Fearless For Love (Lovelly #3) (18 page)

I HEAR LAUGHTER and giggles coming from the living room. I duck my head under my pillow and pull the covers over my head. It’s been two days since Krish almost died on our living room floor. Two days since Harrington told me he was FBI.

It’s also been two days since I’ve heard from him, and, awkwardly enough, it makes me sick with worry. Now that I know what he’s really doing with Stamos, I can’t help but feel anxious about his absence. I’ve even had nightmares of him lying in Krish’s place, bleeding out while I stand by and watch, helpless.

The only thing that’s helped me cope is drumming.

Which is why I crashed the moment I got home last night, after another tedious practice session with The Torque. My hands feel raw from the number of times Jarod had me rehearse my solo. He claimed that if I didn’t get it right, I might as well pack up and leave. And of course, being the stubborn person that I am, I stayed and practiced without complaint until he was completely satisfied.

There’s something to be said for someone who’s as passionate about their work as he is. It makes me want to work harder, prove that I’m meant to be part of that greatness. The ability to forget everything and just immerse myself in music, feel the vibrations coursing through my veins, is one of the main reasons I drum. It’s where I feel most at home. I suppose, in that sense, Jarod and I are alike.

The giggles in the living room have turned into full-on laughter. Irritated, I jerk the covers off and roll out of bed. I pull open the door, tempted to chuck something at Cat and retreat back into the cocoon of my sheets, but decide otherwise. Instead, I make my way down the short hallway and into the living room. Cat and John sit on the couch together, talking and laughing like nothing’s changed.

They both pause when they see me standing there, staring at them, and something about the way they sit together makes me suddenly feel very alone. I miss Vincent.

“Nice Tweety-birds.” John winks, pointing to my favorite pair of pajama shorts.

I growl.

“Coffee?” Cat asks, tipping her mug toward her nose. She takes a deep breath. “Mmm . . . so good.” Then she’s giggling again and I have no idea why. All I know is that I don’t feel anywhere near as light and carefree, standing so close to the area Krish had been. It’s like I can still feel the ghost of all that blood, all that violence.

“Could you guys keep it down with . . .”—I wave my hand around—“all that peppiness?”

“Somebody’s moody this morning,” Cat says in a sing-song voice.

“Oh, stuff it,” I grunt, turning around and heading back to my room. I hear her say something about me needing time with everything that happened as I shuffle back into the safety of my room and close the door.

I cross the small expanse of open space and lay back on my bed, staring at the stark white ceiling and chewing on my bottom lip.

Cat’s not wrong. With everything that’s happened, I don’t know where I stand anymore. Especially when it comes to Harrington. I just need to talk to someone who understands me, who understands my past, my reservations.

My phone buzzes on the bedside table and I pick it up. I smile when I see who’s calling. Perfect timing, as always.

“Hey, Jessy-girl,” Vincent says when I answer.

“Hey, Vincent. How are you? How are things with your brothers?”

He sighs heavily.

I perk up, pulling myself into a sitting position, and drag the covers over my lap. “Uh-oh. What happened?”

“I found out that my step-mom has a higher chance of getting custody than I do. Because technically, she’s still their mother, and apparently she’s going through rehab.”

“I’m so sorry, Vince. I just don’t get it. The state has to see that you’re better for those boys than she is. She doesn’t love them, why can’t she just let them go?”

There’s a long pause, and I can tell he’s struggling to find the words, to say them out loud. “She thinks I’m trying to steal her money.”

I scoff. “How exactly?”

“By trying to take them away from her. She knows that if she loses custody of my brothers, all that government support she currently gets will be cut off too.”

“Money that she’ll just use to buy more drugs, instead of feeding her children.” I don’t get how horrible some parents are, putting themselves and their pleasures before the children that depend on them.

“She pleaded to have her kids back, saying that she’ll change her ways and the judge bought it. But I’m not giving up yet. The court said she can have her kids back once she’s proven that she’s drug free.” He makes a pained noise, almost like a desperate groan. “Am I a horrible person for hoping she fails and overdoses one of these days?”

“No!” I tighten my grip on my comforter. “You’re the last person who should feel that way, Vince. Hell, all you want is a better life for your brothers.”

