21. Carsyn
TWENTY-ONE
CARSYN
I can’t take my eyes off of Garrison and all he’s doing is making a sandwich, pouring me a cup of hot tea and himself a cup of coffee. Still, my eyes roam freely over the arches of his shoulders and the strong curve of his muscled back, visible through his taut henley.
“Are you lying about being an FBI agent to trick me into trusting you?” I prod softly, because it seems like the angle. If I end up with a gun in my mouth at some point soon, the last thing that would go through my mind is did I do everything I could to survive? As much as my gut urges me to believe this man is complex and has truths behind everything, I can’t be foolish.
Or, I can’t be more foolish than I’ve already been.
“That would mean I, what? Hired a man to come here and pretend to be an FBI agent? No,” he shakes his head, chuckling without humor as he fingers his beard contemplatively. “Not just that,” he continues, calm and casual, sipping his hot coffee like we’re discussing an article in the newspaper or the weather. “I wrote a script and emailed it to him and had him memorize it?” He takes another sip then gets up, snatching a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. He adds a nip but doesn’t offer me any. “C’mon, Cars,” he says, sipping again.
“Okay,” I draw out, feeling foolish for asking but proud for doing it, too. “So, you’re an FBI agent who kidnaps women from bars.” I sip my tea and tug at the crust on the sandwich on the plate in front of me. “That sounds just as illogical as pretending to be one,” I tell him. It’s true. Neither scenario makes sense to me. But I need something to make sense. I need something to stick so light can be cast on this man in front of me, the one who feeds and fucks me.
“Did Kinleigh tell you guys about Neely?” he asks me, ignoring the parallel I’ve drawn between the two scenarios.
Neely. The man who came before Garrison. I remember Kinleigh telling me that Neely was her father’s right-hand man until one day, he simply vanished.
I nod. “Yeah, she mentioned him.”
“Neely was FBI. The moment he found a file for a child being trafficked, he wanted out. Up until then, we thought it was women only. We didn’t know about the kids.” Garrison drifts off, his eyes going distant as his nostrils flare. I wonder what he’s seeing in his mind’s eye? Does he know the atrocities committed at the hands of Forrest Conway? Of course he does. Knowing now that he isn’t even related to Forrest, that he's an intricate plant, an informant placed in the eye of evil to save and help—he looks completely different under these new terms. All of the new information shifts me deeper into a place of adoration for him, despite the fact I’m still questioning him. Finally, he lifts his gaze, snapping me out of my thoughts. “He walked off. Without consent, without permission, he simply left. And nobody liked that. The Bureau, Forrest, everyone wanted a piece of him.”
I feel the weight of my brows as confusion sinks into my pores. “The FBI can’t want a piece of their own agent,” I say, my words riding a non-humorous laugh. Garrison’s face doesn’t budge, the unspoken truth about the FBI simmering between us.
“We are things. Pawns. Pieces to be moved around, stripped down, sanded, painted, changed. We are pieces in their game. The people don’t want to believe it, so they don’t. Like I said, we believe what we want. Most people rather continue believing a lie they’ve already been sold than be forced to process the fact they’ve been lied to.”
My mind reels. “I don’t… What are you saying? The FBI is bad ?”
He doesn’t move much but steps through the facts carefully, laying things out plainly, slowly. I need it, because the amount of shocking shit I’ve had to process in the last few months—but especially days—I’m on the brink of spinning out.
I collect the end of my ponytail in my hand and pick at the broken ends, staring at Garrison the whole time. “The FBI is a business. Sometimes they are good, but sometimes to get to the good, they take a very long, winding, dark, bad road.” He sips his spiked coffee, and the sight of his throat bobbing with each mouthful warms my insides. “Neely left, and that’s when they turned me into Garrison Conway. Forrest has had a hit on Neely since. The FBI cut him loose without a dime after giving his life to them, since he went AWOL mid-job without a backup assigned, without permission.” He finishes off his coffee and gets up, snagging both the pot and the bottle, refilling his mug before sitting back down. “They don’t even protect him.” He adds more from the bottle to his mug.
“I could use some of that,” I tell him, nodding toward the silver flask with ornate cursive engraved on the front.
He shakes his head. “You need a clear head for what’s coming.”
“What’s coming? Jesus Christ. The man who snatched me up is actually a good guy, the man who I thought was a good guy was actually bad but now he’s dead and I watched that happen, the man who Kinleigh marked a monster was also FBI, the FBI is shady as fuck.” I let out a sigh that has been trapped too long. “And there’s more?”
