Chapter 19
Lochlan
I wake spooned around an angel with spikes of blond hair tickling my nose. At the scent of honey sweetness, my willie gets hard, ready for another go.
Mate, we need to let our pretty sheila sleep.
Not wanting to wake her, I slide out of bed, grab my clothes, my weapon, and get dressed in the bathroom. Suds is sleeping on the couch with his gun nearby on the coffee table. At the sound of my footsteps, his eyes pop open and he gives me a wicked grin.
Yeah, it was amazing.So much so, I need to figure out how to get her to marry me.
First, I need something substantial for brekkie but the thought of eating Gerard’s groceries rubs me the wrong way and my stomach churns.
My gun gets covered by my parka then I sit on the sofa and put on my boots. “I’m going out for eggs and bacon.”
“Y’all work up an appetite?” Suds is still grinning at me and I can’t help but bust into one, too.
“Yeah, could be. You want anything while I’m out?”
“Coffee. Lots of it.”
“Hold on. I think she’s got some.” I find a pod, put a mug under the spout, and press down to start the brew. “Listen, thanks for covering. I swear I’ll name my first daughter after you. You can be her godfather.”
“Sudsette? Lovely.” He yawns, rasps a hand over his beard, then heads to where the mugs are kept.
Rather than take the elevator, I jog down the stairs, check the sidewalk, then out into the cold. It’s either lack of sleep or high snowbanks, but I miss how the light ahead turns green and a sedan doesn’t move.
A black guy in a navy jacket with three bold letters jumps out, gun aimed at my chest. “FBI, get in the car, Mr. James.”
“It’s Sir James, agent.” I glance up and down the street for a way out and when I see none, follow his directions.
“Badge?” I figure it doesn’t take too many brains to impersonate a Feddie. If so, I’ll shoot the fuckwit and be done with it.
An older white guy, similarly dressed jumps out of the front passenger seat. “Well, well, well. What do we got here? A smart Aussie?”
“Isn’t that what you call an oxymoron?” The black man sniggers as he pats me down.
When my thoughts turn to sweet Callie, asleep in the bedroom, my temper flares. “Bugger off with the jokes, mates. What do you want?”
The first agent takes my pistol and pulls my knives from my boots. “To detain you for questioning.”
“About what?” Disarmed and with their guns on me, I got no choice but to follow them into the idling sedan. I figure they’ll let me make a call at some point and Patten will post bail.
I take up half of the back seat and the black guy to my right fills the rest. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been trying to arrest Yuri Lenovski?”
“Romanoff?” I blink a few times and flutter my lashes.
“Stop playing stupid. You just came from Calliope Bradford-Clarke’s apartment. She was about to sell her work to him until you interfered.”
“What are you Yanks smokin’? It’s Chase you should be investigating. He’s the bloke with the huge hole in his bank account.”
The black man chuckles, overly confident. “You think we don’t know? He’s our star informant. You’re way out of your league,SirJames.”
I have to hand it to Gerard. He may not be the brightest fuckwit I’ve ever come across but certainly the most devious. It’s damn hard to fool the FBI.
No matter, I’m not leaving the neighborhood without a fight. “You can’t hold me without charging me with some crime.”
“The terrorism act says I can. I’ll claim you’re working with foreign nationals planning an EMP attack on US soil.”
“Shit.” The agent shoots his hand to his earpiece, as do all the others in the car.
The driver guns the engine, we spin into a u-ie, toward Callie’s apartment.
I haven’t been gone more than ten minutes. How can there be a ladder hanging out of her bedroom window and bloody footsteps in the snow?
Fook.
