Page 3 of Free to Judge
A wry smile twists my lips. “They think that already. They’ve planted enough evidence to play a game of cat and mouse with me. I have a choice—capitulate to their demands and release information about our agents in the field, or they’ll release the information that I did it anyway. ”
He considers my words. “But by leaving?—”
I pick up where he left off. “I’ll be a part of something.”
He looks at the card I laid beside the open folder on his desk. “There are good men and women who work there. Fortunately for you, they’ll give you a lifeline.”
I nod in agreement. I might be going so deep undercover that I won’t recognize myself, but I can still get out. That is, if I’m alive to make the call.
Holder goes on, “If this spirals out of your—their—control, there won’t be a team ready to storm in and rescue you.”
Ice chills the fire of revenge fueling the blood in my veins. “I accepted that before I chose this.”
A grim silence hangs between us until he lands the final blow. “You’ll cease to exist in the department.”
I scoff. “I cease to exist now.”
“Fair point. The rumors have spread like wildfire.”
“You’ve got a mole, Ace.”
Leaning back heavily in his chair. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“You need to flush him out.”
“Which is what I’ll be doing while you”—he lifts the folder—“go to work on this.”
The breath leaves my body. Some part of me thought he’d force me to wait for acknowledgement from the bureau of my innocence. But the evidence is too damning. The Irish Mafia is too damn good once they have you in their sights.
And they planted just enough evidence about me to make doing my job impossible.
“There’s one thing.”
“What?”
He points back and forth between us. “To every man and woman here at the agency, in uniform, you’ll have become one of them—the enemy.”
“I know.” That burns. These are people I’ve gone into hot spots and cold missions with. I’ve never made them doubt me.
But the mob has.
“Dec, I can’t publicly acknowledge what you’re doing until it’s all over. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His eyes meet mine. “Even if I consider you to be the son I never had.”
His declaration hits me like a vicious blow to the gut—confirming everything I already feared. “Ace, do you think I’m doing the right thing?” I anxiously await his verdict. Every movement I’ve made since graduating from Harvard Law all those years ago, including being assigned to the FBI’s Organized Crime and Racketeering Section, he’s been by my side.
But this? I stare as he flips through the file again.
What will I do if he disagrees? Give up on my vow?I think bitterly. Yet here I am, forced to accept that I might just do that. The vow I made in the vestige of an agent’s blood and the danger lurking in the shadows waiting to strike at any moment propel me to move forward even if it’s not quite within the lines of justice.
For now.
A few weeks ago, I was at home when my doorbell rang.Ding, dong. It wasn’t UPS leaving a package. No, instead of somethingI ordered from Amazon, I had a visit from the Byrnes family—founding members of the largest Irish Mafia operation on the Eastern Seaboard.
The enforcers weren’t there to deliver a message. They were there to recruit me. They need help, and apparently, I’m the one they’ve chosen for the position. I tried to decline their “interview,” but all I received for my efforts were three cracked ribs and bruised kidneys that caused me to piss blood for days.
After they left, I made a call to someone I knew would beveryinterested in who stood back and watched while I had my ass handed to me by not one but four of the Byrnes best. He agreed with their unanimous vote—I should fill that position, but for an entirely different reason.
The company I recently started working for planted the necessary seeds. They did this carefully. Meticulously. We, the few in the know, understand the security around the Byrnes inside, but still, someone managed to get that man in. Worse, someone’s keeping him from being found out.
