this, Karina: Collin Stevens will die.”
She gave me a sad smile. “And she will never forgive you for it.”
Kay
James Garner was a man who loved fiercely and Haley was the object of that love. He would burn the fucking world for her, but she wouldn’t allow it. Not if that meant someone she cared for would get hurt.
She cared for Collin.