Page 76 of Torched Spades

Not anymore.

“Sit the fuck down. I’ll be there in ten.”

* * *

I slam Becca’s referral letter down on Owen’s desk. “I’m not seeing a fourth psychiatrist. Either you call Dr. Brennan and fix this shit, or the therapy provision of this agreement is off the table.”

Barely glancing down at the paper, he sits back in his chair and rolls a pen between his index finger and thumb. “I would if she didn’t make a personal visit two days ago.”

My blood pressure spikes to stroke-level. “What the fuck? Becca…” Gritting my teeth, I start over. “I mean, Dr. Brennan was here?”

“I’m as pleased about it as you are. What did I say about taking unnecessary risks? Are you trying to fuck everything up?”

Leaning forward, I grip the back of the chair. “What did she say?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Why don’t you go to hell?” I hit back with a searing glare.

“Take a look around, Johnny…” He laughs, throwing his arms out wide. “We’re already in it. You had one job… Stick it out for four months and keep a low profile. Put on an act for forty-five minutes once a week. That’s all you had to do. Talk and not touch! Don’t you fucking learn?”

Talk and not touch.

Fucking hell, what did Becca tell him?

I narrow my eyes, trying to navigate the truth from another Napoleon nut swing. Becca values her privacy almost as much as her reputation. She wouldn’t do anything to risk divulging our affair to the good people of Providence.

“You’re bluffing.”

He tilts his chin, stilling the pen between his fingers. “Are you willing to take that risk?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” I lie.

“Oh?” His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “So you didn’t speak Italian? You didn’t tell her she reminded you of someone long ago? You didn’t grab her by the throat and shove her against the wall, scaring her enough to do a goddamn internet search on you and the Scranton fire?”

I can’t hide my reaction. Even I know it’s plastered across my face like a blinking neon sign. “Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“Yes, ‘fuck,’” he chides, tossing the pen onto his desk with unnecessary force. “Do you know how many lies I had to tell that woman to save both our asses? She’s George Reese’s daughter, for Christ’s sake! I told you to tread lightly, not tap dance over a goddamn land mine. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s not just your balls on the line.”

“Did she buy it?”

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Not good enough. “So wouldn’t it be smarter to convince her to keep seeing me so I could keep an eye on her?”

Owen leaps from his chair, his hands slamming onto his desk. “Are you fucking insane? You stay the hell away from Rebecca Brennan. In fact, if you see her across the street, walk the other way. This whole operation is a goddamn house of cards, Johnny. If Reese even so much as fucking breathes in our direction, everything’s going to come crashing down around us.”

“So maybe we should set fire to it first.”

“No,” he bites out, hurling his finger at me. “I’m in charge here, not you. You’ll see this —he glances down at the letter on his desk—“Dr. Cromwell on Tuesday, or you’ll face the consequences.”

“Which are…?”

A knowing smile spreads across his face as he lowers into his seat. “You took the plea bargain,Johnny Malone. If you violate any part of it, I have the right to revoke it and protect you from yourself. With the tapes missing, we’re too exposed as it is.”

Jail. That’s the unspoken word hanging between us. It’s his last card and playing it this early can only mean the situation is worse than he’s letting on. Owen Holmes has his faults, but he doesn’t toss out idle threats. I have no doubt he’d have me locked up to stop me from doing something he perceived to be detrimental to our goal.

And I can’t confront Becca behind bars.