“Really.” Morrison takes a sip of his drink. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you might be developing an emotional attachment to someone you’re supposed to be monitoring.”
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“Then explain why you’ve been protecting him. Why every report you file emphasizes his integrity and minimizes his vulnerabilities.”
Because he trusted me once, and I walked away from that trust.
Because watching him struggle feels like watching someone drown while I hold the life preserver just out of his reach.
Because somewhere along the way, this stopped being about survival and started being about something I can’t afford to feel.
“I’m just being objective.”
“Bullshit.” Morrison leans forward. “You’re compromised, Christensen. And compromised assets are liabilities I can’t afford.”
The threat hits like a sledgehammer to the chest. Morrison’s not just talking about pulling me from the operation. He’s talking about pulling my father’s protection, cutting off his medical care, leaving both of us exposed.
“I understand the assignment,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Glad to hear it because your assignment isn’t to protect these players. It’s to help me catch the people who corrupt them. If that means letting some of them get dirty in the process... ”
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but the implication is clear. The FBI doesn’t give a shit who gets hurt as long as they build their case. Players, families, careers…they’re all acceptable casualties in the war against organized crime.
“What are you asking me to do?”
“Your job. Watch for anyone who looks out of place and makes contact with a team member, document vulnerabilities, and report back to me when someone makes contact. When they do, you let it happen.”
“Let it happen?”
“Yes. You don’t get in the way. We need them to commit crimes so we can prosecute. That means letting them recruit someone, letting them make their pitch, letting them get in close.”
My stomach turns. “And if the player says yes?”
“Then we have a case. Everyone goes to prison, including the player who chose to take the deal.”
The casual way he talks about destroying lives makes me want to put my fist through his face. But I can’t. Because he holds my father’s fate in his hands, and he knows it.
“I need more time,” I say, trying like hell to keep my voice even.
“You have two weeks. After that, I bring in someone else to do what you couldn’t.”
His eyes scan the dining room, and I follow his gaze, my breath catching when I see what caught his attention at the large table near the front window.
Tate Barnes sits at the center of it.
Fuck.
Morrison nods at the table. “Family dinner.” He leans forward. “I can observe him in his natural environment.”
“Morrison... ”
“Relax. I’m just watching.”
Morrison’s settling in while Tate’s fifteen feet away, unaware that he’s being observed by a federal agent who’s cataloging his every move.
“We should go,” I say. “This is too risky. I don’t think we should take a chance to be spotted.”
“We’re just two guys having dinner. Don’t overreact.”
