Submerged (Bound Together #1) Page 4

  In the last few months, I’ve gotten closer to taking this entire operation down. Closer than any other agent before me. I’ve learned their shipping patterns and methods, building a solid case against this entire organization. The final piece is to locate the scumbags overseas. The entire organization is like a huge Jenga game. Each piece I uncover makes the foundation that much more unstable. It’s teetering dangerously right now, on the verge of collapse. One sneeze in the wrong direction and the entire thing is fucking coming down. I just hope that when it falls, I’ve got enough.

  I exit the house and head straight to my 1969 Chevy Camaro Z28. If I could pick any car in the entire world, this is the one I’d pick. I saved up for months after starting my new job to be able to afford this baby. Of course, a few months of the side business is what really paid for this girl. Otherwise, if I was a regular mechanic, I’d probably still be driving my 1992 Chevy Silverado with rusted out wheel wells.

  Sliding behind the wheel, I fire up the three-oh-two engine and let the horses purr. I quickly throw the manual transmission in gear, and pull out onto the road, heading towards my apartment.

  Pulling into the small lot behind my run-down apartment, I leave my car and walk down the busy street towards the coffee shop on the corner. My head is down as I watch the sidewalk, yet the entire way I’m taking in everyone around me with precision and skill, without even so much as a glance up.

  Inside, I order a large black coffee before finding an empty booth at the back of the coffee house. There are six people at tables throughout the small business and two more in line for coffee. Five women and three men. Ages range from early twenties to late fifties. I just start to glance over a newspaper left on the table when I sense his presence as he enters the coffee shop. Without looking up, I count how many steps it takes him to get to my table, all the while it looks like I’m giving my full attention to the newspaper.

  “Afternoon,” he says without making eye contact.

  “There’s a deal tonight.”

  “I got the details. We’ll watch it and get all we need for the case, but we won’t engage him.”

  “Good,” I answer while scanning the article about lower gas prices. After several moments of silence, I finally say, “I’m close, Luke.”

  “I know. I read the report this morning. Special Agent in Charge is very happy with how this case is unfolding. You’re doing exactly what you need to do.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m ready for this shit to be done,” I confess to my brother. No way can I tell him just how much I want this case to be over. The lines are blurred. I’m starting to not be able to tell where Blake Crisp begins and Blake Thomas ends. They’re becoming one, and frankly, that scares the shit out of me.

  “I hear ya, man. I’d love to stay and shoot the shit with ya, but I better get out of here.”

  “Yeah.” Our meetings are always few and far between anymore. The text messages are sporadic and his replies, non-existent. I’m feeding him intel, plain and simple. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to sit down and enjoy a beer with my brother again. I have no idea what is going on in his life, nor the lives of our parents. Luke arranged an afternoon meeting with them six months back. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do: walk away at the end of that afternoon, knowing that it would be the last time I saw them until we closed this case.

  “Be safe, brother,” he says moments before sliding out of the booth. I nod, keeping my eyes on the paper, all the while watching him exit the coffee shop from my peripheral vision.

  I sit and drink my cup of coffee for another six minutes before tossing the newspaper down on the table and exiting out the front door, coffee cup in hand. I make my way back the two blocks to my apartment building, letting myself in to the small place I’ve called home for two long years.

  I grab a Budweiser out of the fridge and plop down on the old, worn out couch. Settling on the first sporting event I find, I quickly scan the horizon out of the dingy window. Saying goodbye to my parents that day had definitely been difficult, but it doesn’t quite match the ache I felt inside the morning I walked out of Carly’s apartment.

  I still picture her smiling face, those dark brown eyes, and the noises she made while I was buried deep inside of her. I’ve learned to scratch the itch over the past two years, but my body still craves her. Shit, I’m hard just thinking about her, which seems to happen each and every time she permeates my thoughts. My time with her was cut short. Cut short by my job, by my commitment to the bureau, by my need to take down a criminal.

  Watching her sleep in the pre-morning light is the mental image I take with me every night to bed. When I find myself with another woman, I replace her face with an olive complexion and black hair. I don’t mean to be a douche bag, but I can’t help it. Whoever she is isn’t who I want in my bed. But she’ll do for the time being.

  I never stay the night, nor does she get the chance to warm my bed. I want release, plain and simple, and I make sure she knows the score before we even get to the bedroom. I take what my body needs, and leave before she can even say goodbye. No emotions. No future.

  As I watch the sunset through the dirty window, I wonder what Carly is up to. Is she married or in a relationship? Fuck knows I can’t blame her for moving on with her life, but that still doesn’t make the mental image any easier to take. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing, but I hope she’s content. I hope that whatever life threw at her over these past two years, she’s enjoying it, living her life like she was meant to: free, joyful, and full of love.

  For my own sanity, I just have to imagine that wherever she is that she’s happy.

  Chapter Three – Are you kidding me?

  Carly

  I’m already running late. Apparently Mom enjoyed her plot-talking drinks a little too much last night and was running a little behind herself this morning. Throw in the fact that Natalia woke up at four and decided to have a crib party, I’m practically a zombie today. I’m already craving that first large cup of decadent coffee.

