Ghost set a hand on the receiver, stopping him from picking it up. “FBI supersedes the sheriff, asshole.”
A cold, cruel smile curved Foster’s lips. “Oh, dear,” he said to Naomi, but held Ghost’s gaze. “He doesn’t know you’re not with the Bureau anymore, does he? That you were forced to take a leave nobody expects you to return from?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ghost saw Naomi stiffen, and his stomach sank as the realization slammed into him.
Foster was telling the truth. This wasn’t an FBI-sanctioned investigation.
Fuck.
He removed his hand from the phone and straightened away from the desk.
“Owen,” Naomi said softly and reached for him, but he shook off her hand and marched out of the office without looking back.
All this time, he’d never questioned the investigation. Never looked into it.
He should fucking know better than to blindly trust anyone, but especially not a woman he was attracted to. That was exactly how he’d ended up in prison the first time, and he wasn’t looking to repeat the mistake.
He made it down the hall before she caught up, steps quick and light, a hand closing around his wrist. “Owen, stop.”
He didn’t. He wrenched his arm free, a little rougher than he meant to, and kept going. The receptionist looked up, startled, but he barely registered her as he pushed open the door and shoved his hat back onto his head.
She followed him outside, breath fogging in the cold. “Ghost,” she hissed, slamming the door behind them. “Will you just wait a second?”
He turned and faced her. Rain dripped off his hat brim, water seeping under his collar, but he didn’t care. The only thing he cared about right now was the angry pulse in his ears and the sinking realization that he’d been played.
Again.
She looked pissed, but under the glare, he caught the worry. She kept glancing at his hands, like she expected him to punch something. He wouldn’t. He never broke first.
“You fucking lied to me.” His voice sounded flat, dead, even to his own ears.
“I never lied.”
“You let me believe you were working this for the Bureau.”
Her jaw ticked. “I never said I was on the case for the FBI. I said I was looking into it. You assumed the rest.”
He stared at her for a long beat, searching for any crack, any apology. Nothing. She stood in the misting rain, arms wrapped tight, his hoodie dwarfing her.
“You needed me to believe you were still FBI.”
“I needed people to listen. You saw what it’s like around here—unless you walk in with a badge, nobody takes shit seriously.”
“You should have told me.”
She gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. “It was a tactical lie by omission, okay? But I’m not sorry. And I don’t think you, of all people, have any room to criticize me for the way I handle my business. You want to get righteous about my secrets? Fine. Let’s talk about yours.”
He went still. “Not the same.”
“Uh-huh. Sure, it’s not.” Her lips curled in disgust. “You just don’t like it when you’re not the only one skewing the facts to get what you want.”
The silence that dropped between them was thick enough to choke on.
After a long moment, she sucked in a ragged breath and turned away. “We’re done here.”
He watched her go, rain splattering his shoulders, each drop another cold reminder of his own stupidity. She was walking away, and a part of him wanted to call her back and spill all of his secrets.
But he clamped his jaw shut.
