Transparent by Erin Noelle
“Careful,” he warns with a teasing tone in his voice. “You may have just won yourself cooking duties while we’re here.”
Rolling my eyes, I toss my paper towel at him. “Uh-uh. I’ve had your omelets. No way I’m letting you off the hook on those. You keep breakfast, and I’ll do dinner. Whoever doesn’t cook is in charge of cleanup.”
“You’re quite the little negotiator. Where did you learn that?” he asks as he begins to work on cheeseburger number two. So much for leftovers for lunch tomorrow.
“My brother, Brandon. We were always swapping out chores and whatnot, covering for each other when we got older,” I answer, surprising myself with my candidness. “What about you? Do you have any siblings?”
He wipes a dribble of grease from his chin with a napkin as he nods. “Like you, I have a younger brother, Ivan. He and I grew up very close, only a year apart in age.”
“When did you move to the U.S.? Is all your family here?” Suddenly, I have an abundance of questions for Raze as I realize I know very little about this man who has vowed to keep me safe, even if it means risking his life. That fact still freaks me out a bit, so I choose not to dwell on it.
For a second, a glimpse of sadness eclipses his expression, but he hastily pushes it aside with a forced smile. “I’ve been here a little over fifteen years, since I was seventeen. My parents are in L.A., but my brother is in Houston, running the family business with one of our cousins out of the port there.”
“My mom and brother are dead.” I don’t know why I blurt that out, but for some reason, I feel infinitely better when I do.
“Yes, I know.” Stretching his arm across the small dinette table we’re using for the first time, he rests his hand on top of mine and lightly rubs his thumb back and forth. “You feel guilty. Think they’re gone because of you.”
I know he’s read up on me. Shit, he probably knows more about me than I do. And I like how he doesn’t ask me if I feel guilty, but acknowledges it for what it is. A fact that can’t ever be changed. Only someone who feels the same way could understand.
“Vincent didn’t try to hide his handiwork from me.” I grimace, trying my best not to think about the gory scene found at my mother’s house the day after I shot Ish.
He purposely chews slowly, giving me time to settle my thoughts. “That alone doesn’t make you want to kill him? ‘Cause I know if you hadn’t taken care of Ish when you did, I was going to have my way with him pretty soon thereafter. You did the bastard a fucking favor. Gave him a painless death.”
“Does that make you resent me? That I took that away from you?”
With his hand still on mine, he turns it over and brings my palm to his mouth, kissing it softly. “Not at all, kotyonok. I’m glad he’s dead, but now I want the man truly responsible to pay. I don’t care if it’s you or if it’s me who does it; either way, he owes us both more than his life can ever pay for.”
The strangest feeling washes over me as Raze and I sit together after eating dinner, discussing which of us is going to murder someone, his mouth pressed against my hand. It isn’t sexual, though I can’t deny there’s something innately attractive about his rough and tough exterior. But it’s something. Some kind of connection I’ve never experienced before with another person. I know it sounds crazy, but I almost feel like he’s my guardian angel.
I knew from the moment I was released into the Witness Protection Program that eventually someone would figure out who I was, and my fake world would come tumbling down around me. I wasn’t wrong, but somehow, despite the insanity in all of this, I ended up with Raze, a gentle giant who probably hates the people I hate just as much as I do. Our common enemy brought us together, but now something else is making us . . . friends?
Unfortunately, I don’t have long to contemplate that scary word, because the high-pitched shrill of Raze’s cell phone shatters the silence. He jumps up and answers it, disappearing into the bedroom to hold the conversation. Since we’re both finished eating, I take the time to wash our plates and clean the crumbs off the table.
A few minutes pass before he reappears in the kitchen, and immediately, based on the concern in his gaze, I know something is wrong. “What? What is it?”
Releasing a loud sigh, he scrubs his hands up and down over his face before dropping them to his hips. “Madden. He went to Chicago to find Vincent and ended up getting roughed up by some of his boys before the FBI intervened. The shit’s hit the fan. Vincent’s left the country, hiding out somewhere in Italy, because the feds have shut down all of his businesses, looking for you, and your boyfriend’s unconscious, laid up in a hospital.”
“Oh, my God.”
“WHAT PART OF ‘LEAVE IT to the professionals’ didn’t you understand?” Marshal Doherty roars so loud I’m sure everyone in the hall can hear him. “You nearly got yourself killed! Not to mention, you completely screwed up the sting operation the FBI was planning on Capo’s, when they had to jump early and go save your ass. Come on, Decker! You’re an intelligent man. What were you thinking?”
As I lean back in the uncomfortable hospital bed, I watch him pace across the linoleum floor, wishing he’d finish the lecture and leave so I can go about checking myself out of this hellhole. I agreed to stay forty-eight hours for observation, as they were concerned about the results of my MRI, and now the doctors are trying to make me stay another night, because the brain swelling isn’t subsiding as fast as they’d like. Ain’t fucking happening.
It’s been six days since Blake was taken, and these “professionals” aren’t any closer to finding her now than they were then. A concussion, broken nose, and shattered ribs aren’t going to keep me from searching for her. I won’t stop until I find her or take my last breath.
