Theresa fumbles something out, but Regan’s deep gasp drowns out what she said. It is for the best. My head is pounding too severely to deal with a verbal slinging match with the devil’s spawn who wears Prada.
“I was jumped at HQ before they moved me into the alleyway. The perps wouldn’t have done that unless they were seeking something significant at my location.”
Theresa’s deep sigh exposes she understood my coded response. “It’s our target. I guarantee it. He knows we’re on to him.”
I murmur in halfhearted agreement. This feels like something Isaac would do, but it’s not sitting right with me. I trust my gut, and it’s warning me to remain vigilant. Until I work out what its caution pertains to, Isaac will merely remain the top man on my list. He just isn’t the sole listee.
“I’ll have men directed there now.” Theresa coughs as if pained to ask her next question: “Are you injured?”
“Not enough for you to worry.”
She laughs, more amused I wrongly think she cares than charmed by my dry humor.
My eyes stray to Regan when Theresa’s second question comes out more sincere than her first, “Will you be in tomorrow?”
I take in Regan’s wide eyes, quivering chin she’s trying to control with a scowl, and clasped hands. “No. I’ll take a few days off. My head is thumping like a bitch.”Not as much as my heart, but I won’t tell Theresa that.
Theresa’s disdainful groan is the last thing on my mind when I stretch my empty hand across the cracked leather dividing Regan and me. I hold it out palm side up, leaving Regan with the decision of whether she wants my comfort or not.
I exhale the big breath I’m holding when her sweaty hand slips into mine two seconds later. My heart does a weird thump when her head comes to rest on my shoulder a few seconds after.
See? What more proof do you need? She wants this. Even scared—and perhaps a little peeved—she can’t deny me or my support.
I can give her both; I’ve just got to work out a way I can do it without compromising Theresa’s investigation. Theresa wants Isaac—as we all do. When I hand her her man, her vendetta against Regan and Dane will stop. It’s that simple. . . I just wish it wasn’t taking so long.
Isaac is clever at hiding his steps. Unfortunately, I’m not one hundred percent convinced he’s the only person covering his tracks. The woman beside me is beautiful, smart, and highly intelligent. If anyone is qualified to keep their client out of trouble, it is her.
Recognizing I’ll never ease my confusionor jealousyby siding with the bane of my existence, I say down the line, “Call me if you need anything. . .”
Theresa’s laugh is the last thing I hear before she disconnects our call. After pulling Regan’s cell from my ear, I stare down at Theresa’s number on the screen. My finger hovers over the delete button, but for some reason, I can’t erase it. What if tonight ended with me blacking out from more than just a concussion? Regan knows nothing about my life or the people in it. If she didn’t find me tonight, she would have believed I stood her up after our naughty weekend. I don’t want that.
She means more to me than just a random hook up, so the last thing I want is for her to believe that’s all she is. I’d rather be busted in a lie than have her think she means nothing to me. For that reason, and solely that reason, I hand Regan her phone with Theresa’s number still stored inside. If I disappear off the face of earth, she’ll have a way of discovering what happened to me.
Regan remains quiet the rest of our trip to the hotel. She doesn’t speak a word when I hand the taxi driver an extra-large tip to cover the cleaning bill for the droplets of blood in the back of his cab, or when I request a midfloor room at our hotel. She doesn’t utter a single syllable until we enter our room nearly twenty minutes later. Then, it’s like a word explosion.
“What’s going on? After the incident in my apartment, you wouldn’t let me check into a hotel room. But here we are—in a fucking hotel room after you were attacked! You’re bleeding—a lot! You said they took your gun, then you called some mysterious female who seemed more concerned about herself than you. Who calls a whiny two-faced bitch for help when they’re in trouble?! Not anyone smart!”
I can see she has so much more to say, but thankfully, my cupping of her jaw steals her words.
“We’re at a hotel because it is the only place I feel comfortable having this conversation. You’re here with me because you’re one of a few people I trust. They did take my gun, but I don’t need a weapon to keep us safe. . .” I wait for her to see the honesty in my eyes before adding on, “. . . I also had no choice but to call my boss. The men who attacked me wanted something. If I didn’t give her a heads up, and they found what they were looking for, my position would be in jeopardy.”
My first sentences ease the heavy groove between her eyes, but my last one put it straight back in place. “Why would your position be in jeopardy? You were attacked. Even if the assailants stole a truck load of gold bricks under your watch, you aren’t to blame.”
“That is true. . . under normal circumstances. My boss is anything but normal,” I reply, giving the only excuse I can find.
Things are more complicated than that. If Theresa’s hunch is right, and tonight’s escapades were performed by someone in Isaac’s crew, I have a shit load more than just my position at stake. If the internal affairs department, or someone more highly ranked than Theresa, finds out about my interactions with Regan in the leadup to our operation being infiltrated, they’ll assume corruption. If they assume corruption, guess which way their fingers will point first? I’m a sitting fucking duck, waiting to be shot.
“If your boss isn’t doing things above board, you need to report her. Or even better, sue her,” Regan suggests, following me into the tight yet spotlessly clean bathroom. “You won’t believe some of the payouts I witnessed during law school from employees suffering severe emotional distress after workplace incidents. You have rights, Alex. Use them.”
My eyes roll before I can stop them. What is it with people citing “severe emotional stress” to me today? I’m not fucking stressed. I’m angry. Furious. On the verge of hunting down the men responsible for Regan seeing me like this and snapping their fucking necks. Then I’ll go after the real culprit—the master behind the minions. If this is Isaac’s doing, I’ll make him pay.
I stop scrubbing blood and dirt from my hands and face when Regan places a three-finger serving of whiskey on the vanity. I was so caught up unjumbling my confusion, I didn’t notice she had exited and reentered the bathroom. That is unacceptable. It shouldn’t matter what is happening, she should always be on the forefront of my mind.
Although I appreciate her trying to ease the fury blazing through my veins, I can’t drink; I’m on the job. When I tell Regan that, she replies, “Youcandrink because you’re on leave—remember?”
Her eyes drop to the blood-stained vanity when I stand my ground. I’m not being stubborn. I’m keeping on my toes. Regan’s threat and my attack occurred too close for this to be a coincidence. There is something I’m missing, but for the life of me, I can’t work out what it is. It is clear our relationship is being watched—the evidence Theresa presented yesterday morning proves this without a doubt, but I’m hesitant to believe the only eyes on us belong to a woman.
I’m drawn from my dark thoughts by Regan’s deep swallow. Her massive gulp was compliments of watching a droplet of blood drip off my chin and roll down the vanity. The contrast between the white sink and my blood is a vivid reminder on how quickly someone’s life can end. One bullet can change everything. I’m just fortunate tonight was not my night.
