Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) (5 page)

STOP BEING SO fucking obvious
,
Fisher
.

When I agreed to meet with Stamos, I wasn’t expecting Fisher to be with him. I thought I’d have to get close to the scumbag, infiltrate his inner circle, and then
maybe
I’d manage to track down my friend before he did something stupid. So seeing said idiotic best friend sitting in the same room as the man I know is number one on his hit list came as quite the shock.

I almost couldn’t keep it together.

Almost.

But if he doesn’t stop staring at me like I’m his long-lost prom date, it’s not going to matter; he’ll blow my cover for me.

If only you
’
d called me back
,
jackweasel
.
 

He narrows his eyes, like he heard my thoughts.

I mentally flip him the bird.
You see that
,
too
,
brah?

“Hope you’re enjoying our hospitality, Mr. . . . ?” prompts the guy from the fight the other night. The one who stared at me like I was his next meal while he talked to someone—presumably Stamos—on his cellphone.

“Killshot. Just Killshot,” I offer. After that energizing victory chant, I’m kinda in love with the name. It’s so
me
. And I’m certainly not planning to give this asshat my real moniker. “Or Batman. Whichever you prefer,” I add, adjusting my Batman mask.

The room is buzzing with the filtered music from down below. Apparently, Blue Tango is the place to be on Friday nights. Dressed up and all. And I did.

I’m
Batman
. I finally found a use for the mask I’d purchased as a teen, after all these years of saving it for
later
. Well, okay, so maybe the text had said the theme tonight was burlesque, but I’m sure Batman has thrown his own burlesque-themed parties, with all that orphan money and all. So how could I resist? I’m fucking
Batman
.

I swirl the drink in my hand and look across the lounge area at the man himself. Constantine Stamos. The person I’ve had my eye on since two days after Anna left—and who apparently has a thing for me too, since he hasn’t looked away since I sat down.

After much investigation and the help of my agency friend, Neil Harris, I finally found him. And Fisher, it seems. Of course that stupid fucker abandoned what was left of his family to hunt down the person who had his parents killed. I mean, why the hell not? He may as well draw a big fat FBI brand on my forehead and walk away with the Dumbfuck of the Century award while he’s at it.

I resist the urge to level another glare in Fisher’s direction.

I should have known better. I knew he wanted payback, and I should have kept a closer watch on him. If I had, neither of us would be sitting here right now.

“Okay . . . Killshot.” Stamos’s voice hums in the room. “My men tell me you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

I cross my legs at the ankles, taking another satisfying gulp of whiskey.

“Tony here was quite impressed by your performance the other night,” Stamos says, pointing at the guy behind him. He’s not wearing the same
Men in Black
-issued attire as the rest of Stamos’s thugs. Instead, he’s wearing faded jeans and a red polo shirt. He’s also two or so years younger than I am and seems especially pleased with the compliment he’s been given. And even with part of his face covered by a weird half-mask, I feel like I know him. Like I’ve seen him before.

I eye him a moment longer, studying him.

He smirks, and I immediately make the connection. He’s the dude that marked Jess at the coffeeshop. Ice boils in my veins, and I have to forcibly turn my attention back to Stamos.

“Entertainment is my forte,” I respond, scanning the room for the other guy I saw lurking at the coffeeshop. But between the standard issue bodyguard uniform most of the guys are wearing and the ridiculous masks and body paint on the others, it’s nearly impossible to tell if he’s here or not.

“As I stated earlier, I do believe your . . . special technique to . . .”—he waves his hand in a circle—“to disarm a man is something I can use in my line of work.”

I gulp down the last of my drink and slam it on the table before me.

“MMA gambling is just one part of the business I run,” he continues, watching me with the shrewd attention of a predatory hawk. “I have varied interests.”

Now we
’
re getting somewhere
.

“Here’s how it works, Killshot.” He snaps his fingers and Tony hands him a folder.

Stamos slaps it on the table before him and gestures for me to pick it up. I lean forward and start flipping through picture after picture of dead men, guns, and people in the ring. I already know all this, though, so it doesn’t surprise me. I make sure to keep my expression neutral, dispassionate, unfazed.

“You don’t look very surprised,” Stamos says.

I shrug. “When you walk around with a dozen men protecting you, it doesn’t exactly scream that your operation is legit.”

The deafening sound of guns being drawn and pointed at me is efficient, practiced. These guys clearly mean business. I swallow the momentary fear back down, where it belongs.

Two years back, all of this would have made me sweat bullets. But now, I’ve learned to become the master of my emotions and . . . lies.

I give a quick glance to Fisher, who looks like he’s about to jump in front of a firing squad. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, watching Stamos uneasily. His fingers are wrapped tightly around the gun he’s subtly angled to point just a tiny bit more in Stamos’s direction than mine.