“One I doubt
I
can give them.” His voice is low.

“It’ll be a helluva lot better than what they’re getting now. You’ll love them, and put their needs before yours.”

“Come on, Jessy-girl. I know you think I can move mountains, but raising three boys while working as a mechanic isn’t exactly a charmed life. I barely get home on time as it is, and when I do, I’m so tired, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“Oh, Vince.” My heart hurts, and my throat feels like someone jabbed a hand into it. “You don’t know how much those boys love you, do you? You could raise them on stale bread and send them to school every day in torn clothes and they’d still think you’re their world. They know you love them more than anything. They know you’ll do everything you can to keep them safe.”

“That’s all great, but I can’t fight the government.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I promise him. I don’t know how, but we will.
He
will.

“Anyway, tell me about your practices. You excited about this gig in Miami?” he asks, quickly changing the subject.

I sigh. Where do I even start? “Yeah. Preparing for this one’s been really different though. Usually, we just practice a couple times right before a gig and it’s all pretty laid back. But this one, man. Jarod’s been riding us all really hard. Especially this last week. He’s been demanding that if we aren’t sleeping, we should be practicing.”

“Man, that’s gotta be tough,” Vincent replies. “How are you dealing with work?”

I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “I had to tell him that I can’t just up and quit working at Blue Tango. He got pissed and threatened to kick me out. But I was done being pushed around, so I pushed back. I was really hoping it was just a bluff and he would back down, and damn was I glad when he did.” I laugh nervously.

“Really?” His tone is surprised. After another moment of silence, he says, “You’ve changed since you moved away.”

“What do you mean . . . ?”

“Like, I don’t know, there’s something a bit more . . . confident or something. You’ve always been tough, but not like this. It’s nice to see you taking control of what you want. . . . You even sound happy.”

I frown, thinking that he couldn’t be more wrong. “I don’t know about that, Vince. I can’t seem to make up my mind lately, and things have gotten a bit . . . complicated when it comes to my life.”

“Well, I beg to differ. And trust me, I know you better than you know yourself. Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ve got it handled.”

Could he be right? I mean, I don’t feel any different. Could moving to a new place and playing drums really have affected me that much? I guess so. But I also know there’s more to it than that. Maybe it has less to do with some
thing
and more to do with some
one
. I take a deep breath and decide that now’s the perfect opportunity to tell him about Harrington, the man who came into my life as a surprise and who’s slowly inched his way into my heart, even when I tried so desperately to fight it. I tell him everything—the cage fights, the moments by the river, the run-ins with him at Blue Tango, all of it except the fact he’s FBI and how he’s working undercover for Stamos. I lay it all on the table, every conflicting thought, every half-formed hope, every reservation and fear.

“What does your gut tell you?” he asks once I’m done.

“That I should be with him. But I don’t know if it’s because I’m lusting after him, or if it’s because I know, deep down, that he’s not as bad as I want to think he is. That it’s my past getting in the way again.”

“Hmm . . .” I hear the creak of a chair and imagine Vincent leaning back as he thinks. “Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, how can I be attracted to someone who beats people up? I mean, what’s the likelihood of him not hurting me?” As soon as I say it out loud, I realize how foolish it sounds. Because, even after everything I’ve seen, I know Harrington would never hurt me like that. That’s not who he is.

There’s a long pause where Vincent says nothing, and I almost wonder if the call dropped. I check, just to be sure. “Vincent?”

“Yeah. I’m here. I was just thinking . . . this guy . . . I mean, I get what you’re saying. But I guess it’s just that you have no guarantee in life, Jess. You’ve seen me get in fights, you’ve seen me hit the crap out of people, do you ever think I’d hurt you?”

“No.” The answer is quick and short. There’s no doubt in my mind that Vincent would never hurt me in a million years. Even if someone put a gun to his head, he wouldn’t.

“But a lot of other people might not think that.”

“Well, then they’re idiots.”

I picture him smiling my favorite smile as I defend him.

“Okay. So what if you’re making the same kind of snap judgment with Harrington that many people might make of me? Yeah, I have piercings and tattoos, and I get into fights, but that doesn’t make me a bad guy, does it?”