“You told me you were doing everything in your power to find her. It’s been almost a week, and you still have no fucking idea where she is,” I snap, my tone clear I don’t appreciate being reprimanded like a child. “Did you even know she’s not in Chicago? Those goons mentioned ‘when they bring her back home,’ indicating we’re all looking in the wrong place!”
The other man in the room, who’s been uninvolved in the conversation up until now, stands up from the chair in the corner and pads over to the bed. He’s a short, round man with dark hair and darker eyes, dressed in black slacks and a light blue button-down business shirt. “Mr. Decker, I know you think you’re helping us out, but—”
“First off,” I cut him off, holding my hand in the air, “I have no fucking idea who you are or what us you’re referring to, but my intentions aren’t to help anyone. The woman I love has been abducted, most likely by some very dangerous people, and my only priority is getting her back, safe and sound. Secondly, I understand that Marshal Doherty shares a similar goal, and I can only assume you do too, since you’ve spent the better part of the morning sitting in my hospital room. So if sharing information with each other leads to bringing her home quicker, then I’m all about playing for the team. But you’ve lost your fucking mind if you think I’m gonna sit around and do nothing while I wait to hear from one of you assholes.”
Clenching his jaw, he glares at me in what I can only assume is supposed to be an intimidating look. “I apologize for not properly introducing myself,” he replies in the most insincere tone imaginable. “I’m Agent Craig Diomassi, FBI. I’m the man who saved you Tuesday from getting yourself killed. And it was also my six-month undercover investigation you managed to unravel the minute you stepped foot into that shop. One of those three goons was one of my men, and we were so close to getting the last piece of evidence we needed to formally indict Vincent Ricci . . . but now he’s fled the country, gone into hiding somewhere in Italy, and the whole operation has been exposed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it a thank you or an apology you’re wanting from me?” I sneer, heavy on the sarcasm. “Either way, I wouldn’t hold my breath. If you’ve been running surveillance for the last six months and have had a man on the inside, then you should’ve
“We did know that!” he bellows angrily.
Shifting my attention over to Doherty, I raise my eyebrows. “If you knew she wasn’t in Chicago, then why are you here and not out there looking for her? Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it your job to make sure your witnesses in the Witness Protection Program stay fucking protected?!”
The machine hooked up to read my vitals screams at us as my blood pressure skyrockets. I don’t care who the hell these guys are with their fancy bureaucratic titles. It seems they’re just as efficient and effective as everyone else who works for the damn government. It’s a good thing I have an IV needle buried in each arm, or I’d probably be getting arrested for assaulting one of these fuckers.
A nurse rushes into the room as a result of the monitors blowing up, probably thinking I’m suffering from a massive heart attack. But as soon as she realizes the three of us men are involved in a heated standoff—or sit-off, in my case—she pulls up short of the bed, eyeing each of us warily.
“Gentlemen? Is there a problem?” she addresses Doherty and Diomassi with a no-nonsense tone. Apparently, she’s not impressed with their badges and guns either. “If you’re going to upset the patient to the point he’s bordering on a code blue, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Marshal Doherty offers her a complacent smile. “No need to worry, Kristin,” he replies, his gaze lingering a few seconds longer than necessary over the nametag pinned above her left breast. “Mr. Decker just got a little upset, but everything is fine here. We assure you it won’t happen again.”
She turns and eyes me, clucking her tongue. “You press that call button if you need me, okay? I have no problem asking them to leave.”
I don’t hesitate. “I want them to leave. And I want to leave, too. Please have the doctor prepare my discharge papers.”
Her face morphs from concern to surprise to suspicion in less than ten seconds. “But, sir, Dr. Rodner recommended that you stay until we do another MRI tomorrow.”
“I’m well aware of the recommendation, Nurse Kristin, but I’m ready to go home,” I respond with forced politeness. “So either you can discharge me, or I can get up and walk out. Either way, I’m leaving this hospital today.”
Five hours later, I’m sitting in a first-class window seat on a flight back to L.A., washing a pain pill down with a vodka cranberry, minus the vodka. My entire body throbs in agony. My face looks like I got in the ring with Floyd Mayweather, and feels about the same. But it’s the gaping hole in my chest slowly filling with helplessness and despair that hurts the worst. My body and face will heal in time, but I’m not sure I can survive losing Blake forever.
“What if we don’t find her?” I ask as I lean my head back on the leather seat and close my eyes.
“We will find her,” Marshal Doherty, who’s in the seat to my right, grunts. “People don’t just vanish off the face of the earth. She’s somewhere, and whoever has her is just waiting for the right time to do whatever they’re planning.”
I open my eyes and stare at the rounded ceiling of the plane, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots through my mid-section with each breath I take. After the nurse left my hospital room earlier, Doherty, Diomassi, and I decided to call a truce after they ensured they’d keep me in the loop about what’s going on with the investigation, as long as I promised not to do any more renegade missions. I’m aware they were lying to get me to agree, and that they’ll probably feed me as little of the information as possible to make me think they’re holding up their end of the bargain, but so was I.
