Better than fine.
You’ll see.
And yet, as I listen to the agents making plans to further surveil the deli in Brookline, I can’t shake the strange, unsettling suspicion that I’m missing something so obvious, it’s staring me straight in the face…
* * *
After a few hours,Evelson and Kaufman disappear to do… whatever it is they spend their days doing. Conor is fielding calls from the bedroom, helping coordinate the deli surveillance operation. After the Eastie incident, they’re taking extra precautions. Planning a strategic strike. They can’t just storm in, guns blazing, and hope like hell the Evanoffs haven’t rigged the place with another homemade explosive.
Not without putting more agents lives in danger.
I suck down my second cup of coffee as I flip absently through the files on the coffee table. Most of them are stamped with big, boldCONFIDENTIALnotices on top, which means I probably shouldn’t be reading them… but there isn’t exactly a lot else to do here at the safe house.
My eyes snag on the name HUNT sticking out the top of one folder. I yank out the page, my eyes widening as they scan down a crib sheet of Paul’s criminal activity. I knew he was in deep shit with both the SEC and the FBI for his myriad financial blunders… but this is far worse than I’d imagined.
Fraud, embezzlement, money laundering, insider trading.
The list goes on, predating even his involvement with Petrov. Some of these charges are for crimes committed while he still worked at LP Consulting, dating back nearly a decade. Which means, even he makes it out of this alive… he’s not going to be a free man for a long, long time. There are so many federal felonies listed here, he’ll make Bernie Madoff look like a freaking Boy Scout if he ever goes to trial.
“Not quite the perfect future you were expecting, is it?”
My head whips around at the sound of Conor’s voice. He’s standing behind me, staring at the sheet of paper in my hands. I set it down carefully on the table.
“When it comes to Paul, I learned pretty early on that expecting perfection was a surefire way to wind up disappointed.”
Conor’s eyes narrow on mine. His arms are crossed over his chest and he appears to be debating whether or not to say something.
“Look,” he says finally in a strangely empty voice. “I know I made you a promise that I’d get him back for you. And despite what happened between us… despite what I feel for you… I will do my best to honor that promise.”
Confusion spirals through me. “Huh?”
“I want you to be happy, Hunt. Even if it’s not with me.”
“I repeat…Huh?”
He shakes his head, not hearing me. “But you saw that rap sheet. And that’s just a draft. Preliminary charges. Once he’s in custody and formal charges are filed…”
I simply blink at him, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. I’d be less lost if he started speaking in Swahili. “Um…”
“Shelby, you have to know… even if I manage to extract him from this, to get him away from Petrov and the Evanoffs… there’s no way you’ll ever have him back. Not in the way you want. Not as a husband or a life partner.”
“But..” I splutter, utterly dumbfounded. “But I don’twanthim back.”
Conor tenses. “What?”
“I don’t want Paul,” I tell him, eyes wide.
I want you, I think but don’t say.
Scrambling to my feet, my hands plant themselves on my hips as I level him with a severe look. “What, exactly, led you to believe I’d ever in a million years want to get back together with my ex?”
Conor’s face is a flat mask, his tone is carefully cool. “My observations over the past few days, mainly.”
“Such as…?”
“Back at your house the other night… you were crying as they led him away in cuffs.” His jaw clenches. “Then, after the firefight, your reaction when I told you he’d been grabbed by the Evanoffs. Again when you saw him earlier today in those photos… It’s pretty clear to me. You’re not over him.”
My eyes press closed as puzzle pieces click together in my mind. This totally explains why he’s been acting so hot and cold. Freezing up whenever the conversation shifts to Paul.