EDGE OF HONOR: On The Edge Duet: Book One Page 3

  The small delivery lot in the back of the hospital is nearly empty and the street is only steps away, but I’m having trouble even standing right now. I’m also barely wearing a torn and mangled hospital gown. While Boston may have its fair share of unstable characters roaming around, especially at night, it’s doubtful in my current condition that I’ll go unnoticed.

  An alarm sounds behind me and I hear the magnetic locks securing the door I just exited. Another reminder that I need to get away from here.

  I summon every ounce of strength I have left and start walking. I’m ten steps out into the open when I hear the sound of an engine roaring in my direction. I’m suddenly drowning in light. I hold up my arm to shield my eyes and see what’s coming, but it’s still bright and my head hurts too much. All I can do is close my eyelids and brace myself.

  I hear the sound of a door sliding open and the hurried footsteps of two, no three, people heading my way.

  “He can’t see us.”

  “There’s no time.”

  I hear them getting closer.

  “For fuck’s sake, grab him.”

  I try to turn and run but only make it a few steps before I’m tackled by what feels like seventeen men. I struggle with everything I have but it’s too much for my weakened state.

  The last thing I remember is the feeling of cold metal on my back and legs.

  Chapter Four

  Georgia

  "I don't think you understand how fucked you are right now." Special Agent Nash Garrison paces the length of the room. "Do you?"

  "I think I…"

  "You think? Do you really? Because that would be a fucking miracle at this point." Nash slams the door closed and continues, "You have no fucking idea how fucked you are right now. You know why? Because I haven't told you how fucked you are. That's why." He's infuriated, and with good reason.

  But I don't like getting yelled at, even when I'm wrong. "So how fucked am I?" It just slips out.

  Nash spins around to face me, looking like he wants to snatch me out of the chair I'm sitting in and strangle me. "How fucked are you?" He stalks over, leans in, and slams both of his fists straight down onto the table between us. The table sounds like it may crack in half from the impact and I slide my chair back on reflex.

  Nash clenches his fists tightly until the blood flows out and his knuckles turn white against the tabletop. His face is flushed and he looks like he's about to explode. But instead, he takes in a long, slow, deep breath, then slides out a chair and sits down. He exhales just as slowly and the color begins to return to his face. "I told you I needed you on this, right?" Nash waits for an answer.

  "Yes, you did."

  "And yet minutes later you suddenly decided to disobey orders, or had you already made the decision to follow your own program before we spoke?" He waits for me to respond again.

  "At the time, I wasn't thinking clearly."

  Nash listens and sits quietly, shaking his head in disapproval. His eyes stay locked on me the entire time.

  "I'm… sorry, Nash."

  "I wish I had the same luxury, Georgia, I really do. I'd love to be able to do whatever I want, fuck up beyond recognition, and then just say I'm sorry. But I can't. And you know why? Because my boss, my mentor, my friend, Karyn Smith was murdered yesterday and I have to find whoever is responsible, so I can make them pay for it.” His words cut right through me, and my nose burns as I fight off tears. "You remember her, right?" Nash stands up and walks back over to the door. "Wait here." He sounds disgusted and doesn't even look in my direction as he leaves the room.

  I'm left sitting for what feels like an eternity, with nothing but Karyn on my mind. She was my boss, my mentor, and my friend as well. How could I have allowed this to happen? Karyn would be so disappointed, just like Nash is now.

  The door opens again, but it's not Nash. "Agent Cohn, I'm Agent Samuel Beck." He steps over and sits down across from me, never taking his eyes off mine.

  "I need to ask you a few questions." He doesn't take out his phone to record, and this room has no A/V setup in place. "Unless you'd like to say anything first." He pauses briefly. "Right, so let's get started."

  "I'm going to stop you right there, Agent Beck. I don't know what you think you're doing in this room or if you're even involved in the investigation, but until I hear differently, I'm not saying anything."

