probably been ringing nonstop.” He turned his back so A.J. could pull on his jeans.
Not so easy. Condom had to be dealt with first. “One sec.” He removed and tied off the condom, then hid the thing before pulling on his jeans.
Oh, jeez. She was going to die of humiliation.
“I don’t know what happened.” A.J. snatched his phone from his pocket. “Jesse must’ve put my phone on silent,” he mumbled, probably assuming his friend had snuck the ringer off to give A.J. “alone time” with Ana. “Ten missed calls. Fuck.”
“What’s going on?” Ana worked her hands down the dress, attempting to find a few buttons that’d survived A.J.’s urgent hands earlier.
Beckett faced him, drawing a hand over his beard. “Ms. Anastasia Quinn, aka Anastasia Chernyshevsky, can you tell me why I shouldn’t arrest you since you’re now on the FBI’s Most Wanted list?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The FBI’s Most Wanted list. Despite Ana’s claim that her affinity for lists soothed her soul, A.J. was damn certain Beckett’s news she was now on that list would prove to have the polar opposite effect. Anastasia Chernyshevsky was officially in deep shit. And so was A.J.
A.J. held his palms up, phone clutched in one hand, while he eyed his brother. “I can explain,” he blurted.
“How about you explain why a wanted fugitive spent the day at our house in the company of my daughter?” The vein at Beckett’s temple visibly throbbed.
“It’s my fault.” Ana rushed to stand as a buffer, her arms outstretched between him and his brother. “I’m so sorry.”
“She’s not a fugitive,” A.J. gritted out and sidestepped Ana. She didn’t deserve Beckett’s wrath.
“Her name and face are all over the national news.” Beckett angrily tossed a hand in the direction of the TV.
Ana whirled toward the television, a horrified expression on her face, then frantically grabbed the remote and was clicking through channels before A.J. had a chance to muster a response to his brother.
“I need to call my people.” He looked down at his phone like it might bite him. Which angry woman should he call first? There was an equal number of missed calls from both Harper and Jessica. “Can I explain after? Please, Beck, you know I’d never do anything to hurt the family.”
“And maybe you weren’t thinking with the right head.” Beckett removed his sheriff’s hat and tapped it alongside his thigh, eyes set on Ana as if she were an enemy of the nation, a traitor.
“Just one minute.” A.J.’s phone vibrated in his palm before he had a chance to make a call.
Beckett waved him off with his free hand and then rested it on the holster of his gun, appearing ready to break leather and pull out his Glock at a moment’s notice.
A.J. brought his phone to his ear, his gaze locked on Ana standing a few feet in front of the TV, her body one hard line. Arms crossed tight against her chest.
The same FBI photo of Ana from his case file was on screen, and he assumed the photo of a woman, with hair the exact color of Ana’s, standing beside a dark-haired man were her parents.
“Hello?” A.J. turned away from the room, eyes on the window, hoping his brother wouldn’t cuff Ana.
“What the hell, A.J.?” Harper hissed straight away. “Was your ringer off? We’ve been calling.”
“I know, I know. Ana’s made the news. And the wanted list,” he said, his heart breaking for Ana too much to turn and look at her again.
She’d known this was a risk when she took the assignment, but seeing her face on national news as an alleged Russian spy, her name dragged through the mud along with her parents’ . . . unimaginable.
“It’s more than that,” Harper said after a moment, her tone remaining businesslike despite the shit situation. “We tracked the identity of the Caymans account holder.”
“It’s Ana, right?” He suddenly had a horrible, aching pain in the pit of his stomach.
“We’ve been operating under the assumption the account was for Ivan, but this must be another setup,” Harper explained. “And it surely can’t be a coincidence that within minutes of the FBI connecting Ana’s name to the account, the surveillance footage of her entering Porter’s house was leaked to the media, along with her real last name.”
“Damn it.” He cursed again. And then again. “Whoever was in Porter’s house knows she’s undercover, but—”
“But they chose to be selective in the intel they leaked to the national news,” Harper added. “Which means they’re using her as a fall