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I shake my head, recalling his earlier tale about working at the farmer’s market.
“That Genovese captain disappeared,” he continues. “I couldn’t trace him beyond his last known location—the farmer’s market. On a hunch, I attended a livestock auction.”
“Chickens,” I mutter, remembering the pivotal role they played in his story.
“The chickens,” he agrees. “I saw him, just a profile view, but I knew it was him, loading chicks into a truck. I barely had time to memorize the license plate as he drove away.”
“You tracked them here,” I deduce.
He nods slowly. “I traced the plates here to a little town in New York called Lenora. The plates belonged to a Salvatore Brasco.”
I sink back into the couch, the puzzle pieces falling into place. “Blue Ford pickup. From the seventies,” I murmur, recognizing the description. We had all used that damn pickup at one point or another. “Your brother…” I swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth. “What’s his name?” I attempt to play it off as if I might have heard the name mentioned in passing, but deep down, I’m already bracing myself for the confirmation.
“Lyric James Hayes,” he says, confirming my suspicions. “I know he’s a hitman. I let him go eight years ago,” he whispers, the weight of his past decisions hanging heavily in the tense air.
His revelation draws me in, and I instinctively lean closer to Hayes. I become acutely aware of his breath brushing against my face, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I’m driven by an insatiable need to uncover the truth.
“I was a rookie,” he begins, his gaze dipping to my lips, which seem to hold his attention. “Just learning the ins and outs of the criminal empires. The FBI assigned me to track the Giovani family, as they suspected someone was targeting their heir, so I followed him. One night, I caught a glimpse of movement outside his apartment complex. It was so fleeting that I almost thought I imagined it.”
I glance briefly toward Lyric, sensing his presence in the shadows.
Is he listening to us?
“I understand what you mean,” I reply before focusing on Agent Hayes. From here, I can almost feel Lyric’s gaze burn a hole through me.
“I caught up with him,” Agent Hayes continues, his voice heavy with the weight of the past. “It was the first time I’d seen my brother in a decade, and he was standing over a dead body—the uncle of the heir.” He sighs, turning toward me. “But I couldn’t bring myself to arrest him. I just couldn’t.”
“Did he say anything to you?” I furrow my brow, curious about Lyric’s words during that encounter.
“Yeah,” Agent Hayes scoffs bitterly. “He told me to stop looking for him. After that day, we went our separate ways. Kelly became a cocaine kingpin, I became an FBI agent, and Lyric…” He trails off, his expression darkening. “Lyric became a fixer. I won’t rest until I can see him, Charlotte. I won’t stop until he speaks more than a handful of words to me.”
“What if he doesn’t want to be found?” I ask softly, a subtle shift bringing us closer together.
“I don’t care,” he confesses, leaning in, his gaze locked onto my lips. “Will you help me, Charlotte? Will you help me find my brother?” Our proximity is undeniable, and the unspoken tension in the air crackles between us.
I don’t offer Agent Hayes any empty promises or assurances, uncertain whether I’ll assist him in his quest, so instead of words, I decide to convey my feelings through action.
I kiss him.
My lips press against his, deliberately diverting the conversation and delaying my response. It awakens a dormant passion between us, and Agent Hayes responds with an intensity that sets us both ablaze. Our kiss is like throwing gasoline into an inferno. It ignites, consuming us completely. I kissed him to avoid answering him, but now I’m unsure I can stop.
Burning desire courses through my body as I deepen the kiss. My tongue invades his mouth, and a passionate moan escapes his lips.
In the heat of the moment, Agent Hayes pushes me onto the couch. Although I realize things are moving far too quickly, my yearning for Matthew Hayes outweighs any reservations. Perhaps it’s because of Desmond’s earlier provocation, but Agent Hayes’ touch fans the flames, making them burn even hotter.
A moan escapes me, and just as the intensity peaks with desire, a sudden crash resonates from the kitchen. In mere seconds, Agent Hayes springs into action, his gun drawn as he heads toward the source of the disturbance.
I lie there, already knowing that Lyric has interrupted us. Running a hand down my face, I sit up as Agent Hayes reappears. “Your back door was open,” he says, holstering his weapon and shaking his head. “I don’t know if someone was there or not.”
He was.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, trying to hide my frustration. “I should lock up and go to bed anyway.”
Matthew Hayes crosses his arms, his gaze locked on me. “Someone just broke in. I’m not leaving you,” he insists, his gaze focused on my lips again. “Especially not now.”
“Do you need an extra blanket?” I ask, my voice softening as I glance at the cozy setup on the couch. “I have about four on my couch and eight pillows. You should be comfortable.”
Agent Hayes seems taken aback by my lack of argument. “That’s it? You aren’t going to argue?” he asks, sounding somewhat surprised.
