Page 80 of Fiona and the Fixer

“Yeah.”

She’d had to live with the fucker for what… thirteen years after he killed his wife? I couldn’t imagine having to live for one night with the drunk who killed my mom.

“And now you’re being framed by your partner for your black and white approach to the law.”

She sighed. “Not anymore.”

“Oh?”

“I blackmailed my boss. He’s gonna frame my partner instead.”

I couldn’t help but laugh because if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t believe a word of this. With Fiona, it was like all the pieces of the puzzle finally fit into place.

“What do you have over your boss?”

“He’s cheating on his wife with a man he calls Daddy.”

I wasn’t expecting that, but it was pretty good stuff when it came to blackmail. “You do realize, sweetheart, that you’re not as black and white as you think.”

She went taut in my arms. “Oh?”

My hand stroked down her back again. “You just said it. You’re blackmailing your boss and you… diverted him so your partner would take the fall instead of you.”

“I would have been fired! My career ruined. I’m on apaid leave of absence until things settle. Or permanently. Who knows?”

“You bent the law to protect yourself. I wouldn’t call blackmail legal.”

She squirmed in my lap, making my dick, which was still untucked from my jeans, get hard again. “You’re getting justice, just like you did with your dad.”

“How do you know so much about justice?”

I shrugged. Took a breath, let it out. If she was sharing, I needed to as well. “My mother was killed by a drunk driver. The law didn’t give him jail time.”

“Misdemeanor manslaughter?” she asked. She knew her stuff.

I nodded. “Yeah. He walked. My father got justice though.”

“Do I… do I want to ask?”

“Probably not.”

“Is he in prison, too?”

“The drunk driver? No, he’s dead. My father? No. Worse. He’s in Florida.”

“The drunk driver killed your mother. He deserved–”

“What happened to your black and white, sweetheart?” I tapped her nose. “You going into the pickle shop with yourdiversion?You bent the rules. In fact, you broke them. You stole drugs from a drug dealer.”

I glanced at the package that had dropped to the floor.

“You could be arrested for possession.”

She waved that off. “I’m an FBI agent.”

“On leave,” I reminded. “Those guys in that shop aren’tBoy Scouts. They’re not going to help you cross the street, sweetheart. They’re going to run you over. Then back up and run you over again.”

“I have to see this through.” Of course, she did.

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