Beautiful Redemption Read online

  She swirled the wine around in her glass and then tipped it back against her mouth, swallowing the last bit. "Oh, be careful. That sounds dangerously like you're in it to win it, sunshine."

  "You're right. I take it back."

  "Well, on that depressing note, the wine is gone, so I am gone."

  "I feel used."

  "But you enjoyed it." She winked. "See you in the morning."

  "You want me to walk you?"

  "I'm on the next block," she said, her drunken look of disapproval not at all intimidating.

  "What is that like?" I asked. "Living in the same building as Sawyer?"

  "I used to like it." She picked up the empty bottle and carried it to the kitchen counter. "But that didn't last long. Now, I just ignore him."

  "Why does everyone detest him so much?"

  "You'll learn," she said.

  I frowned. "Why does it have to be such a secret? Why can't you just tell me?"

  "Trust me when I say that being told he's a bastard doesn't help. You have to experience it for yourself."

  I shrugged. "And Marks? Doesn't he live there, too?"

  "He lives downtown."

  "I don't know what to think about him," I said, standing. "I think he hates me."

  "Marks and Maddox have a bromance. It's gross." She walked with an astonishing amount of balance for being a bottle and a half in.

  I laughed. "I'm going to bed."

  "All right. Good night, geese with an L." She showed herself out, and I heard the elevator ding.

  Already in drinking-wine-at-home clothes, I fell onto my mattress, facedown on top of my yellow-and-gray comforter.

  My ears perked up when a knocking noise broke the silence. At first, I thought it was someone down the hall, but then it was louder.

  "Val," I called, annoyed that I had to stand again. I walked across the kitchen and living room to open the door. "You should have just stayed--" My voice pinched off when I recognized Jackson standing in the doorway, looking desperate and drunk.

  "Liis."

  "Jesus Christ, Jackson. What are you doing here?"

  "I went to the Top Gun bar like you said. Got drunk. There are some hot, hot"--he squinted his eyes--"women in this town." His face fell. "It made me miss you even more," he whined, trudging past me into the living room.

  My entire body tensed. He wasn't part of my new life, and it made me nearly frantic to have Jackson standing in my new Jackson-free condo. "You can't be here," I began.

  "I don't want to do those things without you," he slurred. "I want to experience San Diego with you. Maybe if...if I transferred here, too--"

  "Jackson, you're drunk. You barely listen to me when you're sober. Let's call you a cab."

  I walked toward my phone, but Jackson got to it before I could, and he tossed it across the room. It skidded across the floor and slammed against the baseboard.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled before quickly covering my mouth.

  I scurried over to retrieve my phone from the floor. It was lying on its face next to the baseboard it had collided with. I inspected it to make sure it wasn't damaged. Miraculously, it wasn't cracked or even dinged.

  "I'm sorry!" Jackson yelled back, leaning forward and holding up his hands. "Don't call a cab, Liisee."

  He intermittently swayed from side to side to keep his balance. I couldn't remember ever seeing him so intoxicated.

  "I'll just sleep here with you."

  "No," I said, my tone firm. "You're not staying here."

  "Liis," he said, walking toward me, his round eyes half closed and glossed over. He wasn't even looking at me but past me, weaving back and forth. He took my shoulders in his hands and leaned in, his lips puckered and his eyes closed.

  I dodged, and we both tumbled to the floor.

  "Damn it, Jackson!" I scrambled up, and I watched him struggle to get his bearings.

  Reaching up and rocking to sit up, he looked like a turtle on its shell. I groaned.

  He climbed to his knees and began to blubber.

  "Oh no. Oh, please. Please stop," I said, holding out my hands.

  I helped him up and then began to dial the number for a cab. Jackson swatted my phone from my hands, and again, it crashed to the floor.

  I let go of his arm, letting him fall--hard. "That's it! I've tried to be nice. Get out!"

  "You can't just kick me out of your life, Liis! I love you!" He slowly climbed to stand.

  I covered my eyes. "You are going to be so embarrassed tomorrow."

  "No, I'm not!" He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "What's it going to take for you to hear me? I can't just let you go! You're the love of my life!"

