One Good Reason (A Boston Love Story Book 3) (21 page)

“No — not technically illegal, just heavily frowned upon.”

I roll my eyes.

He reaches over and starts doing up the buttons on my coat, which is such a boyfriend-like task it should totally repulse me. Instead all it does is make my insides melt.

Shit
.

“Speaking of you being an all-important CEO, don’t you have lots of work to do?” My nose wrinkles as he gently wraps the scarf around my neck. “By my account, all you’ve done for the past few days is watch a Christmas movie marathon,” I tease.

“And given you multiple orgasms,” he says seriously. “Don’t forget the multiple orgasms.”

“I don’t recall any orgasms.”

“An insult to my manhood?” He gasps in outrage. “I’d be worried, if you hadn’t spent all last night crying out my name.”

I laugh. “Oh, that was
you
doing all that work? I thought it was the other Parker I’ve been spending time with…”

“So much evil in such a small package.” He grimaces. “Are your other boyfriends also worried you’ll kill them in their sleep?”

“What other boyfriends?” I scoff… and then proceed to turn beet red as I realize I’ve just admitted he’s the only man in my life. “I mean— that came out wrong,” I protest, watching a shit-eating grin light up Parker’s entire face.

“Oh, no, Zoe.” His eyes are bright with humor and happiness. “It’s too late. You can’t take it back now.”

“Yes, I can.” My voice is a grumble. “In fact, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m taking it back.”

“Nope.” He grabs my hand and places it over his heart. “I already know the truth. We’re dating.” His eyebrows waggle. “
Exclusively
.”

“Gross.”

“Do you want to wear my letterman’s jacket?”

“I’m going to vomit.”

“Should I buy you a corsage?”

“Seriously. Gagging.”

“Okay, no corsage.” He laughs. “Just the matching tattoos, then?”

“Seriously.” I fight the urge to stomp my foot. “
Let it go
, Parker. Let it go.”

“Hey, Elsa, don’t quote
Frozen
to me unless you’re prepared to listen to the entire soundtrack in my car on the way to Seaport.”

I stare up at him. “I’m not sure whether I should be disturbed or turned on by the fact that you know all the words to
Let It Go.
”

He grins. “Definitely turned on.”

“Downloaded in your iTunes library, no doubt.” I shake my head. “This is nearly as disturbing as the time I learned the song
A Whole New World
from Aladdin is a metaphor for mind-blowing sex.”

“I’m sorry,
what
?”

“I can open your eyes? Lead you wonder by wonder?
Over
,
sideways,
and
under
?” I snort. “Come on. That’s basically soft-core porn.”

“Thank you, Zoe, for ruining a beloved Disney classic for me.”

“Anytime.”

“For the record…” He trails off.

I wince, anticipating the worst. “What?”

“I’ll take you on my magic carpet ride any time you want, snookums.”

“Pass.”

“So, that’s a no on rubbing my lamp then?”

“You know, I think I’ll just find my own way to Nate’s…” I turn and start walking to the elevator.

“Oh, come on.” Parker twines his fingers with mine and pushes the call button, humming under his breath. “I’m a genie in a bottle, baby, gotta rub—”

“AH!” I stare at him in horror as the elevator arrives. “So help me god if you start singing vintage Christina Aguilera lyrics right now, I will murder you with my bare hands.”

“With these dainty things?” He grabs one and pulls it to his lips, depositing a quick kiss in the center of my palm as we walk onboard.

I use my free hand to flick him in the temple.

“Ow!” He drops my hand and rubs at the spot I flicked. “What was that for? Christina, Aladdin, or Frozen? I’d like to narrow it down, so I know what most annoys you, in the future. It’s still a bit of trial and error when it comes to driving you totally nuts in the shortest amount of time.”

“I hate you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, darling.” He pulls me close and kisses me softly. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

My lips move under his, returning his sweet kiss, and I try to muster up some kind of protest. Funnily enough, as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I can’t think of a single thing to say to contradict his words.

A
half hour later
, we walk into a brightly lit brick building in the Seaport district, where Knox Investigations headquarters are located. Nate, Luca, and two other badass-looking dudes I recognize from Phoebe’s Christmas party all look up when we enter.

