Page 48

Chapter 48

Liam

“ W alk us through your dead drop protocol with Agent Wilson again, please.”

I pound a fist on the table, the papers spread over it jostling at the contact.

“I’ve already gone over it … twice.” I growl.

Six days. That’s how long I’ve been sequestered in debrief, unable to contact Fleur. Meetings piled on top of meetings pack my days, and Agent Wilson decided I was the one best suited to help interrogate Blitz, Darrin, and Trip. Idiots. They definitely don’t want to talk to me.

Blitz made that clear this morning while I sat in with the FBI. He spat at my feet and threatened to slit my throat if he ever was released from prison, time served. It doesn’t exactly make me excited to join them for Darrin’s questioning later.

I want out of here.

“I’d send a message on a secure phone and meet him at one of several locations to deliver that information.”

“Always in person? You never left intel?”

“No,” I seethe. “Are we done?”

“And your marriage within the organization. Walk us through that again.”

I blink, only to stare openly at the scrawny agent across from me asking silly paper-pusher questions.

“She was taken by Darrin’s crew, held to send a message to Adam Parker. Blitz was prepared to kill her, or so I assumed, and I claimed her.”

“And claiming is?”

“Come on. Y’all have this down already.”

“Humor me, Agent Parker.”

I fold my arms and slink back in my chair. My knee bounces in time with the clock on the wall—I’m going mad.

“Darrin had a rule. In time, I came to realize it was more to protect the girls brought into the compound, but his rule was if a woman was married in, no other man could touch her. Bro code type deal. Basically, you married a girl you didn’t want anyone else to mess around with.”

“Interesting. And are you still legally married to Ms. Jacobs?”

I snort. “Considering I’ve been locked down here until you goons can get your paperwork finished, I’m pretty sure I still am.”

“And do you intend to file for divorce?”

I tighten, each muscle locking into place at the word. Divorce .

Leaning forward, both arms on the table, I say, “None of your damn business. This meeting is over.”

The chair I’m in whines as it slides back, and I stride for the door, ignoring the “Agent Parker” coming out of the man’s mouth.

“You know it’s protocol.” Wilson chuckles as I slam the door shut.

“I don’t care. I’m done with this. I hate being in the office.”

The Jackson Drug Enforcement Agency offices are old and moldy. Priority for upgrades is low on the list for the small offices of Mississippi.

I’m hours away from Ruin and it’s driving me wild not being able to go talk to Fleur.

Agent Wilson follows me to the bullpen where I grab a file folder of paperwork needing my signature off of my temporary desk. Most field agents aren’t in the office much, and I’ve been in here a grand total of two times.

Pausing, I open the desk drawer and pull out my badge. The textured letters are rough under my thumb as I brush it.

“Does it feel weird … being here, able to converse as Agent Parker?”

Nodding, I keep my eyes glued on the shiny, like new badge and slide it into my jean’s pocket.

“Come on, I’ll grab you a cup of vending machine coffee before we hit the bunks for the night.”

A headache blooms behind my eyes and I rip off the shirt I slept in and exchange it for a plain black T-shirt from the drug store.

Since I’m currently stuck in this building until I’m cleared, I had to ask one of the office admins to gather me some supplies.

I swipe my wallet, gun, and badge off the small nightstand next to the bunk and open the door. I glance at the clock on the stark white walls of the hallway: 7:00 a.m.

I wonder what Fleur is doing. I’m sure my grandmother is shoving baked goods down her throat.

The desire to steal someone’s phone and call Old Hillside eats at me. My phone’s been confiscated until I’ve completed my debrief and psych evaluations. Apparently, over four years under deep cover makes you more of a risk instead of a loyal agent giving away years of your life.

Hell, bureaucracy sucks.

I use the last of my one-dollar bills to grab a granola bar from an ancient vending machine and end up spitting it out in the trash when it’s harder than a rock.

“You’re needed in the observation room for Darrin’s questioning.” Agent Hunter jogs up beside me and slaps me on the shoulder. “Oh, and everyone knows all the food in the machine is expired. Better steer clear.”

He laughs and I flick him off, making him laugh even harder. I wander the mostly empty halls until I reach the observation room. Agent Wilson and his FBI counterpart stand there. Two tech guys are set up with their equipment in the corner, ready to read body language and record audio. The see-through window is tinted, taking up the entire length of the one wall.

Darrin sits in an orange jumper, hands cuffed to the table. Both ankles are clasped in manacles as well.

He stares straight ahead, both of those eyes meeting mine even though I know he can’t see me.

“That man is creepy,” the FBI agent murmurs.

