Bayne’s laughter died away as he slowly turned back to face Cass.
He knew every eye was on him. Every ear. For years, his enemies had been looking for a weakness to use against him. Now they had it—or at least, they thought they did. They had it in the form of one small FBI agent.
A woman he’d fucked.
He should have acted like he didn’t care. But I can’t let anyone hurt her. The very thought of someone hurting Agnes sent fury spiking in his blood.
“Thought she was a casual screw,” Bayne muttered.
“No one touches her.” Loud. Clear. “She belongs to me.”
Javion sidled closer. “Uh, Cass, you just told everyone she was a Fed.”
He was aware.
“Do you know what you’re saying right now?” A low rasp from Javion. Meant only for Cass’s ears. “Do you know what you are doing by claiming her?”
He did. Since there was confusion from Javion, then Cass would just repeat himself. Very clearly so every person there would understand. “No one touches her.”
“I think the guy is gonna do more than touch her.” Bayne swept a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Pretty sure he’s going in for the kill.” A shrug as his hand fell. “Right the hell now. Poor, dead Fed.”
“Call him off.”
“He’s not mine to call off. Not like I paid him to do the deed.” Bayne’s brown eyes gleamed.
Screw this shit. Cass surged forward and wrapped his hand around Bayne’s throat. “Call him off,” he barked.
Bayne clawed at Cass’s hand.
Cass eased up, just a bit. Enough so that Bayne could wheeze out a breath and say, “You going to war with me over a Fed?”
“Not war.” Cass shook his head. “I’ll just end your ass here and now, unless you call him off.”
She was being followed. Agnes knew she had a tail, mostly because the guy was a piss-poor stalker. She’d caught his image four streets back, reflected in a storefront window. Maybe he thought that, because it was night—just after 10 p.m.—that the darkness hid him.
The fool had clearly forgotten that street lamps existed.
So he tailed her through the city. He annoyed the ever-loving-hell out of her, and she casually put her phone to her ear as she called for her backup.
“He still tailing you?” Malik Jones wanted to know when he picked up the phone on the second ring. They’d chatted before, when she first noticed her unwelcome follower.
“He is indeed,” she confirmed to her primary FBI partner as she stopped at the street corner. “About six-foot-six, two hundred and sixty pounds, shaved head. Bushy beard. Lots of piercings.” As if she hadn’t recognized the jerk from The Bottomless Pit. The attacker who’d thought it would be fun to come up from behind Cass with a knife. Quite obviously, the man preferred attacking from the back.
She figured he was going to try and drive a knife into her spine in the next few moments. He’d been drawing closer and closer to her in the last half hour. Coming in for the kill, are you?
That was fine. While he’d been edging closer to her, Agnes had been setting up a trap for him.
Did the dumbass not get that there was a bar right on the corner that was frequented by cops and Feds? It was her hangout place when she wanted to go and blow off some steam with her friends. She’d been slowly and deliberately leading her stalker straight to that place. The better to surround him.
Well, once she was done with him, anyway.
“My eyes are on you,” Malik told her. “I can see you now. You…and him.”
Ah, steadfast Malik. She did adore her quiet, intense Fed buddy. The man didn’t say much, but he had a core of pure courage. You could always count on Malik. He was very much the true-blue type, much like their boss, Grayson Stone. Defending justice. Protecting innocents.
Following the law.
Malik didn’t bend it occasionally the way she did.
