Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) (21 page)

“Look at me, sweetheart.” He steps forward, but stops when my eyes zero in on the cuffs again. He awkwardly lifts his hands toward the guy standing behind me. “A little help here, man?”

The guy pulls off first his goggles, then his helmet. Then he walks over to Harrington and removes the cuffs. “Sorry, Agent Lovelly. You told us to make it look real.”

My eyes widen, looking between the officer and Harrington, who rubs his wrists as if trying to erase the feel of the cuffs. I’m so confused. What’s happening right now?

“I didn’t know you were still—”

“I promise, I’m fine. I’m a little shaken up, but see . . . ?” I run a hand over my cheeks and make a show of it. “No tears.”

He looks at me, hesitant, like he isn’t sure if he should touch me or not. And everything from the last week comes back to me in a rush of emotion. The moments we shared, the way he protected me from Jarod, the little touches and kisses and the way he looks at me . . . even now. I can’t look at him, feeling ashamed for doubting him, for jumping to the worst case scenario and making assumptions when . . . when . . . he’s never given me a reason to do so.

“I-I’m sorry. It’s just that, with everything—”

Then he has me in his arms and his mouth is on mine. “Don’t apologize, Jess. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He’s kisses me again. “I tried to call you. I even called Rick to talk to you and he hung up on me, telling me no personal calls.”

“I know,” I whisper, looking at him. He pulls me into a tight hug, again, and this time we stay like that for a moment. Until a knock on the door comes. “Agent Lovelly.”

“Just about done,” Harrington responds, coolly, letting me go.

“So, is it over?” I ask.

Harrington shakes his head, turning around so the guy can put his cuffs back on. “We’re going to transport the suspect back to headquarters and interrogate him. We need to know what we’re up against next month”

My face falls. “So you’re going to be gone?”

“Yes.” His response is almost sheepish, and just a touch sad. “I wish I didn’t have to. But—”

I shake my head. “No. I get it.” I clasp my hands in front of me. “This is your case.”

He pauses, uncertainty flickering in his hazel eyes. The other agent nudges him toward the door, but he hesitates. “Jess.”

“Yeah?”

“Are we good?”

How do I answer that? I know what Harrington’s doing is a good thing. He’s helping people, saving them from people like Stamos. But I don’t know if I want to commit to something like that for a lifetime.
He isn
’
t asking about a lifetime
,
Jess
.
He just needs to know if things are okay for now
.

So I nod. “We’re good.”

He dips his chin slightly, letting me know he heard my response. Then the door opens and he’s ushered outside, just as Cat comes running in.

“Oh my god. What happened? Everything okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Everything will be fine.”

I’M STANDING OUTSIDE the interrogation room, looking through the one-way mirror as Agent Oakwood offers Roberto Gomez his coffee. Roberto seethes at him and seems to have said something. I don’t have the sound turned on though, so I don’t catch it. The door to my left opens, pulling my attention away from Roberto for a moment. Agent Wilson enters, along with Assistant Director Benson.

“Agent Lovelly.” Benson greets me with a dip of her head.

“Long time, no see, Assistant Director.” I extend my hand to her. She gives it a firm shake. “Sir,” I say to Wilson, offering him the same.

“Agent.” He greets me back, giving my hand a quick shake. “So, what did we miss?”

I turn my attention back to the interrogation room. “Nothing good so far. Unless you want to know the contents of his porno collection and the drinks he had when his grandpa died. Other than that, nothing. Nothing at all. He’s talking, just not about what we want.”

“Have you tried—” Wilson starts.

“Yup.”

“And the—”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Maybe—”

I turn to Wilson and Benson. “He isn’t afraid of any of the threats we’ve lobbed at him. He needs something that’ll make him afraid. Something worse than anything Stamos might do in retaliation.” I cross one arm under the other and look back in at the interrogation. “It’s just. . . .Wait.” I quickly pull out my phone and dial the one person I know who might be able to help.

“Agent Lovelly,” Neil answers on the first ring.

“Neil. Just the man I wanted to talk to.” I rub my jaw. “Can you dig a little deeper into Roberto’s past?”

