Page 19

I promise I’m not irrational or crazy. Well, okay, that’s subjective. So I guess what I mean is, I’m not possessive. I’m not the type to flip out if I haven’t heard from someone in a while because, you know, life and naps definitely exist. But since I’m currently not the most beloved person by both a dangerous cartel gang and a deranged mafia family, my freak-out meter is inching closer to a red, crisis-level threat the more seconds tick by.

Elena, someone I talk to all damn day, every day, hasn’t responded to any of my messages since yesterday afternoon. Yesterday afternoon.

Sure, she could be swamped at work. She does have someone’s funeral she’s preparing arrangements for later this week, but come on. Not a good morning , a goodnight , or a hey, how you doing? It feels…wrong. And not in the way that implies she’s ghosting me—I am an expert in the subject, after all—but more so in a way that actually warrants genuine concern.

As if on cue, a clap of thunder rolls through my apartment, causing the frames in the hall to clatter against the wall. What feels like an ominous warning ripples through my bones.

My gaze flits to the stove for the millionth time today to see that only six minutes have passed since I last checked my phone, and in three more, it will mark twenty-four hours since I’ve heard from her. Again, I’m tempted to double-check that my volume is on, turned all the way up, and that I didn’t disconnect from Wifi or accidentally turn on airplane mode. But I’ve done all those things, like three times every hour, and each time, I discover nothing’s off. And yet, nothing.

Dragging my teeth over my lip, I debate looking at my phone again—even knowing I’ll end up disappointed—or making myself busy with something else. It’s painfully clear I’m obsessing and have to find a way to stop. I need to take a fucking breath and?—

My phone blares to life, the melody loud as it echoes through my kitchen.

I dart for it, hitting it on the tip of my nail, causing it to flip over the edge of the counter and onto the floor. Annoyed, I jump from the barstool and rush around the island, snatching it up only to be pissed off at the contact flashing across the screen.

Jenna’s resting bitch face fills the small display, and even though I’m frustrated it’s not Red, I answer, well aware I need to welcome the distraction. Doesn’t mean I successfully hide the melancholy from my voice though. “Hey.”

“ Girl .” Jenna either doesn’t notice or care about my lack of reciprocated excitement. “Where the fuck were you last night? Berks was on fire and called you out. He was dying for a rematch. He’s still fuming from when you stole his girl.”

I grunt into the receiver, walking over and falling onto the couch. “First, the asshole offered her to me. Second, she came willingly. And yeah, sorry. I meant to text, but I got caught up doing stretch and folds on my sourdough.”

My chest constricts. It’s a specialty loaf I made for Red after she mentioned wanting to try a s’mores variety. It came out perfect and now rests on my counter in a cake display mocking me with its uncut crumb.

“Ugh. Well, you’ll definitely need to whoop his ass next week. He had me so irritated.”

“I bet.” Pushing out a long breath, my head sinks deeper into the cushion. “Anything else interesting I missed?”

Jenna hesitates, and I can picture her chewing on her bottom lip—a nervous tell of hers. After another second, I pull the phone away from my ear and tap the button to switch the voice-only call to FaceTime, interest finally piqued. It takes her three rings before she accepts it.

When she appears, I can immediately tell by her hair in a high messy bun, the black tendrils falling along her face that’s covered in a less than smoothly applied minty mask, that this is a stress-related self-care moment.

She groans. “Why?”

I smile, crossing my legs to get cozy. “Because you suck at lying when I’m staring into your eyes.”

Her lips purse, albeit only slightly, courtesy of her face mask. “More like into my soul.”

“Spill.”

Jenna lets her head fall back before releasing a longer, somewhat more exasperated grumble. “Fine, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

I nod, my curiosity rising. “Go.”

“There were some badges talking about a rumor there’s an informant who knows about a cartel hotspot. Their captain said it wasn’t credible—I think he was just too scared to follow up on the validity—and told them to forget about it completely. Guess one of them got pissed and called up our office to give the tip instead. It went straight to your uncle, of course, but…” She pauses, her eyes creasing slightly in the corner as if she’s trying to wince.

“He also said it wasn’t credible.” I finish for her, already hating where this might be headed.

We haven’t discussed it since that night, but my uncle made it clear how this may bite us in the ass and how we would need to prepare for it.

Sure, the local police department can say it wasn’t a credible tip and knock it on us, but our agency…well, we can’t sweep things under the rug as easily. People will notice. They’ll get suspicious if we don’t check it out, credible or not.

A heavy dose of guilt plops into my stomach, making me nauseous. It seems the going theme this month is reminding me that I have fucked up so royally that not even my uncle can bail me out this time.

Guess it was only a matter of time.

Jenna nods, her face taking a more solemn turn. “Allegedly, the cartel already found the cop’s wife who reported it and cut out her tongue. She was taken to the hospital early this morning.”

My eyes squeeze shut, a deeply embedded needle twisting in my gut.

“Everything just feels so… I don’t know. It’s like we missed something.”

I nod my agreement even though I know she’s missed the part where my dumb ass got put in the back pocket of the cartel because I don’t do shit by the books. Nerves damn near shot to hell at this point, I ask what I don’t want to know, but need to. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like there’s something they aren’t telling us. I mean, the pieces aren’t adding up. Yeah, I get the mayor was shady, but I’m not buying that it was an overdose, especially when people rumored him to have made a deal with the cartel. Then, that same gang having complete control over half the state and yet none of the higher ups want to do anything about it. I understand the local cops not wanting their families involved, but when did that stop the FBI from doing investigations and getting arrests? From calling people who can come down and help. I just don’t get it. Especially for someone like Agent James, who is a hard ass for following protocol.”