  I stop at the traffic light, waiting for it to turn green. I hear the squealing of the tires moments before I feel the impact. My head jerks forward with force, jarring my bones and sending pain coursing through my body. The airbag suffocates me as I try to get my bearings. The sound of a horn honking sounds distantly, yet so very close. When I am finally able to turn my head and take in my surrounds, I realize that I’ve been involved in a car accident.

  The driver’s door is flung open moments before the woman paws at the deflated airbag. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?” she asks with concern filled eyes.

  “Yeah, I think so. My neck is a little sore,” I tell her.

  “Help is on the way, sweetie. They should be here in just a few moments, okay? You hang in there.”

  I hear the approaching ambulance as I reach for my seatbelt. I need to get out of this car and check out the damages. Before I can release the restraint, the Good Samaritan stops me. “Wait, sweetie. We need to make sure you’re okay to move before you get out.”

  Arguing with her is fruitless at this point, so I remain seated until I’m advised to do so by the paramedics. After being checked out, I’m extracted from my seat with help. My legs are wobbly as I try to stand, the excitement and adrenaline finally exiting my body. I walk around back and get my first glimpse at my smashed in bumper. The damage doesn’t seem to be too extensive, but my car appears to have held up a little better than the front end of the Buick that hit me.

  “Ma’am, is there a certain place you want us to send your car?” the officer asks me with a pleasant smile. I hadn’t even thought about the prospect of not being able to drive away in my car. How am I going to get to work? How will I get home?

  “Oh, um, I’m not really sure,” I mumble while I make a grab for my phone. Dialing the first number that comes to mind, I wait until Reid answers the personal line in his office.

  “Hello?”

  “Reid, it’s Carly. I’m sorry
I’m late, but I’ve been in a minor car accident,” I tell him as tears fill my eyes. Now that I’m over the adrenaline rush, the stress of the morning starts to weigh me down, and my emotions are all over the place.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, voice filled with concern.

  “Yes, I think so. I’m just a little shaken up. I was rear-ended. They aren’t letting me leave with my car, saying that it needs to have the frame checked out before I drive it, but I have no clue where I should send the car.”

  “Tell them to send it to First Class Auto. A buddy of mine had some work done there, and they primarily deal with top end cars. They’ll take great care of it,” he says.

  “Okay, thank you.”

  “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll send Steven to pick you up and drive you home. He’ll arrange for a loaner car from my fleet until you’re back up and running,” he offers.

  “Thank you, Reid. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “You do enough for me every day. Take the day and rest. If you’re feeling up to it in the morning, I’ll see you then.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks again, Reid.”

  We sign off after I give him my location, and I relay the details of the auto shop to the officer. Twenty minutes later, I’m hanging up from my conversation with my mom as Steven pulls up. He stays with me as I watch my car being loaded onto the back of the flatbed truck and disappear around the corner. Once the car is out of sight, I slide into the back of the Lincoln Town Car and head towards home.

  Mom insisted on staying home with me all afternoon while I rested. The longer I sat, the tighter my back and neck got. She sent me to bed over an hour ago with Ibuprofen and strict orders to rest up. Yet, I’m unable to relax enough to fall asleep. My mind keeps wandering back to work and whether Reid is managing without me today. I know that he’ll request a temp from another department to fill in during my absence, but the thought of someone else messing with my filing or scheduling system always leaves me feeling uneasy. It’s part of the reason why I never take days off.

  What’s more cause of uneasiness is my thoughts that turn to Blake. I can imagine his rugged, handsome face as if I had met him yesterday. His large body and even larger erection showed me more pleasure and joy than I’ve ever experienced in my entire life. He was tender and rough, slow and fast. He set the bar so damn high, that no man will ever even come close to topping it. Not that I want anyone to try.

  At six, Mom wakes me up from my afternoon nap. Apparently, I was able to calm my mind enough to nod off for a few hours. My body is still tense and getting up is quite the chore.

  “The body shop called and is going to start your repairs. They want you to stop by in the morning and fill out their paperwork. They said it’ll be ready at the end of the week.”

  “That’s good. I really don’t want to have to ask Reid to borrow one of his cars,” I tell my mom as I take a seat at my kitchen table next to Natalia’s highchair.

  “Steven brought up a set of keys this afternoon, honey. He said he was advised to give you the Mercedes M-Class something or other. The keys are on the counter,” Mom says as she dishes up two bowls of soup from the stovetop.

  “Chicken noodle?” I ask as my stomach growls loudly.

  “Of course. It was what you always wanted when you were younger and didn’t feel good.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say as I take a drink of the warm, soothing broth. I feed Natalia in between bites of juicy chicken, happily watching as she smears sweet potatoes in her dark hair. Her green eyes are bright and shining like diamonds. It’s moments like these, where she’s happy and content, that I really see the image of her father within those green eyes. A ping of sadness hits me full force right between my breasts. I always feel it when I think of him. It’s a physical ache that doesn’t seem to be ebbing any.

  Mom asked one time about Nat’s father. When I confessed that I was pregnant, she questioned me without judgment. Telling her that the father was someone I didn’t even know was the hardest part. I waited for the lectures, for the disappointment to settle in, but it never did. Mom just accepted my fate and has helped me every step of the way as best she can.

