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That’s what Jack has said several times; only answer the question at hand and no more. Don’t talk me into something I can’t get out of. God, it’s hard not to explode!
“What about your brother, Frankie? Are you aware he’s connected with a gang in New York City?” Long asks, and I don’t have to feign my confusion when I look over at him. “Has he contacted you about money or circumstance? Asked for anything?”
“We haven’t spoken in almost five years. The last time I saw him was at my dad’s funeral, but we didn’t even talk,” I answer honestly, and thoughtfulness permeates Long’s expression. Opening the jar of peanut butter, I try not to openly sweat under his gaze. “Either way, I’m not responsible for whatever trouble Frankie’s in. I haven’t been contacted by anyone about any debts from my father aside from the initial report about his estate when he died.”
“You live here with your roommate, right? Is he around? Maybe, he’s noticed someone hanging around while you’re at work or was approached by someone asking about you?” Alarm bells ring shrilly in my ears as I clench my hands into fists on the countertop. Aggravation boils my blood, and I look at Long sharply. He’s fishing for something that he already knows. I always see that stupid expression on parents’ faces during meetings about their kids’ behaviors. Like they know something I don’t.
“Liam hasn’t been around much lately, and I’ve been too busy with my own stuff to care,” I say cautiously. Long frowns, and I gulp down the dense lump in my throat and shake my head. “I don’t know what he does with his time. He pays to live here, but I’m not his keeper or his mother.”
“You’re not worried about him?” Long presses me, and I shake my head again. At least not this one thing I can be honest about. “I suppose you wouldn’t be, considering he has no tax record for the last two years and didn’t pay rent. It’d save you money if he... disappeared, instead of having to take him to court to evict him. You didn’t report him missing?”
“Again, he’s not my problem. He was just someone to help make ends meet, and since he couldn’t do even that much, I’m even less inclined to care where he went or why,” I tilt my head towards Long. “Why’re you asking? Even so, it’s a job for local police, not the FBI, right?”
“What about this man?” Long shows me a very clear image of Jack and me idling outside the restaurant he took me to on Friday. “Jack Murphy.”
“Why—why’re you taking pictures of me? Are you surveilling me over my dead dad and my absentee brother?” I ask in alarm, snatching the picture from Long and tearing it up. He stares, open-mouthed in surprise, as I shove the picture scraps into the garbage and point at him. My hands are cold and clammy, and I suppress a violent shiver that gathers between my shoulder blades. “Who do you think you are!”
“The man.” Long insists pointedly, and I scoff, throwing up my hands in frustration.
“He’s a rebound! We went on one date last night, and you’re trying to come into my home and insinuate that because I had a shitty father, I’m some criminal!” I catch Long off guard as I cross my arms and cock my hips, glaring at him hotly. “You’re horrible for assuming the worst about me before you even talk to me. And in my own house! Get out!”
“Ma’am.” Long starts, but I point to the stairs sharply and glare at him harder.
“It’s ‘Miss,’ and I said I don’t want you here anymore! Get out of my house, or I’ll call the cops! Give me your badge number! I want to talk to your supervisor! Who do you think you are, stalking me for who I have sex with!” It’sextremelyobvious that Agent Long doesn’t want that to happen as he curls in his shoulders and nods curtly. He doesn’t show me his badge again. He doesn’t say anything or even give me a card as I stomp behind him up the stairs. He opens the door before turning to me, but I grip the edge to shout at him again. “And you better not go to my work or anything, or I’ll raise hell for you! I know the law!”
And I slam the door in Norman Long’s stupid face, panting harshly from the force of my exertion. Grasping at my throat, I claw at my skin as it constricts painfully. I can’t breathe, gasping for air as my heart tries to escape through my mouth. Throbbing pain erupts beneath my ribs, and I stumble back only to be caught by Jack rushing up behind me. Doubling over, my stomach flips dangerously.