Garrison nods, moving his hand through his silky dark hair before raising the mug to his mouth. My eyes fall to his beard, thick and wild, and the memory of him between my legs overwhelms me.
“Eat your sandwich, and I’ll talk,” he says, finishing his drink, pushing my plate toward me. That’s when I spot the plastic cutlery next to my plate.
I lift the plastic fork up, turning it over between us, showing off the cheap serration. “Plastic cutlery…” I trail off, lowering the knife to the table. “You afraid of me?” I ask, bumps rising up along my neck and forearms.
He cocks a brow, his forehead creasing. “I’m not afraid of anyone.” His dark eyes lift from his cup of coffee, coming to mine, simmering and bold. “But I’ve been stabbed enough this week.”
I laugh at that, though I know I shouldn’t because the truth is, he did get stabbed, stabbed protecting me. My smile slides away when that realization hits. We sit in silence as I eat half of my sandwich, trying to work out as much of this in my head as possible. After a sip of Jasmine tea, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.
“Why me? Why did it have to be me? And I don’t ask like, I’m so special, I shouldn’t be kidnapped and traded like a prized baseball card . I just mean, if Forrest got away from the law, what’s this all for?”
Garrison’s calm expression vanishes, and at the same time, he brings his elbows to the table, resting them there as he leans forward. His voice is raspy, almost smoky, when he speaks.
“Forrest Conway has a cash reward on your head. He wants you. Your brother ruined his multi-million-dollar trafficking operation and saved Kinleigh, whom he wanted dead. Forrest decided that Colton would have to pay that debt another way.” He swallows heavily. “Your life is payment.”
My stomach plummets because… it adds up. It makes sense. Forrest is clearly not satisfied with getting off the hook for his egregious crimes. Destroying Colton by killing me is his eye for an eye.
“But Liam… he was…”
“Grafton Marks. Liam Davis was his alter here in Buffalo Trails. And we believe that Marks was trying to use either you or your location to curry favor with Forrest, who he was on the outs with,” Garrison says slowly.
“Grafton Marks,” I repeat as Garrison turns his laptop to face me. On the screen are pages upon pages of critical information. It’s Grafton Marks’ FBI profile.
The words I read next to the photo of the man I know as Liam Davis makes me sick.
I bring a hand to my mouth, catching each gasp as they come.
So many evil crimes.
“So Liam Davis was just an alias he created to infiltrate, what? Us? Our family?” Tears well in my eyes. I never let my guard down. Part of why I’ve been single so long. But Liam came into our lives when we needed an ally, that son of a bitch.
“He did create that personality, yes, but he was Liam Davis of the Buffalo Trails sheriff’s department for a handful of years before you met him.” Garrison scratches at his chin. “The sheriff’s department was crooked, and they knew he was crooked, too. They knew he was pretending to be good in order to help Forrest, but they didn’t know Davis was an alias. He was lying to them, too.”
“Why?”
Garrison holds my eyes with his intensity and insight. He’s ruggedly handsome, and knowing he’s an FBI agent brings so much relief. Not just because we slept together but because this entire time, I’ve been so drawn to him. Knowing I wasn’t drawn to a monster is a goddamn relief because this news about Liam makes me call into question the staunch ability to read people that I’ve boasted about my whole life. But Garrison being good, that sets the compass straight some. And any bit helps.
“No one likes a kid killer, even crooked cops.” He looks down at his mug a moment before raising it to his lips, tipping it back and finishing in a gulp. “He murdered four children in a house fire several years ago. He escaped prison by changing his name, undergoing some rhinoplasty, shit like that. The FBI figured out who he was years ago, but planned to detain him and flip him. But that’s when shit with Neely went awry and?—”
“That’s why you shot him. Because he deserved it.”
Garrison stares at me, and I stare back without blinking. “Yes, I killed him because the idea that he could live the rest of his natural life in a cell wasn’t retribution enough. He was bad, so I shot him.” He reaches out, spinning the laptop to face him, scrolling and clicking before returning it to my view. “There’s another reason why I did it. Click when you’re ready. The transcription is below.”
I look at the box with the triangle inside. It’s a play button. The file reads AUDIOFILE/GRAFTONMARKS/BECKETTHOUSE .
I recognize Liam as the first voice, but follow along the transcription as I listen, the microphone muffled, popping and cracking.
