“Come on, you motherfucker,” I yelled, tugging at the nylon straps with everything I had. Finally, they gave in, sending me to my ass with Sloane crumpling on top of me. Carefully, I readjusted her in my hold, then lay on my back, using my legs to propel the two of us toward freedom. Once we were clear, I stood with her in my arms, then…
I slammed my fist against the granite countertop. Then nothing. I didn’t remember a damn thing after getting us out of the car. I woke up four days later in a hospital bed in France with a multitude of injuries, the least of which were third degree burns on my back, and no recollection of how I got there. Niall held vigil at my side. He was the one who broke the news. Sloane didn’t make it. My curse, my penance, was I never got to say goodbye.
It took three separate skin grafts until the burns were healed enough for me to be released from the doctors’ care. The same day, I told the joint task force to go fuck themselves. Their investigation into the accident was a joke. It didn’t take a genius to figure out my cover had been––quite literally––blown, especially given how the wiretaps went offline and the spyware was conveniently uninstalled right before my car hit the IED. Coincidence? I didn’t believe in them.
When I got back to the States, I was in a dark place. Even drinking didn’t numb the pain of her loss. My boss threw me into one investigation after another, believing the distraction would help bring me out of my funk. It was a mistake which nearly cost me my badge six months later, when I became overly aggressive with a suspect. Thankfully, Deputy Director Ashland stepped in, forcing me into a mandatory six-month leave from the Bureau with the added stipulation of counseling. I was pissed. Then I saw it for what it was, my last chance.
It came down to choices––two of them specifically. I could either become the kind of man Sloane would be proud of, or follow her to the grave. It wasn’t easy, but I knew what I had to do. I spent the majority of those months grappling with my demons. I’m not too proud to admit they won a round or two. By the time I returned to work, I’d found an outlet for my pent-up aggression. Boxing. There was nowhere to hide behind those ropes, not when it was just you, your opponent, and the referee. It was the only place I’d found where the noise of the outside world faded into the background.
In the ring, I found a measure of peace.
A short time later, I met Special Agent Waverly Mitchell. Our connection was instantaneous, though not in a romantic way. There would never be another woman for me, not when I’d already had perfection. Waverly became my best friend, the sister I never had. We understood each other on a whole different level. So when she was promoted to resident agent in charge of an office in Bumfuck, West Virginia and asked me to join her as her second-in-command, I jumped at the opportunity.
After seven years, we’d built a phenomenal team. Keaton Mitchell was the first to join us, followed by NoahAnderson, Lanie Biggs, then Koen Banks. They weren’t just top-notch agents, they’d become family. Every one of us had a story, some harsher than others. I knew them all, but not one of them knew mine. Not even Waverly, though not for lack of trying. The most she’d gotten out of me was I’d lost someone close. My loose tongue could be blamed on the bottle of Jameson I’d downed on the five-year anniversary of the accident.
Rubbing my eyes, I returned the bottle to the cabinet and set the glass in the sink. Two drinks was my limit nowadays, even when the demons rode me hard. A good old-fashioned workout in my home gym was what I really needed. Sometimes you had to feel the ache in order to heal the hurt.
Striding down the hall, I bypassed the ornate staircase which led up to my second floor master, continued beyond the half bath, and opened the last door on the right. Hitting the switch on the wall, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the path. I jogged down the steps, slid on the pair of tennis shoes I kept there as backup, then climbed on the treadmill. Pushing play on the remote control, the steely sounds of “Enter Sandman” by Metallica reverberated off the soundproof walls. By the time the vocals cut in, I was in the zone. Completely focused.
Seven miles wasn’t enough, so I pushed it to ten. When all else failed, I moved over to the heavy bag. Jab-cross-hook. Cross-hook-uppercut. I focused on technique, using my legs and hips to generate the power behind my punches. Boxing was more than brute strength, there was strategy involved. If you used up all your reserves in the beginning, it didn’t matter how big you were, you’d never make it past round one. Timing, footwork, and stamina were key, which was why I ran through combination drills as often as possible.Plus, there was an added benefit. They never failed to exhaust me.
Hours later, I found myself sitting behind my desk in my office downtown. It was Saturday, technically my day off, though as a supervising agent I was pretty much on the clock twenty-four seven. The mounds of unfinished paperwork piled on my desk spoke volumes.
For the past few weeks, we’d been investigating a case involving Waverly’s man, Finnian O’ Lachlan, a billionaire CEO with a stalker issue. The guy rubbed me the wrong way the first couple times we met, until I realized precisely what was bothering me. The answer––when I finally admitted it to myself––was staggering. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Finn. He was the perfect fit for my gun-shy best friend. Turned out I was the issue. The green-eyed jealousy monster had reared his ugly head. It had nothing to do with me wanting Waverly and everything to do with missing Sloane.
I was spiraling and it damn near cost Waverly her happiness. Of course, she wouldn’t see it that way. She’d say we all missed the signs. No one could’ve foreseen the disastrous ending to the operation I planned and executed in order to draw the stalker out. It didn’t matter, I blamed myself enough for the both of us.
Guilt was part of the reason I was working instead of celebrating with everyone else at Waverly and Finn’s house. The last thing I wanted was to cast my shadow of gloom over their special night. Finn was proposing. They deserved all the happiness in the world. I’d get there at some point, otherwise Shayne, a detective with the Huntington PD and another close friend, might kick my ass.
Glancing at the clock on my laptop, I groaned at the time. Fashionably late was edging on late-late. I stood,putting my hands to the small of my back, then twisted from one side to the other. The cacophony of cracks as the pressure released from my spine was music to my ears. Sitting in one place too long left me stiff as a board and I hadn’t moved since lunchtime.
Making my way to the main part of the office, I was surprised to see another light on. The door to Nelson’s makeshift computer lab was cracked. He was our resident hacker, while his wife, Sammy, was the office assistant. Waverly and I hired them as a couple about a year and a half after we arrived in Huntington. They were as much a part of the team as any one of the agents.
“What are you doing here, Nelson?” I pushed his door open farther.
He jumped, dropping the screwdriver he held in his hand to the floor. “Jesus, you scared me, Agent Palmer.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Duncan?”
“Outside of work, sure. In here?” He twirled his finger through the air. “No way. I’ve got too much respect for you.”
“Appreciated, but not necessary.” Noticing a table with three different stacks of items in front of him, I walked over, picking up a few to look them over. “Whatcha working on?”
He blushed, piquing my interest.
“Nothing important, really. I was just thinking about those tracking things Jett likes.”
Jett was Koen’s teenage brother-in-law. The kid was a damn genius and had gotten into a bit of trouble a while back. Rather than punishment, we took him under our wing, so to say. He spent most afternoons learning the tools of the trade in the computer lab with Nelson.
“The tags? Like for luggage?”
“Yes, well, sort of.” He handed me what looked like a patch used to deliver medication through the skin. “I was wondering if I’d be able to combine the tracking system from the tag into one of these epidermal patches.”
“What would be the purpose?”
“I have no idea. I really just wanted to see if I could.”
Giving him the patch back, I turned to leave. “See you at the party?”