“Like what, exactly?” he asks.

“Like, I want to know where he was born, what he did before he met Stamos, any girlfriends he had, family, ex-girlfriends, anything.”

“You got it, Agent.”

“Hey, Neil, can you get that to me as soon as possible?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You are the best,” I say to him before hanging up.

Wilson raises an eyebrow; Benson waits for me to give an explanation. I think I detect the hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth.

“Everyone has a weakness. We find it and . . .” I make a bursting noise with my mouth and gesture with my hands.

Benson opens her hands wide, as if asking for more. When I don’t respond, she looks to Wilson, who simply shrugs.

I turn back to watch the exchange between Oakwood and Roberto. Oakwood tries all the tactics taught to us during our time at Quantico. But he’s not budging. He stares Oakwood right in the eye, challenging him.

Oakwood leaves the interrogation room and comes around to our side moments later, swearing left and right. He stops as the door closes behind him, takes one quick look at us, and then he’s straightening his tie and dress shirt, his hand extended. “Assistant Director Benson. Ma’am.” Oakwood greets her with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Agent Oakwood,” she responds.

Wilson throws a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the sullen Roberto in the other room. “So, how far did you get?”

“Not far, sir.” He scratches his head. “I’ve asked him, threatened him, bribed him with coffee, but nothing. Short of putting him in jail, I’m not sure what else to do.”

“Then I say you get the bastard in a cell,” I say.

“What?” Oakwood says, looking at me in surprise.

So I repeat myself. “I said, throw him in jail until he’s ready to speak.”

“What if he asks for an attorney?”

I laugh. “He’s not going to.”

Benson eyes me the way a teacher eyes a student and asks, “Why wouldn’t he?”

I look at Wilson, then at Oakwood. “If he wanted a lawyer, he’d have already asked for one. There are only two reasons why he wouldn’t.”

Wilson is the first to answer. “He doesn’t want to get out.”

“Or,” Oakwood interjects, “he’s waiting for someone to bail him out.”

I snap my finger. “Bingo. And I’d bet my right arm that it’s the Armenians he’s waiting on, not Stamos.”

“Why would you say that?” Benson asks.

“Because he was planning to double-cross Stamos and he won’t risk getting caught.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Oakwood says.

“As a matter of fact, I do. He was planning to run before we caught him. Why else would he do that? I have Neil checking up on all things Roberto, so I’ll be doubly sure as soon as I hear from him.” I wave my phone around.

Oakwood glares at me. But it’s the Assistant Director who responds. “Get him into confinement until he asks for a lawyer. And if it ends up that he does ask for a lawyer, make sure he gets one. Just not quickly.”

“Assistant Director, are you suggesting . . .” Oakwood shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable.

“I’m merely suggesting that we get him what he asks for . . . at the end of our seventy-two hours. We can hold him without charging him until then.” She gives us a conspiratorial smile. I knew I liked her for a reason.

Benson and Wilson trade a few more formalities and then leave Oakwood and I in an awkward silence.

“So, how did you end up on this case, anyway?” Oakwood asks. I can practically see the envy dripping off him. “Isn’t this your first undercover assignment?”

I laugh, turning back to look at Roberto. He’s now standing in front of the mirror, looking straight at us. He picks his teeth, then runs his tongue over them. Cute.

“Just a stroke of good luck,”

“Right. Right,” he says sarcastically. He rocks on his heels for an awkward moment. “All right, then. I guess I’ll take him down to holding.”

I don’t even wait until he steps back inside the interrogation room before I’m walking out of the observation alcove. A round of applause breaks out as I walk past the office area, and I eat it up, waving and posing like a movie star on the red carpet.

By the time I get outside, I’m over the moon. And the only person I want to share it with is Jess. I pull out my phone and text her.

Me:
Miss you
.

When she doesn’t respond immediately, I panic a little, remembering how uncertain her face looked as I left Rick’s office in handcuffs. I know that face. It was the one she wore all those weeks ago at the fight. I absolutely hate it.

Me:
I
’
ll be home in a few
.
Come over?

By the time I let myself into my apartment, I still haven’t heard from her, and I contemplate whether or not I should call. My finger hovers over her number when I see a message has come in.