  "You're not giving me a choice," I said, grabbing hold of his fingers and bending them backward.

  He cried out, more from shock than pain. That move might have worked on any other drunken idiot but not FBI SWAT. Even drunk, Jackson quickly maneuvered from my grasp and was grabbing at me again.

  The door blew open, the knob banging into the wall. One minute, I was in Jackson's grasp, and the next, Jackson was in someone else's.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Thomas said, holding Jackson's back against the wall with a murderous glare. He had two fistfuls of Jackson's shirt.

  Jackson heaved Thomas away and swung, but Thomas ducked and then pushed Jackson right back against the wall, holding him there by using his forearm like a bar across his throat.

  "Don't. Fucking. Move," Thomas said, his voice low and menacing.

  "Jackson, do as he says," I warned.

  "What are you doing here?" Jackson asked. He looked to me. "Does he live here? Are you living together?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Jesus."

  Thomas glanced over his shoulder at me. "I'm going to take him down and put him in a cab. What hotel is he at?"

  "I have no idea. Jackson?"

  Jackson's eyes were closed, and he was breathing deep, his knees sagging beneath him.

  "Jackson?" I said loudly, poking at his shoulder. "Where are you staying?" When he didn't answer, my shoulders fell. "We can't put him in a cab while he's passed out."

  "He's not staying here," Thomas said, a tinge of anger still in his voice.

  "I don't see another option."

  Thomas leaned over, letting Jackson fall forward over his shoulder, and then carried him to the couch. More careful than I'd thought he would be, Thomas helped Jackson lie back and then tossed a throw over him.

  "C'mon," he said, taking my hand.

  "What?" I asked with just a bit of resistance as he pulled me toward the door.

  "You're staying with me tonight. I have an important meeting in the morning, and I won't be able to sleep, worrying that he's going to wake up and wander into your bed."

  I pulled my hand back. "I would hate for you not to be at your best during your meeting."

  Thomas sighed. "Cut me some slack. It's late."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  He looked away, annoyed, and then back at me. "I admit it. I don't want him fucking touching you." He was enraged at the thought, and then it seemed to melt away. He took a step toward me, tenderly gripping my hips. "Can't you see through my bullshit by now?"

  "Can't we just...I don't know...say what we think or feel?"

  "I thought I was," Thomas said. "Your turn."

  I picked at my nails. "You were right. I'm scared. I'm afraid I can't do this even if I want to. And I'm not sure you can either."

  He pressed his lips together in a hard line, amused. "Get your keys."

  I took the few steps to my phone and bent down to retrieve it, and then walked to the counter and swiped the keys up with one hand, my purse with the other. As I slid on my slippers, I couldn't help but glance back once more to Jackson. His limbs were splayed out in every direction, his mouth was open, and he was snoring.

  "He'll be fine," Thomas said, holding out his hand for me.

  I joined him in the hall, locking the door behind us. We passed the elevato
r and climbed the stairs in silence. Once we arrived at his door, Thomas swung the door open and gestured for me to walk inside.

  Thomas flipped on the light, revealing a space so immaculate it didn't look lived in. Three magazines were fanned out on the coffee table, and a like-new couch sat against the wall.

  Everything was in its place--plants, magazines, and even pictures. It included everything that made up a home, but beneath the homey embellishments, it was too perfect, sterile even. It was as if Thomas were trying to convince himself that he had a life outside of the Bureau.

  I walked over to a console table next to the flat screen on the opposite side of the room. Three silver frames held black-and-white photos. One, I assumed were his parents. Another showed Thomas with his brothers, and I was amazed at how much the younger four looked alike. Then, there was one of Thomas and a woman.

  Her beauty was distinctive, seeming to be wild and effortless. Her razor-cut short hair and cleavage-baring tight shirt surprised me. She wasn't who I'd thought would be Thomas's type at all. Her thick eyeliner and smoky eyes were that much more prominent in grayscale. Thomas held her like she was precious to him, and I felt a lump form in my throat.

  "Is she Camille?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said, his voice tinged with disgrace. "I'm sorry. I'm rarely home. I forget it's there."

