Don't Let Go (17 page)

I woke up the next morning with a warm, empty space on the sheets beside me. The running water from the bathroom clued me in to Ian’s location. As did the baritone voice singing off key. It made me smile, that off note. A reminder that he was human too, after all.

Until I registered the sad, lilting strains of
La Bohème
.

My smile faded. If I’d needed any further proof that this was the man who had held me captive, I had it. Not that there had been any question after his admissions. Or the way he fucked me. That I could have recognized blindfolded—and had been blindfolded.

I pushed myself out of bed and slipped into my running clothes. Every day at 6:00 a.m. I’d gone running since high school when I’d had ripped hand-me-down tennis shoes. The only time of day when the dingy streets were free and clear of the dealers and crack heads. At Quantico, where the miles I ran alone were piled on top of the strict fitness regimen in the academy. And in my own home, with sleek running clothes and ergonomic shoes that had come out of my first paycheck.

A running path drew curlicues around a manmade lake a mile away from my house. I jogged a foot away from the curb until I reached it, then continued on the gravel path. I lost myself in the activity—my body and mind absorbed in the task. So I almost didn’t notice him lounging near the bridge. He leaned against the base of the bridge, like a troll I had to answer to before I could pass. I slowed then stopped before joining him on the dewy grass.

“Nice morning,” he commented.

I didn’t have the patience for small talk. “Why are you here?”

His eyebrow rose, but he didn’t reprimand me. Maybe he would walk on eggshells after what had happened to me. Or maybe what he was about to say was that bad.

“I figured you’d want to know the results of the psych eval.”

Shit.
Focus.
I ran a hand over my face. Already there was a light sheen of sweat from my exertions. “I take it the results aren’t good, since you felt the need to tell me in private.”

“No, not bad. We just didn’t get a chance to discuss in the meeting…after the incident with…” Agent Brody coughed. “The psychologist was generous. Six weeks’ rest and you can get re-checked. Standard procedure, considering.”

Considering I’d been tortured and sodomized, yeah. Not too bad. As expected. If he was expecting me to be grateful, though, he’d have to wait a long time.

A slight frown line appeared in his forehead. “I want you to know that I’m looking out for you. I don’t think a commendation is out of order for your dedication to service. A promotion, maybe a few months down the road.”

“Really.”

He must have mistaken that for enthusiasm, because he nodded quickly. “Yes, even though you broke protocol. You were doing it to assist your teammates, after all.”

Ah, so that was how it would be. A cover-up to save all our asses. Having an agent captured by the target wouldn’t sit well with the higher ups. Sure, I could get fired for my own part—the break in protocol—but Brody would be in hot water too. He was the one who’d pushed for the early run we weren’t ready for. He was the one who’d assigned a junior officer to the case.

“Why did you put me on the case?”

He appeared surprised by my question, and maybe a little worried. “It wasn’t my idea. I mean, I’d have you assist from the office, but not a principal. Not Hennessey’s partner.”

A force was welling up inside me, like a tidal wave, already cresting with frothy white foam. “Why then?”

Brody ran a hand over his face. He looked suddenly exhausted and a thousand years old. This job had taken its toll. Was that me in thirty years?

“The decision came from above my pay grade.” His shoulders slumped. “They’ll deny it now that it all went to hell.”

“Why me? Because I looked like her, like Mia? Because I was his type?”

Confusion clouded Brody’s expression. “Looked like who?” He shook his head. “Because of your past. We shouldn’t have used that. If anything, we should have been mitigating the risk, not putting you directly in its path.”

“I don’t understand. What does my past have to do with…”

In truth, I knew the connections all too well. The invisible lines connecting the past to the present were deep and well-trodden grooves. But the FBI didn’t know how much I struggled with my past. And they really didn’t care.

“Because you would get the job done.” Brody spoke as if it were obvious. “We’ve had problems with agents turning to the other side. Getting duped. They meet someone new, make a new friend…next thing we know they’re moving to Alaska and switching professions. They’re out of contact. They’re susceptible. A weak point. Too many fucking weak points.”

“And I’m not weak,” I said, disbelieving.

“You’re ambitious. That’s what all your professors said. Driven. Fearless.”

God. Those professors thought I was ambitious because I slept with them. Driven. Fearless. Only that hadn’t been why at all. I aced those tests without their help, because I knew every word of every textbook. I’d slept with them because of my own brokenness, like tracing the fault lines over my body with their grasping hands.

“Top of your class,” Brody continued. “You can outrun and outshoot every one of your male counterparts.”

“So I’m…what? A secret weapon? A Trojan horse that no one would suspect of being deadly?” A living weapon, specially groomed by the FBI academy.

“Yes.” He laughed, and the sound sent chills down my spine. “Exactly that. Heartless. You wouldn’t be swayed by a bribe or intimidated by some crony of his.”

I hadn’t been bribed or intimidated by a crony of his; I’d been seduced by the man himself. I’d fallen in love with him.

Heartless.

They didn’t know me at all. That was as good a reason to betray them as any. I let him stew for a few tense moments before putting him out of his misery. “Don’t worry. I’ll sign off on whatever story you put out.”

He sighed in clear relief that the department’s secrets would be safe.

In fact, he had no idea how safe. The good little girl had nodded her head. Anything for approval. I would bury this secret beside all the deeper, darker secrets that I’d guard with my life. Like the true identity of Ian Hennessey. Like the fact that Carlos was alive and well—and currently lounging in my house.

