Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
ZARA
I’d been working in our hotel room for almost two hours, reviewing case logs and files. My thoughts kept traveling back to the kiss, and the absolute recklessness of kissing Sam in broad daylight with Beverly watching from half a block away.
I should have been terrified of what she might tell Agent Thorne. Instead, I kept replaying the moment over and over, savoring it like something precious I might never get to experience again.
The hotel room door swung open, and Chloe burst in, her face flushed from the cold. “My butt cheeks are frozen.”
“Finally,” I said, straightening in my chair. “Where have you been? It’s almost time to connect with Thorne.”
“The line at the pizza place was insane, but I’m happy to report that I am no longer hangry.” She shrugged off her coat, tossed it on her bed, then paused, studying my face. “But clearly, something happened while you were with Sam today.” Chloe’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh. Did you kiss him again?”
I nodded mutely.
“Zara—”
“Although it’s much more complicated than that.” I stood, needing to move, to pace, to do something with the nervous energy coursing through me. “He knows.”
Chloe’s eyebrows shot up. “Knows what?”
“That we’re FBI.”
The phone fell from her hand and crashed to the floor as she stared at me. “What? How did that happen?”
“He hacked into my computer while I was sitting four feet away from him in the conference room.” I sank onto the edge of my bed, twirling my hair with my index finger.
“He just breezed right through my security like a tank plowing through a screen door. Then, he triggered a self-destruct protocol on my laptop when I tried to access his files. Luckily, I didn’t lose anything. ”
“Wait, you were hacking him while he was hacking you?” she said as she bent down to grab her phone from the floor.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Chloe stared at me for a long moment, then started laughing—the kind of slightly hysterical laugh that said she couldn’t decide if this was the best or worst thing that had ever happened.
“This man is a miracle worker,” she managed between gasps. “He’s broken through your personal and professional defenses. He’s from another planet.”
Despite everything, I felt myself smile.
“There’s something about Sam that makes me feel alive, you know?
When I’m with him, I’m not the FBI agent who screwed up five years ago.
I’m not the woman who can’t trust her own judgment.
I’m just ... me. The best version of me, spontaneous, relaxed, creative … ”
Chloe sat down beside me, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Sam is good for you. I can see it. So here’s the real question: Can you see yourself being with him? Like, really being with him? Because he’s a small-town guy, you would most likely have to leave Seattle.”
“I know—and I would be okay with that,” I said without hesitation. “But we have more than a few obstacles. He needs to avoid jail, for one. I told him not to tell me anything incriminating because I’d be forced to tell the truth if they put me on the witness stand.”
“Not if you’re married,” Chloe said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Spousal testimonial privilege. You wouldn’t have to testify against your husband.”
I waved her off. “The way Beverly is on the hunt, what I do or say may not even matter. I passed her on the street after I kissed Sam, and she had this look in her eyes—like she was planning something much bigger than that stunt with the fake daughter. I warned Sam not to let his guard down after I left him at the library.”
“What could Bimbo Babbs be up to?” Chloe asked.
“She’s up to no good; we know that much. She just wants glory and victory, regardless of the lives she may destroy.” I checked my watch. “Thorne should be calling any second. After that, I need to get back to the library and brainstorm with Sam. He said he had an idea.”
“What kind?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe he’s planning to go completely straight and narrow.
Or maybe he wants to make some kind of plea deal with the Bureau—help us with future cases in exchange for staying out of jail.
” I stopped pacing, frowning. “But I can’t see him doing that.
And honestly? It doesn’t seem fair that he’s helping so many people, but if he gets busted, all those corrupt sleazeballs he’s stealing from get to keep defrauding and taking advantage of the public while the good guy gets sent away. ”
Chloe nodded. “I don’t like it either. It doesn’t feel fair. And it doesn’t even make sense why the Bureau is so gung-ho and going after him when there are so many other dangerous, high-profile cases just collecting dust on someone’s desk.”
“I’m just as baffled as you are.” I moved to the desk, opening my laptop to prepare for the video call. “Whatever happens with this case, though, I take the blame. I don’t want you getting dragged down with me, so we can’t mention that Sam knows we’re federal agents. Okay?”
“Zara—”
“Promise me, Chloe.”
She sighed. “Fine. I promise.”
“In fact, fake an illness so you have to go back to Seattle. That way, you won’t be around if things head in the wrong direction, which I have a feeling they just might.”
Right on cue, my laptop chimed—the distinctive sound of an incoming secure video call.
I settled into the desk chair and pulled it closer while Chloe perched on the edge of the bed behind me.
I clicked to accept the call.
Agent Thorne’s face filled the screen, but something was different about him from the last time we had connected. His usual intensity had been replaced by something almost relaxed.
Too relaxed.
My stomach clenched.
“Mazini, Davis—I’ve only got a minute.” He glanced at something off-screen. “Good news. You can both come back to Seattle. Agent Babbs has got everything covered in Leavenworth.”
The words almost knocked me off the chair.
“What? No, that’s not necessary.” I leaned forward, my hands gripping the edge of the desk. “I can handle this. I just need a little more time. The suspect is close to making a mistake, and if I can just—”
“The decision has already been made, Mazini, and there’s nothing more to do,” Thorne said. “Babbs had a breakthrough in the case.”
