1. Playing With Fire
1 PLAYING WITH FIRE
Six months later
Lanie
Liars, in my opinion, were an infectious pustule on the ass-crack of humanity, yet in the past few weeks I’d become one of the best. Welcome to undercover work. It turned you into the thing you hated the most. Besides the whole lying aspect, working undercover meant being separated from two people I’d come to love dearly.
Henley, Keaton’s fiancée, and Jade, Koen’s wife, had slid seamlessly into my life. In a short amount of time, the three of us had fallen into a rhythm and not being able to communicate with them was slowly eating away at my sanity. They were as essential to me as breathing.
Our law enforcement partners at the DEA requested FBI assistance—more specifically me—in a case involving someone I knew years ago. Brandon Little and I went to high school together. He actually dated my best friend, Beth, for a short time, until they realized there was no romantic spark between them.
Beth disappeared our junior year and was later found dead, which fueled my need for justice, ultimately leading me on a path to join the FBI. Brandon did the exact opposite. He was allegedly in charge of manufacturing a new drug called Tranq Dope in West Virginia for a dangerous gang out of California, Los Tredos. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Los Tredos recently had dealings with the Russian Bratva.
The plan was simple. We set up an accidental meeting between myself and Little, then used our past as an opening to reconnect. What no one anticipated was the six-foot FBI agent who inserted himself into the investigation under the guise of providing backup for me. Worse yet, because of Noah’s outrageous behavior, our Resident Agent in Charge, Waverly Mitchell, insisted on being involved as well. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t the actual reason, but it was the one I was going with.
In the months since the “incident,” as I referred to it, we’d fallen back into a good rhythm, as if the night had never happened. It was good, really good, until Mr. Overprotective got his panties twisted into a vicious knot. Suddenly he was everywhere and I’d found breathing had become increasingly difficult, like trying to suck air in through a straw. Christ, he even tried to strong-arm his way into crashing on my sofa during the whole operation, but I’d shut his shit down fast and hard.
After weeks of pretending I didn’t want to throat punch Brandon at every turn, we finally had a huge break. I overheard a conversation between him and a guy he called Z, setting up a meet. We were in the final stages planning the takedown when Koen and Jade had to rush to California after his mom had a heart attack. That’s when everything went sideways.
If Koen hadn’t gotten to her in time, Jade would’ve died at the hands of the leader of Los Tredos. With the vast majority of the gang behind bars, essentially cutting off the distribution aspect of our case, the DEA agents I was working with panicked. Turns out there was no need.
“Are you ready?” Noah leaned his shoulder against the one-way mirror, partially obstructing my view of the interrogation room where Brandon Little was being questioned by the lead DEA agents, Reed Hendricks and Oakleigh Harty.
“Absolutely. This needs to be over.”
What he didn’t understand was my statement had a double meaning. I was done with the case, done being isolated from my friends, but above all else, I was well and truly done playing these exhausting games with him. My heart couldn’t take it any longer.
“Remember, he’s not the guy you used to know.”
“Gee thanks, Captain Obvious.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve questioned a few criminals over the years, in case you forgot. Any other words of wisdom?”
Wisely, he kept his big mouth shut.
A quick rap on the door was the only warning we got before it opened and the rest of my team, including my two bosses, spilled into the room.
“They just finished with Popov,” Waverly announced. “He didn’t utter a word after he lawyered up.”
In a last minute twist, Z ended up being Zasha Popov, nephew of Machail Bolotov, the U.S. version of Pahkan of the Bolotov Bratva. The meet between him and Brandon had gone off without a hitch. We arrested both of them, along with a handful of their underlings. During the raid, we recovered six containers of Tranq Dope and another filled with C-4. It was the explosives which had us all scratching our heads. Why bring bomb materials to a dope deal?
“You’re up, Lanie.” Duncan nodded toward the still open door.
“Be careful in there. If it doesn’t feel right, walk out.” Noah wrapped his fingers around my elbow. “There’s no need to put yourself at risk. This is the DEA’s problem, not ours.”
“If there’s more C-4 unaccounted for, it’ll be everyone’s problem,” Koen muttered, earning a scowl from Noah.
Skirting around my team, I exited the room. The only one who joined me was Waverly, which came as no surprise. She’d always been my mentor, someone I had mad respect for and looked up to. But in the weeks I spent undercover, she became my sounding board for whenever I couldn't work something out in my head. Unfortunately, it also meant she was acutely aware of the growing tension between myself and Noah.
“Don’t give up on him, Lanie.”
