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6
Anissa
I tried to stay away.
That night, I fought anger and determination as I paced my bedroom. I battled against the passion to provide justice and the need to obey Taggert. I also struggled under the heavy weight of shame.
But I remained inside those four apartment walls. I didn’t leave. I stayed out of the investigation despite the instinct to act.
The only co
Nobody had a lead on Luther.
He’d disappeared. Poof. Gone. Right into thin air.
My fellow FBI agents were on the case, along with local law enforcement, airport security, and sniffer dogs, just to name a few. Everyone was entrusted to help find him.
Everyone except me.
The next morning, I wasn’t going to wallow. I wouldn’t let him beat me into depression. Moving forward was my only option.
I woke at the usual time, jogged the same five miles, not diverting a single foot off my regular path. And every step I took felt wrong. My thoughts weren’t even right. Everything that filled my head had been about Cole. The ridicule. The manipulation.
I pushed myself to run through all the pummeling memories, spurring my legs faster.
I wouldn’t stop my exercise routine on his account.
I refused.
Yet the streets I crossed and the people I passed seemed different.
I no longer had the tingle at the back of my neck. My senses weren’t hyper-alert. The feeling of being hunted had vanished.
By the time I reached the café, I knew why my intuition was off-kilter.
I was alone.
Nobody followed me. There was no need to watch me anymore. No unexpected visitors waited to buy me a coffee. The flowers with their threatening notes had stopped, too. And why wouldn’t they?
Cole had won.
He’d set a goal and claimed victory.
The reprieve should’ve been a blessing and a leap in the right direction for my safety. So why did it compound my failure?
Instead of rejoicing with goddamn relief because a psychotic fuck had grown tired of me, I became consumed with isolation. Slammed with abandonment issues.
The overwhelming sense of solitude didn’t make sense.
The grief from my mother’s death returned. The anger over my father’s betrayal cut deeper. And the reminder I had no job to escape to made me entirely unhinged.
That day, I’d been a fucking mess.
But again, the next morning, I refused to wallow.
I ran my five miles, hoping against hope for the skin to crawl at the back of my neck. I prayed for the skitter of awareness. For the brush of my sixth sense.
Nothing came.
I had no co
Easton didn’t call to give me updates like he’d promised. There were no e-mails or texts or carrier pigeons. Everyone and everything had turned against me, leaving me secluded.
I couldn’t hack it.
I kept that routine for three days—three full days when I battled to contain my hysteria. But I couldn’t do it for a fourth.
Friday morning started with a pre-dawn escape to Cole’s exclusive neighborhood. It was only meant to be a drive-by—a brief insight to reassure my frustration that the good guys were keeping him under control with constant surveillance.
Instead, I found nothing.
No cars. No cops. No fellow agents struggling through an early-morning stakeout.
Nobody watched the son of the escaped sex trafficker, and I couldn’t understand why.
I parked on the nearest side street, close enough to the corner to have a slightly restricted view of the ostentatious mansion purchased with dirty drug money.
He wasn’t inside. He couldn’t be. Cole Torian was somewhere else, enjoying his victory while the good guys watched from their secret hiding spots.
I told myself over and over, until the garage door rose and his glistening black Porsche drove out.
And that’s how I came to be sitting here, out the front of a local nightclub fifteen hours later, watching Cole escort a sophisticated, young brunette inside.
I’m not proud I disobeyed Taggert’s orders to shadow a suspect. But do I regret it?
Hell, no.
I didn’t see one agent today. Not at Cole’s restaurant. Not when he returned home at di
For the fifteenth time, I palm my cell and click through to Easton’s contact details. I’ve attempted to dial his number every hour, almost on the hour. Pride has been the only leash holding me back.
I don’t want to beg for information. Being ostracized is bad enough without having to grovel for insight, but I can’t remain isolated a moment longer.
I press “co
The final click of the co
“You shouldn’t be calling me,” he mutters in greeting.
I close my eyes, taking the kick to my teeth without a flinch. “And I wouldn’t be if you’d kept your promise to feed me information.”
He sighs, the sound long and loud. “I couldn’t. Taggert made it clear you’re not to be contacted. He’s pissed. Really pissed. Nobody is willing to mess with him right now.”
I run a hand over my face, attempting to scrub away the remorse. The last thing I should be doing is dragging Easton down with me. I’m well aware of the risk I’m placing on his job, yet here I am, unable to disco
“I did try.” Guilt laces his tone. “Despite the warning, I came to see you today, but you weren’t home.”
“Really?” The news is the slightest balm on my battered ego. “I’ve been out.”
“Where?”
“Just out.”
There’s a long-drawn breath of silence. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
I sigh and slink farther down in the driver’s seat. “It’s better if you don’t.”
“Dammit, Fox. What the hell are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I grind my teeth through the need to defend myself. I ball my fists, and still, the frustration escalates. “Nobody is watching him. Why is nobody watching him?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re going to get your ass kicked. If Taggert finds out—”
“He’s not going to find out. And I’m not doing anything wrong. In fact, I’m the only one doing my job. Why the hell doesn’t anyone have eyes on him?”
“Because he didn’t have anything to do with the escape. Not only was he with you at the time, but we’ve listened to all the phone recordings while Luther was incarcerated. They never discussed any plans. Neither one of them even alluded to what was happening. And Cole never stepped foot in that jail.”
“That doesn’t mean a damn thing, and you know it.”
“All Cole’s men have airtight alibis. Their stories check out.”
So either someone is feeding them the right story to tell, or the FBI are dropping the ball. Hell, it sounds like they’re not even taking the fucking field.
“Still doesn’t mean a damn thing.” I turn my attention to the nightclub, the slow-moving line out front growing by the minute. Maybe I need to go in there and make my presence known. I can’t let Cole think his family is wi
“Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Easton admits, “but we’ve been warned. Someone went over Taggert’s head and told the department to back off unless we have a lead. And we don’t.”