He had given me something to recall.
It was impossible to lie when you could tell the truth.
I’ve always had an exit strategy.
This had been his plan all along.
I should have been relieved, but it made me furious. I was sick to my stomach. Had he actually been arrested? Or had it been a convenient story the FBI told to get him out of the casino, the same as they’d done to me? But why were they trying to get us out of the casino?
I’d put the puzzle together, but there was one piece missing.
One piece that tied everything together.
One piece that explained everything.
One part of who he was that changedeverything.
Agent Dutton cocked her head to the side. “Dr. Hawthorne, are you alright?” She sounded genuinely concerned.
I spilled it all.
Everything.
How he had turned me away the first night I had tried to get into the Four Horsemen. Everything that led up to him drugging me, stuffing me in his car, and crossing the country to hide away from a legendary mob boss. How we had gone to Las Vegas to win money to free my brother.
They asked where Joel was hiding, but I didn’t have an answer for them. It was just like Jude had told me.You can’t lie about something you don’t know.
I finished the account of everything that had happened prior to me being led away in handcuffs.
By the time I was done, Agent Sanders and Agent Dutton were speechless. After a moment of silence, Agent Sanders reached into his suit jacket again and produced a second photo.
It was of Jude, though he didn’t look anything like the man that I knew. His hair was in a clean-cut comb-over. He was freshly shaven. An American flag was in the background of the portrait. His expression was neutral. Noble. Had he been inuniform, I would have assumed it was from his military days. But his suit was plain. Dark blue.
Much like the ones sitting across from me.
Agent Sanders positioned the photos side by side, then tapped the mugshot. “This is Jude Graham. He works for John Valentine.” He lifted an eyebrow, studying my reaction. “He’s John Valentine’s right-hand man. Likely, the one supposedly running the organization since John Valentine has been arrested.” He tapped the patriotic portrait. “And this is Judah Greear. An FBI agent.” He rapped his fingers on the table, rattling the metal. “So”—he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers—“which one is the man that you know?”
PART II
TWELVE WEEKS LATER
35
JUDAH
Monday, August 18 | 10:05 a.m.
“Look who’s back!” Simmons said, slapping me on the shoulder as he strolled out of a conference room with a shit-eating grin on his face. He took a long pull from the paper coffee cup in his hand. Droplets of coffee stained his crisp white button-up.
Begrudgingly, I peeled my eyes away from my computer screen.
I missed the days when mountains of paperwork meant a literal stack of paper on my desk. Now it was just endless digital tasks that didn’t give me a sense of accomplishment after finishing one and dropping it onto the pile of completed work.
“How was the briefing?” I asked, even though I didn’t fucking care. The lights over my desk were giving me a headache, but I either had to make the attempt to reintegrate into polite society or get written up. I just wanted to do my busywork and go home.
Home was supposed to be my brand-new apartment because Judah Greear hadn’t existed for years. Home was supposed tobe the musty mattress and dusty bedframe I had pulled out of a storage unit after years of unuse while I lived in my undercover apartment.
The reality? Home was a woman I hadn’t laid eyes on in twelve weeks. A woman I was deeply, undeniably, and unforgettably in love with.