“I only have enough headspace to deal with one crisis at a time, Waverly,” I sighed, reaching out to grasp the door knob of the interrogation room. “And right now, bombs and drugs win out over an emotionally stunted federal agent.”
“He’s harboring a lot of guilt?—”
“Aren’t we all?” I interrupted. “Some of us choose to push through instead of wading in a pool of self-recrimination.”
“Fair point,” she acquiesced.
Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped into the well-lit room. Waverly followed, closing the door behind us. Agents Hendricks and Harty had their backs to me, however, my focus went directly to the man sitting across from them shooting icy daggers at me from his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Alaina?” Brandon sneered.
The rules of interrogation were different for everyone. Some used the good cop, bad cop routine, which was fine, it just wasn’t my style. I preferred to infuse a bit of sarcasm in my approach.
“I was in the neighborhood.” He scoffed and I smirked as I crossed the room with confidence. “Figured I’d come shoot the shit with you.”
There was an extra chair beside Agent Harty which I slowly drug out from under the table, purposefully letting the metal scrape against the tile floor. I gave myself an internal high five when both Brandon and his lawyer winced at the obnoxious sound.
“I should’ve known you were up to something.” He shook his head, not in a disgusted sort of way, more like he was disappointed.
“Don’t beat yourself up too much.” I sat down. “I’m damn good at my job.”
“Ouch. Is that really all I was to you? A job?”
Before I had a chance to answer, his lawyer piped up.
“Are we almost finished here?”
My eyes cut to the older man in the finely tailored suit, who kept staring at his cheaply made, fake Rolex like he had somewhere else to be. Brandon definitely couldn’t afford the hourly price on this guy, which made me wonder who was footing the bill.
“How rude of me.” I stretched a hand across the table. “Special Agent Alaina Biggs with the FBI.”
“I know exactly who you are, Agent Biggs.” He looked at my hand, but otherwise made no move to shake it. Asshole.
“Where’d you get the explosives, Brandon?” I returned my attention to my target. His gaze veered to the left, something I’d discovered during my weeks undercover he did when he was getting ready to lie. Which was about eighty-five percent of the time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All right, let's change gears then. With the amount of drugs we found you with, the DEA is charging you with both conspiracy to commit a felony and possession with the intent to distribute a Schedule 1 narcotic.” I leaned forward with my forearms to the table. “I’m talking between two to thirty years—give or take a decade—in a federal prison when you’re convicted, Brandon. Notice I didn’t say if because we both know you’ll be going down. If you cooperate, though, there may be a way to cushion your fall a bit.”
He slumped in his seat, eyeing the man next to him. It was small, but I saw the slight shake of the other man’s head. I had the answer to my earlier question. Considering who else we had in custody, my best guess was the Russians were picking up the tab for the high-priced suit, meaning Brandon wouldn’t talk. Not while this guy was in the room if he knew what was good for him.
It was time to shake things up; to poke the bear and hope Brandon had enough sense to his life over loyalty.
“Do you honestly believe the Russians are going to let you keep breathing, Brandon?”
Noah
What the fuck was she playing at?
The Russian Bratva was no joke and she’d basically called them out in front of their hired lackey. Jesus fucking Christ, I wanted to spank her ass until she couldn’t sit down for a week. Unfortunately, I’d fucked up my chances of getting anywhere near her perfect ass months ago.
Stupid, Noah. So damn stupid.
Four careless words—and they were incredibly careless—disrupted what would’ve been a dream come true. As soon as they left my mouth, I wanted to snatch them out of the air. I hadn’t meant we were a mistake, far from it. I didn’t want there to be any regrets, yet regret was my constant companion ever since. It was up to me to fix what I’d broken. The problem was, I had no clue where to begin.
“There you go, Lanie. Draw him in,” Keaton muttered from my left.
We were all stuffed inside the tiny observation room; me, him, Koen on my right, and Duncan behind us, along with a few other DEA agents.
“She’s playing with fire, Keaton.”
“If you think so, then you’re not paying attention.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Lanie is wielding those flames like a pro. Look at Little. He’s shitting his pants right now at the thought of living on borrowed time.”
Grinding my molars together, I struggled to maintain my composure. Having complete command of my emotions was something I excelled at, except lately when it came to the five-foot-five special agent. Lanie was my kryptonite. Her body was made for sin. Don’t even get me started on how often I dreamed about fisting her ponytail while I plowed into her from behind. Fuck. I had to stop before my dick tried to bust through my zipper,
“What exactly are you insinuating, Agent Biggs?” The smarmy lawyer’s voice sounded through the speaker.