“Long time no see,” Luca jokes, coming forward to ruffle my hair. “You miss me already, babe?”

I punch him in the arm with my free hand. “Shockingly, this visit has nothing to do with you.”

“Did you bring the files?” Nate asks, approaching with a serious expression on his face.

I nod and glance around. “Is there a computer I can use?”

“Here.” A tall, gorgeous guy with dark hair, caramel skin, and stunning green eyes stands and offers me his desk. “Use this one.”

“Thanks…” I trail off questioningly.

“Theo,” he says, grinning in a way that probably makes panties all over the Boston area burst into flames.

“Zoe,” I return, dropping Parker’s hand as I move toward the empty chair.

My eyes lock on the towering blond man with bulging muscles and a crew cut leaning against a nearby desk.

“Owen,” he offers, narrowing his eyes at me. “Gotta admit, I pictured you taller.”

I glance at Nate. “I see my reputation proceeds me.”

His eyes crinkle in a smile that doesn’t touch his mouth. “Just show us what you found.”

I sigh and settle into the chair, plugging in the drive and pulling up the documents as fast as possible. Parker, Luca, Nate, Theo, and Owen all line up behind me. It’s only
slightly
intimidating to have five mammoth men hovering, their eyes watching my every keystroke.

“You’re hovering,” I murmur at them as my fingers fly over the keyboard.

None of them moves so much as a muscle.
Damn macho men.

I do my best to ignore them as I pull up the files.

“Look. See here?” I point at the screen. “Almost every employee has a clean bill of health. Not just clean, actually — perfect. Not even a case of the sniffles, among ten thousand employees. The files are almost
identical
. As though someone just changed the names but copy and pasted the rest.”

Nate leans closer. “What do we know about the doctor?”

I shake my head. “As far as I can tell, Dr. Charles Birkin isn’t even a licensed physician. Not anymore.” I hit a few keys and pull up another document. “I found an old court case from ten years ago — he was disbarred from practicing medicine for fabricating lab results during a clinical trial.”

“Sounds like a real standup guy,” Parker mutters.

“I haven’t even told you about his arrest for writing himself dozens of unauthorized prescriptions for morphine and Vicodin.” I sigh. “Wouldn’t have been difficult for Lancaster to convince this guy to pose as his company doctor.”

“Lancaster needed someone with enough medical experience to convince his employees they were being cared for,” Nate mutters. “Someone who could play the part.”

“Someone who wouldn’t have any qualms about telling people they were healthy when, in fact, the opposite is true.” Luca’s voice is dark. “I paid a visit to a few former Lancaster Consolidated employees. Of the six houses I stopped at this afternoon, two of them have family members with lung cancer. Another was just diagnosed with an auto-immune disorder — she’s spending her holiday at the hospital, in the ICU.”

“So, what’s next?” I ask, spinning my chair to look up at Nate. “We find the doctor, lean on him a little, get him to confess?”

Nate’s mouth twitches. “This isn’t a Jason Bourne movie.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to put an end to this.” I rise to my feet and cross my arms over my chest. “What’s your grand plan?”

“I make a call.” Nate reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cellphone, and walks away without any further explanation.

I glance at Parker. “Is he always like that?”

“Since he was eight.” He grins. “Believe it or not, Phoebe’s had a calming effect on him. If anything, this is him being
chill
.”

“That’s somewhat terrifying.” I glance at Luca, Owen, and Theo. “Any idea who he’s calling?”

The three of them shake their heads in unison.

I sigh and turn back to the computer. My angst is short-lived — a few minutes after Nate makes his mysterious call, the front door to the offices swings wide and a man in an ill-fitting suit steps inside, his black hair disheveled and in desperate need of a cut, falling over piercing blue eyes that sweep the room, taking everything in. He’s got a coffee stain on his tie, bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and a pissed off attitude to rival Nate’s. There’s something in the way he carries himself that screams law enforcement.

“This is Conor Gallagher,” Nate announces, gesturing to the man. “He’s with the Boston Bureau.”

Fuck
. Nate called the Feds.

The same Feds who would like nothing more than to arrest “Clover,” the hacker who’s infiltrated their networks on more than one occasion during the past two years and who they – rightly – suspect is responsible for taking down at least four corrupt companies in the Boston area by emptying out the CEOs’ private accounts in the Cayman Islands.

