death, I wasn’t fairing much better. We didn’t react to the instant attraction we felt until after we’d consumed two bottles of wine with a greasy pizza and pasta combination.
The instant it was over, I knew I had fucked-up. It wasn’t the fact I’d slept with an informant that had me instantly regretting my decision, it was the bitch-flip I seemingly turned on while fucking Olivia that had me backpedaling. We fucked, there’s no doubt about that. It wasn’t a sweet, let’s-take-it-slow lovemaking session, but not at one stage did Olivia ask me to stop, slow down, or any of the other words you’d expect to hear when the other half of your fuckfest isn’t in it. She screamed for more, begged me to go harder, then initiated a second round the next morning when we woke in a groggy, twisted mess.
It was then that she mentioned how much trouble I could be in if I didn’t do as asked. I stared at her, shocked as fuck at her gall. She wasn’t just attempting to blackmail me into sleeping with her again, she wanted information she wasn’t privy to. Hell, at the time, I wasn’t even privileged to the files she wanted.
When I refused to bow to her demands, she said she’d say the event we undertook the night before wasn’t mutually agreed upon. I told her to go ahead with her plans, aware intimidation was the highest form of flattery.
I assumed she’d back down.
I was dead fucking wrong.
She hung me out to dry, her deception only losing steam when she found another sucker to sink her claws into. The last I heard, they married within weeks of him being assigned to her case. Yep, you heard me right. He was a fellow agent. As far as I’m aware, he still works for the Bureau, although I don’t know in what position or where. Tobias pulled me so far off Olivia’s case. Up until four weeks ago, I hadn’t heard her name in years, much less had an awareness of her real identity.
I wish I had paid more attention. Not only would it have saved Tobias months of grief, I wouldn’t be feeling the scold of Olivia’s burn years later. Fortunately for me, I got out after one sting. Her husband can’t say the same thing.
My thoughts shift from the past to the present when a ding on my computer demands my attention. It’s a ping announcing that one of the many names I logged into Ravenshoe Domestic Airport’s servers months ago found a match. Although the visitor isn’t one of the big hitters the Bureau has been chasing the past ten plus years, he’s definitely of interest.
While grabbing my coat off the coat rack, I dial Alex’s cell phone, cursing when I hear it vibrating on his desk. I could leave him a message stating Albert Sokolov, right-hand man to Russian mafia cartel leader, Vladimir Popov, has decided to pop into Ravenshoe for a visit, but I’d rather produce evidence along with my findings, so I head for the door before his voicemail greeting is halfway done.
“Michelle, if Alex returns before me, tell him to check his emails.” I set it up so any alerts are automatically forwarded to Alex’s email.
Michelle gives me the same gaga face she always does Alex before nodding. “Shall I tell him where you’re going?”
I consider a reply for all of two seconds before shaking my head. “No. I don’t want him chewing me up and spitting me out for having an early lunch.” I could tell her where I’m going, she’s technically the same rank as me, but since Albert’s visit skims along the line that separates my personal life from my work, I’m not so eager. If Albert is here for Isabelle, more than legalities could be at play.
“I’ll keep it our little secret.” Michelle’s tone indicates she’s hoping I’ll pay my restitution with more than an iced mocha from Harlow’s. She’s shit out of luck. It’s been a while since I’ve played sheet-twister, but I’m not that desperate. Even if she wasn’t pushing forty, and agents aren’t technically informants, it’s still a no-go for me.
I take the stairs to the first level, mindful of Grayson’s disclosure on Alex rigging common areas with hidden surveillance cameras, jog to my car parked on the corner, then slip into the driver’s seat. When the engine fires to life, my mind drifts to fonder times. The Hellcat Mr. Gregg and I were rebuilding was a