"Turn on that lamp," he orders me with the gun pointed straight at my face.
I do as he requests. When the glow of light hits him, I gasp in recognition.
Steve. From the diner yesterday.
Steve, who asked for Miranda's number.
"What do you want?" I manage to push the words out past my throat, which is constricted tightly in fear.
"I want your boyfriend," he says simply with a nod of his head toward Kyle's house.
"What?" I ask, dumbfounded.
"Call him," Steve--if that's his real name--says as he waves the gun toward my front door, beyond which lies Kyle's house across the street.
"What for?" I ask.
Stalling maybe, I don't know.
"Call him," he barks at me. He swings the gun back my way, the hole of the barrel looking ominously big as it sits less than a foot away from my nose.
"I don't understand. What do you want him for?"
"I want him to come over here, and I don't want him to suspect a fucking thing. I want him walking in here unprepared and unarmed, and you're going to call him right fucking now and get him over here."
"I can't," I say on a sob, my life literally flashing before my eyes.
Steve moves faster than I could have ever imagined, and he lunges at me. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he viciously yanks my head back and pushes the barrel of the gun to my forehead. "I'm not going to fucking tell you again... call him."
"I don't know his phone number," I cry out. This is absolutely true. I only found out he had a cell phone yesterday morning, and I never did get a chance to ask for his number. And the jerk never offered it to me either, I think bitterly, but even if I knew it, I wouldn't ever call him. I would never ask Kyle to come over here into unsuspected danger.
And oh, Kyle... what have you gotten yourself, and now me, into?
"How can you not know his fucking phone number?" he snarls at me, yanking my head back further. I can feel hair ripping from my scalp.
I cry out in pain, but I manage to stammer, "He just got the phone. I hadn't had a chance to get his number."
This doesn't enrage him as I suspected it would, but it doesn't pacify him either. With his fist still gripping a hunk of my hair, he shoves me viciously away from him, causing me to go crashing to my floor.
"Fuck," he curses in frustration, and, for once, his gun points downward and away from me as he seems to be thinking up an alternate plan.
I suppose I'll never know how Kyle knew what was going on or how to capitalize on the fact that the gun was no longer on me, but to both my astonishment and Steve's, Kyle comes bursting through the door, bellowing in rage and charging at my attacker.
I watch, horrified, as Steve swings his hand with the gun toward Kyle, but he's not quick enough. Kyle barrels into him--his shoulder to Steve's chest--with one hand locking around Steve's wrist. They go crashing backward over my couch in a tangle of limbs, and Kyle actually yells out to me, "Get out of here, Jane."
But I'm frozen in place as they disappear from my sight, hitting the floor with such force the house seems to shake. I hear grunting, cursing, a scuffling sound, and then the crack of a gun going off.
I scream and push myself off the floor, disregarding Kyle's order to run and scrambling around the couch instead. I'm immediately relieved to see Kyle pushing up to his knees, the gun now in his hand with a dark red stain of blood spreading across Steve's chest. His eyes are closed, and he's not moving at all.
Kyle stands. His eyes roam over me, head to toe, before he asks, "You okay?"
"No," I say in a shaky voice.
"Are you hurt?" he asks with concerned eyes as he steps toward me.
I hold my hands out to fend him off and take a step back. Shaking my head, I tell him, "Not hurt."
Kyle gives a sad smile of acknowledgment and tells me, "Dial 9-1-1. Tell them you had an intruder who has been shot and killed. Tell them there's an armed ATF agent in the house when they arrive."
"An armed what?" I gasp in surprise, but Kyle ignores me, instead pulling his phone out of his pocket.
I watch as he dials a number and puts the phone to his ear, completely shocked by what has occurred and not understanding a damn thing. He walks to the window, gun still in his hand, and looks out into the darkness. When someone answers on the other side of the phone, he says, "I've been found. I need you to get here now."
Kyle's eyes cut to me, and then he covers the mouthpiece of his phone. In a firm voice, he says, "Call the police, Jane. Now."
