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As I buttoned up the shirt, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My face seemed harder, more determined. "Let's do this," I murmured.
Stepping out of the closet, I took one last glance at the flip phone. It was a stark reminder of our reality, a symbol of the dangerous dance we were embroiled in. But as the morning sun filtered through the windows, I knew we were ready. Ready to face whatever was thrown at us.
The sleek black SUV rolled up to the front of my building not long after I finished dressing. Giuseppe, seated in the front passenger seat, barely turned to acknowledge my arrival.
"Get in, Brad," he ordered without looking at me, his voice echoing the tension that was evident in his rigid posture.
I climbed into the back seat, the interior of the SUV cold and clinical, a stark contrast to the balmy morning outside. The silence was deafening as we sped off, only the hum of the engine and the faint whispers of the city outside to fill it.
As we pulled up in front of Courtney's loft, I could see her through the large bay window, her silhouette framed by the soft morning light. Her eyes, even from this distance, were focused and determined. She'd always been strong, but this was different. This woman was ready to face the world, whatever it might throw at her.
Giuseppe's driver pulled the SUV to a smooth stop.
I hopped out, adjusting the sleeves of my navy shirt—a nervous habit I'd picked up somewhere along my years of navigating high-stakes situations. As I jogged to the stable entrance that led to the loft, I ruffled my hand through my hair, an attempt to seem nonchalant despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I glanced back toward the SUV and met Giuseppe's gaze in the rear-view mirror. His usually unreadable face was a map of worry, his dark eyes staring straight ahead. This was personal for him, far more than business. A silent promise passed between us, a pact forged in the face of adversity.
As I opened the vehicle's door for Courtney, she gifted me with a small, appreciative smile. Her eyes glimmered with a cocktail of emotions—fear, determination, and underneath it all, a resilient spark of hope. It was the kind of hope that was contagious, and I felt it ignite within me as well.
"Thank you, Brad," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded, holding her gaze. "Always, Courtney," I replied, my voice quiet but steady.
Within the confines of the SUV, a heavy silence fell upon us. Seated beside Courtney, our fingers were interlaced, the grasp a testament to our shared anxiety and unspoken solidarity. Giuseppe's driver maintained a steady focus on the road ahead, his eyes darting to the rear-view mirror intermittently as though he anticipated danger tailing us. Meanwhile, Giuseppe himself kept a vigilant watch on the side window as we sped down the freeway, his gaze as unyielding as the journey that lay before us.
I gently squeezed Courtney's hand. "You okay?" I asked, my voice low enough not to disturb the thick silence that hung between us.
She nodded, biting her lower lip, a telltale sign of her anxiety. "I'm okay, Brad," she replied, meeting my eyes with a firm resolve that belied the fear in her voice.
Giuseppe cleared his throat, pulling me out of my reverie. "Downing and I had strategized, Brad. Have faith in the plan," he stated, his voice carrying a gruff businesslike tone. Yet, the urgency beneath his words suggested a personal stake extending beyond Courtney. This was also about Amy—his daughter. Despite Amy's rescue from her kidnapping and abandonment in Mitch's Vail chalet, Giuseppe was bent on seeking retribution for the terror inflicted upon her and their family.
"Justice is what we're after," I echoed quietly, locking eyes with Giuseppe's reflection in the mirror. His expression bore a grim resolve, mirroring my own determined sentiment.
As we weaved through the cityscape, we paused at a red traffic signal, and my gaze drifted idly across the street.
That's when I saw him. Agent Carter Brown, the local cop who we often referred to as just Agent Carter. The guys once regarded him as a friend. Carter had been on the Rosedale Case since its inception. It was a case that had stumped him, a puzzle he'd been unable to solve, which led us to team up with Giuseppe and Agent Downing.
Brown had even been a victim once, tied up and abandoned helplessly in his own garage, a cruel message from the perpetrators of the Rosedale crimes. Since then, his progress on the case had been minimal to nonexistent. This very stagnation had thrust us into this dangerous liaison with Giuseppe and the Russo crime family.
Brown's gaze landed on our SUV, and our eyes locked for a brief moment. Then, with an unreadable expression, he turned away, continuing his path toward the municipal building housing both the sheriff's office and Downing's headquarters.
“Agent Carter Brown," I murmured, tension knotting in my stomach. In the past, we'd argued. His less-than-serious attitude regarding our case over time had become a difficult issue. Catching Giuseppe eyeing Brown, I wondered if he sensed my disquiet.
"I sense there's a traitor among those associated with Rosedale," Giuseppe stated, his voice hard as stone. His proclamation hung heavy in the air, filling the space with a tangible sense of foreboding. Was our mission proving to be even more hazardous than we had initially anticipated?
"What do you mean?" I asked Giuseppe, leaning in closer to ensure I didn't miss a word.
"I sense it as well. I think somehow Carter has betrayed us," Courtney chimed in, her affirmation reflecting a shared unease.
“She took the words right out of my mouth," Giuseppe confirmed, his voice barely above a whisper.
In the wake of his affirmation, an uneasy silence wrapped around us, only to be broken by the distinct silhouette of Agent Carter Brown emerging again, making his way toward the entrance of the building. His hurried strides echoed our shared unease. His presence served as a poignant reminder of the stagnant progress of the Rosedale case.
We were in the thick of it, the eye of the storm, but we'd weather it together, exposing the hidden traitor and navigating the intricate maze of deceit—at least, that was our intention!
The SUV drew to a halt in front of the formidable municipal building. An unshakeable sense of dread stirred within me as I gazed at the monolithic structure. Stepping into the shadowy maze of the building, the chilled silence within its hallowed halls seemed claustrophobic.
Agent Downing's office, a clinical expanse bathed in the cold glow of multiple screens, lay ahead. The hum of covert operations resonated in the air as Downing emerged, his face betraying no emotion. His reputation as an astute and composed field agent was evident in his demeanor.