My heart squeezes tight in my chest, guilt—the only emotion I seem capable of—infiltrating my bloodstream and spreads through my entire body. I have to find a way to fix this. If not for the agency’s sake, then for my uncle’s. He is a good man, an even better agent, and his sticking his neck out and putting himself in the line of fire is unfair. It’s wrong.

Chewing on my lip until the distinct taste of copper prompts me to let it go, I mull over Jenna’s words and what I could possibly do to even start to make things right. Before I can even grasp one idea, an incoming notification drops down in front of her face. A spike of adrenaline and flush of relief skitter through me when my eyes scan over the message.

Red

Hey. Are you busy?

“I gotta go, babe. But I wanna talk more later.”

Jenna rolls her eyes and mutters something about being whipped, but I’ve already jumped from the couch and grabbed my keys by the time I’ve noticed she’s hung up.

* * *

I make it to Noxus in record time. Which, considering the sky just split open and is raining as though I need to be finding Noah instead, probably isn’t something I should brag about.

Windshield wipers set to max, I turn into the parking lot of Baudelaire’s and claim an empty spot right in the front. The strip, or what little I can see through the downpour, is completely void of any light, the only ounce of illumination coming from the glow of my high beams.

At seven, every shop is closed, but for some obscure reason, Noxus’s normal eeriness feels oddly eerier. Silent alarms similar to when I met the goon with my uncle begin to sound, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel, an unsuccessful attempt to calm my already racing mind.

Staring through Elena’s store window, I attempt to make out her silhouette, or maybe a light in the back that indicates she’s inside. But instead of either, an odd tingle radiates up my spine, and over the nape of my neck, causing the fine hairs to stand at attention.

In the next second a flicker of what I might have guessed at first was lightning catches my attention, forcing my eyes to the rearview mirror. My heart dips into my stomach acid.

Though it’s hard as shit to see, I’m able to make out another car at the edge of the lot, its wipers moving too slow to actually be useful against the onslaught of rain, and its window tint far too dark to pass regulation. It’s an Aston Martin. Black. And the only SUV model the company makes.

Only one person in Noxus has his drivers in three-hundred-thousand dollar cars.

Fuck.

Panic replaces the relief that was finally calming my pulse, while rational thought seems impossible to grasp.

It would make sense that someone might have reported seeing me come to Noxus more than just a handful of times. Add that to the fact I’ve been vocal about wanting him in jail, and the recent visit from the cartel guys and well…I can see why my presence might make Alexi antsy.

Eyes flashing to the car again, I consider what to do.

If they’re here for me, I can simply drive away and lead them away from Elena, keeping her safe while I figure out what the hell they want.

But if they’re here for her… Guess I’d have to break that promise to my uncle about going by the book. Even if it means it’s my last straw.

I glance at my glove compartment, thinking about the gun stashed there. I don’t want to leave just in case they came for Elena, but if I stay, then I chance— shit . The realization that I haven’t physically laid eyes or talked to Elena in over twenty-four hours knocks me square in the chest.

This whole thing could be a setup. A deed already committed, or fish net cast, and I’m just here to make the discovery or fall right into the trap.

Terror rips through me, shredding my insides with freshly sharpened claws that steal what little breath my lungs pull in. My mind becomes scrambled, too many thoughts to focus on passing through me faster than I can process.

I knew the risks when I signed up to work for the federal government. Knew the risks when I decided to go after criminals as dangerous as the Babins. I fucking knew , and yet, I got involved with someone knowing that my choices could very well put her in danger. Not only that, but there wasn’t a single goddamn time I paid attention to my surroundings when we were together. Never gave any thought to if we were being watched or followed.

I was so caught up in my fucking infatuation with her that I threw her right in the goddamn fire.

Sucking in a sharp, unfulfilling breath, my grip somehow tightens even more causing my knuckles to bloom white, and the bones in my hand to ache. The corners of my vision darken as I try to calm down enough to breathe, but again, it’s as though there’s no air in the cabin.

My eyes flit to the mirror, and I swear it’s driven closer.

But I can’t move, it’s as though I’m locked in place. Terror’s claws embedded in my shoulders, holding me down. My hands stay glued to the wheel as I try again to Just. Fucking. Breathe.

Snap out of it, .

I reprimand myself as my pulse surges through my veins, my vision growing darker as the rain continues to pound violently on the hood of my car, indecision closing in around me. My lungs burn as they fail at pulling in air, and the more seconds that tick by, the worse everything becomes and I know that if I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to pass out.

A flash of movement catches in my periphery, forcing my attention to the front door, snapping me from the panic, and into action. My hand instantly darts for the glove compartment, but when I flip the latch to unlock it, red hair catches my eye.

Elena stands on the threshold, one of her arms raised to shield her face from the spray of rain being pushed by the wind. Her long flowing pants whip back and forth, while the rain has already started to pelt against the yellow top clinging to her skin.

Her name escapes me in a whisper of relief so intense, my heart all but stops completely.

“ Red .”