Page 2 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER ONE

FOUR YEARS LATER

I stand before the window in Director Holder’s office, fists shoved deep into my pockets, my jaw clenching tight enough to snap any second.

The room assaults my senses with a twisted scent of burned coffee and raw desperation—a scent that, perversely, offers a grim comfort.

The director wisely avoided the harsh glare of the fluorescent light, opting instead for a dim lamp, shrouding our forms behind drawn blinds. No one must see me.

Pivoting sharply to face him, I brace for his judgment.

Director Holder lets out a weary sigh as he rubs his battle-worn face—one that’s witnessed too many brutal choices, including the one he’s about to sanction.

“You certain you know what you’re doing, Dec?

” he rasps, every word strained with fatigue, yet his black eyes cut through my armor with fierce precision.

I recall when he used to do that when I was a little boy.

Growing up next door to an FBI agent, it was Holder who would chide me when I got too unruly for my mother—my father being long gone from our lives.

When she died, he stood by my side at her small service.

He stepped in to become my mentor, my boss, and my father figure, all rolled into one.

Thus why he’s the one I’m turning to before I take on my biggest challenge to date. Nodding slowly, I answer, “I do.”

Sitting forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his desk, he continues, “Let’s lay all the cards on the table.”

“Fine.”

“If you do this, they’ll think they own you.”

A wry smile twists my lips. “They think that already. They’ve planted enough evidence to play a game of cat and mouse with me. I have a choice—capitulate to their demands and release information about our agents in the field, or they’ll release the information that I did it anyway. ”

He considers my words. “But by leaving—”

I pick up where he left off. “I’ll be a part of something.”

He looks at the card I laid beside the open folder on his desk. “There are good men and women who work there. Fortunately for you, they’ll give you a lifeline.”

I nod in agreement. I might be going so deep undercover that I won’t recognize myself, but I can still get out. That is, if I’m alive to make the call.

Holder goes on, “If this spirals out of your—their—control, there won’t be a team ready to storm in and rescue you.”

Ice chills the fire of revenge fueling the blood in my veins. “I accepted that before I chose this.”

A grim silence hangs between us until he lands the final blow. “You’ll cease to exist in the department.”

I scoff. “I cease to exist now.”

“Fair point. The rumors have spread like wildfire.”

“You’ve got a mole, Ace.”

Leaning back heavily in his chair. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“You need to flush him out.”

“Which is what I’ll be doing while you”—he lifts the folder—“go to work on this.”

The breath leaves my body. Some part of me thought he’d force me to wait for acknowledgement from the bureau of my innocence. But the evidence is too damning. The Irish Mafia is too damn good once they have you in their sights.

And they planted just enough evidence about me to make doing my job impossible.

“There’s one thing.”

“What?”

He points back and forth between us. “To every man and woman here at the agency, in uniform, you’ll have become one of them—the enemy.”

“I know.” That burns. These are people I’ve gone into hot spots and cold missions with. I’ve never made them doubt me.

But the mob has.

“Dec, I can’t publicly acknowledge what you’re doing until it’s all over. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His eyes meet mine. “Even if I consider you to be the son I never had.”

His declaration hits me like a vicious blow to the gut—confirming everything I already feared.

“Ace, do you think I’m doing the right thing?

” I anxiously await his verdict. Every movement I’ve made since graduating from Harvard Law all those years ago, including being assigned to the FBI’s Organized Crime and Racketeering Section, he’s been by my side.

But this? I stare as he flips through the file again.

What will I do if he disagrees? Give up on my vow?

I think bitterly. Yet here I am, forced to accept that I might just do that.

The vow I made in the vestige of an agent’s blood and the danger lurking in the shadows waiting to strike at any moment propel me to move forward even if it’s not quite within the lines of justice.

For now.

A few weeks ago, I was at home when my doorbell rang. Ding, dong. It wasn’t UPS leaving a package. No, instead of something I ordered from , I had a visit from the Byrnes family—founding members of the largest Irish Mafia operation on the Eastern Seaboard.

The enforcers weren’t there to deliver a message.

They were there to recruit me. They need help, and apparently, I’m the one they’ve chosen for the position.

I tried to decline their “interview,” but all I received for my efforts were three cracked ribs and bruised kidneys that caused me to piss blood for days.

After they left, I made a call to someone I knew would be very interested in who stood back and watched while I had my ass handed to me by not one but four of the Byrnes best. He agreed with their unanimous vote—I should fill that position, but for an entirely different reason.

The company I recently started working for planted the necessary seeds. They did this carefully. Meticulously. We, the few in the know, understand the security around the Byrnes inside, but still, someone managed to get that man in. Worse, someone’s keeping him from being found out.

The only way to discover the truth is to get past their stronghold undetected.

Still, it means there’s information about me in federal databases that’s about to disappear.

My new boss assured me the hacker he has on staff is wiping away the electronic evidence even as we speak.

In a matter of hours, I’ll be able to operate from inside the Byrnes’ operation in a do or die attempt to bring the entire empire down, desperately hunting for a redemption that may be forever out of reach.

“Burning their organization down from the inside out is the only option,” I growl. “The Byrnes will believe I’ve truly flipped sides when they see I abandoned my post at a moment when it suited them.”

A cold, grim silence hangs between us until he lands the final blow. “Dec, you can lose everything representing them. Hell, you could be arrested yourself.”

“If they commit a crime against the legal advice I provide, essentially ignoring my counsel, then I can be excused under the crime-fraud exemption,” I remind him.