The door to the interrogation room opens and our boss walks in. His silver beard is trimmed short, and his black suit is already wrinkled before lunch.

The questioning starts simple. What’s your name? When were you born? He answers it all, but the interrogation slams to a halt when the questions about the compound come into play. Information about the Cartel or Raven, he won’t give up.

Darrin’s mouth is sealed shut until he says, “I want to talk to Liam. I’ll only talk to him.”

Figures. But I guess that’s why I’m here.

My boss stands, exits the room, and I meet him in the hall.

“We need the Cartel information, names up the chain in the network, and anything he can give us on Raven.”

My stomach sours at Raven’s name. Yeah, I want Raven’s information, too. I nod, rolling my neck and entering the room.

It’s the first time I’ve seen Darrin in a week and the tension is tangible. Although it’s not vengeful like Blitz or comical like Trip. No, this is a low simmer of betrayal stewing between us.

I slide the metal chair out and turn it around to sit backward, casual. I’m letting him know his presence doesn’t affect me.

Darrin snickers. “You know, I always knew there was something off about you. Guess if it had to be anyone, it’d be you.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I say, “We need information on the other kingpins in the network under the Cartel’s thumb. Oh, and as a bonus, you could throw in what you know about Raven.”

The smile leaves Darrin’s face slowly, and he sits back, tipping his chin up.

Silence stretches in the room.

After three minutes, he says, “You authorized to make deals?”

I shrug. “Perhaps.”

Pretty sure I’m not, but I’m going to run with this.

“I’ll give you all the information I know, on one condition. I want unlimited visitation and correspondence with one person while I’m incarcerated.”

I blink, confused. That’s definitely not what I thought he’d say.

“Okay.” I take my small notepad out of my back pocket and click my pen. “Who is it?”

“River.”

Yeah, that’s not what I thought he’d say.

It’s heaven being back on my bike.

After two excruciating weeks, I was finally cleared to leave with a week’s worth of vacation. There was zero hesitation. I jumped on my bike and flew down the highway for Ruin.

Three hours later, I turn down the street of the bed-and-breakfast.

Last week tipped us into November and the thought of Thanksgiving outside the compound with my grandparents—hell, even my parents—is a welcomed thought.

The grand oaks in front have shaken half of their leaves and when I pull up the driveway, my grandfather is raking said leaves into two piles.

He squints at the bike, taking his work gloves off and tucking them back in his pocket. When I lift the helmet off my head, he breaks into a grin, slapping his hand on his thigh.

“Thought you’d never get out of there,” he yells as I jog toward him.

Arms stretched wide, I wrap him in a huge hug, a prickling sensation hitting me behind my eyes. The burden of the compound and my mission from the past four-plus years is lifted and I’m lighter, grounded.

Fleur .

She’s all I’ve thought about since the raid. The look on her face getting into the SUV, the way her nose scrunched as if she was holding back tears of hurt. Fixing it is my first task.

I pull away from my grandfather, starting toward the house. “I gotta find Fleur,” I say.

A hand wraps around my wrist, and my grandfather stops me.

“She’s not here, Son.”

I tilt my head, not sure I heard him right. “What do you mean?” She may be out with my grandmother or River. Maybe they went shopping or she’s hanging with River at Double Lucky’s.

“She went back home about a week and half ago.”

Shaking my head, I step back and run a hand through my tangled hair.

“No,” I say, swallowing. “I told her we’d talk when I was done. That she could stay here, and we’d figure things out.”

My grandfather shifts on his feet. “It may be best?—”

“No—”

“—to give her time, Liam.”

No.

No.

I don’t want time. I’ve had years of time alone. I want my wife.

I should’ve demanded to talk with her more. The damn agency. I fist both of my hands, bringing them to my head and resting them over top.

“Did she leave contact information?”

“Liam …”

“Did. She. Leave. Contact information?” I ask again.

“No. And we haven’t heard from her.”

I kick the pile of leaves, my mind crazed. Does she want nothing to do with me?

I take off back to my bike, needing to get out of here. I tear down the road, booking it for the open road and watching the speedometer tick up, up, up.

Gone.

She can’t be. I need her. I love her.

But what do you have to offer her? You forced her into marriage and kept her in a tiny cabin for the extent of your relationship. Between you and your brother, she’s probably tapped out.

The town of Ruin fades behind me and the road opens into hayfields and cotton rows.

You failed. As a brother, as a husband, as a son.

I grip the bike, for the first time understanding why Fleur was so obsessed with those damn rubber bands. I’m losing control. This can’t be happening.

She left and maybe my grandfather was right. I need to let her live her life.