I blinked a few times rapidly. “What kind of breakthrough?”
“She found incriminating evidence at the suspect’s workspace, a notepad with bank account numbers.”
Sam with a notepad? I found that very hard to believe. He’d bragged about being an all-digital man after spotting the flash drive in my purse. He even told me he owned exactly one pen, a purple one, and that he never used it.
This so-called incriminating evidence smelled like rotten fish.
“That gave us the smoking gun and enough probable cause to execute an arrest warrant,” Thorne added. “Local police are cooperating, and we should be taking Monroe into custody at this very moment.”
The hotel room was getting smaller.
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
This could not be happening.
Beverly had waited. She’d known we’d had this scheduled meeting with Thorne. She’d waited until I was away from the library, away from Sam, unable to warn him or interfere.
“I don’t understand—why wasn’t I notified about this?” I asked desperately. “This was my case.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to take matters into my own hands. Orders from above. I’ll see you both in the office bright and early tomorrow morning.” Thorne ended the call before I could say another word.
The screen went black.
My vision narrowed to a single point of fury.
“This doesn’t make any sense—how could she find something so easily?” Chloe asked. “Are you okay?”
I stood so abruptly that the chair fell backward. “I need to get to the library.” My voice didn’t sound like my own—it was too desperate. “Now.”
I got my jacket and keys, my hands shaking with adrenaline and rage. Beverly had outmaneuvered me, and now Sam was—
No, I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t process what it meant if they’d already arrested him, if he was in handcuffs, if I was already too late.
“Zara, wait—” Chloe grabbed her own jacket, following me to the door.
But I was already gone, racing down the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Beverly’s smug face burned into my mind. She’d played me and waited until the exact moment I couldn’t interfere. And now the only man I’d let myself care about in five years was paying the price for my failure, probably thinking that I betrayed him.
The cold air sliced through my lungs as I sprinted down Front Street, my breath coming in sharp gasps that burned my throat. My feet pounded against the pavement, but I wasn’t moving fast enough.
I rounded the corner and stopped dead.
The library was a crime scene.
Yellow police tape with bold black letters cordoned off the library’s main entrance, the surrounding sidewalks, even a section of the street and parking lot.
“POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS”
Sheriff’s deputies stood at strategic points along the perimeter, their expressions stoic as they kept back the growing crowd of curious onlookers and news reporters jockeying for position.
Three marked sheriff patrol SUVs sat at angles near the entrance, their light bars dark but their presence unmistakable. Beside them, three unmarked black Chevy Suburbans with government plates—FBI vehicles.
People were gathering. So many people. I recognized faces from the Santa events, from the bookstore, from München Haus, from Gustav’s.
Mrs. Haggerty stood near the back of the crowd, her hand pressed to her mouth.
The two women who’d gawked at Sam yesterday clutched each other’s arms, their faces pale with shock.
Two agents in navy tactical vests with “FBI” emblazoned across their chests in yellow letters stood guard at the library entrance.
Behind them, members of the FBI Evidence Response Team streamed in and out.
My stomach turned as I watched them carry out equipment.
Servers. Computer towers. Hard drives sealed in anti-static bags, each one bearing a numbered tamper-proof seal.
They were taking everything. Every piece of evidence, every file, every trace of Sam’s work.
Then I saw Eleanor.
She stood off to the side with Leo, both of them huddled together, their faces etched with worry and confusion.
Her gaze swept across the scene and landed on me. For a moment, our eyes met, and I couldn’t get a good read on her expression. She surely knew who I really worked for now, and that I’d been pretending to be her helpful volunteer while investigating the man she clearly cared about like a son.
The library doors opened again.
Two FBI Special Agents emerged—between them was Sam.
His hands were cuffed behind his back.
He walked steadily, his head up.
“No,” I breathed, already moving in that direction, pushing through the crowd, ignoring the protests, the elbows, the startled looks.
A deputy stepped in front of me, one hand raised. “Ma’am, you need to stay back—”
I yanked my badge from my pocket and shoved it in his face. “FBI. Let me through.”
“Of course.” He stepped aside.
I ducked under the yellow tape and reached Sam just as they were positioning him toward one of the SUVs. Up close, I could see the careful control he was exerting to keep his expression neutral.
“Sam …”
He looked at me, and despite everything—the handcuffs, the agents, the crowd watching—the slightest grin formed on his face.
“I guess I can start calling you Zara now.” His voice was tender. “I love the name, by the way.”
My throat closed up.
I wanted to tell him I had nothing to do with this, but that wasn’t possible with two other agents with him.
His eyes held mine, and there was no accusation there. No blame. No anger. Just what appeared to be understanding. Almost as if he knew this might happen one day.
They guided him toward the SUV, opening the back door.
Sam gestured to the top of my jacket, a concerned look on his face. “Button up, Buttercup. You don’t want to catch a cold.”
I could not believe this man. He was in handcuffs, being stuffed into the back of an FBI vehicle, facing years in prison, and he was worried about me.
My melting heart would keep me warm.
Sam ducked his head, settling into the back seat. The door slammed shut. Through the tinted window, I could just barely make out his silhouette.
He was looking back at me.
The engine roared to life, and the SUV pulled away from the curb, its tires crunching over scattered snow. Then I watched it disappear around the corner.
Sam was gone.
And there was nothing I could do about it.