I press my lips together, fighting back a smile. Stamos relaxes into the couch, laughing, bringing my attention back to him.

“Candid. I like that. I run a very tight ring of workers, Killshot. It’s my rules, my way. I pay you to do a job, and you do it. That’s all there is to it. Do we have a deal?”

“What kind of compensation are we talking, here?” I ask. I honestly don’t care; I just don’t want to seem too eager. Sometimes not asking the expected question leads you further away from your mark than jumping for it the first chance you get.

Stamos smiles. It’s an oily smile, the sort you’d expect to see the Devil wear as you hand over your soul on a silver platter. “Enough. More than you’ve likely seen in your life.”

I doubt it, seeing as I was “born with a golden spoon up my ass,” as Fisher has so kindly pointed out plenty of times. But I’m happy to indulge Stamos.

I tilt my now empty glass at him and incline my head, grinning. “Do you have anything stronger?”

Just then, waitresses enter the room with booze trays, and I smile.
Perfect timing
. They study the room, and their eyes turn wide as they take in all the guns still pointing at my head. My gaze connects with the one in the front, and I notice her hands shake a little.

“You’re scaring our beautiful waitresses,” I say, glancing pointedly at the weaponry. No one moves. I wave my hand at the girl who would clearly rather be in front of a runaway train than here. “Got any whiskey there, gumdrop?”

“A-ah,” she stammers and walks over on wobbly legs. “Yes.”

She leans forward and offers me the plate. I give her a smile, a genuine one. “Thank you.” I down that shot as she quickly shuffles away and let out a loud sigh, feeling the burn as it rolls down my throat. “Your call, Stamos. Call your men off or have them shoot me. Besides . . .” I twirl my finger in the air, indicating everyone in the room. “I’m sure their arms are hurting by now and killing me would be such a waste, since I just agreed to your offer and all.”

“I like you, Killshot.” Stamos smiles that oily smile again and signals his men to lower their guns.

I wave the empty shot glass toward the cluster of waitresses, requesting another drink. “I mean, I’d really be stupid not to. Who doesn’t want heavy pockets and booze to celebrate with after? If I’m going to Hell, might as well enjoy the here and now. Am I right?”

Stamos lifts his glass in agreement. He finishes off his drink and sets it down on the table between us.

A girl in a red outfit covered with feathers and ruffles leans forward. Her hand is steady as a rod as she offers the drinks to Stamos first. He takes a drink from the tray. But before she can move away, he grabs her wrist. She looks at him, unflinching. Gotta give the girl props. I know grown men who would have shit themselves. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

She nods and mumbles something I don’t catch. He lets go and she goes around offering drinks. Stamos, on the other hand, is fixated on her. I’m too busy wondering why to really pay attention to her. But when she comes to stand in front of me, I see the tattoos decorating her wrists.

Born to drum
. With drumsticks are over the
U
. My eyes travel up, and I finally understand Stamos’s fixation.

My eyes widen before I can stop them.

It’s Jess. Fucking Jess.

When I don’t make an attempt to take a glass, she looks at me questioningly. And maybe I imagine it, but I see recognition light her eyes before she quickly looks down; my gaze follows hers—right down the center of her top.

Her normally pleasant look turns sour.

“Drink?” She bites the word off. I take one from the tray, absentmindedly, as a million questions run through my head.

What the hell is she doing here?

Did Tony know that she worked at Blue Tango? Is that why they set the meeting up here?

Is this some sort of warning that if I step out of line, they’ll hurt her, a girl I barely know?

My jaw clenches as I watch her move on, serving others until her tray is empty. And why does she have to look so goddamn amazing right now? With her flushed cheeks and red pouty lips, her long neck and that skin—so much fucking skin.
God damn it!
I adjust in my seat and try not to focus on the fact that, buried underneath the swirling morass of confusion and frustration and anger, a new emotion is prickling to the surface.

“Let’s talk numbers, shall we?” Stamos’s voice breaks my spell, just as she exits the room.

I cough, downing the drink in my hand and slamming it on the table before me.

One thing at a time, I tell myself.

“Let’s talk . . .”

THE METAL DETECTOR beeps three times. I back up as the security guard raises his hand to stop me and give him an exasperated look.

“Your wallet, too,” he says, glancing at his partner, who’s watching the monitor of the x-ray machine with a look that screams boredom. Probably not a lot of action to be had at an FBI field office

I roll my eyes, pull out my wallet, and drop it into a container before placing it on the belt. Then I walk through the metal detector again—this time, without incident.

Picking up my stuff, I shove everything back into the appropriate pocket and walk toward the receptionist.

“Good morning, Sin. Looking lovely as always.”

She gives me one of her signature smiles, the one that promises a whole lot of fun in the future. Fun I’ve happily been the recipient of in the past, though interoffice fraternizing is frowned upon. That doesn’t stop any of us newbies from living on the edge, though.

