On the Way Home (14 page)

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Before heading outside, I tucked my pistol into the waistband of my jeans and tried not to think about what that meant. I just didn’t know what I was dealing with, whether this guy Dmitri would come over drunk and waving a gun around like some deranged ex-lover. Or maybe the next time Della went to see him, he wouldn’t let her leave. The point was, until I knew what I was dealing with, I wanted to be prepared.

So when I stepped onto the porch and heard rustling in the garage, my skin prickled in warning. I lifted my chin, like an animal scenting danger. I didn’t smell the chemical tang of explosives or the gasoline of Humvees, though. There was just honeysuckle and a crisp summer scent.

Silently I moved off the porch and through the grass. The back of the garage provided more cover, so I circled around. A quick scan of the street told me no new vehicles had arrived. Whoever this was had come on foot.

I paused, listening. There was nothing for a moment, then a quiet shuffle of something being moved and set down carefully. It destroyed the possibility of a raccoon rummaging through her trash bins, which I already knew were stored inside.

After a beat I pushed inside and pointed my gun at the intruder. “Hands where I can see them.”

The person jumped in surprise, then slowly lifted her arms above her head. She was standing near the trash bins—not near my boxes. Not looking for the list. She had dark blonde hair and a small stature, but I didn’t let my guard down. Danger came in all shapes and sizes, including attractive women. Including attractive women like Della.

“Turn around,” I said.

The woman turned slowly, her expression calculating. Her eyes were a deep blue—and focused on me like a hawk’s. “Oh, it’s you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “We met before?”

“No, but I’ve seen you around.” She smiled, but it didn’t seem friendly. More like she’d thought of a joke only she knew. “I live next door. Your friend knows me as Katie.”

I flicked my gaze behind her. “There a reason you’re going through her trash?”

“Just doing my job.” She didn’t lower her hands but pushed her right hip out. “Shield’s in here if you want to see it.”

Fuck. Her shield? Then she was some kind of LEO—shorthand for law enforcement officer. Police? FBI? It didn’t fucking matter, because if a LEO was on the scene, things were about to get a whole lot stickier. It could have been a trap to pull me closer and let my guard down, but she was too matter-of-fact. And the way she spoke to me, it was as if she knew about my training. I suspected she had a guy who ran background checks and gathered intel for her the same way James did for me. After months of being undercover, I could recognize that in someone else.

All the same, I said, “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

I kept the gun pointed at her until I pulled the identification out of her pocket and read it. Then I lowered my gun and held out the badge. “Good to meet you, Agent Katherine Porter.”

Her lids lowered, telling me she’d caught the sarcasm in my words. Good. At least whoever they’d sent to mess with Della wasn’t an idiot. “Good to meet you too, Specialist Clint
Adams
. Now you want to tell me what you’re doing here? And don’t tell me you’re doing your job. I’ve already checked. There are no other agencies supposed to be here.”

“I’m not a fucking agency. I’m a random guy bumming a place to stay.”

“Random, huh?”

Yeah, I had to admit that was seeming less likely as time ticked by. “What do you got against Della?” I asked, not really expecting her to tell me.

“Nothing. We know she cut ties to Dmitri, or at least tried to.”

“Oh good. I guess you’ll be on your way.”

Agent Porter made a sour face. “Her sister, however…”

Her sister was being held for ransom, as best I could tell from the conversation I’d overheard. That was some bad shit. The FBI could definitely help. Or they’d make it worse. One or the fucking other.

“If Dmitri Ozerov is your target, then why don’t you go arrest him?”

“You of all people know it’s never that simple.”

Oh yeah. Gather evidence. Sit back while innocent people get raped and killed. Tell yourself it would pay off in the end even though William was still in the hospital and the people they arrested would probably plea bargain out. Being the good guy was a regular old good time.

“I still don’t know what you expect to find in Della’s garbage bag.” Besides my used condoms. Goddamn FBI. They were worse than a nosy old lady.

She shrugged, a polite way of saying mind your own business. “Has Ozerov contacted her while you’ve been here?”

I ignored her question—for now—and scrubbed a hand over my face. “Un-freaking-believable.”

Though I had to admit, the one good thing about this was I knew I wasn’t crazy.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Agent Porter said matter-of-factly.

Damn it, I didn’t want to agree, but I needed information. Might as well go along with it. And I really had nothing to lose here. Except Della. “Fine,” I said. “She went to visit him.”

“I knew it! Goddamn it. They lost her tail.”

I gave her a look that told her exactly how impressed I was with the FBI right now. “I can give you the coordinates and some background info I found about the owners, tracing back to Ozerov. That gonna be enough?”

“Unfortunately no.” She took a deep breath. “I’d get in trouble for disclosing this, but I’m going to hold up my end of the bargain. The truth is, we can probably bust Dmitri right now if we wanted to. Nothing major but it would be enough to put him behind bars for five years, and my supervisors would take that much to get him off the streets.”

“But?” I prompted.

“But they need a bigger fish. Ozerov thinks he’s hot shit but the truth is he’s always been small time. Never made much of a mark on the global stage until recently. Something changed. We think he got an accomplice.”

“It’s not Della,” I said flatly. No goddamn way.

“We don’t think that,” she said quickly. “But we need to find out who it is, and she’s our best in.”

“She’s not your in,” I said, all my bitterness pouring out of me. Della’s secrets. This woman’s cool deception. “You’re not going to use her for this.”