My only problem now is that Diomassi is insisting I have an agent assigned to me for protection purposes. He claims after my stunt at Capo’s I put a target on my back for not only the Ricci clan, but also for whoever really has her. And though I understand his concern, I think the point of the detail is more to make sure to keep tabs on me than anything else. Whenever I figure out what my next move is, I’ll have to figure out a way to be extremely discreet. I already have plans to get an untraceable phone first thing tomorrow. There’s no way the feds won’t be tracking my current phone for calls and texts, making sure they know what I know.
“Do you have any leads at all? What’s the next step?” I want to wrap my hands around Doherty’s neck and shake him until everything he knows falls out of him.
“We don’t have a lot, to be quite honest,” he replies, his voice low. “The thing I keep coming back to is the text that came from your phone, arranging the meeting. Whoever sent that message had to know your role in her life and had to manage to get your phone away from you. It can’t be a coincidence that the day your phone just happened to disappear, this whole thing went down. It was premeditated. And either someone close to the situation is the mastermind, or was used as a middleman.”
Emerson. I still think she’s involved. I need to figure out a way to get her to talk.
Clearing his throat, he squirms uncomfortably in his seat. “Are you sure you don’t remember when you had your phone last? What you could’ve done with it?”
Blood roars in my ears at the accusation in his tone. “Are you fucking serious?” I hiss incredulously. “You think I’m involved? That I’ve been making this all up? That I would nearly get myself killed by those guys if I had something to do with this?”
He holds his hands up in surrender as he scoots as far away from me as the armrest will allow. “No! No! Not anymore, at least. Before you showed up in Chicago, I have to admit you were moving up the board of potential suspects, but after your rash and reckless near-suicide mission, you’ve been removed.”
Blowing a huge sigh of relief through my pursed lips, it takes me a few seconds to calm down before I can speak. I was about to lose my fucking shit on this guy. Thinking I was somehow involved with Blake’s abduction . . . I want to beat his ass just for entertaining such a preposterous idea.
“Madden, we have to carefully explore every possible option . . . including you,” he continues, relaxing his posture once he sees I’m cooling down. “I understand your life has been completely flipped upside down in the last week. The woman you’re in love with goes missing. You find out she’s a member of the WITSEC, and the life she lived before you met her was something you only thought happened in twisted, psychological thrillers. And to top it all off, someone used your phone to set the whole thing in motion. I know you feel like you’re spinning out of control, but you can’t make impulsive, thoughtless decisions. It hinders our efforts, puts you in danger, and possibly jeopardizes Blake’s life.”
I nod my understanding. Before I made the trip to Chicago, I hadn’t really thought about any other consequences besides me getting hurt, and I was willing to risk myself if I could save her. The overwhelming need to do something, anything, controlled my actions, and though the trip was successful in finding out Vincent Ricci isn’t who kidnapped Blake and clearing my name from the list of suspects, I’m now afraid I’ve made things worse for her.
“I told you I wouldn’t make any more careless decisions,” I grit through my teeth, more upset with myself than anything.
“Good.” He tips his chin approvingly. “I expect, with the excitement we just left in Chicago, for whoever has her to lie low for a bit, but if you are contacted in any way, or if anything seems off to you, call me immediately. We’ll have to act quickly.”
Mumbling my concurrence, I’ve already started to tune him out and focus on what all I need to do when I get home. In my head, all signs still point directly to Emerson, and I’ve got a plan.
RAZE’S PHONE CHIRPS WITH AN incoming text, and I jump nearly ten feet in the air, praying it’s an update on Madden. Yesterday evening we learned about the FBI’s raid on Vincent’s car shop and Madden’s subsequent hospitalization. It was now over twenty-four hours after everything had gone down in Chicago and since then, there’s been minimal contact with whoever it is feeding him the information.
According to Raze, the feds ha
He seems pleased that Vincent’s empire is faltering, and if I thought about it long enough, I’m sure I would be too, but I can’t think about anything but Madden. If he’s going to be okay. Why he was there. What all he knows about me now. If I’ll ever get a chance to tell him I love him.
“Well?” I stare expectantly at Raze from my couch to where he’s typing out a return message, standing by the dinette. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Yes, impatient girl. Hold on one minute. I’m trying to find out as much as I can.”
Chewing on the inside of my cheek while I wait, it seems like an eternity passes by the time he finally raises his head and locks his gaze on me.
“Your boy was discharged from the hospital this afternoon and was on a flight back to L.A. this evening with U.S. Marshal Owen Doherty. I still don’t have confirmation of his exact injuries, but obviously he’s well enough to travel. No one knows for sure why he was at Capo’s, what he hoped to accomplish, but my informant at the bureau confirmed he was there on his own and ended up getting into a skirmish with some of Vincent’s men. Things got out of hand and, luckily for him, surveillance was being run on the place, so the FBI was able to stop it before he got in too much trouble.” Pausing, he shakes his head in disbelief. “This guy is either really fucking stupid or he really fucking loves you.”