“True. But by then, they’ll have you so ensnared in their business dealings you’ll have to go down with them first. You could end up disbarred. Worse yet, the testimony could be thrown out.”

I jerk my chin. “That’s why you’re going to call that number.”

Ace picks up the card again. Turning it over and over in his fingers, he flicks it back on his desk. “I don’t have to. They reached out earlier, and their lawyer sent over the paperwork.”

A shiver of cold travels up my spine. “Are you going to sign it?”

He closes the file. “I already did.”

My breath releases in a rush. Just as I’m about to express my gratitude, he reminds me of what to expect. “Once you leave my office, you’ll become one of them—a traitor. You know defense attorneys for criminal groups of this ilk are often as guilty as their clients.”

His declaration hits me like the vicious blows I took to the gut when I first turned down the Byrnes enforcers—pain so sharp, I’d never felt anything like it before. Only this time, the pain isn’t a physical ache making me want to vomit all over myself, it’s a realization of loss.

“Burning every bridge is the only option,” I growl.

Ace drums his fingers on the desk, absorbing every biting word I’ve spat out over the last hour. Finally, he relents. “When I can, I’ll keep an eye on you and pull a few strings.”

“Don’t get yourself entangled in this,” I snap, warning him. The last thing I need is for him or anyone else I remotely care about to become collateral damage when one of the very reasons I’m plunging into the Byrnes’ shadowy hierarchy is already gone.

He presses on, oblivious to my protest. “But if they ask you to do something too… messy. If you cross lines that aren’t meant to be crossed, Dec? There’s no way for me to protect you.”

My lips curve, but my smile never reaches my hardened eyes. “I’ve never needed help in that department before.”

“Bullshit. We’ve always had your back. You know that.”

He’s right, of course. My team, the department, even the man in front of me—they’ve covered my ass countless times. Still, I’ve felt the burning stares and heard the abrupt shifting of conversations as the lies deliberately planted began to spread.

If the suspicious glares during Office of Professional Responsibility meetings are any indication, the storm that will rage if all the fabricated evidence is revealed will be devastating.

If I don’t capitulate under my own terms, the “proof” the Byrnes have manufactured is tainted enough to set us back years and will have OPR scrambling for that long to uphold any arrests I’ve made as an agent.

Still, I have to prove myself. Right now, I’m being tested. Aside from their business holdings, the Byrnes’ top priority for me will be to negotiate a marker with their compatriots, the Tiberis—a faction of the larger northeastern Italian mob located in Darien, Connecticut.

Most of the higher ranking officers are hanging on by a thread in the federal penitentiary because of charges ranging from B&E to stalking, kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder. One is charged with multiple counts of murder.

At first, I couldn’t figure out why the Byrnes wanted me involved until I realized their interest is money driven.

Money that has dried up with the key Tiberis in jail.

They need me as a go-between. What they don’t realize is by appointing me as their liaison, they’re giving me unfettered access to the ins and outs of their operations under the guise of legal necessity.

I’ll be a federal prosecutor’s wet dream. Eventually.

“This case…,” his deep voice rumbles. “The weight of media frenzy is practically tangible over anything having to do with Irish mob revelations.”

“I know.”

“No, you think you know. The people you work for now? They’re hungry for retribution. In a dark alley, I’m not certain who I’d fear facing—them or the Byrnes. They’re no one to fuck with.”

“I understand.” Do I ever. The moment I was approached with the offer, I knew what stakes were on the line. I was about to dive so deep into a pit of mud, I’m certain I’ll never be clean again.

He leans in, voice lowering dangerously, “If you take this path, you’re not just abandoning your badge—you’re forsaking every ounce of protection it once provided.”

Unable to contain my fury, I slam my fist onto his desk. “Unless I do, we don’t gain anything! Have you considered that?”

Rubbing his temples in resignation, he challenges, “At what cost, Dec? What will it cost you personally?”

My head hangs low, the weight of his despair and desperation making it hard to hold up. “Maybe that’s exactly what’s needed. I failed to save her. I lost her. How many more lives won’t be saved if I don’t take this next step?”

“We all lost Tanya, Dec. Not just you.”

I flinch and can’t reply because while I know he’s right, he’s also wrong.

She was mine to protect. Something in my face must reflect that because Holder swears under his breath.

After a long moment, he reaches into his desk, pulling out a packet of matches.

Without any further discussion, he lifts the file we’ve been discussing, drops it into the trash, strikes a match and drops it atop of it.

Together, we watch as a list of my accommodations and the crucial paperwork OPR has been cultivating about my life turns into ash. When the fire smolders out, he hands me the metal bucket.

I stomp down on the remaining embers, each movement obliterating my ties with the FBI more so than the simple resignation letter he received in his email earlier today.

Then I head into his en suite, fill the bucket with water, and transform the blackened remnants into useless sludge before flushing the slime away.

Unknown

The files are gone for good. No chance of recovery.

When I enter back into his office and hand over the bin, I meet his gaze. Regret is heavy in my voice when I show him the text, “There’s nothing to stop it now.”

He winces before ordering, “Get the hell out of my office before someone catches us.”

I jerk up my chin. Just as my hand touches the knob, I hear him call out, “Dec?”

I don’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“See you on the other side. We’ll make this okay, yeah?”

Without another word, I open the door and vanish into the night, each silent step affirming that there’s no turning back—a haunting promise that nothing will ever be the same again.