“You misunderstand, counselor. I’m not insinuating anything, merely stating facts.” Lanie sat back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other, her hands folded in her lap in a relaxed posture. “The Bratva will be looking to silence anyone who can point a finger in their direction, and that’s your client.”
“I want a new lawyer.” Little banged his fists on the table, then turned to the man seated on his left. “You’re fired.”
“She’s good,” Koen remarked.
“Too good,” I grunted.
“You heard the man, counselor,” Agent Harty spoke up. “Your services are no longer required.”
While shooting a nasty glare in Lanie’s direction, the Russian-paid lawyer stood, straightened the lapels of his suit jacket, and moved to exit the room. Before he left, he spouted off one last time.
“Not a very wise move.”
It was a warning of sorts. Whether it had been directed at Little or Lanie didn’t matter to me. She’d be covered regardless; I’d make certain of it.
Once the court-appointed lawyer entered the equation, the interrogation shifted. Agent Hendricks joined the conversation, detailing the prosecutor's offer of a reduced sentence in return for Brandon’s testimony against Zasha Popov. He would still be spending a considerable amount of time in prison for his part in the production and distribution of Tranq Dope, but not nearly the thirty years he could’ve been facing.
It didn’t take long for Little to start singing like the proverbial canary. Besides the leader of Los Tredos in San Francisco or his right-hand man, Popov was the only other person he’d dealt with. They’d met on several other occasions over the past year; however, those transactions had been for considerably smaller amounts of drugs.
The more he talked, the more pissed off I became, knowing Lanie had been close to this scumbag for weeks.
“When are you gonna pull your head out of your ass and claim your girl, Noah?”
I hadn’t even realized Duncan moved closer until his deep voice rumbled next to my ear. Thankfully, Keaton and Koen were too distracted by the interrogation to pay attention, because there was no point lying to Duncan. The man could see straight through a pile of bullshit with ease.
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t,” he grumbled.
“Same difference.”
He shook his head. “Take a walk with me.”
I hesitated, looking back to find Lanie leaning up against a side wall next to Waverly, both of them listening intently while Little spilled his guts.
“Nothing’s going to happen to her in the five minutes you’re gone. Let’s go.”
His tone brokered no argument. Standing from my seat, I followed him out into the hallway, but he didn’t stop there like I thought. Instead, he led me past a throng of desks, down a second hallway, eventually stopping outside of an unmarked door.
“Inside,” he directed, turning the knob and waving me through. The second the door closed behind us, he started. “What’s holding you back?”
“I fucked up.”
“No shit,” he deadpanned. “What are you going to do about it?”
“There’s nothing I can do. ”
“For someone with your IQ, your lack of intelligence in this situation is staggering.”
“Thanks?”
“Christ.” He looked to the ceiling. “I need to start charging for all these impromptu therapy sessions I keep having with you lovesick idiots. At the very least, Waverly should give me a raise.”
“Huh?”
“Listen and learn, Noah.” Duncan narrowed his eyes on me. “The past doesn't dictate your future unless you allow it. Fight for her before it’s too late.”
Something told me he was speaking from experience, but I knew better than to ask. His life before the FBI was one big redaction and he was content to keep it that way.
“My past has nothing to do with this.”
“Doesn’t it though?” He raised a brow.
I opened my mouth to deny his claim then quickly closed it when I realized he wasn’t far off the mark. There was a reason I’d kept my distance from Lanie for so long.
My older sister, Juliette, and I were close growing up, despite the four-year age gap between us. She started dating Matt during her freshman year of high school and for the first few years, he acted like the big brother I’d always wanted. They were ridiculously in love. So much so that after they graduated, they left our small Pennsylvania town in the dust to attend college together in New York.
That’s when I really noticed a change.
It was subtle at first. For instance, how she cut her beautiful long red hair because Matt preferred it shorter. Or how they stayed at school during most holiday breaks because Matt said it was wasteful to spend the extra money to come home.
They returned to our small community after four years away and, in that time, Juliette had become a whisper of herself. My once outspoken, fun-loving sister had turned into a shrinking violet.
The day I left for college was the first time I saw bruises on her arms. She made excuses, of course, saying she’d bumped into something, but deep down a part of me couldn’t help but think the bastard was hurting her. Without any proof, there was nothing I could do.
