Chapter 24
Ghost from the Past
Fenella
I stand behind the front door. My mother stands behind me, forehead creased in confusion at my behavior, but she lets me be. I peek through the peephole.
Relieved, I exhale and open the door with a smile. “Jessy!”
“Merry Christmas!” he calls, arms wide.
We hug until our ribs protest. My mother groans at the sight of him. “You dare show your face now?”
“Sorry, ma’am. I have this quirky habit of arriving without l’invitation,” Jessy says with a little giggle and his unmistakable French lilt.
My mother isn’t a fan of Jessy. Not because she’s homophobic or anything personal against him, but because she’s convinced Jessy controls my schedule. Part of that is my fault; I’ve used him as an easy excuse for absences more than once, especially on Christmas Eve.
“This is for you, Mrs. Baxter.” Jessy lifts a large bag packed with premium food items.
“Oh, this is rare. Homemade spice honey and dried fruit, too.” My mother peers inside and gasps.
“Fresh from my mom’s farm,” Jessy says, smiling at her.
He’s brilliant. He remembers my mom’s request from their last video call. The fastest way into my mother’s heart is through the kitchen, so Jessy’s brought exactly the right thing. She hugs the bag and waves her hand.
“Oh, come in, dear. It’s cold out there,” my mother says, tugging his sleeve and ushering him inside.
Jessy winks at me and I smile—he knows he’s been forgiven. I close the front door and slip to the hallway bathroom. I knock. “Come out. It’s not Alan, it’s Jessy,” I call with a laugh.
The bathroom door opens and Laird and Matthew step into the living room. Jessy freezes, covers his mouth with both hands, and lets out a delighted little gasp. “Oh, sweet devil! Were you guys up to something naughty in there?” he teases, voice bright with laughter.
“Hey, Jessy.” Laird waves, clearing his throat. “Meet Matthew. Don’t mind him, he’s a little drunk.”
“Hey. Nice leather,” Matthew says, pointing at Jessy’s jacket. I frown at the sloppy compliment; the coat is faux Dalmatian fur and Matthew’s tipsiness makes the line sound ridiculous.
Matthew collapses onto the sofa while I help Jessy set down his bag and hang his coat. We gather around the fireplace, letting the heat chase the cold from our cheeks. My phone is quiet—no sign of Alan.
“How’s your mother?” my mother asks.
“She’s better. She only needs a hospital visit once a month now, so I grabbed a tiny window to come here while I could,” Jessy says.
“That’s wonderful.” My mother heads for the kitchen. “Wait here, I’ll get you some eggnog.”
Jessy settles in, eyes bright and curious. “What actually happened? I was shocked when I saw your text.” He leans forward, waiting for the full confession. I tell him everything—the plan, the theft, the stakeout—how we ended up on this mission to bring Alan down.
“Damn that jerk.” Jessy sighs, his shoulders dropping after hearing the whole story. “Doesn’t that mean Gene’s going bankrupt?”
“Most likely. The feds might freeze the company’s accounts, seize all the contracts, and shut down the office.” Laird’s face looks grim as he lays out the risks.
“Shit, I forgot about that. If Alan gets arrested and the office accounts are seized by the court, what happens to the models and actors?” I slap my forehead and lean back against the sofa. My thoughts drift to Greg and the others.
“And the other agents too,” Jessy adds.
My heart sinks as I think of them all. Am I really willing to ruin their livelihoods just to take down one person? I keep cupping my cheeks as I stare at Laird. He can’t come up with anything either, his brows pulled tight as he studies his hands resting on his knees.
“That’s a risk we have to take,” he mutters.
“Why don’t you start your own agency? Or look for another one before the FBI catches that guy.” Matthew’s voice cuts through the silence. We all turn to him with blank stares. His face is red, eyelids drooping, clearly on the verge of passing out.
“As if starting a new agency is easy.” Jessy sighs and rolls his eyes.
My phone rings again. Alan. I look at Laird. Jessy gasps, and Laird nods, gesturing for me to pick it up.
“Loudspeaker,” Laird says before I answer.
“Hello, Alan.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” Alan says.
Laird shoots me a look. I hit speaker and set the phone on the table. “Hey…” I shrug, not sure what to say.
“Took you long enough to pick up.”
“Yeah, my mom has a guest coming. Sorry,” I mumble.
“Oh, I see. No worries.” Alan clears his throat like he’s trying to hold back his temper.
“So, what’s up?” I ask casually, careful not to sound defensive.
“Do you miss me?”
Hearing that tone again—soft, seductive—Laird gets up from the sofa. His hands clasp on his chest, a crooked, annoyed smile tugging at his mouth. He looks at my phone like he wants to crush it.
“Hm… a little.” I shrug and widen my eyes at Laird. I don’t know what to say, okay?