He has a point.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying this guy is all fun and roses and you don’t have a reason to be cautious, but maybe if you give him a chance, you might be surprised. I’ve known you a long time, Jess, and you’re family. I know your fears; heck, I’ve experienced them for years myself. So I know how your mind works, and trust me when I say that you like this guy, whoever he is. And if he’s made this kind of impression on you in just a few short meetings, imagine how you’ll feel once he’s really in your life.”

“So what should I do next?” I ask. That totally sounded lame, but I don’t care.

“Do what your heart and head tell you. And know that love isn’t without risk.”

“I’m not in
love
with him.”

“I know that,” he says gently. “But whatever you’re feeling for him, if you let it grow, give it a chance, it has the potential to become something.”

My pulse kicks up a notch. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Sure, I’ve seen the movies, how boy meets girl and how that eventually turns into love. But is that something I could potentially have?

“There’s a cost to happiness, Jessy-girl. The question you need to ask is, are you willing to gamble with your heart, knowing full well you might have it broken into thousands of pieces?”

“Honestly?” I say. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, I didn’t catch Harrington’s last name,” Vincent says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I chuckle. “Why? You planning to do some cyber-stalking?”

“Maybe. I have to make sure he’s not a serial killer or something.” He laughs, but I know he’s only half kidding.

“It’s Lovelly. Harrignton Lovelly.”

“No way,” Vincent replies. “It can’t be.”

“What?”

“Are you serious? Remember Ace? Well, the boy she was madly in love with . . . his name is Heath
Lovelly
.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “What? No. It must be a coincidence.” I’m grasping at thin straws and I know it. Lovelly isn’t a common last name . . .

“I doubt it. It’s Lovelly with a double L, right? He has to be Heath’s brother. They’re one of the most elite families in Georgia.”

“HEY, MAN,” I say as Fisher walks toward me, pushing off the pillar I was leaning against and stepping forward to meet him. The sound of the cars on the overpass above us creates an ambient roar in the background that’s oddly kind of soothing. It’ll also let us talk freely, on the offhand chance that Stamos is having us followed.

“Hey,” Fisher says casually.

“So, first of all, I wanted to apologize for the other night—”

Fisher puts up his hands. “Whoa. Let me stop you right there. If you called me here to apologize, I’m going to punch you in the throat. Because I don’t want your apology.”

Okay
,
maybe he
’
s more pissed
off
than I
thought
.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing, man. I should be.”

“What?” I blurt. “Dude, I’m the one who nearly broke
your
arm.”

He laughs. “You did no such thing. Besides, I shouldn’t have goaded you on like that. You were right. I just lost it there for a minute, and I’m sorry. I know you weren’t trying to blow up our op. You’re my best friend, man. I know there isn’t a thing in the world you wouldn’t do for me. Hell, you came looking for me, putting your fucking life in danger just to help me out. So, we’re good?”

Fisher holds his hand out in truce and I clasp it with a grin “Yeah, we’re good”

Fisher steps back and skeptically eyes our surroundings. “I know you didn’t call me to meet you under this bridge just to apologize. So what’s up?”

“You’re right. Lincoln’s meeting us here in a few, and I need you to help me convince him to help us. ”

He gives me a surprised look, so I take a deep breath and explain everything I found out in the last few days: Gomez and the warning I got from Stamos, the big announcement, my plan to make Lincoln and Krish confidential informants, and how I think we’re gonna take Stamos down. We talk through the holes in my plan, dissecting the what ifs and the possibilities, but at the end we agree on one thing: we need to bring Gomez in so we can nail Stamos.

“So January 21, huh?” he finally says as our plan-making lapses into silence.

“Yeah,” I lean back against the big pillar again.

“We’re gonna have to move fast to get it all done.”

“Yup.”

Lincoln’s car pulls up right then, parking next to Fisher’s, and we let the conversation drop. He slides out, shutting his door before walking toward us. He shoves his hands into his pockets and the car’s security system beeps behind him as it locks.

“Sup.” He jerks his chin toward us. “What’s up with the location?”

Fisher and I look at each other for a moment.

“Should you tell him, or should I?” Fisher asks.

I take a step back. “He was your friend first, you tell him.”