They eloped shortly after I left. Then less than three years later, the cops were called to their home by a neighbor who heard a female screaming. She was found on the bedroom floor, beaten to hell and barely alive. There was no need for a trial. An extensive investigation—which included hospital records as well as photographs my sister had taken of her injuries—revealed years of domestic abuse. Matt pled guilty to attempted murder and would spend a good portion of his adult life behind bars.
“Noah.” He grasped my upper arm. “What happened to your sister was not your fault.”
“Juliette can’t have kids because of what that motherfucker did to her. Did you know that?” I cocked my head to the side.
“No.”
“It was my job to protect her and I failed in the worst way imaginable. So, yeah, it kinda is my fault.”
After everything with my sister, I switched my major, graduating with dual degrees in criminal justice and psychology. I hadn’t been able to keep my own flesh and blood safe, so becoming a cop put me in a position to save someone else’s Juliette. Joining the FBI was just the cherry on top.
“Did you hit her?”
I reared back at his growled words .
“Fuck no.”
“Kick her? Smash her face?—”
“Enough.” I spun out of his hold, my breaths quickening. “I get it, for fuck’s sake.”
“You don’t, but you will. Until then, figure out a way to unfuck whatever it is that happened with Lanie. Start by rebuilding your friendship. The rest will fall in place.”
Duncan was wrong. For the next six months, I worked tirelessly to get back in her good graces. At work we were solid. Our partnership was as easy as breathing. It always was. Outside of that was where things got a little hairy. How the hell was I supposed to explain what I meant by “mistake” when Lanie dodged any and all efforts I made to get close to her? She’d understand if she’d give me two damn minutes. But she wasn’t acting alone. Her two best friends were throwing up roadblocks faster than I could knock them down.
Henley and Jade were determined to set her up with every available male who came into the diner they worked at, Over Easy. Those two were a damned menace and the worst part was they were doing it to intentionally push my buttons. The girl gang had drawn the line in the proverbial sand.
“You gonna do something about that?” Keaton asked.
He and I were hanging around the office waiting for Koen to finish a bit of last-minute paperwork when Lanie breezed by us, practically running out the door on her way to another date. A motherfucking date. I nearly bit through my bottom lip, trying to hold in the groan when I saw what she was wearing. A skintight, flaming-red dress cut so short she’ d flash more than a smile if she bent over. Coupled with the sky-high black heels on her feet, she was every man’s wet dream, and my current nightmare.
God dammit!
“Not yet.”
“You’re a fool.”
He wasn’t wrong. Both he and Koen had uncovered my infatuation with our teammate—undoubtedly from their women—and the news spread like wildfire. Hell, even Nelson Travers, our tech guy, and his wife, Sammy—our administrative assistant—had begun giving their unsolicited advice on how to win over the feisty agent. None of them knew our history though. They had no idea how spectacularly I’d screwed the pooch.
Koen knocked my shoulder with his when he approached. “What are you gonna do if one of these guys turns out to be Mr. Right?”
Clenching my fists at my side, a red haze clouded my vision. My jaw ached with how hard I was grinding my teeth together. The possibility of Lanie being with anyone other than me wasn’t a scenario I was prepared for. It was inconceivable, yet it would become a reality if I didn't do something to stop it. The thought had the blood in my veins heating to the boiling point.
They stared at me, eyes flaring wide, then glanced at each other before they began cackling like two prepubescent boys in the midst of a farting contest. They were pissing me off. My relationship—or lack of one—with Lanie was not a laughing matter. Far from it.
“Jesus,” Koen snorted. “If looks could kill, I’d be roasting on a spit in the pits of hell.”
“What are you talking about?” I raised a brow.
“You were about three seconds away from strangling Koen with your bare hands for even suggesting your girl might find someone else.”
Shit. “Sorry, man. I don’t know what came over me.”
“We’ve been there.” Koen pointed between himself and Keaton. “We know what it’s like to want something you think is out of reach.”
“You’re not good enough for her, right?” Keaton quipped. “Isn’t that what your huge brain is telling you?”
I didn’t answer him, there was no need. Of all people, he was probably the only one who could understand my hesitation.
“My father was a fucking serial killer, Noah,” he continued. “My past nearly got Henley killed.”
“But it didn’t,” I interjected.
“Because I didn’t let it. We didn’t let it. You need to silence that shit, brother. Shut out all the voices in your head and concentrate on what your heart is saying instead.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder,” Koen cut in. “You’re about as straitlaced as they come, but playing by the rules isn’t gonna help in this situation. Life isn’t always black and white. If you want to get to the good parts, sometimes you have to color outside of the lines.”
I needed a plan. Things were about to get messy.