Whoops
.

Why do I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well for me?

“
N
ate
,” I hiss under my breath. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

He ignores me.

I fight the urge to hide beneath the desk as the FBI agent walks a little further inside, stopping a handful of feet from me with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“This better be fucking good, Knox.” He glances from me to the screen to Nate, taking in every detail. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Gallagher, we all know you have nothing better to do,” Nate fires back at him. “I’m the only person you know in this city who doesn’t work for the Bureau. Who else would you be spending the night with?”

The man smirks. “I’d rather be home alone than here with you, doing you yet another favor.”

“Pretty sure we’re square up on favors, after I helped you nab the MacDonough gang.” Nate’s eyes narrow. “That scored you a pretty sweet promotion, if I recall correctly.”

The agent runs a hand through his too-long hair. “Just tell me why I’m here.”

Nate gestures at me. “This is Zoe Bloom. She has some information we thought you might be interested in.”

The agent’s sharp blue eyes move to me. I try not to shiver under the frost in their depths.

“Zoe Bloom,” Conor says, stepping toward me, his eyes narrowing. “Why do I know that name?”

I shift from foot to foot, feeling nervous, and Parker edges slightly in front of me. Luca moves to my other side in a show of force. Their message is clear.

Do not fuck with our girl.

At least they aren’t at each other’s throats, anymore.

Ignoring the pointed question, I look at Nate. “You sure we can trust this guy?”

Nate nods.

Conor’s eyebrows lift. “Pretty paranoid, considering we’ve barely been introduced.”

I glance back at him. “Yeah, well, FBI agents aren’t generally at the top of my list of favorite people.”

Conor’s stony gaze never shifts. “Funny. Criminals aren’t usually at the top of mine.”

“Watch it,” Parker growls.

Conor’s eyes move to him. “Parker West. Surprised to see you here.” His eyes move to Luca. “And Blaze Buchanan.” He glances back at Nate. “Crack team you’ve gathered here, Knox. A CEO, an underground fighting champ, and a brash pixie with authority issues.”

I cross my arms over my chest and step toward him, getting up in his face.

Well, if I were taller I’d be in his face. As it is, I’m more in the general vicinity of his chin.

“Listen, we don’t need your assistance, so if you’re going to be an asshole, why don’t you just leave? It’s clear you don’t want to be here and, anyway, I highly doubt you can help.”

Conor’s lips twitch, just the tiniest bit — a chink in that icy, impenetrable armor he’s shrouded himself with. “If I promise not to be an asshole, will you show me whatever’s got you so riled up?”

I glance at Nate again — he gives me a slow nod and, I can’t help but notice, he’s grinning at me like I’m the funniest thing he’s seen in a while.

Idiot
.

“Fine,” I grumble. “Though I still don’t understand why we have to involve the damn Feds.”

Conor follows me to the computer. “Are you always this unpleasant?”

“Said the corporate government drone,” I retort.

“Zoe,” Luca warns in a disapproving tone. “Don’t push it.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, pulling up the vital documents so I can lead Agent Gallagher through our investigation from the beginning. When I meet his eyes, I’m pleased to see he’s taking this seriously — there’s not an ounce of humor in the depths of his gaze.

I clear my throat. “What do you know about Robert Lancaster?”

I
t takes
a while to tell him everything, from how I hacked the LC network to the files I found to the trip to the Lynn factory to our discovery of the healthcare cover-up with the fired employees. He doesn’t ask me a zillion questions — he just listens in that intent way of his, occasionally jotting down some pertinent piece of information in a small notebook. When I finally finish showing him the documents on the LC server and fall silent, he takes a seat in the desk chair beside me with a heavy sigh.

“Well… fuck me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I expected.”

“Can you help us get him, or not?” I ask.

For the first time, Conor cracks a smile. “Oh, we’ll get the fucker. Don’t worry about that.”

My lips curl into a tiny grin and some of the anxiety in my stomach dissipates. Surely he’s not going to toss me in jail for hacking after he’s agreed to help.

