Chapter 17 #2
Her thumb hovered over the icon of the profile picture.
It was of a woman with dark hair who had the same last name as Mateo.
Melody tapped it before she could lose her nerve, pulling up the profile.
The bio said that she was a wife and a mother from California.
Melody couldn’t scroll fast enough, her rabid gaze inundated with images and captions and hashtags.
The posts were old, having come to a stop a little over a year ago, which Melody found odd.
History indicated that this Mari woman had posted almost every day before then.
There were photos of a craft room and sewing projects, as well as aesthetic images of coffee cups and various home-cooked dishes, and some very flattering selfies.
She was beautiful, with golden skin, dark brown hair and hazel eyes that radiated warmth.
Melody had begun to think maybe she had stumbled on a sister or a cousin of Mateo, until she came across a photo that took her breath away.
The man in the photo lay shirtless on a bed, the covers fallen to his waist. He appeared to be asleep, but his head was turned away so Melody couldn’t be sure.
One thing she was certain of … it was him.
She felt like she would recognize Mateo anywhere, even when only being able to see his torso and the back of his head.
She knew those tousled strands of hair, so black they took a bluish tint in the sunlight.
She knew the hands resting on that abdomen, strong and long-fingered and bulging with prominent veins.
She knew that tattoo—the helmet, rifle, and combat boots she’d noticed at the café.
He had been bulkier when the photo was taken, thick with muscle across his chest and arms. The width and breadth of his frame were the same now, but he was harder now than he appeared in his photo, tighter, jacked, every muscle pulled taut over his bones.
Sleepy Papa Bear #marriedlife #saturdaymornings, the caption read.
As Melody scrolled, she found more faceless photos of Mateo—him walking down a crowded city street from behind.
Him jogging down the sidewalk in front of what she assumed must be their house.
Him bent over a workbench with his head lowered and a hammer raised in one hand.
The captions were sweet and loving, the adoration this woman felt toward Mateo clear as day.
Melody’s eyes stung as she lingered over a black and white wedding photo.
Mari smiled into the camera, a white veil framing her face and delicate lace covering her shoulders and arms. Mateo pressed his lips to her cheek, his eyes closed, his arm wrapped around her waist. She took in the lowered eyelids, the long lashes, the strong jaw.
Then she noticed other things. The protective hold of his hand at her waist, the intensity furrowing his brow as he leaned in toward his bride.
The glittering diamond on Mari’s hand, which rested over the arm Mateo held her with.
This caption was in Spanish: Te amo siempre. Feliz aniversario. #anniversary #couplegoals.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she swiped it away, angry with herself.
Men had been disappointing Melody her entire life.
Not one of them had ever given her something for nothing, and every one of them had fixed their mouths at some time to lie to her.
Mateo wasn’t the first man who’d turned out to be married after she’d fucked him.
With her track record, she doubted he would be her last.
She was just about to close down the app when a sudden thought occurred to her.
Why had both the FBI wives’ page and Mari’s personal page gone dead?
The FBI wives page hadn’t been posted on in two years, and her personal page had been silent for about thirteen months.
Scrolling back up, Melody tapped on the last selfie of Mari that had been posted.
It had more comments and likes than anything she had ever shared.
Melody’s heart gave a painful twinge as she read the comments, and what she had overlooked became clear.
RIP Mari.
Such a beautiful soul. Gone too soon.
Rest in heaven, angel.
Melody’s heart wrenched and she brought her hand over her mouth and darkened the screen.
Things that hadn’t previously made sense about Mateo fell into sharp focus.
The guarded way he had interacted with her in the beginning.
His comment on Saints and Sinners night that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked a woman to dance.
The way he seemed to wrestle with his attraction to her, as if he were doing something wrong.
On one hand, she could argue that his job was the reason for his skittishness.
But she had looked into his eyes and watched him wrestle with himself every time he’d been about to touch her.
He had touched, kissed, and fucked her as if he were doing it against his own will.
As if some force inside of him was drawn to her like a piece of metal to a magnet.
Flopping back against her pillows, she released a pained groan.
This was the last thing she needed. With Roman Korenic coming back to town in a few days, Melody would need to be on her guard.
The owner of Solstice was usually in attendance at the club most nights, and he was more demanding than most. Everyone at the club would need to be at their best, and she couldn’t keep her boss happy if she was constantly looking over her shoulder for Mateo.
Her throat clenched at the thought. If Mateo kept hanging around Solstice—around her—someone was bound to notice.
Roman Korenic was bound to notice. That was all it would take to send her carefully constructed house of cards falling down around her.
Taking a few deep breaths, she turned the problem over in her mind.
She had little chance of convincing Mateo to stop breathing down her neck.
Last night had made that clear enough. The moment she stepped out of her apartment, she ran the risk of landing on his radar.
Hell, she wasn’t even safe here. Mateo had proven how easily he could invade the only place where she felt moderately safe.
Here with her records, her paint, and her plants, Melody could retain the smallest sliver of her identity.
She could keep herself afloat long enough to get out of her predicament.
After all she had been through, she was nothing if not a survivor. She could get through this.
If Mateo couldn’t be convinced to leave her alone, maybe she ought to take him up on his offer to help her.
The idea was seductive for all of thirty seconds.
In that short amount of time, she let herself fantasize about running to him and spilling the truth.
He would understand. A man in his profession had likely heard it all; her situation wouldn’t be unique to him.
She had read enough about him to realize that he was in a position to protect her—just as he had claimed.
The steely blue eyes of Roman Korenic flashed in her mind, along with the countless stories she’d heard of the people he had terrorized, tortured, dismembered, and killed.
With his own hands. It didn’t matter that she’d never seen any of it for herself.
Her sources were reliable—people who had been in Korenic’s service for years, who had watched him carry out his ruthless vendetta against anyone who stood in his path.
The man had proven himself untouchable, above the law.
That was evidenced by the way he’d been orchestrating a drug and human trafficking ring up and down the southeast coast for almost a decade without facing any consequences.
There were fall guys for that, and Korenic always came out on top.
Mateo might succeed in bringing him down, but Melody would end up where all the minions of such organizations wound up.
Dead or behind bars.
She couldn’t surrender to such a fate. Life had been kicking the shit out of her since birth, but there was still some spark of fire left in Melody. It wouldn’t let her lie down and accept defeat or death. She would do what it took to survive, and that meant sticking to her current plan.
Melody had assumed that her false identity would keep her safe enough, though ingenuity and fast thinking would be needed on her part.
There was the chance that Mateo would uncover pieces of her past. That didn’t concern her as much as Mateo digging further into the truth of Melody Johnson.
If that should happen, she’d be screwed, pressed in by Korenic on one side and Mateo on the other.
The one thing she had left to figure out was which of them would run over her to get to the other.
Which of them proved the greater danger?
On the surface, the answer to that question seemed pretty straightforward.
But then, she remembered Mateo’s warning—the only warning she was going to get, he’d said.
He had promised to be her downfall if he uncovered anything that even vaguely pointed in her direction.
Closing her eyes, she curled herself into the fetal position.
The second her lids settled, her mind flooded with memories of the night before.
Of Mateo standing over her, a feral light burning in his eyes as he battered his way through her body, her defenses, her lies.
Mateo kissing her, biting her, touching her.
Mateo whispering things to her that she’d only ever dreamed a man saying to her.
Mateo with his head thrown back, the chords in his neck drawn taut as he shuddered and came inside of her.
No doubt about it. Supervisory Special Agent Mateo Garcia would likely turn out to be her downfall … in more ways than one.