I was going to keep him from killing ever again. Wasn’t that enough? It was more than Brody could have done without my help. Maybe I had lived up to all that Trojan horse potential after all.

Brody was still talking. “Great, so in six weeks, you can call the office and make an appointment to come in for another psych eval. I’m sure you’ll get an all clear at that point. Once you’ve been on the job for a few months, I’ll be happy to reward you for your dedication and effort to the cause. I just can’t make it too close together, you see. I can’t have anyone wondering about your leave of absence and the promotion right after, you understand.”

“Right.” My voice was flat. “It would probably be a good idea if you didn’t speak to me again. So that no one gets the wrong idea.”

His face lit up. “Yes, exactly. It’s a plan. Thank you, Samantha. I knew you’d understand.”

I turned to leave. At the top of the bank, I looked back. “Oh, and Brody?”

He waited expectantly.

“I quit.”

* * *

When I got back to the house, the savory aroma of eggs and bacon greeted me. I paused in the doorway, unable to fully comprehend the sight of him cooking breakfast in my kitchen. Neither Carlos nor Hennessey was suited to this role. Lover. Companion. But this man, he was still an unknown quantity. It suited him to have a new name. I called him Ian, and for me, now, that was who he was.

“Are you going to come in?” He sounded amused.

Still wary, I went to the fridge and grabbed a cold water bottle. I sat at the old wood table, the same place I’d once searched through design schematics, looking for the man who sat beside me. That was how it had always been for me, searching desperately for the answer I already knew.

Ian slid a plate of steaming food in front of me, then set another place for himself.

“Orange juice?” he asked.

My life was surreal. “No thanks, but I’ll take some coffee if there’s any left.”

He poured me a mug. “Milk?”

“Yes, please.”

Though when I got my coffee, all I could do was stare at it. All I could do was stare at the beautiful meal in front of me and the beautiful table and wonder how the hell I’d gotten here.

“How was your run?”

I tilted my head, thinking of Brody. Thinking of quitting. “Refreshing.”

“Good. Now tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Am I so obvious?”

“Not really. But I’m good at reading people.”

Yes, he was. It was probably how he’d managed to pull this off, playing people off each other. Showing them what they wanted to see. And
that
was what bothered me now.

“How do I know this is real?”

“Why, does it seem like a dream? Maybe you’re still tied up in my lair, floating through subspace and dreaming of coffee.”

He had the most evil sense of humor. A smile played at my lips.

“How do I know
you
are real?” I asked, and this time he didn’t make a joke. He understood what I meant. The FBI Agent or the Most Wanted
picture. The light or the dark.

“I realize you may not believe me, but I have always been real around you. Except for what I did for my job, every word I ever spoke to you was the truth.”

The same as it had been in captivity, I remembered.

He took a swallow of coffee as if fortifying himself. “The truth is, I spent most of my life not knowing who I was. I didn’t want to be my father, but I knew I’d never fit in as a law enforcement officer either. Everything I did felt like a part to play, like I was going through life trying on different masks.”

Like the stage. Maybe that was why the plays had always stuck with me, not only for their content. The prospect of living different lives, of being different people. But if these personas were only masks we wore, then we could discard them. We would be more vulnerable that way. Exposed. Free.

“Do you know who you are now?” I asked softly.

He leveled me with a look so intense and so open that I felt the impact in my gut. “I know I don’t want to be Carlos Laguardia anymore. I’ve been taking it apart, his legacy. It’s not a quick or painless process. If I had walked away, the vultures would have snapped up the pieces. The only way to be sure it’s really gone is to break it myself.”

I remembered Brody telling me about the recent upheaval within the organization.
This is our best chance to bring them down
, he’d said. Except Hennessey was already doing it, from the inside. He’d done more than abdicate the throne; he was dismantling a criminal empire. It was the same thing he’d been tasked to do as an FBI agent, but the rigid laws and procedures could never have reached deep within the organization. Only he could do that.

“And Ian Hennessey?” I asked.

“Retiring. I’ve worked enough to get a little pension coming.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you gave everything up? All of Carlos’s money?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never been a fan of parties or mansions. Islands, though, those I can get behind. I always thought I’d end up living on one. Just get away from it all.”

My nose scrunched in distaste. “I hope you’re not planning on me joining you.”

His eyes lit with amusement. “You aren’t a fan of the beach?”

“The setting is fine. It’s the seclusion that would drive me crazy. I’m a little bit of a loner, but I still like to see people every once in a while.”

“There are people on a private island. Someone has to sweep the seaweed off the sand.”

I snorted. “I don’t think the FBI pension covers buying an island.”

“I have a few investments put away,” he admitted. When I was quiet, he quirked a brow. “Anything else?”

So many questions. And not enough courage to hear the answers. However, there was one interesting fact about Ian Hennessey I already suspected…

Just thinking about it brought a sly smile to my lips. “And you have a foot fetish.”

A slight flush tinged his cheeks and the tops of his ears. God, that was adorable. Someone this evil had no right to look adorable. He’d committed crimes against humanity, but he was shy about this.

“Perhaps,” he said.

I almost rolled my eyes. “Perhaps? So when you beat the soles of my feet and then kissed them later, you were on the fence about it?”

The look he sent me was dire—and all warning. No follow through. The man had a thing for feet, for sure.

“Okay, so, it shouldn’t really matter if I…” Beneath the table, I touched my toes to his ankle. And then slid upward, along his denim-clad shin. “If I do this. You don’t care, right?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes had gone intense and needful and practically fucking me with a glance. “You’re playing with fire, love.”