Parker, Nate, and the rest of the boys are over by the surveillance computers, monitoring the tails they placed on Lancaster, Linus, and Birkin this morning. I push back my chair, fully intending to go join them, when I feel Conor’s strong hand clamp down on my forearm. The force of his grip halts me in my tracks.

“It’s strange,” he says conversationally. “I thought when we finally met, it would be under different circumstances. You know — me on one side of an interrogation room and you shackled to a stainless steel table...
Clover
.”

I tug my arm away and glare at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sweetheart, don’t play me for a fool.” His eyes narrow. “I recognize your virus. Never seen anything else like it — no one at the Bureau has. Whether you want it or not, it’s your trademark.”

I bite down on my lip. “So, what, you’re going to arrest me?”

“No.” He rises to his feet. “Though I’d like to talk to you about a job.”

A laugh bursts from my lips. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, deadly serious.

“You want to offer me a job? At the FBI?”

He nods slowly.

I throw my head back at laugh. And laugh. And then I laugh some more.

“This is not the reaction I was expecting,” he mutters lowly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping the corner of my eye. “What were you expecting?”

“Maybe ‘Oh, thank you Conor, for agreeing not to arrest me and offering me a stable job with a 401k and benefits.’ Something along those lines.”

I try to contain my mirth, but it escapes again.

Nate’s voice interrupts. “Don’t tell me he’s trying to recruit you.”

Still giggling, I glance at him. “Totally.”

Nate grins at Conor. “Hate to break it to you, but if she’s working for anyone, it’s going to be me.”

My laughter dries up as I stare at him. “Wait… are you serious?”

Nate nods.

“You want me to work here?” I ask incredulously, glancing around the immaculate office. “At Knox Investigations?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Is this like… a pity thing?” I dart a glance at Parker, who I find is watching this entire exchange with alert eyes. “Did Phoebe or Parker force you to offer me a job?”

Nate’s already dark irises seem to get even darker. “Let’s get something straight. You’re trouble. Knew it the first time I saw you. And I don’t like trouble. Not around me, not around my best friend, not around the woman I love.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter.

“Turns out, doesn’t matter what I like,” he continues. “Phoebe and Parker both claimed you. They want you around. That means I’m claiming you, too.” His eyes narrow a fraction. “Sure as shit doesn’t mean I have to offer you a job, though, even if they begged me. This place, the work we do here – it’s not something I’d risk fucking up for a friend who wanted a favor.”

I blink.

“So, no, Zoe – it’s not a
pity thing
. You’re better with computers than anyone on the East Coast. If you worked here, you’d be doing
me
a favor. Not the other way around.” His voice goes soft. “Why do you think Gallagher here is so eager to add you to the FBI ranks? The government doesn’t have half your skill – nor do they have the same employee benefits I can offer, for the record.”

Conor glares at Nate. “We have dental.”

Nate grins wider. “We have actual salaries.” His eyes cut to me. “Six figures, to start. Think about it.”

I swallow hard, all laughter replaced by shock, and force myself to nod. “I will definitely think about it.”

“Good.” Nate turns to Conor. “So, let’s talk logistics. I imagine you have an idea how you want this to go down.”

The agent nods. “Give me a few days. I’ll set things in motion on my end, then touch base. We don’t want to spook Lancaster or have him send more cronies to attack Zoe.” He looks at me with those piercing blue eyes and I see the hint of something almost warm in their depths, if only for a sliver of an instant. “Nice meeting you, Clover. You ever change your mind about that job, want to make an actual difference in the world… you give me a call.”

“I’d be more inclined to consider it if you’d stop calling me
Clover
in the official FBI database.”

His lips twitch. “You don’t like the nickname?”

“Something slightly more badass would be preferable.”

“Sorry.” Conor shrugs. “Too late to change it now. You’re already branded.”

“Don’t worry, darling.” Parker wraps an arm around my waist. “I’ll call you all the badass nicknames you want.” He pauses. “So long as the nickname you want to be called is
snookums
, of course.”

I elbow him in the side. “Ignore him,” I tell Conor a little desperately.

“
Snookums
?” Conor smirks. “Definitely badass.”

I glare up at Parker. “See what you did? You’re ruining my street cred.”

He leans down and kisses me. “Uh huh.”