  My chest ached. The picture in that frame was the only answer I needed. Despite my efforts, I was falling for Thomas, but he was still in love with Camille. Even in a perfect world where two people who were obsessed with their jobs could make a relationship work, we had the added obstacle of unrequited love. At the moment, it was Thomas's problem, but if I allowed myself to have deeper feelings, it would be mine.

  I was always a firm believer that a person couldn't love two people at the same time. If Thomas still loves Camille, what does that mean for me?

  An obnoxious siren went off in my head, so loud I could barely think. These feelings for Thomas, Agent Maddox, my boss needed to stop now. I glanced at his couch as I worried that I would one day be begging him to love me in return, showing up drunk and emotional at his door before passing out on his couch like Jackson was on mine.

  "If you don't mind, I'll just make a pallet on the floor. The couch doesn't look that comfortable."

  He chuckled. "Taylor said the same thing. You're welcome to the bed."

  "I think, given our history, that is a particularly bad idea," I said, quoting him from before.

  "What do you plan to do when we go to St. Thomas?" he asked.

  "It will be your turn to take the floor." I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice.

  Thomas left me for his bedroom and then came out with a pillow and a tightly rolled sleeping bag.

  I eyed his haul. "Do you keep that in case of sleepovers?"

  "Camping," he said. "You've never been?"

  "Not since running water became a thing."

  "The bed is all yours," he said, ignoring my jab. "I just put on fresh sheets this evening."

  "Thank you," I said, passing him. "I'm sorry we woke you."

  "I wasn't asleep. I have to admit that it was startling to hear a man yelling in your living room."

  "I apologize."

  Thomas dismissively waved his hand and then walked over to turn out the light. "Stop apologizing for him. I was out the door before I had time to think."

  "Thank you." I put my hand on the doorjamb. "Get some sleep. I don't want you to be mad at me if you can't concentrate during your meeting."

  "There is only one reason I wouldn't be able to concentrate during my meeting, and sleep isn't it."

  "Enlighten me."

  "We're going to be spending the better part of the weekend together, and I have to talk my brother into something he won't want to do. Sunday is important, Liis, and you're the biggest distraction in my life at the moment."

  My cheeks flushed, and I was thankful the lights were dim. "I'll try not to be."

  "I don't think you can help being a distraction any more than I can help thinking about you."

  "I understand now why you said being friends would be a bad idea."

  Thomas nodded. "I said that three weeks ago, Liis. The situation has changed."

  "Not really."

  "We're more than friends now, and you know it."

  I looked over at the picture of Thomas and Camille and pointed to it. "She is what scares me, and she is what won't go away."

  Thomas walked over to the picture and set it down on its face. "It's just a picture."

  The words I wanted to say caught in my throat.

  He took a step toward me.

  I pushed away from the doorjamb, holding a hand out. "We have a job to do. Let's focus on that."

  He couldn't hide his disappointment. "Good night."

  THOMAS TOSSED A THICK STACK OF PAPERS onto my desk, his jaw dancing under his skin. He paced back and forth, breathing through his nose.

  "What is this?"

  "Read it," he growled.

  Just as I opened the file folder, Val rushed in, stopping abruptly between the door and Thomas. "I just heard the news."

  I frowned and skimmed over the words. "The Office of the Inspector General?" I said, looking up.

  "Shit," Val said. "Shit."

  The report was titled A Review of the FBI's Handling and Oversight of Agent Aristotle Grove.

  I looked up at Thomas. "What did you do?"

  Val closed the door and approached my desk. "Grove is downstairs. Will they arrest him today?"

  "It's likely," Thomas said, still fuming.

  "I thought you took care of this," I said, closing the file and pushing it forward.

  "Took care of it?" Thomas said, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline.

  I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. "I told you Grove was feeding you bad intel. You sat on it too long."

  "I was compiling evidence against him. That was part of the reason I brought you here. Val was in on it, too."

  I looked to my friend, who stared at the file as if it were on fire.

  She was biting her lip. "I didn't have to speak Japanese to know he was full of shit," she said. "Wait--are you the language specialist he brought in on this?"