This jolts me somewhat... the businesslike calm he's exhibiting despite the fact I think he just killed a man. I pull my own phone out of my pocket with a shaking hand and call the police like he asked me to do.
"I don't give a shit what you say," I growl at the cop who's been sitting with me for the past hour. "I'm done. I'm going home, and you can't stop me."
"Miss Cresson," the man says patiently. "Your house is still being processed. You can't go home."
I have no clue who this guy is with. I've got local police, state patrol, FBI, and ATF. I swear I even saw people walking around with jackets that said Homeland Security.
I give the man a sarcastically sweet smile and tell him, "Well, I guess it's a good fucking thing my parents live within walking distance of me, huh?"
I push up from the table, the chair scraping on the tile floor. I've been in this room longer than the hour this man has been talking to me. I was brought here in the back of one our local police cruisers, driven by Chance Dawson, a total goober I went to school with who I'm sure had never seen a dead body before. He acted like he was driving a celebrity or something to the station when he was told to bring me there by an FBI agent who showed up on the scene not long after I called the police and Kyle had finished talking to whoever was on the phone.
We had been immediately separated, each being interviewed by men who had clearly identified themselves as FBI, although I was told vaguely that I'd be interviewed later by ATF. I have no clue what the fuck is going on, but I notice with an odd sort of detachment that Kyle didn't seemed wigged out by any of this.
Not that I was held at gunpoint.
Not that he killed a man.
Not that he was surrounded by flashing police lights and was telling his story to the FBI. In fact, he had been casually leaning up against one of the unmarked cars with his hands in his pockets, cutting short glances of worry at me. I glared back at him, because the one thing that had become patently clear to me is that Kyle had been beyond deceitful. I mean... I'm not stupid. I knew he had secrets he was keeping. But I didn't know they involved murder and law enforcement and Jesus... will I be able to get the blood out of my carpet when I get home?
"Miss Cresson, I urge you to please wait," the man says. "I know Agents Kizner and Sommerville want to speak to you."
"I have no clue who those men are, and I don't want to know," I snap at him as I walk for the door.
"They're ATF and they're heading up this entire investigation," he says as my hand closes around the knob.
"Well, good for them," I sneer as I jerk the door open. "I wish them the best of luck."
I step out of the small room I'd been put in at our dinky Misty Harbor police department and run smack into Kyle. His hands come out to steady my arms, and I immediately tear free of him.
"Don't touch me," I snarl.
He flinches slightly, but his face hardens into stony resolve. "We need to talk."
"You need to go to hell," I hiss at him, so angry by his duplicity that I can barely look at him.
"Agent Sommerville," the man who had been sitting with me says to Kyle from behind me. "I tried to keep her in place."
"It's okay," Kyle says to the man, but he doesn't take his eyes off me. "Clear the room so I can talk to her."
I narrow my eyes at Kyle and practically spit out my disbelief. "Sommerville? Agent Sommerville? Who the fuck are you? Is your name even really Kyle?"
With each of these questions, my
voice gets more hysterical.
Kyle takes my arm. My immediate reaction is to pull away, more in disgust than anything, but I'm also far too curious to find out the exact reasons Kyle had been playing me.
And ultimately, almost getting me killed.
I let him direct me back into the room. Luckily for him, he releases me the minute we're inside. I don't bother taking a seat because I don't plan to be here long. As soon as he closes the door behind us, I whirl on him and demand. "Speak and speak fast. I want to get out of here."
Kyle nods in understanding, and then completely stuns me when he says, "Your parents are out in the waiting room. I called them."
"You called them?" I ask in disbelief.
He doesn't answer. Instead, he walks away from me to stand in front of the window that looks out over the darkened parking lot of the police station. With his hands tucked in his pockets, he almost knocks my feet out from under me when he says, "I was an undercover agent with the feds... ATF to be exact. I was deep undercover with a very dangerous biker gang for a few years, and just about nine months ago, we brought them all down."
"Those tattoos," I murmur, the very first thing coming to mind. I could never reconcile the man I'd come to know with such an evil-looking skull on his chest and a warning that he should be feared.