  "Please, call me Sam," he continues as if I haven’t spoken at all. “Were you conscious when he tucked you in?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Were you conscious when he laid you down onto his hospital bed, and then took the time to tuck the sheets in, nice and snug?” he repeats himself slowly, with his eyes focused on mine through every word.

  I'm seething and can't bring myself to respond before he starts in again.

  "Who is he to you?”

  “Were you fucking him?”

  “Is that what this is?”

  “Was his escape from the hospital a plan or was it spontaneous?”

  “Did he betray you?" he fires one question after another, with a shitty smirk on his face.

  "Wait, what?"

  "Are you still helping him?" he presses me.

  "Who the fuck are you talking to?" I've had enough of his bullshit.

  "I’m talking to the person who lost the only suspect we had in the explosion that wiped out almost the entire Boston Field Office,” he shoots back at me, with his eyes still locked on mine, but he’s not smirking anymore.

  “Entire?” I croak. My anger is immediately replaced with an overwhelming sense of loss as I remember the scene of the bombing.

  “Almost.”

  Nash walks back into the room, apparently having overheard our exchange. “Let that sink in before you say another word.” He sits down across from me, next to Sam, who’s calmly sitting back in his chair as if we’d never spoken at all.

  "I spoke with Director Harris, and as of this morning, I'm running this office and the investigation."

  "I don't know what to say…" I stammer.

  "Save it." Nash cuts me off. "I don't have the time to explain how truly disappointed in you I am right now. The director has assigned a rapid response team to assist. They're already in the air and will be here within the hour, but I'm not waiting."

  "Where do we start?" I interrupt, excited at the chance to get back to work.

  "We?" Agent Beck looks amused.

  "Go home and get some sleep." Nash gets up to leave.

  "I'm not tired and I don't want to go home."

  "I don't give a flying fuck what you want, Georgia." He stops and calms himself. "Agent Cohn, I should have your badge and gun in my hands right now. You're just lucky I still need you on this."

  "But, Nash, I need to—“

  "Georgia, go home, get some rest, and take a shower," Nash interrupts me again. "And be back here by six a.m., ready to work." He turns to leave. "Beck, you and I are heading to Mass General. We need to make sure the BPD have things tightened up over there."

  Beck follows him out, throwing me a condescending look as he goes.

  * * *

  Sinking down onto my couch, I study the whiskey in my glass as if it holds the answers I need. Drinking alone is something I never do, but after today’s events I’m making a fucking exception. I raise the tumbler of golden liquid to my lips, tipping it back. The liquor burns as it hits my taste buds. Swallowing it down creates a pleasant warmth in my stomach. Immediately, I take another large sip, hoping to numb the devastating pain of all that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  Karyn is dead.

  How is this even possible?

  Tears fill my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. Ignoring them, I focus on Karyn, picturing her face. Her penetrating brown eyes were all-seeing. She noticed details no one else would. She never missed a trick—until today.

  She’s the—she was the strongest woman I’ve ever known and the best mentor I could’ve asked for. I can’t begin to grasp that I’ll never
speak to her again. I’ll never be able to use her as a sounding board or rely on her to tell me when I’m in the wrong.

  She never pulled any punches with me and she always treated me with the utmost respect. Even when she was dressing me down.

  Not like Samuel Beck. He was such an asshole, hounding me with those questions.

  Who the fuck does he think he is?

  And when is he leaving?

  Go back to wherever you came from. We don’t need you.

  “I’m talking to the person who lost the only suspect we had in the explosion that wiped out almost the entire Boston Field Office.” His words repeatedly resonate in my head until I down the rest of my drink, slamming the glass on the end table next to me.

  My fingertips sweep away the tears from under my eyes and along my cheeks. Crying won’t change anything. My colleagues are gone, and they’ve been replaced with someone I don’t know. Someone I don’t want to know.