“I’m serious, playboy.”

“I can see that, darling.”

I plant my hands on my hips and glare at every man in the room, my gaze sweeping from Parker to Conor to Nate to Luca to Owen to Theo. Infuriatingly, they’re all grinning at me.

“I hate you all,” I inform them, turning and stomping for the doors. “And I will not be accepting
any
job offers if it means my bad-assery is called into question on a regular basis.”

The sound of muffled laughter chases me all the way to the doors.

P
arker’s
in an annoyingly good mood all the way back to my loft. He gropes me playfully in the elevator, whispering scandalous things in my ear to make me laugh the entire ride up to my floor.

His joking, happy mood disintegrates as soon the doors slide open and we see the disaster site that used to be my apartment.

My laptop is cracked in two, lying in pieces on the cold concrete floor. Someone’s smashed every one of my computer monitors with what looks like a baseball bat — there’s no way they can be salvaged. My coffee table has been flipped on its side, scattering documents everywhere. Even from my spot by the door, I can see the hard copies from the Lancaster investigation are missing. The folders I painstakingly organized with printed copies of all the evidence I’ve spent weeks gathering are gone.

My bed is in tatters, gutted with some kind of sharp blade, as are my sofa cushions. Most disturbingly, though, are the photographs taped my my refrigerator.

Whoever is trailing me has been busy. There are pictures from the day I visited the Lynn factory, from my walk home in the snow, from my lunch with the girls at
Crumble
. There are even stills from the surveillance tape at Lancaster Consolidated, the night I dressed as Cindy the cater-waiter.

I suppose it was only a matter of time, before they put that together.

Each photo was taken from a careful distance, but it’s clear they’re the work of a professional. Especially given the photoshopping treatment they’ve received: every frame contains the bright red crosshairs of a sniper rifle over my profile.

As threats go, it’s not a subtle one.

Keep this up and we’ll kill you.

Parker shoves me behind him as his eyes move around the space, searching for intruders.

“They’re long gone,” I say quietly.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly, running a hand through his hair. “At least you weren’t here when they did this. If you’d been here…” His eyes move to the monitors, destroyed with brute force by someone with a significant amount of strength. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

I step up to his side and lace my fingers with his. “Don’t think about it.”

His furious hazel eyes lock on the photographs of me taped to the fridge and I see whatever sense of calm he was hanging onto slip from his grasp like a handful of sand.

“I’m going to fucking kill them.”

“Parker.” I squeeze his hand. “They wouldn’t be going through all this trouble to scare us if we hadn’t rattled them. Don’t you see? In a sick, weird, twisted way… this is a good thing. It means we’re getting close to nailing them.”

My words seem to soothe him — fractionally. His jaw unclenches a bit as he surveys the damage, but he still looks about ready to blow a gasket.

“There’s no way they got in through the elevator without a key.” He looks at me. “Who else has access? Your landlord? An ex? A previous tenant?”

I shake my head. “No. Luca has one, I have one. That’s it. Whoever did this must’ve climbed the fire escape.”

Parker strides to the opposite side of the loft, tugging me after him. Sure enough, when we reach the windows by the fire escape we find two of the panes are bashed in. The flimsy brass lock is snapped like plastic.

I suck in a breath.

Abruptly, Parker drops my hand and paces away, leaving me by the window. I don’t follow him. My eyes are stuck on that broken lock, and I can’t seem to look away. All at once, my careful sense of calm evaporates as reality sets in.

Someone was in my home. In my private space.

Sure, the loft leaves much to be desired. But it's always been mine. And now, someone's invaded that space. Taken my sanctuary and dirtied it, violated it, until I no longer feel secure in the only place I've ever been able to call home.

That fucking
sucks
, if I’m being honest.

I look around for Parker, assuming he’s on the phone with Nate, and instead find him by my dresser, indiscriminately jamming clothes into a bag.

“What are you doing?” I screech, watching as three of my sweaters and a faded pair of jeans are shoved inside the duffle.

“I’m fucking packing,” he snaps, never pausing. “Someone was in your home. Someone destroyed everything you’ve built here. Your work. Your life.” His voice is a growl. “You're not spending another night in this place until this shit is handled.”