Page 1 of Claimed By my Fake Husband

1

Tess

“You can’t be serious. I can’t just drop everything in my life and go hide in a hole.”

My voice is tight as I glare across at the balding man in a cheap suit, his dark, beady eyes pinned on me while his partner scribbles in a little notepad.

“Ms. Beaumont,” the detective sighs, tenting his fingers, “this isn’t as ‘unbothered’ a situation as you might think. You’ve already done an exposé on the Cilento family, and Luigi is looking for blood.”

“Death threats, letters, and a man showing up at the paper to harass you? We need to get you into witness protection.” The man who was scribbling looks up at me, his stoic face just this side of serious. “His trial is at the end of the month. We’ll ride out this wave, and when you testify, he’ll go down.”

All I can do is sigh right back at these jokers. The FBI has been as big a disappointment as the local PD, and now I’m supposed to trust my safety to them in some safe house until the trial?

No way.

“This new Cilento isn’t as level-headed as his predecessor. Luigi is young, and as far as dons go, he’s already been a problem for every witness who’s tried to come forward. Or don’t you remember the meat of your own exposé?”

“Ugh, I can’t believe this. I at least need a house with internet access. I’ll stay secure, but I won’t stop my work because some forty-five-year-old manchild is looking to make a name for himself. Luigi can shove it.”

Reynolds—if I remember correctly, which I always do—snorts, setting down his pencil and looking up from his pocket-sized notepad.

“Secure internet connection. Got it.” He nods once, like he’s been assigned the job of being nice so I’ll agree to this. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact. I get to hire my own bodyguard. I don’t trust the locals to do a good enough job, especially considering corruption and lack of police action were a big part of that article.”

I can tell they’re humoring me. They just smile and nod, like I’m being overly cautious. But the Feds have one job here: get me into witness protection.

So they’ll agree to anything if it means shutting me up and getting me moving.

I lean back in my chair, tapping my pen against the table. I’ve been fiddling with it the whole time the detectives talkatme—a habit I couldn’t break even if I tried. I’ve been attached to apen or a keyboard since I could write, chasing stories since I was eight years old.

I run my stare over these two and picture my apartment instead. Clean. Orderly. Nothing in the fridge that’ll rot while I’m gone. Everything I need to write, right at my fingertips.

And now I can’t get back to it.

“I need my stuff. Can I go home tonight to get it? I’ll have the bodyguard meet me there and take me to the location.”

Neither of them likes that. It’s common knowledge where I live, and they don’t want me anywhere near my building.

Still, I haven’t had any trouble there. Probably because it’s got its own security—cameras everywhere, and I’m on the fifth floor.

“Call them now. I want to know someone’s waiting for you,” Reynolds says, nodding at my phone. I pick it up, grumbling to myself.

I scroll to Alec’s name. I know the company he works for, and I know they’ll have someone reliable.

It rings twice before he picks up. “Hello, Tess. This is a surprise.”

“Yes, I imagine it is.”

We don’t talk much. When I do reach out, it’s usually to confirm details with his wife, Claire, about the ongoing work exposing Senator McDowell.

“I need someone from your company. The FBI is putting me into witness protection, and I want an independent bodyguard with me.”

There’s a pause, like he’s digesting it. “Whoa, okay—witness protection? Is this because of the exposé on Luigi?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Can your boss get someone to meet me at my apartment this evening?”

“That’s a quick turnaround, Tess, but…I’ll make it happen. Give me the agents’ contact info so our guy can coordinate with them.”