FBI or not, lust has no bounds. Whether it’s the receptionist I nailed my second day in Florida or . . . or Jessica Owens, the girl full of contradictions and tats.

“Good morning, Harr—Agent Lovelly.” Sin successfully brings me back to the moment.

Agent. Right.

I better remember that if I know what’s good for me. “I’m here to see SAC Wilson,” I tell her, clearing my throat and standing straighter.

She nods. “He’s been expecting you.” She checks a note on her desk. “He’s on level three.”

I tap the counter twice. “Thanks.”

“Hey, Agent Lovelly,” Sin calls after me. I stop before I reach the elevator and turn around, my eyebrows raised in question.

“I’d watch myself if I were you. SAC Wilson is pissed.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” I wink as the elevator dings behind me. Then I step inside and take a deep breath as the doors close.

I’ve made my bed, now it’s time to see just how fucked I am.

“Come in,” Wilson’s voice barks as I approach his office. Sin must have alerted him that I was on my way up. She never admits to it, but it’s the only way he can possibly do that every single time—invite me in before I’ve even knocked on the door.

I slowly push it open and put on my best smile. “I still don’t know how you do that, sir.”

He looks at me, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. He looks like he’s aged since the I last saw him, a few days back.

“Do what, Agent Lovelly?” he asks.

“That thing you do.” I wiggle my fingers by my temple. “Know things before they happen, like how you knew I was at the door.”

He gently moves the keyboard out of the way and swivels his chair in my direction, his full—and glowering—attention on me. “If I did, I’d have used that power to kick you out of the academy the day you set foot on campus. You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass, Lovelly.”

I sober immediately. Sin was right. He’s pissed as hell.

“The only reason you even survived being a NAT is because you showed aptitude for solving issues and leading others. But don’t think that made you any better than the other New Agent Trainees. You’re all a pain in my ass, even after you graduate.” He stands up, comes around his desk and sits on the edge, his hands crossed at the wrists. “Now tell me why the hell you, a probationary agent, would go and fuck up a federal investigation by getting yourself involved without authorization?”

I bring my hands to the back and widen my stance, trying my best to look serious and respectful. “I certainly didn’t know there was an on-going investigation; and it was definitely not intentional, sir.”

“Then tell me how the hell you ended up getting involved with Stamos? Maybe I can still save both of our necks.”

So I tell him the shortened version of the whole story. When he asks me how I knew about the fights, I tell him I received a tip from my “anonymous” informant—Analyst Neil Harris, top of the NIAT class when we graduated and who was adamant about keeping his assistance on the DL—and how one of Stamos’s guys contacted me after I won my last fight.

“One thing led to another, and I ended up sitting across from the man himself,” I finish.

He sighs heavily and stands. “You need to get out and let the senior agents do their thing.”

“But sir, I’ve already done what the previous agents couldn’t. I got a face-to-face with Stamos. Why waste that opportunity? This could be our chance to finally put him away. Think of all the lives we could be saving by getting rid of that scumbag.”

He slaps his hand on the table. “Don’t think I don’t know what’s at stake here. I do. But I can’t let you get more involved.”

“Why the hell not?” I blurt, feeling pissed that he can’t see how much progress I was able to make in just few short weeks. But when I see him look at me, unimpressed by my outburst, I rephrase my question. “Why the
heck
not,
sir
?”

“Look, Harrington. I like you and appreciate your enthusiasm. Really, I do.” He sighs, pushing away from the desk. His eyes grow softer. “I know this is about Fisher. I’ve had a close eye on him since he left the academy. And I know you want to help find closure for your friend, but I can’t allow you to move forward with this. You’re personally invested in this case, Lovelly. You need to back off and let the senior agents do their job.”

“I am—”

“Yes, Agent Lovelly, you are. I know Fisher’s ties to this case, and I’m afraid you’ve been emotionally compromised.”

“I’m not compromised.” I narrow my gaze and fight to keep my anger in check. I don’t get emotionally invested in
anything
. Not the way he means, anyway. “I’m only three months away from becoming a special agent,” I say with utter control. “I’m certain I can do this, sir. And Stamos likes me. A lot. He thinks I’m
lively
.”

Wilson’s eyebrows shoot up. But before he can voice another round of “You’re done with this case,” his speaker phone buzzes. He presses a button. “Yes, Sin.”

“Sir, the Assistant Director is here to see you. She’s on her way up. And she wants Agent Lovelly present.”

“Thank you, Sin.” He sighs again, exasperated, and turns to me. “Whatever you do, keep your mouth shut and let me deal with this.”

I gesture that my lips are locked and even throw away the key, just as the door swings open and Assistant Director Benson walks in. She’s a short lady in her late fifties, but she can pull off a pencil skirt and heels like she’s in her thirties. Her bun is pulled up in a tight knot and her eyes stay on me as she walks over to stand next to Wilson. “Wilson, Lovelly.”

