I shake my head before I can stop myself. This can’t be right. Isaac ordered the hit. He mocked and ridiculed me that night before he tried to end it in the most horrific way.
Ignoring my denial, Regan continues chipping away at my resolve. “You followed the direction our car went; we traveled west. The bullet entered the upper left quadrant of Dane’s stomach. That means it was fired from the north.”
She waits, giving me time to recall the night I’ll never entirely forget. Dane was facing me when he got shot, but that doesn’t mean Isaac didn’t have a man lying in wait to take us down. He’s not stupid. He would never place himself in a predicament he couldn’t get out of. That’s why he’s dodged prosecution for so long. He never stains his hands with the dirt his empire is built upon.
My eyes lift to Regan when she asks, “Why would the shooter stop, Alex? You weren’t dead, so he had no reason to back away from his mission.”
“Maybe he wasn’t after me.” My hammering heart echoes in my voice.
Regan’s lips tug high, showing I answered the way she hoped I would. “My point exactly. Maybe he was there for Dane.”
“Rae. . .” I swallow several times in a row, hoping it will quell my desire to lash out. I don’t do well with people accusing Dane of being a rogue agent. He was a good agent, one of the best I had seen.
Before I can tell Regan that, she shares, “Isaac and I escaped Substanz because an agent helped us. A tall, wide-shouldered, brunette man—”
“Dane wasn’t a rogue agent. He wouldn’t do that.”
Regan continues talking as if I didn’t speak. “He told us precisely where to go and what to do when we got there. We had to wave our arms in the air three times. If we did two, he’d shoot us. Four he’d shoot us. We were to only do three.”
A horrible taste coats my tongue when my memories jump to Dane approaching me the night Regan fled with Isaac. I waved my hand in the air to request he stand down. I think I did it three times, but I can’t testify to that.
A black tunnel swamps me out of nowhere, pushing me into a dark and tormented place. Am I to blame for Dane’s injuries? Am I the reason he is dead?
“What?” Regan asks upon spotting my bewildered face.
It is the fight of my life to relinquish my words, but I manage—somewhat. “I waved my arm in the air so Dane wouldn’t fire at you. I didn’t want you to get injured.”
“Oh, shit.” When I slump into my chair, Regan scoots to the edge of hers. “That’s not what I’m saying, Alex. This isn’t your fault.”
“How can you say that?! I waved my fucking hand in the air. I’m the reason he’s dead!”
Regan fiercely shakes her head. “Youwavedyourhand, soyoushould have been shot.”
Too overcome by grief to believe a word she speaks, she races around my desk, plonks her ass in front of me then cups my cheeks.
“Don’t you dare,” she warns when I try to pull away from her. “This talk is long overdue, and now that it’s happening, you’re going to listen until I’ve finished. Do you understand me?” Although she’s asking a question, she doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re a good man, Alex Rogers; you’re just shit at separating your emotions from the facts. This isn’t about blame. It’s about stepping back and looking at the evidence how you’ve been trained. You’re an agent—a fucking good one—so start acting like it.”
She glares at me, silently daring me to deny her statement. When I don’t, she moves back to the briefcase she dumped at my door on the way in. “Henry doesn’t like working with the authorities, so it took more than a favor for him to agree to this.”
Her words smack me out of my fog. “Henry Gottle? As in, Mob Boss of New York City?”
Regan’s spine snaps straight before her eyes stray to me. “How about we just call him Henry?”
My teeth grit. She just admitted she owes a favor to a notorious criminal. I can’t let this slide any more than I can let my grief slip away. “Rae—”
“We’re not dealing withthatright now, Alex. We’re dealing withthis.”
Blue prints, aerial photos, and evidence that shouldn’t be in the hands of a civilian slide across my desk when she dumps a large manila folder on it. Although it’s been six years since I’ve been in the location marked on the maps, I know where it is. The landscape burned into my retina the eight minutes I spent bunkered down in it.
My brows furrow when Regan says, “Perhaps once we’ve settled your dilemma, you can help me with mine?”
I stare at her, certain she’s not asking what I think she is. I can’t do this. Even if everything she is saying is true, and Isaac isn’t responsible for Dane’s death, I can’t side with him.
When I tell Regan that, she says, “Why?”
It’s one simple question that causes an avalanche of more.
“Because he cares for Isabelle so much, he couldn’t sit by and watch her sister be sold into a sex trafficking ring at the age of three? That he was so torn up about Luca’s loss in my life, he helped me in a way I’ll never be able to repay? Or because he kissed me because his heart would have ripped out of his chest if he didn’t comfort Isabelle after a nightmare? Which one is it, Alex?” She toughens her stance by spreading her hands across her hips. “If it is the last, rest assured we’re going to have more than words.”