"Part of my cover," he provides. "Since we made arrests, I've been laying low because I'm the key witness to all of it. The trial will start the month after next."
My jaw, which had previously dropped down to my chest, draws upward and I ask, "Like witness protection?"
"Sort of," is all he says as he turns to face me. "The man in your house tonight was sent to put a hit on me. I assume he was going to use you to draw me in."
"How did you know he was in my house?" I ask.
"I didn't," he says flatly. "I knew you were hurting. I went to see if you were okay."
"Is your name even Kyle?" I ask in a pitifully small voice.
"Yes," he says gently and takes a step toward me. I take a step back, but he continues. "It's Kyle Sommerville, and most of what little I told you about me personally was true, except for the fact that I have a sister named Andrea. She has no clue I'm even alive, as my death was faked when the arrests were made."
My eyes fall to the tile floor, unable to look at Kyle anymore. Of all the things I thought he might be, it was never law enforcement. But it explains his reticence to get involved with me and his continued resolve that he was going to be leaving at some point.
Still, I feel so... so... deceived. Even though he told me he was leaving, he deceived me about why. And yes, I get that even his sister was kept in the dark, but what we had was different. We shared the deepest of intimacies, and he surely had to know that I'd never have given him up.
My nose starts to sting at the realization that Kyle would have never trusted me, and I use every bit of my willpower not to let my welling emotions turn into tears. I square my shoulders and look back up at him. He's watching me carefully... warily.
I lift my chin. "Is there anything else I need to know?"
Kyle sighs and takes a few steps until he's standing in front of me. "Only that I'll be relocated tonight and held somewhere until the trial starts. Technically, you're not supposed to know any of this, but I insisted that they let me tell you the truth--"
"The truth?" I practically shriek at him, my anger overtaking my common sense. I step into him and jab a finger in the middle of his chest. "Why tell me the truth? Is it because you trust me, Kyle? Is that it? Because you didn't trust me enough just a few hours ago when you were fucking me. Why do I get the truth now?"
Kyle's hand comes up, perhaps to touch my face, but I knock it away, too enraged to even give him a chance to mollify me. "I'll tell you why you're giving it to me straight now," I say in a low voice seething with accusation. "Because you're leaving and you know you don't have to look at me again. You can leave this all behind with a little salve to your conscience that you finally came clean with poor little Jane Cresson who spread her legs for you while looking at you with starry eyes?"
"Jane, that's not--"
My hands come up, slam into his chest, and the tears fill my eyes. My chest heaves as I lay it all out. "I cared for you, Kyle. I mean, I really, really cared for you. And you not only used me, but you also put me in danger. You got your rocks off while hiding out... just biding your time."
"It's not like that," he grits out in anger.
"It's exactly like that," I say softly, suddenly completely defeated and feeling wiped out.
"No," he says harshly as his hands come to my shoulders. He holds me tightly in place and puts his face near mine. "I care for you too, Jane. More than you could ever even imagine. I was leaving tonight because my partner had alerted me that my location may have been compromised, and I didn't want you in danger. But what I've just told you... about me being undercover? That doesn't even scratch the surface of my story, and if you knew the things that I had to do to achieve my objectives in this operation, you'd be disgusted by me. You'd despise me.
"I despise you for not being honest with me," I rasp out through the tears clogging my throat.
"You'd despise me more if you ever knew the real me," he tells me flatly. "All of this that happened tonight... what I've told you so far? That's not me. It's got nothing to do with the reasons I held myself back from you. Why I never fully gave in to you. There are things that your beautiful soul could never comprehend about me, and be it cowardly or not, I could never bear to see the look of hate you'd have for me if you really knew it all."
For the first time since I arrived here at the police station, my anger toward Kyle vanishes. It's simply gone. In its place is an apprehension that feels almost ominous in nature. Kyle's still keeping deep secrets from me, but he talks about them as if they're so horrific that they will change everything. It will mar completely the way I feel about Kyle, and while I know it's over, and I know I've been betrayed, there were some very beautiful moments with this man. I don't want those to turn ugly. I can't stand it if they were to be tarnished.
