Page 20 of When He Fights (Protector & Defender #3)

Chapter Eleven

Grayson “Gray” Stone didn’t like to make mistakes. Mistakes annoyed him. Miscalculations pissed him off.

Ana should not have been in jeopardy that night. She shouldn’t have been running for her life, and Kane shouldn’t have barely gotten to her in time to keep Ana alive.

She’d wanted to run.

Gray had stopped her.

But maybe that was a mistake.

And mistakes just fucking annoyed him.

He’d gone back to the police station even though it was nearing one thirty in the morning.

Gray had fired off some FBI bullshit and waved his ID around and gotten one of the greener officers on the skeletal, late-night staff to give him access to holding and to Turner Mitchell.

When Gray walked into the holding area, the SOB was sleeping in his bunk.

Sleeping hard and deep, like the prick didn’t have a care in the world.

Gray grabbed a nearby tray that had been left out after the dinner shift, and he ran that tray along the bars, creating a loud, grating clatter.

“ Hey!” A shout from Turner as he shot upright in the bottom bunk. “Hey! ”

“Wakey, wakey,” Gray chimed.

From another cell down the hallway, someone yelled, “Asshole, shut the hell up!”

Gray tossed aside the tray and glared through the bars as Turner swiped the sleep from his eyes. “You are a problem,” Gray informed the man.

“ I’m not talking to you! ”

“Fabulous. Don’t talk to me. Listen instead. Because I’m trying to give you lifesaving tips.” Probably wasting his time but, whatever. “You made a powerful enemy tonight.” Groundwork had to be laid. A cover story amended.

“What?” Turner swung his legs to the side of the bunk.

“Kane doesn’t forget, and he doesn’t forgive. When you get out of here, you’ll have a target on your back.”

Laughter. The prick rose from the bunk and sauntered toward Gray. Cockiness oozed from his pores. “Do I look scared?”

You look like you got the hell beaten out of you.

Turner’s lips were swollen and busted. At least one tooth appeared cracked.

“Pretty sure I heard you were shaking and begging by the time you were hauled out of the shark tank. Can’t swim, huh?

Bad mistake considering all the water around here.

” Gray thought he heard the faintest tread of a footstep.

Sounded like it came from the entrance to the holding area.

Was one of the cops eavesdropping? Maybe even the green officer who’d let him in?

Gray didn’t bother to look over his shoulder.

As long as he wasn’t interrupted, the cop could listen his heart out. Maybe he’d even learn a thing or two.

“Are you threatening me?” Turner demanded. “That’s police harassment!”

“I’m warning you. Trying to keep you alive. That’s called being helpful. A good person.” Gray stared through the bars. “Tip one, learn to swim.”

“I’m not afraid!”

“You should be afraid of me. Of Kane. You should also be very worried about what will happen when you meet up with Logan Catalano. I mean, he’s right here in Gulfport, so once you get out, a meeting will be imminent.”

Turner’s chin notched up. He blinked. A little too fast. “Who told you that?”

You did, dumbass. Right now. “When you get out, I’m sure Logan will let you know how very displeased he is with you. You had one job, and you screwed it up. Way to go, Ace.”

Turner swallowed. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, not. After all, you don’t have any useful intel that you want to trade to me, do you?

Intel that might have brought you a deal.

Perhaps even protection.” Gray paused a moment and let those words sink in.

“Sweet dreams, Turner. Sleep tight. Don’t let the sharks bite.

” With that, he turned and sauntered back down the hallway that led out of holding.

“That shit supposed to be funny?” Turner called after him.

“Shut up, assholes!” The same annoyed voice from earlier blasted that order. “Some of us want to sleep!”

Gray whistled.

“It’s not funny!” Turner yelled. “It’s not!”

“I think I’m fucking hilarious,” Gray argued and then he turned the corner.

He came to a dead stop.

A woman leaned against the wall near the door that would take him out of holding.

A woman wearing a black dress, one that skimmed her knees, scooped at her neck, and left her shoulders and arms bare.

Red pumps covered her heels, and her black hair skimmed her shoulders in a sleek bob.

Her eyes—the brightest, boldest blue he’d ever seen in his life—locked right on him.

She’d crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her shoulders back against the wall. She looked casual. Gorgeous. Drop-dead sexy.

She also looked like the bane of his existence. Which she was.

“Hello, FBI Special Agent Stone.” Her voice held no accent, just a touch of husky, sensual temptation. She quirked a dark brow. “Having fun with the prisoner, are we?”

