Betrayed (Dark Desires 2)

Tim shrugged. “Perhaps you and the feds should learn to communicate better. That’s not my client’s problem.”

I tried not to smile. Honestly, I almost felt bad for Henry. The blood had drained from his face and he had a confused glaze to his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at the large mirrored glass cut into the wall. I knew Claire was back there in the dark, watching. I could feel her eyes on me. I almost smiled. Almost.

Henry looked sideways at Shanahan, like this was all his fault. To Tim, he said, “You’re telling me your client was not smuggling counterfeit designer goods for sale on the black market.”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Tim said. “My client and his father are legitimate businessmen. I’m sure you know that by now, given that you’ve had someone undercover in his operation for two weeks.” Tim leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “I’m sure you also know your undercover operative has been fucking my client’s brains out every night for two weeks, so you’re going to have some credibility issues there with the District Attorney, I’m sure. It could be very embarrassing for you and your whole department if the media got wind of just how far your officers will go to entrap an innocent citizen.”

Henry shifted uneasily in the seat. “This is bullshit,” he said again. It seemed to be his only argument. “We have a confidential CI who— “

“Has obviously been feeding you misinformation,” Tim said with a heavy sigh that said the conversation was over. “Now, Lieutenant, if you will release my client and all his associates immediately, we’ll just call this an unfortunate misunderstanding and be on our way. Otherwise, my first call will be to the FBI and my second call will be to Fox News. They would just eat this shit up.”

“Fuck you,” Henry said, gritting his teeth. His face flushed deep crimson. Little veins bulged from his temples. He literally looked like a balloon about to pop. He pushed himself out of the chair and glared at me. “Fuck you both.”

When the cops left the room, Tim stood up and gave me a grin as he stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, old pal. You’re now free of the cops and the Feds. And finally, you can force your old man to retire.”

“Thanks,” I said, shaking his hand. I glanced toward the mirrored glass and put a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Come on,” I said, “Let’s find my old man and get the fuck out of here.”

Claire

It had been two weeks since Sean’s arrest and quick release. Things had settled down a little at the office, but Ed would still turn red and curse the gods at the mere mention of Sean O’Connor’s name.

After Sean glared at me through the one-way mirror and left with his attorney, I snuck out before Ed could find me and bring down his wrath. I holed up in my apartment all that weekend, not answering the door or the phone, bouncing between bouts of intense guilt and sobbing, to unbridled anger and cursing. It was one of the worst weekends of my life. All I could think about was calling Sean, taking him into my arms, into my bed, though I knew that was something I could never do again.

I crawled back into the office on Monday and tried to keep my head down and my mouth closed. I’d never seen Ed so angry. He stormed around the office for a few days, threatening to fire us all, especially me, whom he ultimately blamed for things going awry. I took his abuse and didn’t argue back. I knew my relationship with Sean was probably not the wisest decision I’d ever made, but if that warehouse had indeed been filled with millions of dollars in counterfeit goods, Ed would have been praising me rather than threatening to send me packing back to Vice.

A week later I was offered a spot in Robbery/Homicide. It was a lateral move, but I jumped at the chance to leave Ed’s task force. It was never a good idea to work for my ex in the first place. And given his inability to stop reminding me that fucking Sean O’Connor was a stupid fucking thing to do, moving to a new job was an easy decision.

The next Saturday morning around nine I was standing at the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee pot to finish when the doorbell rang. I’d just gotten out of the shower and was wearing a robe and slippers with a towel around my neck. I didn’t think much of it. My neighbor, an elderly lady named Mrs. Grant, was always ringing the doorbell to ask if I’d seen her cat. God bless her, her mind wasn’t all there. She hadn’t had a cat in twenty years according to her daughter. Still, I always promised to keep my eye out and let her know if I saw a gray tabby that answered to the name Louis.

I opened the door and prepared a smile for her. When I saw Sean O’Connor standing there, the smile froze on my lips. I blinked at him a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.

“Hi, Claire,” he said with a shy smile. “Can I come in?”

Damn him. What the fuck was he doing here, standing outside my door with a pitiful look on his gorgeous face and a sad twinkle in his eye. He was wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt that reminded me how muscular he was. He had a pair of Raybans pushed to the top of his windblown hair. I wondered if his Mercedes convertible was parked downstairs.

I half-hid behind the door and pretended that I was not happy to see him. I worked up a frown and snarled at him. “Why do you want to come in?”

“I feel like we left a lot of things unsaid,” he said with a slow shrug. “I’d like to just say a few things, then I’ll be gone for good.”

I stared at him for a moment, struggling to resist the urge to rip off the robe and take him into my arms. Instead, I gave him a sigh and told him to come in. I led him into the kitchen and poured us each a cup of coffee.

“How have you been?” he asked as he watched me set out the cups of coffee and take the chair across from him.

“I’ve been fine,” I said, sliding the sugar bowl in front of me. I stirred in three spoons of sugar and a little milk. I didn’t bother offering sugar and milk to Sean. I knew he took his coffee black. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good,” he said, putting his hands around the coffee cup. He stared down into the black brew for a moment as if he were reading tea leaves to see what his future might bring.

“You said you wanted to talk,” I said, picking up the cup and holding it carefully between my hands. “So, talk.”

He glanced up for just a second and gave me a little nod. “Okay, it’s a long story, but I’ll try to make it short.”

“Please do,” I said, sounding hateful. “I have things to do.” I immediately regretted my tone, but he seemed unfazed.

With his voice low and tone even, he told the story I’d been dying to hear. “Ten years ago, just as I was graduating law school, my dad came to me and said the FBI was investigating his operation. He said they were trying to nail him for smuggling, racketeering, and a number of other lesser charges. I didn’t have to ask if he was guilty because I knew he was. I’d known for a while what he did for a living and so long as it didn’t affect me, I chose to ignore it. Then, when he asked for my help. He was terrified of going to prison and losing everything he’d worked for. It was the first time he’d asked me for help. There was no way I could ignore him.”

“So, you went to work for him,” I said quietly, mirroring the sadness in his eyes.