Page 35 of Crown of Smoke

He pulls back slightly. His eyes narrow. “Who am I?”

I feel like I’ve put him back on his heels. “I’m not sure. FBI?” I study his face, searching for confirmation, but his expression remains unreadable. Most people would rush to deny it if they weren't law enforcement, but he just watches me with those intense blue eyes.

"That's it, isn't it?" I press my advantage. "You're investigating the Keans officially. That's why you were at the pub that night, why you're entering their boxing matches. You’re undercover."

The pieces click together in my mind. The way he moves, that controlled violence when he fights. His protective instincts. Even breaking into my apartment could be explained by being a detective willing to bend rules to catch criminals.

"It would explain everything," I continue, more to myself than him. "The secret meetings with those other men, your interest in the Ifrinn case…"

Still no confirmation or denial from him. Just that steady, almost predatory gaze that makes my skin tingle. His thumb traces circles on my wrist where he holds it against his chest, the gentle touch at odds with his dangerous aura.

"Though you're not exactly what I picture when I think of a federal agent.” I take in his tattoos. "Undercover work must require a different type of cop."

His lips quirk slightly, but there's something dark in his expression that I can't quite read. Like he's enjoying a private joke at my expense. It should probably worry me more than it does.

"You're very curious," he finally says, voice low and rough. "Has anyone ever told you that could get you into trouble?"

The warning in his tone unsettles me. I'm missing something important here. The rational part of me says to let it go. The curious journalist wants to uncover the mystery of Flynn Tine.

His fingers slide up my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I’m not a part of your story, Lucy. Our agreement is that we help each other.”

“I know.” But I’m already crafting the words to the story of the undercover agent who takes down the Kean family.

“Do you? I can see the wheels turning in your head. Will you include the part about my fucking you in the bathroom in your story? Is there some code of journalistic ethics about fucking your sources?”

His comment irks me, and I give him a push, needing breathing room to break his spell. “You’re being vulgar.”

He crowds me again. “No. I’m pointing out that you want answers about the Keans as badly as I do. And…" His fingers trace along my jaw. "You want me just as much as I want you."

He's right, damn him. The mystery of the Keans consumes me, and the mystery of Flynn Tine pulls me in just as strongly. The combination is impossible to resist. But I can’t afford to be caught up in Flynn. I have a story to complete and an editor getting impatient at how long it’s taking me to finish it.

"Your silence is loud," Flynn says. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

I look up at him. “Do you know who betrayed the Ifrinns?”

He jerks back. Is he bothered that I’ve ignored his comment about us wanting each other and gone back to the point of this arrangement, learning about the Keans?

He steps away from me, shaking his head. “No. What is your interest in the Ifrinns?” There's something personal about the way he says that name, Ifrinn. Like it means more to him than just another piece of the puzzle.

“Their demise preceded Kean’s rise. It seems like there is a correlation there considering they’re in the same business even though there’s a romanticism around the memory of the Ifrinns that doesn’t make sense. They all act like they’re reputable businessmen when in fact they were murderers and fraudsters just like the Keans.”

Something dark flashes in his eyes. Almost like I offended him. “If that’s what you believe, why bother with the story at all? I mean, the Keans did a service taking out the Ifrinns, right?”

“Innocent people died too. Their sons?—”

He laughs derisively. “The Ifrinn sons are not innocent.”

He knows something. “What do you know about them?” I ask.

He runs his fingers through his hair and paces a few steps. Finally, he stops. “Let’s focus. I’ll be back at the fights this weekend. You keep doing… whatever you’re doing.” He gestures to my papers. “Just do it away from the Keans.”

Now I’m the one offended. “I can go with you, keep my ears open like I did the other night.”

“And have you faint? I don’t think so.” All of a sudden, the dark intensity vanishes, replaced by the charm. “Unless you want a repeat in the bathroom.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m being serious, Flynn. You’ve agreed to let me help, so let me help.”

“You are helping.”

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