From a distance, I heard the screen door slam. I stiffened, and so did Agent Porter. I managed to tuck my gun in the back of my jeans. A few seconds later, Della rounded the corner looking drowsy and gorgeous.

Confusion flickered on her face before she smiled. “Hey, guys. I see you two met.”

“Yeah, uh, I was just out here and—”

Agent Porter cut me off. “It’s my fault. I must not have been counting my steps right, because I was standing here trying to get into your garage and he came to see if I was okay.”

I glanced at her curiously and saw her eyes staring off into space. Aw fuck, that was low. Pretending to be blind? Very low. She had the sympathy angle. Plus Della wouldn’t even know she was being spied on.

Della was gracious about the supposed mistake and even offered to help escort “Katie” back to her porch. I managed not to roll my eyes until they were out of sight. The whole incident had been hugely illuminating, not only because of what Agent Porter had divulged.

Also because I could see Della as the sweet, easy mark that she was.

She had a lot of world-wise vibes she put out, warning people away, almost threatening with that smile sharp as a knife. But she was too trusting to really play the game—and with a sinking feeling, I realized I was too. We wanted to think the best of everyone instead of assuming they’d fuck us over if they could. Della had made that mistake with her neighbor. And I had made that mistake with the pretty stewardess who offered me a ride home.

Chapter Eleven

Della

It was almost a relief seeing Clint’s face dark and untrusting. Even the hint of hurt I saw in his eyes, as if I’d wounded him, felt right. Like a punch to my gut—losing my breath and knowing I deserved it.

Now he’d demand answers, and I felt almost at peace. He’d know. He’d hate me, but he was already figuring it out without my help. He was putting the puzzle together, when I hadn’t even known he had any pieces.

After helping Katie into her house, I returned to mine. Walked right past him despite the soft clatter of dishes in the kitchen. I sat down on my couch, the one I’d been so excited to find at a resale shop with plush rose-gold cushions and maple-wood inlays, and felt out of place in my own house. Felt out of place in Dmitri’s gleaming mansion too. I travelled the whole world feeling out of place, because where I really belonged was back in the seedy strip club downtown. Or huddling in the room I shared with Caro while my sister got shot in the living room.

Stealing from her boss, they said. Me and Caro would go work for them, make things right.

Little girls in a strip club. That wasn’t right.

When Clint came back inside, he was holding something. My cream-colored teacup and matching plate with its gold trim. Steam rose from the top of the cup. He set it down in front of me, and I stared at it. Just stared. It looked like a puzzle. My teacup, my tea. Put right in front of me.

“No one’s ever made me tea before,” I said, my voice hoarse.

He looked at me strangely—torn. Torn between anger and pity. My stomach turned over. I felt sick, and I took a sip of the tea he’d made to calm myself. Stronger than I usually made it, and had he added honey? So strange to think of someone else’s hands preparing a drink for me, to comfort me.

He let me drink half the cup before he spoke.

“I know about Ozerov,” he said, and my hand started to shake so badly that the cup rattled against the saucer. I set it down on the table, pushed it away.

“How’d you find out?” I asked. That seemed like the easiest question. Better than how soon are you going to leave and never come back? Or are you going to call the police? I had to convince him not to. Dmitri would lose his shit if the police came sniffing around. I’d seen him dump ten thousand dollars’ worth of drugs in the river when he got questioned once. Another time, the police had dragged him down to the station for questioning. The girl in the makeup vanity next to me disappeared the next day. Didn’t matter if she’d really ratted him out. Didn’t matter if my sister had really stolen from him. Another girl ended up dead, and nobody cared. But I care. And I wouldn’t let that happen to Caro.

“Followed you,” Clint said. “Hopped in the back of your truck when you went upstairs and followed you into that place.”

Holy shit. My first thought was that he was pretty damned stealthy. That must come in handy for his military stuff. My second thought was to wonder why he’d cared enough to see. Was he just bored? Or one of those controlling type of guys who thought I was going to cheat when I tried to buy tampons from the corner store?

“Must have been exciting,” I said in a dull voice.

His gaze sharpened. “Exciting? No. The ball game would have been exciting. That was something else.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you went there like that. Talk about a fucking lion’s den.”

I jerked back, stung. “You don’t know the situation. And you don’t know me.”

“So tell me. That’s what we’re gonna do now. A little getting-to-know-you session.”

I hated the hint of mocking in his words. I’d done this. Turned him from a sweet, caring guy into this one, who cursed and intimidated me. He looked about two seconds from walking out that door, and I almost didn’t care. Except that my heart would break.

Except that you still need to do what Dmitri told you to.

Sometimes you had to make a choice. My sister’s life or Clint’s. For once I didn’t know which one I’d pick, but I opened my mouth and told him everything. Even if he’d die, at least he’d die knowing. It was the least I could do.

“Dmitri owned the strip club where I worked. Where I was—” I choked on the words a little. I’d barely admitted it to myself, much less to another person. “Where I was forced to work. First in the back rooms. Then when I looked old enough, I moved to the front.”

“How old?” he asked sharply.

“Sixteen when I started dancing. With makeup and stilettos you can’t hardly tell the difference.”

“And the back rooms?”

I pressed my lips together, unable to say much. Not because I didn’t want to cooperate or because he didn’t deserve the whole truth. Just because I was held together by a thread here, and his derision would feel razor sharp.