Page 47 of Rogue Survivor
Brent’s halfwaythrough his plate of chicken and waffles when we slide into the booth across from him. “‘Bout damn time y’all showed up,” he mutters.
“What I have is worth the wait.” Entering the decryption code for the special comms app Zephyr insisted I use for all our exchanges, I bring up the first video she recovered.
“You think the police will believeyou?” Boswell asks. In front of him, a slight woman with long brown hair swipes at her cheeks, her tears glistening in the lights from the sporting goods store. “Not likely.”
“I’m clean! I’ve been clean for six months. Please—”
The crack of his fist to Jamie’s jaw makes Isabel jerk, and I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her against me. On screen, Milton looms over the crumpled woman and jams a gun to her temple. “My duty log says otherwise, bitch. Five times I’ve caught you high as a fucking kite, and the next? You’ll have enough smack on you for a felony conviction.”
“I can’t go back to that life,” she sobs. “I’d rather die.”
“That can be arranged.” With a swift kick to her abdomen, Boswell shakes his head. “You have twenty-four hours to make a decision. Work for me, or your next fix will be laced with so much fentanyl, all the Narcan in the world won’t save your ass.”
The video keeps going as Veronica runs out of the abandoned mall, though she’s moving too quickly to see anything but a blur. Mitzi screams, and the phone swings up with a split-second view of the terror in Veronica’s eyes before the recording shuts off.
“Oh God,” Isabel whispers and buries her face in her hands. “She was so scared…”
“She’s safe, darlin’. Remember that.” Shit. I never would have brought Isabel with me if she weren’t so worried about having enough time to fix her grant proposal. The other two videos? From the quick glance I took at them on the way in from the truck, Veronica managed to record a quick shot of Mitzi tied up in the corner of the sporting goods shopanda thirty-second clip of Boswell chasing after her.
“Connor,” Brent says, his voice taking on a tone that tells me I’m not going to like what comes next. “The video will go a long way to makin’ sure Boswell never breathes free air again. But that doesn’t change the Bureau’s stance on the case. I can’t help you.”
“Goddamnit, Brent. I’ve given the FBI almost twenty years of my life!” I slam my fist down on the table hard enough to rattle his fork on the plate. “And you can’t do thisonething for me? I’m not askin’ for a whole task force. Two agents. Maybe three. Captain Stone’s unit is stretched thin, and we still don’t know if the corruption in the police department extends beyond Milton and Archer.”
Brent stares me down like I’m four quarters short of a dollar. With both his hands flat on the table, he leans in and lowers his voice. “Twenty years and you still think the rules don’t apply to you. If I ignore protocol on this, my ass will be shitcanned right along with yours. Ishoulddemand you turn over your credentials and your firearm right fucking now, but instead, I’m givin’ you until the end of next week to put in your retirement papers so you can get your pension. Until then, I don’t want to hear a goddamn word about this investigation. You have resources. Ones I cannot know about. Officially, we never met up today, you never showed me that video, and Idefinitelydidn’t tell you to call the man who saved your life and get his help instead.”
“Put in your retirement papers…”
For a long moment, I hold his gaze, too shocked to say a word. Until Isabel’s hand rests on my thigh and she squeezes gently.
“Right. We’re goin’.” Swiping the phone off the table, I slide out of the booth and help Isabel to her feet. “This isn’t what I wanted, Brent. I hope you know that.”
He doesn’t look up. Just shakes his head and sighs. “Don’t make no never mind. Because you were never here.”
Isabel
The drive to my office passes in silence. Connor holds on to the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles are almost white, and a vein at his temple throbs at regular intervals. I wish I knew what to say to him, but I think his boss just fired him—in a way—and it’s all my fault. So I stay quiet.
At the elevator, I pause to dig out my keycard, and Connor puts his back to mine—scanning the parking garage, I assume—until the doors whisper open. When I turn around, he’s still on alert, his hand hovering over the butt of his gun until we’re safely on the way to the tenth floor.
“No one expects me to be here today. It’s Sunday. If we see anyone—except maybe Luke—I’ll be shocked.”
“Not takin’ any chances.” His words are clipped, harsh, and I reach for his arm, but he stiffens and pulls away. “No chances means I need to have both hands free, Isabel.”
Isabel? Not darlin’? And with that tone? Oh, hell no.
Hands on my hips, I peer up at him. “Listen here, stud. I get that you’re pissed at your boss. But—”
“Former boss.”
That earns him an eye roll. “Fine. Former boss. Don’t interrupt me. You’ve been nothin’ but the perfect gentleman since the day we met. But right now, you’re makin’ a hornet look cuddly.”
Connor flinches like I just slapped him and sucks in a slow, deep breath. But before he can reply, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open.
“Come on, then. My office is at the end of the hall.” Hiking my purse strap higher on my shoulder, I start walking, not waiting for him to “clear the space” or get ahead of me.
He doesn’t try to touch me or say a word until we’re in my office, but less than two seconds after Connor locks the door, he’s on me, backing me against the wall with his hands on my hips and raw emotion churning in his eyes. “I don’t know who I am if I’m not an FBI agent.”
“You’re Connor Davis. Quinton’s brother. Your mama’s son. Veronica’s protector and bringer of BBQ and burgers. And you’re the man I’m perilously close to falling in love with. When you’re not actin’ so ornery you can’t see straight.”