  Having Sam ask me if I was awake when Belfast tucked me in was insulting. No, I wasn’t. Whatever he shot me full of knocked me out, and by the time I woke up, he was long gone.

  Where the hell did that bastard take off to?

  I’m going to make it my mission to find him, regardless of what Nash tells me to do. I feel responsible for him escaping and I plan to rectify that as soon as possible.

  Chapter Five

  Belfast

  "Do you think it's true?"

  I hear a familiar voice, but I can't place where I know it from.

  "No," another voice answers. "The truth is always much worse with this guy." This voice sounds familiar too, but the pain is setting in again and I just can't focus. My brain literally hurts. And I still feel like I've been run over by an eighteen wheeler, but at least I don't feel any worse. Whoever grabbed me outside the hospital apparently hasn't kicked the shit out of me, yet.

  I hear the creak of a door opening, and a third voice joins the conversation, "Why don't you just ask him?"

  "He's still out cold," the first guy answers.

  "Bullshit he is. I'll bet he's been listening to you fuckers chat like a couple schoolgirls the whole time now." I know that voice. "Haven't ya now, ya bog-Irish cocksucker?"

  "Good to see you, Frost." I open my eyes and smile, realizing I'm among friends. My relief is sweet as I’m not ready to go to battle with anyone else right now.

  "I wish I could say the same thing, old buddy. Get yourself together and we'll talk."

  One of the twins, I can’t tell the fuckers apart, gives me a change of clothes and some towels. I follow him through the clubhouse and he leads me to a bathroom.

  “Everything you need should be in there. And if not, just give a shout and someone will help you out.”

  I hold my fist out for him to bump, that’s all I can find the strength for, and close myself inside the bathroom. Leaning back against the door, my knees weaken and I almost go down. I catch myself at the last second and make sure I’m steady before placing my clothes on the sink. Crossing the tiled floor to the shower, I throw my towel over the bar and turn on the water.

  Stepping under the stream is like a full body orgasm. It feels phenomenal. After I’ve soaped up every inch of me three times and shampooed and rinsed my hair twice, I’m somewhat rejuvenated. It even seems as though I’ve regained some of my strength.

  After I’ve towelled myself dry, I dress in the borrowed clothes. The jeans fit as though they’re mine, but the t-shirt is a little snug across my chest and shoulders. But anything beats walking around in a hospital gown with my dick and balls hanging out.

  Once I step outside the bathroom, one of the twins escorts me to another, larger room, where I find myself now standing in front of the stone-faced leadership of The Bastards MC.

  We’ve had more than a handful of dealings over the last several years, and I’ve always considered them to be an ally.

  "There's a lot of people looking for you,” Frost breaks the silence. He’s their enforcer, or whatever it is these boys call the guy who leans on people for the club.

  "Is that a fact?" I snap back. "Well, I didn't know you fellas were minding other folks' business these days."

  "Yeah, well, you can thank the goddamn twins for that," Frost fires back. "They saw you wheeled into Mass Gen and insisted we lend a hand."

  "So I guess that explains my good fortune. Good lads, those twins. Where are they?" I smile and look around the room, finding only concerned faces looking back.

  "Do you have any idea how dangerous it was for us to bring you here?" Bad Billy Baines speaks up from the back of the room.

  Bad Billy’s the club's VP, and from the looks of things today, he’s the senior member in the room.

  “Ahh, hello, Bad Billy, or is it Scoutmaster Billy? I always forget, what with all the cool nicknames and monikers you fellas have for each other.”

  “Bel, you’ve always been a friend to the club, which is why you’re here right now,” Bad Billy explains.

  “Sounds like the wind may be blowing in the opposite direction,” I remark. I didn’t miss the silent ‘but’ at the end of his statement.

  “I’m afraid so.” Bad Billy sounds remorseful.

  “Well, then, I’ll just gather myself up and be on my way. Do you have an extra two-wheeler laying about here somewhere?”

  Nobody so much as cracks a smile.