  I’m thankful that Natalia drifts off to sleep easier tonight than she has since her birth. I hate to jinx myself by saying it out loud–let alone thinking it–but maybe this is the start of a new phase where she sleeps better at night. Fingers crossed.

  I take more Ibuprofen before sliding underneath my warm, inviting blankets. The discomfort in my neck intensified as I hovered over Natalia while giving her a bath. If I never have to bend over again tonight, I’ll be a happy woman. As I slowly start to succumb to sleep, my mind fills with those deep green eyes. The ones that mirror the child I care for everyday.

  Our night together may have happened over two years ago, but it’s a night I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

  * * *

  “Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asks.

  “Yes, my name is Carly Mathewson. My Jaguar was brought in yesterday morning following an accident,” I tell the older gentleman.

  “Oh, sure. I remember that one. It’s up on the lift right now. Fill this out,” he says, handing me a clipboard with a document attached. “I’ll go get the shop foreman and have him come up and explain everything to you,” he adds before exiting through the door behind the counter, the sound of impact drills and electric sanders filling the space.

  I just finish signing my name when the door opens. “He’s unavailable right now, but I grabbed the technician who is working on your car,” the older gentleman says, leaving me alone with a guy in his mid-thirties. The tattoos he sports cover his neck and both arms with sinister skulls and images of death, but his eyes are warm and friendly as he smiles at me.

  “Hey, I’m Gage. Your Jag isn’t in too bad of shape. You have an excellent, top of the line safety package on it and the reinforcements made to the bumper welds and framing is top notch. We’ll have to replace the cosmetic parts of the rear end and the bumper, smooth out the car, and repaint the entire rear end, but it should be ready for you by Friday.”

  Three days. I can surely make it another three days, right? “Okay, that sounds reasonable. Do I just pick it up here?”

  “We’ll deliver it,” he says with a smile. “Part of the personal service we offer to all of our customers.” Personal as in ass-kissing service. This shop caterers to high-end customers, and they’ll clearly do everything necessary to keep them happy.

  “That sounds great. I won’t be home since I’ll be at work, but my mother will be there to take delivery.”

  “Sounds great. As long as you have all of the insurance paperwork filled out, even though it’s being taken care of by the insurance of the lady that hit you, we’ll take care of filing everything for you and bring copies when we deliver the car.”

  “Thank you, Gage. You’ve been most helpful,” I reply, gathering up my purse.

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Mathewson. Anytime I can be of any service to you, you just let me know,” Gage says, the smile on his face confirming that his comment was meant as more than just a friendly, helpful remark.

  “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,” I say as I turn and walk out the front door.

  I slip inside the borrowed SUV and quickly pull out of the large lot. I shiver slightly at the seductive way Gage was staring at me, checking me out. I should probably be flattered that someone actually still finds me attractive. Yes, I know I’m an appealing woman, but I now sport stretch marks and bags under my eyes. Not exactly supermodel material. I haven’t felt that way since my night with Blake.

  The night everything changed.

  Chapter Four – Close But No Cigar

  Blake

  “Did you get a look at that hottie at the counter?” Gage says with a huge grin on his face as I step back inside from the back lot. I was on the phone with Mattias discussing the latest FUBAR by our heist team. Or should I say, a certai
n member of the team.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble as I get back to work on the Jaguar sedan on the lift.

  “The owner of this car. Fuckin’ smokin’ hot! I had a boner the whole time I talked to her,” he says with a laugh, which instantly haggles at my nerves.

  “Why didn’t anyone come and get me?” I ask, annoyed that they let Gage speak to a client. That’s my job as Shop Foreman, and the last thing I want is for one of these dumbasses to speak to high-end clients.

  “You were on the phone and they said you couldn’t be disturbed. And I personally thank you for your shitty timing because that woman definitely got my dick hard. I’m gonna have to smoke a joint and screw Divine on my lunch break today just to get it down,” he adds grabbing his crotch. Gage was referring to our only female employee. I’m not exactly sure why Divine was hired a few months ago other than to blow the guys and spread her legs. Her filing skills suck unless you’re referring to her nails, and she’s always too busy to get up and greet a customer. All of the guys have had their rounds with her. Everyone except me. But it’s not from a lack of trying on her part. I’m just not interested in a quick office fuck from the shop community pussy.

  “When you deliver her car on Friday, I’m definitely going along,” Gage adds before continuing to sand the undercarriage of the Jag. His statement doesn’t warrant a response. The last thing I can think about right now is making sure Gage goes along when I deliver the Jag.

  Right now, my mind is focused on my latest phone call from Mattias. Jimmy Mo fucked up the job the other night. Bad. As soon as it went south, I sent the emergency notification to Luke. They stayed back as planned and watched as Jimmy Mo botched the escape route with the Lambo. After entering in the wrong security code, he set off silent alarms to the security house at the front of the property. Before Jimmy Mo could get the car out of the garage, shots were fired. He was hit but able to drive the car through the door and out of the gate at the back of the property. Not only did we have a damaged sports car, but also a gunshot wounded idiot.