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I swing around and stalk to the door, yanking it wide. The slam of the flimsy wood is my only response, the resounding bang drawing the attention of the entire department. My fellow agents stop and stare, not bothering to hide their judgment, although I’m pretty sure they don’t even know what I’ve done. Not yet. At least, not this time.
Their intolerance is engrained.
I continue my trek toward the elevator, holding my head high despite the disgrace. How the hell am I going to face them on Monday? The distance will only make the situation worse. I’d prefer to deal with their animosity now. To answer all the questions before they have time to fester.
“You okay?” Luther Torian’s arresting agent jogs to catch up with me, squeezing close to my side along the narrow walkway.
Anthony Easton is the closest thing I have to a… I don’t know what to call him. He’s not a friend. But he’s not an asshole either.
“No.” I keep pounding out the distance across the building, not willing to lose my shit in front of an audience.
“What’s going on?” He follows me past the open cubicles. His heavy footfalls match mine. “Is Taggert riding your ass again?”
“Nope, not riding it. He’s setting it loose.”
“What?” He grabs my arm, forcing me to stop as he steps in front of me. “What does that mean?”
The concern in his expression is a trigger to the growing storm inside me. I feel my restraint slipping. One more nudge and I’ll go over the edge.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I’m just going to take the week off. That’s all.”
“But you don’t take time off.” His brow furrows. “Tell me what happened. Is he blaming you for this morning because he thinks we would've had foresight if your informant hadn’t bailed?”
“Oh, God.” I scrub a hand down my face. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
This is too much. I can’t fucking take it.
I shove past him, the remaining distance to the elevator covered in a blur.
“What the fuck is going on, Fox?” Anthony continues to follow. “Just tell me what he thinks you did.”
“It’s not what he thinks,” I mutter. “I’m actually guilty this time.”
“Of what?”
I don’t want to say it. But the truth will come out while I’m gone, and I’d prefer if it wasn’t explained with Taggert bias. “Cole approached me this morning. He said he wanted to talk, when what he really wanted to do was use me as an alibi for his father’s escape. He’s taunting me. Deliberately messing with my life.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, oh shit.” I slam my hand against the elevator call button. “I’m not even on desk duty. Taggert wants me out of here until Monday.”
He cringes. “Maybe that’s for the best. You know how nasty some of these pricks can get.”
“And you think me not being here will change that? It’s only going to delay the inevitable and leave me out of the search for Luther.” A search that I need to be a part of, goddammit.
“Forget the search. We’ll catch him before the day’s out. You need to concentrate on holding that temper of yours in check.”
I glare at him. I keep glaring until the elevator doors open and I step inside. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
He moves between the doors and spreads his legs to hold them at bay. “Don’t let this get to you.”
I roll my eyes. That ship has well and truly set sail.
“And keep your head up,” he continues. “If you can, enjoy the break while you have it. I can’t remember the last time you took a vacation.”
That’s because I don’t take them. The last thing I need are long stretches of inactivity where I’m at the mercy of my thoughts.
“Bye, Easton.” I rest against the back of the enclosed space, waiting for him to move.
“Yeah, okay.” He retreats. “I’ll keep you updated.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him not to bother but the truth is, I’m dying inside knowing I won’t have access to every detail of this case. “I’d appreciate it.”
He juts his chin in response as the doors close between us, and all I’m left with is the walk of shame from the building.
Every step across the parking lot is filled with thoughts of retaliation. I know it’s not normal for a federal agent to seek revenge. And it certainly isn’t healthy. The problem is, it’s what I crave, and the one thing I need to distance myself from.
These types of thoughts are for criminals. Ones like Cole Torian who take the law into their own hands.
That’s never been me.
Despite my father’s blood ru
My fidelity is unbreakable. My bravery is in abundance. And my integrity is entirely intact.
But those attributes don’t stop me from fantasizing about going entirely postal on Cole’s ass. I could fucking kill that smug son of a bitch.
I stalk across the parking lot to climb into my car, grip the steering wheel, and scream. I release my rage in a mass of ear-splitting decibels. I shriek until my throat sears in protest. Then my anger escalates because I have no way to let it out.
The Torian family has been a thorn in my side for too long. Too damn long to take a back seat now. Luther is out there. He could be anywhere. With anyone. About to do anything to sate his perverted nature.
And I can’t do a goddamn thing about it.
I start the ignition and slam my foot down on the accelerator, letting the rev of the engine match the roar of my heart. I’m going to take that asshole down.
I’ll drag each and every one of those motherfuckers under—Cole. Hunter. The Torian sisters and the Hart brothers. I don’t care if Layla’s daughter gets placed in foster care. Her life will be all the better for it.
I’ll destroy their family, like they destroyed so many. And I’ll keep a fucking smile on my face as I do it.
I shove the car into reverse, escape the parking space, and squeal my tires out into the Portland traffic.
Is Taggert going to be pissed at my lack of control? Hell, yeah.
Do I give a flying fuck? Not a single one.
I head out of the city toward the open road, weaving in and out of traffic like a speed racer. I drive and drive and fucking drive, praying that a traffic cop will pull me over and give me an outlet for my rage. But, just like with everything else today, I don’t get what I want.
Nobody approaches me. The cars I pass barely pay me attention.
I drive for more than fifty miles, and all my heart rate does is climb. There’s no calm to be found. No relief. I’m still fuming when I turn the car around and retrace the miles back into Portland.
I can’t stop seeing Cole’s face. That provoking wink plays on a continuous loop in my mind.
I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do. So I give in to temptation and head for Hillsboro Airport. I slow as I pass the wire fence to make sure cops are lying in wait for a mastermind criminal who is likely to charter a private plane out of here.
Local authorities are already on the scene. Sniffer dogs, too.
The show of force settles my nerves a little. But not enough to discourage me from taking the forty-minute drive to Troutdale Airport to do the same surveillance.
Once I find more police and unmarked cars on the scene, I crumple. I pull to the curb and slump over the steering wheel, totally and utterly disgusted in myself.
I can’t do this.
I need to… shit. I don’t know what I need, and I don’t think I’m going to find the answer anytime soon.
I lean back in my seat and keep clinging to the wheel, hoping and praying something will relieve the tightened ache inside my chest. Then I pull back onto the road and try to maintain a relaxed commute.