“Don’t mean to step on your toes,” he says, “but I have orders.”
“From who?” the captain barks, clearly not liking this guy on his turf.
He doesn’t answer and instead takes long strides across the grounds to hand him a folded piece of paper. The captain looks annoyed to have to read it, but I don’t get a chance to see his expression as Jax loops his arm around me.
“Who is he?” I whisper.
“BCI,” Jax whispers back.
I don’t have a clue what that is, and I look up expectantly.
“Bureau of Criminal Investigation,” he explains, “for the state of New York.”
“Can he really go over him?” I’m not too well-versed on jurisdiction or who’s in whose pocket, but I’m pretty sure Jax lines the captain’s pockets and wouldn’t want anyone at his father’s funeral being arrested.
“If that’s what the attorney general wants, though,” he muses with a frown, “I wasn’t made aware of any warrants.”
The uncertainty in his tone makes my stomach knot. “You know him, though, the attorney general, right?” I ask, watching as the captain’s face morphs into resignation the longer he reads the document. The feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop is back with a vengeance, and I suddenly feel hot despite the cold.
“James did. They were pretty close.”
“Right.” I nod.
I’m just wound too tight. If James was close with the attorney general, then that means the firm was too. Which means Jax has him in his pocket and everything is fine. What do I care, anyway, if one of these men gets arrested? God, I’m losing it. I really thought burning the cardboard would calm me down, but it seems I’m having a bit of PTSD.
I fan my coat out, looking down at the material for anything to distract myself. I smooth it like an idiot, pretending I’m not sweating through my dress. When I finally lift my head again, the captain is stalking toward us.
Um?
His chest isn’t puffed in bravado anymore. This is different. His shoulders are slack, eyes locked on Jax as if trying to convey something like remorse.
My heart kicks up as the BCI guy peels off the captain’s heels and steps ahead, directly toward us. He doesn’t even glance at the cluster of illegitimately wealthy and armed men surrounding us.
He’s looking atme.
Sweat drenches my spine. No. No, no, no.
“Ma’am?” he calls, voice carrying just enough for the whole funeral to hear. “Are you Kira Noland?”
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. Oh, God. How does he know my name? Why does he know my name? Jax steps forward, quickly putting himself between us.
“Don’t speak.” His voice is low, just for me but commanding.
I snap my mouth shut, not sure I could speak anyway.
“What’s this about?” Jax practically growls.
The agent barely acknowledges him as he comes to a stop before us, keeping his eyes on me. “Are you Kira Noland?”
There’s no room for uncooperation in his eyes, and I can’t help it, I nod. The movement is shaky, and I reach out and clutch Jax to steady myself. The world is… closing down to a pin prick. The edges of my vision are dim. A part of me knew this was coming—the other shoe. But I can’t… I can’t…
“Ms. Noland, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
The ground drops out below me.
“For what?!” Jax snarls, breaking his composure with sudden outrage. He steps fully in front of me, muscles poised for a fight.
The entire gathering stiffens, hands going into coats. The agent slips his own hand into his blazer, and I catch the butt of a gun in his fist.
