I haven’t slept much, and the anxiety I feel is threatening to consume me from the inside out. Even placing my trust entirely in Gen and her insistence that she can handle York on her own, there are still a dozen different ways that things could implode.
I don’t like the idea of being away from her, unable to physically shield her from harm. Without tying up the FBI thread, she’s vulnerable, so I remind myself that I’m protecting her from inside this hideous concrete building.
There’s no other way to do this. Each of our halves of the planmustbe completed at the same time. If Drake and I had shown up earlier, York likely would’ve been tipped off, and Genevieve would walk into a slaughterhouse. If we executed this part later, York might ask for proof and there wouldn’t be any. There are too many variables without completing our parts of the plan simultaneously.
The air is chilly as we stride down the concrete sidewalk toward the Hoover Building.
“So,” Drake begins. “I take it that this assignment taught you some shit about yourself after all?”
I snort but remain quiet, even as the corner of my mouth twitches.
He chortles. “I fucking knew it. Tell me you figured out you’re a kinky bastard?”
Kinky bastardmight be putting it mildly, but it’s true. It would’ve been a shame to have lived the rest of my life without never discovering this piece of myself.
I loathe to think about what would’ve happened had I not taken that final assignment. I would’ve missed out on so much.
Instead of telling him any of that, I shrug. “Something like that.”
“Good for you, man.” He’s silent for a beat, before adding, “I’m glad you and Catfish Queen found each other again. You deserve to be happy.”
I release a heavy breath. “We all need to live through this shit first.”
The sound of our footsteps on the tile floor of the hallway echo around us as we step inside the foyer. I fucking hate it here.
I nod to the officer stationed in front of the metal detectors. He glares at me as I drop my wallet and keys into the bin and step beneath the rectangular machine. The sensors go off, though, and my pulse quickens. I’m unarmed, so I don’t know what could be causing the incessant beeping.
A second officer pulls me aside, dragging the metal detector wand over my body. Behind me, Drake makes idle conversation with the guard on duty, passing him his service weapon and badge, but I can feel his attention fixed on me.
I grind my teeth. I don’t know these officers, but since I mostly did undercover work, I wasn’t in this building often, so I don’t have a relationship with them the way Drake does.
“What seems to be the issue, Marvin?” Drake asks, stepping up to me now that he’s been cleared and his Glock and badge have been returned to him. “He’s with me.”
The wand makes a second pass over my legs and torso before the officer states, “Not sure what set the machine off, but I’ll let you in if Elwood says you’re with him.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, shoving my wallet and keys back into my pockets.
“I bet Jackson flagged you,” Drake murmurs as we wait for the elevator, and I dip my chin.Fucking figures.“Are you sure Corinne is good to go?” he asks as we step into the elevator alone.
I grunt an affirmative, praying like mad that it’s true.
We get off on the sixth floor, our steps squeaking as we stride under the harsh fluorescent lighting. When we reach the last office on the left side of the hallway, I turn the handle, not even bothering to knock.
Stepping inside, I find Jackson reclined on the couch againstthe wall adjacent to Aubrey’s desk, which isn’t surprising, since we demanded he be here as well.
So far, so good.
“Mr. Crawford, Mr. Elwood,” Aubrey greets us curtly, his prominent eyebrows low over his eyes. We didn’t give these two much of a choice in the matter, but the fact that they showed up is a good sign.
“What can we do for you?”
Drake shuts the door, stationing himself next to me, his hands behind his back. I’m holding out hope that no one draws their firearm, or I’m unbelievably fucked. When I brought that up when we were planning this, Genevieve pointed out that knowledge can be more powerful than gunpowder. Now that I’m putting that to the test, I think I prefer a Glock.
“I’ll get straight to the point,” I begin, using the same domineering voice I wield when I command Genevieve. It carries a lethal calm, a dare to challenge me. “Within the hour, Percy York will have killed himself.”
Aubrey shoots to his feet, his hands slamming against the top of the desk as his eyes become wild. “How do you know that?”
“Sit back down,” I bark. He eyes Jackson briefly, the muscle in his jaw flexing, but he does as I order.