Jess:
Miss you more
.

An image comes through. The first thing I realize is that she’s wearing my sweatshirt, the one I’d been wearing last night before Neil called and I had to leave. For some reason, that makes me smile. Hell, I might even be grinning because my cheeks are starting to burn as I stare at her in my shirt, her hair splayed all over the pillow and her hooded eyes looking right at the camera. I don’t know if she was aiming for a sexy look, but damn if she isn’t hotter than a Playboy spread. Her long legs are bare, and if it weren’t for the one-inch strip of shorts peeking out from the bottom of my hoodie, I’d have thought she was naked under my clothes.

And that would’ve had me running back to her in a heartbeat, screw the interrogation.

I realize I’ve been staring at the image for far too long without a response, so I type:
Hubba Hubba
.

I grimace. That sounds too seventh grade. Delete.

I try again:
Fuck
. *
groan
*

Too lusty. Delete.

Me:
You should wear
me
all the time
.

I blink, staring at the text. Yeah, no. Delete.

Finally, I think of something that I hope will tell her how badly I want to be there with her.

Me:
I can
’
t wait to see you again
.
Kiss you
.
Snuggle you
.

Just as I hit send, there’s a knock on my door. My hand immediately goes to my gun as I slowly walk over and look through the peephole. It’s Fisher.

I pull open the door immediately. “Come on in.”

He does, moving past me without saying a word. He falls on the couch, resting his head back, his eyes closed. He looks tired.

“How did it go?”

Fisher opens his eyes and turns his head toward me. “Do you even have to ask?” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “About as well as it could, given it was Wilson.”

“That must have been pleasant.”

“Yeah, as pleasant as being force fed someone else’s shit.” He shudders. “He turned off the cameras and recording for like five minutes.” He squints, his eyes forming lines in the corners. “Dude, I could have lived through the rest of my life without those five minutes.”

I laugh. “You so deserved that though.”

I nods. “I suppose. After he was done ripping me a new one, they took a statement and I was asked a bunch of questions—you know, the usual protocol. And then I was let go.”

I rub my jaw, thinking. “Did Wilson say anything about bringing you back?”

He shakes his head. “No. But he did make me a consultant.” He looks disappointed, but recovers quickly. “You know who I did see him talking to, though?”

“Lincoln?”

“Yeah” he replies. “I think they were working on getting him into WITSEC. I saw a marshal heading that way when I left”

I nod. “Good.”

After that, we end up rehashing the last day and a half, just to make sure we’ve covered our bases and didn’t miss any triggers for Stamos to go digging around.

“You mind if I crash here tonight?” Fisher asks several hours later.

I jump to my feet and sweep my hand over the couch in invitation. “Knock yourself out. Be right back.” I head to my room to grab two pillows and a blanket from the nice sized closet and then head back to the living room. “Here. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Nah. I think I’m good. I’m planning to head back tomorrow, just in case Stamos gets snoopy. That way I can keep him out of your hair while you finish up with Gomez.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I slap his hand. “Good night, man.”

Fisher sprawls on the couch, placing his hands under his neck and adjusting his body to get comfortable. “Night,” he calls, just as I turn off the light to the living area.

Once I’m back in my room, I strip down and head into a quick shower before getting under the covers. The clock reads 11:37 p.m. I wonder if Jess is still awake.

Me:
You awake?

Jess:
I was just thinking about you
.

Me:
You can
’
t stop thinking about my sexiness
,
can you?

Jess: *
snort
*

Me:
Wait
,
no
.
It must be my super amazing kissing skills.

Jess:
Is that all you think about?

No. Not at all, Jess. I smirk as all manner of X-rated thoughts spring to mind.

Me:
I don
’
t think you want to know about all the things I think about when it comes to you
,
sweetheart
.

After a long-ass pause, she types:
Oh my
,
how will I ever survive?

Me:
Is that sarcasm I hear?

Jess:
Me? Sarcastic?
*
gasp
*
Never

Me:
Why are we texting instead of calling?

Jess:
Because it
’
s almost midnight and I don
’
t want to wake up Cat
.