“It’s okay,” Jack whispers hoarsely as acid surges up my gullet, and I spew onto the floor. Shivering uncontrollably, I fall to my hands and knees to arch sharply. Gagging, my stomach roils, and Jack is quick to pull back the stray strands escaping my bun. “It’s okay. Let it out, Heather. You’re okay!”
“He c—came to my house!” I guffaw in horror, anxiety gripping my body and twisting my muscles into knots. “He—he was in my house!”
“Look at me,” Cupping my chin, Jack forces my head back, and my eyes boggle from the pressure. An FBI agent that I shot was just in my house! “Heather, look at me. Everything is fine. He came here on a fishing expedition, and you didn’t give him anything. You did wonderfully.”
“Sh—shut up,” I croak a sob, and Jack tightly holds me to his chest. His arms stop my heart from escaping my body, squeezing my lungs and forcing me to breathe. Gasping harshly, I clutch his shirt in shaking, numb fists. “Stop doing that! Don’t—everything isnotfine!”
“It is. Just breathe, trust me,” Jack murmurs, tenderly stroking my hair. “I’ll take care of it. You have your meeting today—the one announcing your promotion. You must remain calm. I promise I’ll take care of Long, but you must take care of yourself. Focus on your job.”
“You dummy! You dummy!” But repeating those two words helps regulate my breathing. My chest isn’t on fire, and my stomach calms as I tug Jack’s shirt in what could be weak punches. His arms tighten around me, and I groan into his shoulder. “God, why don’t you just kill him?”
Jack stiffens at my grumble, and my heart stutters as a wave of shock rolls over me. Jerking back, I push him away from me and cover my head with my arms. “G—go away! Get away!”
The sickness in my stomach returns but isn’t so violent as waves of disgust crash through me, suppressing everything else. Covering my mouth in horror, I sink down against the side of the sofa and stare through aching, dazed eyes that don’t see anything. Faintly, above the blood drumming in my ears, I can hear Jack say something, but I can’t make it out.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
Jack
“She still went to school after that?” Robert gawks, and I nod, trouble knitting my brows and clouding my thoughts. Leaning back, my cousin wipes his mouth with a napkin and grimaces. “Poor girl. I bet it was awful, trudging to the best day of her professional life on the back of being confronted like that.”
“Heather was saying something about the anniversary of her father’s death coming up next week and how he’s haunting her,” I take a bite of my roast beef grinder as memories pass behind my eyes. Today was Heather’s first day by herself in Grace’s classroom; her mentor had officially gone on maternity leave. Today also is the announcement for the faculty shuffling for next year. Agent Long showed up this morning, and Heather had gotten more dead calls from a number in the last four hours than she had in the last four years. “Good thing is that the activity on her phone basically confirms that Frankie’s here in Boston.”
“She hasn’t answered any of the calls, and there haven’t been any texts,” Robert says before the chime of the bell above the shop door trills. I look over as Jimmy stalks to the counter to order before pointing at us and walking over. “How’d it go, Jimmy?”
“Markee may have been able to track where the calls came from, but Frankie’s long gone. He’s probably hiding out while trying to contact Heather,” Jimmy glances at me as I swallow my bite, and he grabs my soda to take a big swill. I grimace but let him do what he wants. He’s been scurrying around after a rat all fucking morning. “Are you sure that Frankie’s here in Boston? Does it have anything to do with Agent Long?”
“Both of them being here at the same time is suspicious,” Robert agrees as I take another bite of my sandwich. “Especially because Long must’ve realized that Heather’s brother is part of a gang on the watchlist, the fact that you two were out on a date must’ve made him panic about what could be in the works. If you’re going to get Frankie, Heather’s your way in. Even he has to know that. So maybe, he thinks he can catch you in the act?”
“No, that’s too convoluted,” I grumble around my mouthful, grabbing my drink from Jimmy to drain it. He scowls, getting up to retrieve a soda of his own. “Long probably believes he got lucky with the kind of pressure that Heather was subjected to. I'm sure he doesn't think he'll catch me with someone like her or Frankie, but that he can turn them. The only thing is–”