  I nodded.

  Thomas pointed at her. "That's confidential, Taber."

  Val nodded, but she seemed uncomfortable that she hadn't sniffed that one out.

  Sawyer blew in, straightening his tie just as the door closed behind him. "I came as soon as I heard. What can I do?" he asked.

  Val shrugged. "What you do best."

  Sawyer seemed disappointed. "Seriously? Again? He is my least favorite target. You know if we took a black light Grove's bedroom room, every inch would be glowing."

  Val covered her mouth, disgusted.

  I stood, pressing my fists down on my desk. "Would someone mind explaining what the hell everyone is talking about?"

  "We have to be extremely careful with how we proceed," Thomas said. "Travis could be in real trouble if this isn't seamless."

  Val sat in the club chair, defeated. "When Maddox transferred to HQ in Washington before he was promoted to ASAC, he caught a lead on one of Benny's goons from an agent working in HQ's Asian Criminal Enterprise Unit."

  I looked to Thomas, dubious. "You caught a lead on one of your Italian mob bosses in Vegas from the Asian Crime Unit in Washington?"

  Thomas shrugged. "I'd call it luck, but I've worked on this case day and night since it landed on my desk. There isn't a fingerprint I haven't checked or a backlog I haven't accessed."

  Val sighed, impatient. "You can call it bad luck. The goon was a kid. His name was David Kenji. Travis beat him unconscious one night in Vegas to protect Abby."

  "That's not in Travis's file," I said, looking to Thomas.

  He looked away, allowing Val to continue.

  Val nodded. "That was intentionally kept out, so it wouldn't throw up any red flags for Grove. He can't know anything about Travis. If he passes on the plan t
o any Yakuza, Travis is no longer an asset to the Bureau."

  "Why would Grove pass on info about Travis's recruitment to any Yakuza?" I asked.

  Val sat forward. "David is the son of Yoshio Tarou's sister."

  "Tarou, as in the second-in-command of Goto-gumi in Japan?" I said, in disbelief.

  Goto-gumi was one of the oldest syndicates of the original Yakuza Japanese gang. Tarou was a prominent boss, leading Goto-gumi since the 1970s. Tarou didn't just intimidate his enemies. He was creative with his executions, leaving their mutilated bodies for all to see.

  Val nodded. "Tarou's sister lived with him until she died when David was fourteen."

  I nodded. "Okay, so you're telling me Travis is also a target of Yakuza?"

  Thomas shook his head.

  I frowned. "I'm not hearing why there's a goddamn Inspector General's report on my desk."

  "Tarou is bad news, Liis," Thomas said. "Grove has been passing him information via the Yakuza he's interviewed here, and more recently, he's been speaking to Tarou directly. That's why we've had no traction on their criminal activity despite all the interviews. They've been one step ahead."

  "So, we let the IG arrest Grove. Who cares?" I asked.

  Thomas's face fell. "It gets worse. David died a couple of months ago. He was beaten unconscious during a fight, and no one has seen him since."

  "Does Tarou think it was Travis?" I asked.

  "Keep in mind," Sawyer chimed in, "David's run-in with Travis was over a year ago, and to their knowledge, Travis hasn't been to Vegas since."

  "The fights were run by the mob," Val said. "Benny pitted David against someone out for blood. Uncle Tarou blamed Benny and sent several of his guys over to the States to get an explanation from Benny. The fighter who killed David was found all over the desert--well, not all of him. We have reason to believe the men Tarou sent over are part of this Yakuza nest we've been interviewing."

  I frowned, still confused. "Why was the nephew of Tarou doing low-level goon work for Benny?"

  "The mother," Val said simply as if I should have known. "When his mother died, David blamed Tarou. There was a fight. David left and came to the States. He gravitated toward what he knew and ended up with Benny."

  "This is a train wreck," I said.

  Val looked up to Thomas and then back at me. "We were waiting to pull the trigger on Grove because we knew he was playing both sides, but now that we've cracked the connection with Benny, we don't know what intel from our case he's turned over to them."