And suddenly, I don't want to know anymore. I want Kyle to keep his secrets, and I want to leave this room, go to my parents, and let them take me home where I know they'll baby me. Miranda will come over, and she'll hold me while I cry for my losses. I don't want to know the deep, ugly truths about Kyle. Instead, I want to hold onto my anger for his deception. I truly believe if I do that, I might just be able to heal my broken heart with time.
My eyes focus in on Kyle's, and I lock them there tight. I take one last look at him, trying to be strong so I don't dissolve in front of him, and I tell him from the bottom of my heart. "Good luck to you, Kyle. I wish you the best."
Kyle's face crumbles, but I can't let it deter me. I turn and walk away from him without a backward glance.
CHAPTER 26
Kyle
Two months later...
The gravel crunches under the tires of my rented sedan as I pull into the driveway to my sister's house. She has no idea I'm coming, but she won't be overly astonished at seeing me alive. After I was pulled out of Misty Harbor that night Jane got attacked, I insisted Andrea be told what had happened. The trial wasn't very far away and, after fucking things up with Jane so bad, I just couldn't go another goddamned day with my sister thinking I was dead. It was one lie I simply had to rectify. So I had Joe visit her, because telling her I was alive after she'd mourned me was not something that could be done over the phone.
From that point and until the trial started, I was seriously sequestered away, but Joe arranged for me to talk to Andrea and we've had a few conversations. They've been short and have focused on nothing but good stuff, which includes mostly her joy I'm alive and my joy that she has a baby on the way.
That all changes as of today, for I am now a free man.
The trials did not go all the way as expected. I was called as the first witness and my testimony lasted four full days. It was solid enough that att
orneys representing defendants asked the judge for a half-day recess so they could "discuss things". Within just a few hours though, Zeke Powell, the president of Mayhem's Mission, was accepting a plea deal that would give him a shot at parole in thirty years versus life in prison with no possibility of parole. For that deal, he gave up Senator Latner, and from there, all the dominoes started to crumble.
The only thing left unresolved was proving who put the hit out on me. The man who broke into Jane's house who I subsequently killed wasn't any known killer for hire. There had been a cash deposit into his bank account for five thousand dollars two days before he showed up in Misty Harbor, but it couldn't be traced anywhere. There's no doubt in anyone's mind it was Senator Latner who was behind it, and it was a pitiful attempt to snuff me out. But none of it matters because Latner will be spending the rest of his days behind bars.
The final plea deals were all executed and approved by the judge just two days ago. The day after the deals were finalized, I gave my notice to the ATF that I was quitting. While my actions were vile and inhumane much of the time I was undercover, I know deep in my heart I've ultimately saved lives by completing my mission and, for that, I'm proud.
But despite that, I really need to leave it all behind. The scars run too deep, the memories are nothing but bitter, and I don't have a passion for justice anymore.
As soon as I exit the car, the front door of the stilted beach cottage that belongs to Andrea and her husband Wyatt flies open. They live right on the sandy dunes of the Outer Banks in North Carolina, and it's hot as hell even though we're breaching the end of September.
Andrea trots gingerly down the steps, one hand on the rail and the other holding her swollen belly, but her eyes are pinned right on me.
"Jesus Christ, slow down, Andrea," I hear from the top of the stairs, and I look up to see Wyatt coming down behind her. I've only been around him twice, but he's a decent dude. Works for the local police department while Andrea practices law. Ironically, they met while on an undercover assignment when Andrea was working for the FBI prior to her moving here.
I don't bother to look at Wyatt again though, because I only have eyes for my sister. So like me with the same blond hair and blue eyes, and even our predisposition to work in law enforcement. But we're different in that she's always had the sunny, bubbly personality and I've always been more circumspect about things. Over the past few years, while Andrea has been settling into married life and setting her eyes on raising a family, I'd been running drugs, guns, and selling women into slavery. Her sunny disposition has only gotten brighter, while my glass runs less than half full and mainly has a thick layer of sludge on the bottom.