She looks at me, and I feel like a teenager in the principal’s office under her scrutiny. She shakes her head, but the corners of her lips twitch like she’s trying to hold back a smile. I wonder what she’s up to . . .

“I should’ve kicked you out the moment you started flirting with me, Agent Lovelly.”

I grin widely. “In my defense, ma’am, you didn’t look a day older than thirty. You still don’t.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Flattery doesn’t get you places, Agent.”

I stand a little taller and school my face back into seriousness. “No, ma’am, it doesn’t.” But it sure as hell gets me out of trouble. Whatever she’s here for, it won’t hurt to butter her up a little first.

“And you,” she says, turning to Wilson. “I want him out of there. We already have an agent ready to jump back in on the case.”

“Back in?” I ask, and Wilson shoots me a look. Right, shutting up.

She nods. “Our previous agent was made, so we had to pull him out. But we’re confident this new agent can take his place. His profile is more of a fit with Stamos’s business than the last agent.”

I scoff. Is she for real?
Hello! I
’
m right here
.
I
’
m on the
in
with Stamos
.
Use me!
But before I can utter a single thought, Wilson glares at me. I put my hands up, frowning.

“Actually, ma’am,” Wilson says, keeping an eye on me as I fume quietly on the sidelines, “Lovelly and I were just talking about our current situation before you arrived.”

“Is that so?” Benson leans back on the desk, looking a little bored.

“I’m certainly not trying to encourage his radical behavior, but he does have a point. He’s already gotten Stamos’s attention. I don’t think it’s a good idea to pull him out now,” Wilson says and my heart beats hard in my chest.

He’s actually taking my side on this? I have no words. Truly, no words.

Benson scowls. “Keeping him there won’t do us any good either. He’ll be a wasted resource and potentially threaten the success of any future investigation. Besides, you’ve said it yourself, Agent Lovelly isn’t exactly known to follow orders.”

I flinch. There’s truth to her statement. Fisher was the one who had dreams of becoming an FBI agent. Not me. The only thing I wanted was to break free of the restraints that were holding me back, escape the expectations and judgment of my father.

But Fisher didn’t want to do it alone. And, like so many other times, I joined him, abandoning my law degree midstream and applying to the FBI recruitment program out of fun. I never thought they’d actually accept me. But one thing led to another, and before I could figure out what the hell happened, I was a NAT, moving a few hundred miles away from my family in Georgia and setting up shop in Quantico, Virginia. I wanted to quit several times, but Fisher always managed to change my mind. We both graduated with flying colors, and were assigned to different field offices.

And then, fourteen months later, I suddenly received a call from Fisher telling me that he’d been kicked out for not following protocol. I should have known then that it had something to do with his family, because Fisher always followed rules, while I thrived on bending them.

As if on cue, Wilson says, “You’re absolutely right, ma’am. He’s an uncontrollable variable.”

Thanks for the vote of confidence
,
boss
. Wilson doesn’t see me cringe and continues talking about me like I’m not here.

“But Agent Lovelly did graduate with the Director’s Leadership Award, which speaks highly of his capabilities. He may be a pain in the ass, but he has always proven to be one of our best students.”

Benson doesn’t look impressed. “And, as you know, Wilson, experience in the classroom doesn’t always translate to experience in the field. I’ve known plenty of agents who failed miserably on their first few assignments. And I’m not about to risk the chance to put away someone like Stamos by assigning  the case to someone who can’t follow direction.”

“With all due respect, Assistant Director, Agent Lovelly has already achieved what the previous agent couldn’t.” He actually sounds pissed, or maybe it’s losing patience. I can’t tell. “For better or worse, he’s already in position, and I say we use him to take Stamos down once and for all. It’d be foolish not to.”

Assistant Director Benson crosses her arms, thinking on it. Her jaw clenches and unclenches several times.

All this waiting has me coiled up in a bundle of nerves. I grind my teeth so hard, I might have heard a molar pop. Assistant Director Benson stares at me, assessing, and I fidget, shifting my weight from foot to foot.

A few more painful seconds pass before she turns to Wilson and finally,
finally
, says, “Get him debriefed. Then, if everything checks out, give him a team and arm him with whatever he needs. . . . And make sure Neil Harris is on it. He and Lovelly worked well together at Quantico, if memory serves.” Then she walks over to me and levels a pointed gaze at mine. “Don’t fuck this up, Lovelly.”

“I won’t, ma’am.” I can barely contain my excitement. I can’t believe this worked.

Benson nods once and then leaves. When the door shuts behind me, Wilson smiles. “Well, Lovelly, I guess you got yourself your first undercover assignment.”

I guess I did.