Page 69 of Consumed By the Mafia

Abigail winced. “I apologize, ma’am,” she said. She knew she should have called the night before. She’d been instructed to, after all.

“I don’t want your apology,” Mercer said. “I also don’t want your bullshit. We both know Albert ordered you to call me last night.” She barely paused long enough to breathe. “Where did you get the resources to apprehend and detain Chief Silva?”

The accusatoryquestion shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Abigail hadn’t expected Mercer to lead with it. She blinked stupidly down at the peninsula countertop where her coffee sat. “If I may be frank, ma’am, perhaps I’m simply more resourceful than you gave me credit for.”

Mercer drew a sharp breath.

Abigail pushed on. “You made it clear from the onset I was on my own unless or until I basically solved the case. Last time we talked, you were already signing my transfer papers. So, yes, procedure dictates I should have called and informed you I was making a high-profile arrest. But given how deep I believe the conspiracy runs, I couldn’t afford to do that. I made a call and I made arrangements. I promise, Agent Mercer, as soon as I acquireactionable informationon organized crime in the area, I’ll pass it up the chain.”

“You have a lot of nerve speaking to me that way, Fitzgerald.”

Abigail distinctly heard Ryoma shift his weight from where he leaned against the side of a chair. She didn’t allow herself to look at him. “Did you know my apartment was ransacked—raided—over the weekend? Did you know there’s reason to believe the FBI’s been compromised, and that Silva had someone stalking me long before I knocked on his door last night?”

“Hazards of the job,” Mercer said, her voice like ice even through the phone.

Abigail took a long drink of her coffee, set the mug down, and pushed from the barstool. “Well. I’m going to domyjob, ma’am. That might mean arresting people. It will meancollecting information. Once I have what we need, I’ll be in touch.” She pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call.

The breath rushed from her lungs as the screen flashed to neutral. Talking to Mercer was supremely stressful.

“Well she’s a bitch,” Ryoma declared as he stepped up to her side. He looped an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss to her hair. “She always talk to you like that?”

Abigail let her eyes close and soaked in the sweet embrace. “Sometimes she starts off in a better mood,” she said eventually. “Those conversations usually end worse.” For whatever reason, they just did not seem able to communicate well. That was the best way she could describe it.

Ryoma rumbled thoughtfully, gave her a squeeze, and said, “We should get goin’, baby girl. Lots of shit to wade through today.”

Her lips twitched and she tilted her head back to find his gaze. “We need to focus on Silva. For as much as I would love to deal with Corey Wells, that would be selfish.” She hesitated a beat. “Is it possible to hold him another day or so?”

“Of course it is,” Ryoma said. His response was arguably too easy, but it was the answer she needed. He pulled her in for a proper kiss, sucking her tongue into his mouth and making her toes curl, then stepped back. “Let’s see what we can learn.”

Abigail nodded and let him lead the way through the quaint little guest house they’d been assigned to. All their devices were charged, they’d double-checked their guns, and most importantly, they’d finally pulled clothes on. He was right. It was time to get going.

She was mildly startled to see Mikey walking toward them on the path just outside the door.

Ryoma raised his free arm in greeting, as if they were merely neighbors running into each other by happenstance. “Morning.”

Mikey came to a stop and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Headed out to work on Silva?”

Abigail nodded. “He’s been in there long enough to see that no grand rescue is coming. If he’s going to talk, it’ll be today.”

Mikey inclined his head. “Make sure you don’t kill him.” He turned to stride away and called over his shoulder, as casually as if they were discussing the weather, “We’ll relocate him for that.”

Ryoma chuckled. “Got it.”

It wasn’t until they were halfway up the drive, the garage in sight, that Abigail realized she hadn’t yet been glared at. Not by Mikey, and not by either member of the security detail that had just nodded in their direction. Was that … a good thing?

She tried not to think too hard about that, or what it might or might not mean.

“Any particular tactic you wanna try when we get there?” Ryoma asked as he pulled into traffic.

Abigail released a breath and forced her mind onto the less-favorable subject at hand. It wouldn’t be a standard interrogation by any means. But until she sat down across that table from him again and saw how well—or otherwise—he’d handled his night of veritable isolation, she wouldn’t know for sure the best angle of approach. “Notorture. Romeo’s mind games aside, there’s still a chance a more traditional method will work on him.”

Ryoma drummed his fingers on the steering wheel once before adjusting his grip in order to move one hand to her thigh. He curved his palm inward, gripping possessively, and said, “I’ll keep my hands off as long as he does, how about that?”

Abigail pushed out a fake-dramatic sigh. “He’ll be cuffed and chained, baby. He’s not the one with the handsy problem.” She trailed her fingers along his exposed forearm for emphasis.

“Oh, it’s a problem, is it?”

She felt his arm shift, beginning to move, and hurriedly shoved his hand from her leg before he could do something stupidly distracting. “It is when you’re driving!”

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