Gray flashed her a broad smile. He knew her face, though he had to admit that Emerson Marlowe was even more gorgeous in person.

When he’d first been told that the psychiatrist working with Logan Catalano would be coming to join him for this takedown case—a Dr. Emerson Marlowe—Gray had been less than thrilled.

Then he’d done some basic research on the shrink.

Found out that Emerson was not the pencil-pushing academic bastard he’d originally suspected, not some Ivory-tower professor who wanted to dip a toe into the world of criminal investigation.

Oh, no. First, Emerson wasn’t a bastard at all. She was delicate. She was feminine. She was witchily beautiful—yeah, the woman had a witchy vibe, especially with her black dress, and the vibe totally worked for her.

Sue me. I always liked the Wicked Witch. To me, Dorothy was the pain in the ass. Always whining about wanting to go home and dragging that poor dog all over Oz.

Emerson had a fistful of degrees, and while she’d spent plenty of time working at Vanderbilt, she’d also partnered with both local and federal law enforcement personnel on at least a dozen cases.

Plus, her mother was a senator. So, yes, the woman had pull. Enough pull to get Emerson moved into the FBI when Emerson had never trained at Quantico like a typical agent. Instead, she was a “consultant” who was there to utterly fuck with Gray’s life.

“Emerson Marlowe.” He paused. “ Dr. Emerson Marlowe, I mean.” He sauntered toward her. “You arrived sooner than I expected.”

She didn’t change position. Just stayed, seemingly relaxed, against the wall. “Is that why you snuck in and had a private chat with the suspect? Because you didn’t expect my arrival yet?”

Her skin was a warm honey. Her lips were unpainted. Lush. And those thick eyelashes of hers could not be real. “I just wanted to check in with the man. I was worried about him. Doing my due diligence and all.”

“You were baiting him.” A moment of consideration. “And trying to terrify him into making a mistake.”

He could deny it, but why bother? “Guilty.”

“You…or him?”

“Oh, that bastard is dead guilty. He tried to kill Ana tonight. Stalked her through the local aquarium, threatened to stab her and feed her to the sharks. A lovely human being, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“He’s guilty and so am I.” Of so many things.

Things most would never, ever know about him.

“He slipped up. Logan Catalano—your former patient and current escaped pain in the ass—is already in town. By the way, did I ever mention to you—in those ever-so-entertaining email and text exchanges that we’ve shared—that I thought the idea of interviewing mob hitmen and enforcers in order to create some sort of new handbook on homicidal and narcissistic behavior was an absolute shitter of an idea? ”

Her lush lips pulled down. “Please, tell me what you really think.”

He stepped closer. Her scent—summer nights, jasmine, innocence—teased him. Gray shook his head because…what in the hell had just happened? And how the hell did anyone smell like innocence?

Clearly, he’d been working too long. A vacation to some tropical paradise should be in his future. Once he had Logan back in custody.

“I think,” he began, trying to stay somewhat careful with his language, “that you are a civilian who should not be playing with fire.” Another step toward her.

“And if you didn’t have mommy’s political power behind you, the fire would never have been started.

” Okay, so maybe he hadn’t been quite so careful with his words. Sue him.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m here because of my own qualifications. My mother has nothing to do with it.”

“Really? Because I got a personal phone call from her—and my boss did, too, by the way—saying that we had to play nicely with you or we’d find ourselves being called in for a full accounting in the senator’s office.”

A furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “What?”

“See, that’s a fun little tell.” He reached up and touched her between the brows. A light, quick touch.

Electricity surged through his whole body.

Gray snatched his hand back as if he’d just been burned. Because he had been. “Shouldn’t have touched you,” he said instantly. He meant those words with every fiber of his being. “My mistake. It will not happen again.” He backed up.

“What? What just happened?”

“Won’t be touching without permission,” he rasped.

Her head tilted. Her hair spilled against her shoulder. “And what happens if I give you permission?”

“FBI Agent! FBI Agent!” A bellow that echoed from holding.

“ Will you assholes shut the hell up?” The other prisoner in holding, still just as annoyed.

Gray didn’t move. His gaze never left Emerson.

“You didn’t know your mother was pulling strings.

The surprise showed in that cute—” No, shit, he was tired and being sloppy.

“The surprise showed in the scrunch between your brows. Watch the tell.” And he needed to watch himself.

No more slip-ups where he referred to anything about her as cute.