MARKS: Soon now. Not much longer. Conway just got back, told them all about it. They’re all gonna head out in a few.
FORREST: You’re with them?
MARKS: No, I left a mic in the first aid kit. I’m out back waiting. What’s the word? What do you want me to do here?
FORREST: Can you stall them?
MARKS: Fuck, [inaudible cursing]. They’re saddling up. Nash and Carsyn are gonna ride to the coordinates. Conway is going back for her, at your place.
FORREST: Kill them. Kill Carsyn and Nash. Do it now.
MARKS: They’re riding toward the place, they’ll ? —
FORREST: Don’t fucking question it! Catch up to them and fucking kill them! Now!
MARKS: I’m going now.
I stop the audio, and don’t bother with the next transcript.
“He didn’t do it, though,” I say, freely letting tears of shame drip down my cheeks. I trusted Liam, and didn’t trust Garrison.
I had it so wrong.
“Forrest wanted Kinleigh, Nash and you dead. He wanted Colton to ride back to the Conway house and find his lover dead, then ride home and find his sister and best friend dead, too. But Marks didn’t do it, and we think it’s because he thought he could get closer to Forrest, and gain more financially by waiting until a bounty was on your head. But the whole thing backfired because Forrest left, and never contacted Marks again.” He strokes his hand through his beard. “We think he was trying to buy his way back to Forrest with your life. A gamble he lost.”
“Kill me to get in good with a man he was abandoned by?” I ask, shaking my head. My stomach tightens as another wave of sickness tears through me, leaving my mouth full of saliva and my skin slick with sweat. “He’s a real piece of shit.”
“Was,” Garrison adds. “He was a real piece of shit.” He reaches forward, closing the laptop. “I wasn’t gonna let him hurt you. When I wasn’t with Forrest, I was supposed to be keeping an eye on your dad. The FBI had plans to flip him to an informant. But he died, and that’s when your brother came back. I knew he’d never walk away after discovering Kinleigh there, and Forrest had told me if Colton tried stealing Kinleigh, he’d take you. From there on out, I was officially assigned to tail you when I was with Forrest, to keep you safe from him, out of his reach.”
“You were keeping me safe from Forrest this entire time,” I breathe, repeating the sentiment he’s all but spelled out for me. And now I know, with proof before my own eyes, that it’s true. Still, I can’t help but circle around one particularly pressing question. “Why did I have to be chained and drugged?”
“We knew Marks was looking for you. He was losing his mind without Forrest. He needed anyway to get back in with him. Keeping you chained and drugged was to keep you safe and quiet while we waited for him to show up. I couldn’t risk him showing up in the middle of the night and taking you or some shit. I’d kept you safe so long, this was the only way.” He takes a full swig from the flask and sets it back down, making my empty plate rattle. I sip my tea, finding my mouth cottony. “And if Marks came with reinforcements, I had to be the Garrison he knew. It had to be believable, even if it meant you hating me. I had to be who he knew me to be, or else it was all for nothing.”
Nodding, I think about all of the terrible things I read in his file. Trafficking, assault to a minor, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of an illegal firearm, sexual assault to a minor… so many counts, so much crime. I can’t help but envision him in my mind that night on our porch. He was so genuine and sweet, so willing to show us his ID and badge to garner trust.
Fucking monster.
“Thank you,” I whisper, rising from my chair to crawl into Garrison’s lap, looping my arms around his neck. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
He kisses my hairline, both rough and tender, and my insides clench.
“There’s more.”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t right now.” Weariness floods my limbs, fatigue railing my senses. “Please, I feel…” I don’t know, for the first time ever maybe, how to put my feelings into words. Exhausted? Confused? I don’t know, both, and so much more, but mostly so fatigued. “I need to… lie down.”
He looks down at me, and I sift my fingers through his beard, letting my eyes fall closed. I didn’t think this talk would lead to sex, but now I think it’s the only thing that will quiet my overworked brain.
Correction. I’m starting to think he will quiet my brain.
“Let’s lie down,” I muse, but he’s already moving through the house. Garrison holds me tightly to his chest, and the complexity of everything on that laptop temporarily fades.
He lays me down, and panic tears through me, causing my eyes to bolt open and my body to surge forward off the mattress.
“No, please—” I breathe, a panicked whisper tearing out of me as I reach for him. I don’t want to be left alone. I don’t want to be in this room?—
That’s when I realize I’m not in my room, I’m in his. And he didn’t leave.
He’s taking off his boots.