  “It’s not that easy.” Frost steps in closer and a couple of the others move in my periphery.

  “Back off.” I spin around and square up. “Or you’ll have a much bigger problem on your hands.”

  Frost immediately steps back and the rest follow his lead, seeming surprised by his hesitation.

  “Take it easy,” Jam, the eldest son and heir apparent to his father’s throne, walks into the room. “We’re all still friends here.”

  “I was stepping over to get you a chair,” Frost explains himself. “You look like you’ve been through it.”

  “My bad. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  “Come and sit down, brother.” Jam kicks a chair out at my feet from the other side of the table. “Let’s find a way to get you out of here.”

  Chapter Six

  Georgia

  I sleep fitfully, tossing and turning for most of the night as I replay every second of the past twenty-four hours. I’ve cried an impossible amount of tears for Karyn and everyone we lost. I’m not someone who cries easily.

  When my alarm goes off at five a.m., my eyes feel gritty and my cheeks feel stiff from the dried tears.

  My first glance at myself in the bathroom mirror has me gasping at what I see. My eyes are bloodshot and puffy, as if I’ve been on a night-long bender. The end of my nose is red, but the rest of my face looks paler than usual, giving me a clown-like appearance.

  I blast cold water on my face at the end of my shower for a full minute, hoping to take some of the swelling away and to wake myself up. I can’t afford to be tired. I need to be sharp and on my A game, so I can help Nash in any way he needs.

  And I don’t want to give Samuel Beck a chance to point out any more of my mistakes. Maybe I’ll be lucky and he won’t be there.

  Shivering, I cut the flow of water off, wrapping myself in a thick towel. I fasten another around my head and pad back into my bedroom.

  Briskly drying off, I throw on a pair of black pants and a blue button down blouse as quickly as I can. I run a brush through my wet hair and fasten the thick, brown strands into a short ponytail at the nape of my neck and brush my teeth. Lastly, I sweep on minimal makeup, just enough to cover up the damage from yesterday’s events. I look almost human again by the time I’m done. Staring at my image in the mirror, I do my best to bolster my courage, but I know nothing about work today will be easy.

  * * *

  Walking into the FBI building, I wave to the two familiar security officers and hand them each a coffee.

  “Georgia, you’re a doll. I keep telling my wife to be nicer to me or I might run off with you.” Ar
tie winks and I laugh.

  “She’s put up with you for thirty years, I think you better kiss her feet or the ground she walks on.”

  Jerry, the other officer, laughs. “She’s got your number, Artie. Thank you for the coffee, Georgia.” He studies my face. “How are you holding up after yesterday?”

  I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and blink my stinging eyes. I know he means well, but this is the last thing I need right now. “No complaints, Jerry. I’m lucky to be standing here with you guys.”

  I place my purse on the belt for the x-ray machine and it disappears from sight. I drop my keys and phone in a small plastic container and hand my weapon over before walking through the metal detector like I do every single day.

  It doesn’t matter who you are in this building. Security is of the utmost importance, and everyone who enters the premises gets the same treatment.

  I slip my purse back over my shoulder, holster my weapon, and tip my head toward the elevator. “I better get upstairs. I’ll see you later.” I nod before walking away on the shiny tiled floor.

  Pausing in front of the set of double doors, I hit the upward arrow. They part immediately and I step inside, pushing the button for my floor.

  On the way up, I do some deep breathing exercises to calm myself, but my stomach is unsettled and my legs are unsteady beneath me.

  All too soon, the silver barrier slides open and I step out. The soles of my flats are almost silent as I walk across the tile floor to my desk at the far left corner of the room.

  Plucking my cup from the tray, I set it down on my desk. Glancing around, I notice I’m the only one in this part of the room, and the pain comes rushing back at me. Like the powerful sea, it races toward me, sweeping me under a mournful wave until I sink down on my chair. Burying my face in my hands, I take deep breaths and fight against the undertow of despair enveloping me.