Page 98 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

While I originally intended on taking things with Mav slow, on breaking things off with Caleb, moving back in with my parents for a bit while Mav and I rediscover one another, Nicky’s confession just blew all my plans to hell. Mav and I were robbed of our life with one another. We’ve already lost so much time due to the interference of others. I don’t want to lose one more day. So, while I have loose ends to tie off, from this moment forward, I’m going to live my life the way I want.

And I want Maverick.

My arms instinctively tighten around him as I snuggle my face into his back. Mav releases one of the handlebars, bringing his hand to caress my own as we make the transition from open roads back to city blocks.

There’s a lot of commotion on the sidewalk outside as we pull up to Echo. Men in FBI jackets move freely in and out of the entrance, some of them carrying boxes to their cars. As we dismount the bike, I notice a familiar face. It takes me a minute to place him, eventually recognizing him as Tristan. A cigarette hangs from his lips, his face baring a look of annoyance as he speaks with one of the agents. I gather from T’s mannerisms he isn’t being cooperative, which is somewhat confirmed when he offers the agent his middle finger before his gaze comes to land on us. He exchanges a final word or two before walking around the man to approach us.

“Hey, boss,” Tristan greets Mav. His eyes flicker to me before dropping to our intertwined hands, then return to Maverick once more. Extending his hand, T’s mouth curls up on one side into a crooked smile. Mav grasps his palm as they pull each other in, bumping shoulders briefly before releasing one another. “Glad to see one positive thing happened today. What up, J?” he acknowledges me with a nod. “Just for housekeeping purposes, do I have to worry about your brother showing up to give us shit today too?”

“Nah,” Mav answers for me. “I shot him about thirty minutes ago, so he’s gonna be dealing with that for a bit.”

“Huh.” T removes the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Make that two positive things.”

I shift my weight between my feet. Though I want nothing to do with my brother at the moment, I’m still relieved he’s not dead. Mav takes note of my sudden unease, redirecting the conversation as a result.

“So, what do we got?”

“Fucking forensic accountants,” T spits, flicking his cigarette off to the side. “They’ve been inside about thirty minutes and have already cleared out most of the files in your office. DEA’s here too. Dogs are combing through right now.”

I lean in close, whispering to Mav. “They’re not gonna find anything, are they?”

His gaze stays focused straight ahead on the agents carrying more boxes from the club. “No.” He shakes his head from side to side. “Unless they’re planting evidence, nothing’s gonna pop up. My shit is one hundred percent situated at all times.”

I exhale a deep sigh of relief.

“What the fuck’s got them crawling up our asses all of a sudden?” Mav’s scarred brow cocks, looking to T for answers.

“Dude, I got no fucking clue.” Tristan shakes his head, turning to stand beside us where he can look on as well. “I got the call a little while ago from Murray saying I either come down and unlock the doors or they were breaking ‘em down. Apparently, he tried to get you, but you were...” He leans forward, glancing over at me with a smirk. “Otherwise indisposed.”

Mav snorts, playfully smacking T’s chest with the back of his hand.

“Who’s Murray?” I ask, just as more dogs are brought in.

“My lawyer,” Mav responds, eyes locked on one particular agent who seems to be heading our way. He’s older; with his salt and pepper hair I’d peg him for early to mid-fifties, though it’s evident he’s still in great shape. The sleeves of his dark blue jacket are pushed up, exposing his muscular forearms. In his hands, he’s clutching a file folder, which he tucks away under his arm as he approaches.

“Mr. Bishop,” he addresses Mav, extending his hand between them.

Mav eyes him up and down, his mouth pressed in a tight line. “Mmmhmm,” he offers skeptically in response, reluctantly meeting his grasp with a shake. The apprehension I sense on Mav’s part places me on edge, though he quickly tampers it down.

“Agent Kellerman, DEA.”

“Well, Agent Kellerman, DEA,” Mav says as he cocks his head, his tone bearing distinct hints of annoyance, “you wanna tell me why you’re raiding my club before noon on a Sunday? I gotta say, I had better ideas with how I was gonna spend my morning off.”

Kellerman’s head swivels to me. “Joanna Hunter,” he asserts. “Daniel Conners’ stepsister.”

My eyes briefly widen in response. Though I’d be stupid to assume the Feds don’t know who I am, it’s unnerving to be called out by a total stranger.

Mav doesn’t appreciate it either. His grip on my hand tightens as he positions himself slightly in front of me. “Don’t do that. You don’t address my woman. You’re in my house, you obviously have something you’d like to discuss with me. So, I’m gonna ask you again, Agent Kellerman, why are you raiding my club?”

Kellerman unflinchingly holds Mav’s gaze, the two of them locked in a stare-down in the middle of the sidewalk. While I understand Mav’s pissed, I wish he would play a little nicer when it comes to federal agents. The way he’s addressing Kellerman certainly isn’t earning him any brownie points.

Kellerman’s the first to break the silence. “A word, Mr. Bishop?” he forces out, gesturing off to the side with his head.

Mav continues to glare at him, nostrils flaring, his jaw clenched. At last, he relents. Mav turns to face me, dipping his head low. “Lemme go talk to this asshole real quick. You stay with T, okay?”

I nod as he plants a kiss to my lips.

Looking to T, he issues a command. “Arm’s length,” he states, tipping his head in my direction.

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