“What the hell is going on?” Lincoln says looking from Fisher to me, then back to Fisher.

“Lincoln,” Fisher says, stepping forward and putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What we’re about to tell you is some crazy shit, but promise me you’ll listen to the entire thing before you go off running.”

“Okay,” he says, looking more nervous by the second. Fisher smiles encouragingly and launches into everything It takes approximately twenty minutes to tell Lincoln about our involvement with the FBI, how we joined Stamos’s gang solely to take him down, and finally, how we need his help to do it. By the time Fisher’s done, Lincoln’s brown skin has turned pasty and his eyes are big and round, scared.

“So, wait,” Lincoln says as he looks between me and Fisher. “You’re both FBI?”

Fisher shakes his head. “No. I got kicked out, but he is.”

Lincoln covers his head with both his hands and paces. “Shit. Shit, man.” He turns and walks back quickly, his hand stretched out like he’s reaching for something, or maybe trying to push us away. “I can’t be associated with you. Do you know what Stamos would do to me? To Krish? Hell, he nearly died just for saying he wanted out. If Stamos thinks we’re working with the FBI . . .” He shakes his head. “Nah, man. I can’t.”

Shit. Things are not going as I hoped. But then, when do they ever?

So I move on to my next tactic: scare him enough to make him think he has no other choice. I feel like shit for doing this, but I have to. I need his help to bring in Gomez.

“You don’t have a choice, man.” I walk toward him, my arms spread wide. “We’ve been friends since day one. Do you really think he’ll believe that you haven’t been in on it from the beginning if the truth about me comes out?”

His eyes go wide. “He’ll have to.”

“He won’t, man. Stamos won’t think twice about putting a bullet in your head if he thinks you’re double-crossing him,” Fisher says. “Remember Paul? He shot him because he let some guy get away with his stash.”

Lincoln looks at me, pleading. “But I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re associated with me, Lincoln. That’s enough to have a target painted on your forehead if my cover is blown.”

He crouches down, his hands on his knees as he breathes loudly. “I don’t want to die.”

I get down to his level, next to him, and look him in the eye. “And I won’t let you. You help me bring in Roberto, and I promise, we’ll get all of this taken care of. We’ll put Stamos away for good, get rid of your criminal record, and put you in witness protection.” When he still doesn’t respond, I add, “Just like Krish.”

He looks at me, comprehension dawning. “The paramedics?”

I nod. “He’s in FBI custody, getting the best medical care under an assumed name. Do this one little favor for me, and I’ll make sure no one else will ever be hurt because of Stamos.You won’t have to work for him anymore. Ever.”

I know that’s one hell of a promise to make, but I’m desperate. For my plan to work, I need Fisher and someone else. Unfortunately, that someone else is Lincoln.

Lincoln looks up, his face red. “Fine,” he finally says, and I could’ve kissed him.

“Thank you.” I get to my feet and take a step back, turning to Fisher. “Let’s make this happen as soon as possible. I’ll notify Wilson that the plan is a go. We know Roberto will be at Blue Tango in about two weeks, and we need to keep him there until the FBI raids the club. I’ll worry about coordinating that.” I look from Fisher to Lincoln, making sure they’re both listening. “You and Fisher just need to make sure Roberto doesn’t flee the scene before we can arrest him.”

Lincoln nods, looking nervous and slightly ill.

“Okay. Good. Now . . . any questions?”

“What if I get made?” Lincoln asks, finally standing up. “I can’t go back.”

“Don’t worry, when the FBI raids Blue Tango, they’ll arrest all three of us for show, and when all is said and done, you can disappear into WITSEC.”

He nods, satisfied and then shoots a glare at Fisher. “I’m still not done being pissed at you, man. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would be happening.”

Fisher snorts. “If it wasn’t for me and Harrington here, you and Krish wouldn’t be getting a chance at another life.”

“Whatever.”

This is an argument I don’t see ending anytime soon, so I turn away and head to my car. I need to talk to Wilson and put the plan in motion, so everything will be ready when Roberto steps foot in Blue Tango on Saturday. I feel almost giddy. We’re one step closer to nailing Stamos, and maybe we can finally find out what’s supposed to go down on January 21.