Page 17 of Dark Truths

On purpose, but I don’t share that out loud.

“Dimitri, I’m just here to talk and check in, that’s all. Ford wants an update.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What Ford wants, Ford gets.”

The man sighs hard and shakes his head. He knows there’s no love between the Assistant Director and me. Since I went undercover, the bastard got a promotion but still refuses to hand my case over to another supervisor. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose, keeping an eye on me. But I never cared much for the man before this case started, so it almost feels like it’s a vendetta he’s not ready to wave a white flag on yet.

“Will you please come down so we can go inside? I brought a nice bottle of Scotch and a couple of Cubans.” He smacks at his arm with a grimace. “Plus, the fucking mosquitoes are biting, dude.”

I snort and then lower my rifle before flinging it over my shoulder and climbing down the tree. When I step out of the treeline, I come face to face with my friend and FBI handler, Agent Jacob. We attended the academy together, were even assigned to the same department, so when it came time for my handler to be chosen, we weren’t surprised when Ford picked Jacob. He knows me and I know him.

“Well, come inside then.”

Jacob follows me into the kitchen where I set out two glasses for him to pour this scotch he brought. As he does, I study my friend. His suit is a bit disheveled and there are shadows under his eyes.

“You alright, Jacob?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just work.” He takes a long sip of the scotch, hissing through his teeth afterward. “Damn, that is fantastic.”

I take a sip as well, savoring the burst of flavor in my mouth. “It is. So tell me, Jacob, what is so pressing that you resorted to having me followed instead of waiting for our usual check in?”

Jacob sets his glass down, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he needs the time to gather his thoughts. “Ford’s growing worried.”

“When is he not?”

“I’m serious, Dimitri,” Jacob urges. “He thinks you may be compromised.”

Compromised? I suppose that’s one word for it. If compromised means spanking the attitude out of my sinful little angel before sticking my hand under her dress to make her come so hard I nearly blew my load in my pants. Then sure. I’m compromised.

“Tell Ford his concern is touching, but I’m still an FBI agent doing his damn job.” My tone is bitter and harsh, but I can’t helpit. It feels like I’m being pulled from each side and it has me on edge. I’m lying to him, lying to everyone…even lying to myself.

“That’s what I told him, but an informant has gone quiet.”

“Who?” To become a soldier in the Bratva, you must be vouched for. This person is responsible for you and your actions. If they fail, you fail. If they betray the Bratva, you’ve betrayed the Bratva. As far as anyone knows, the man we used to vouch for me died in a tragic accident, but in reality, he was given a new identity and is living a better life far from Miami.?

“A guy named Anton. Know him?”

I shake my head. “No. Should I be concerned that he’ll say something he shouldn’t?”

“If you’re asking if he knows who you really are, I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think so.”

I can’t take that risk, and Jacob knows it. “I’ll look into it personally.” This isn’t something I can leave for Alexei to handle.

Jacob nods his thanks before asking, “Do you have an update otherwise?”

“I’ve brokered a deal with Julio Reyes to be a new distributer of the drugs from Columbia, and I’m in the middle of talks with the motorcycle gang to move arms.”

“What about the High Table?”

“There’s the O’Leary wedding next month.”

“Oh yeah, we’ve heard about that. The eldest daughter, Grace, is marrying Patrick O’Leary’s right-hand man, Connor Fraser.” Jacob finishes his glass with one swing. “Have you seen the article in the news about it? They’re calling it the event of the season. A love story, even. The daughter falls in love with her billionaire father’s partner. Funny how they can paint those criminals in such a positive light.”

I huff, his view on the event oddly ironic. “I’m sure I’ll have an update on the High Table afterward. Patrick likes to talk when he’s had one too many drinks.”

“Then I’ll tell Ford.”

“Now,” I finish my scotch and then say, “about those Cubans.”

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