“Ah, that’s good enough. You know, I miss you so much.” His whisper sends a chill through the room. Jessy shivers and hugs himself, rubbing his nose in disgust.
“Hey, sorry, but my mom needs me. I really gotta go,” I say quickly, desperate to end this useless conversation.
I glance at Laird, Jessy, and Matthew with silent hope. This is already humiliating enough for Alan, and I don’t wanna make it worse.
“Oh, yeah, say hi to your mom for me. Actually, I just wanted to invite you.”
“Invite me?” I frown, holding my breath.
God. Every time Alan invites me somewhere, it’s a trap. The Sexy Cat studio, the new car, Mallory—everything with him comes with strings. This one won’t be any different.
“Yes. January second’s Amy’s birthday.” He pauses, like he’s not sure he should say it.
“Oh…” I take a deep breath when I hear that name. My mouth presses into a thin line, holding myself back from scrambling on the floor screaming. It’s getting real.
“I know you had issues with her, but let’s keep it in the past. I’ll pick you up at eight next week. Do you understand?”
I frown at his tone, like a boss talking down to an employee, but I have no choice. I just need to end this call.
“Sure,” I say softly.
* * *
I keep exhaling, trying to calm my nerves. Mom told me to be confident. Laird told me not to be afraid and to face this for the sake of our goal. Easy for them to say.
Am I the only one terrified at the thought of facing the ghosts from my past again? It’s January second, and I’m about to see Amy Schmidt—correction, Amy Morgan. I thought my mission was done after getting Alan’s credit card info, but our investigation isn’t over.
Malcolm Golden and his team are still digging into Alan’s accounts, trying to link them to Peter Morgan or Amy. So far, nothing concrete. If they move too soon, they’ll catch Alan but miss the real mastermind. Their network’s meticulous, backed by Irish mobs who make sure every trace disappears.
So here I am, back undercover as Alan’s fiancée. My new mission: steal the phones of Alan, Amy, and Peter. Can I even do it? I don’t know Peter at all—and Amy, that queen of snakes, will never let her guard down.
Malcolm still hopes I can grab their phones, even for a few minutes. I just need to plug each one into a special device, let the FBI’s phone duplication process finish, and return them without getting caught.
He said the device was foolproof—plug, wait, and done. Even an amateur could handle it. All of that while smiling and pretending everything’s fine.
Why me, though? Shouldn’t actual FBI agents be better at undercover work and data retrieval? Isn’t this technically illegal? Ugh, they just don’t wanna get their hands dirty. Easier to let someone else take the risk.
“Fenella, calm down, sweetheart.” Alan’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I turn from the window to his face, all charm and confidence. He takes my hand and gives it a light squeeze.
“Yes. Of course. I just don’t get how you’ve managed to live with Amy and Chris this long,” I say, exhaling hard. I squeeze his hand back politely before pulling away.
“I had to stick it out to get what I want. And I will get it,” he says, flashing that calculated smile.
Just like him, I’ve dressed my best today—if I’m facing Amy, she needs to see I’ve changed. I’m not the same girl she used to bully.
My makeup is flawless, soft and expensive-looking.
Using my mocha mousse palette, I could pass for one of those doll-filter influencers online.
My hair’s smooth and straight, falling perfectly over my chest. I top it all off with a set of diamond jewelry Alan gave me last week as an engagement gift.
A red satin gown with a low neckline and a high slit that runs up my thigh, paired with a white faux fur coat for elegance and glittering red heels to finish the look. All to make me fit into their circle.
I turn back to the window as the car slows into the upscale neighborhood of Andover. Huge houses with wide lawns and golden gates line the street.
We pull into a long driveway. The mansion ahead is so massive it could pass for a castle. Just counting the windows, I can tell it’s at least three stories with two side wings.
If I didn’t know where their money came from, I might’ve admired the place. But I do. Families lose their homes under crushing taxes while people like them turn that money into palaces. Ugh, the thought makes me sick.
“How do I look?” Alan asks, facing me now.
I study him—always perfectly put together. His hair’s slicked back with a few curls falling over his temples, his confident smile rehearsed. The dark blue three-piece suit fits like it were tailored for sin, and his polished shoes gleam like glass.
He’s nothing like Clark. No red bowtie, no pale skin. Just a salon tan and a new kind of arrogance.
“You look hot,” I say with a small laugh.
Alan’s smile widens. “And you look sexy as hell.” His hand lifts to my cheek, his gaze flicking to my lips. Uh oh. Is he gonna kiss me?
“Hey, we’ll be late if we don’t get inside,” Jessy calls from the driver’s seat, twisting around with a grin.
Alan groans, clearly annoyed. “Oh, right. I forgot you were coming too.”