Target 84 (3 page)

Chapter Four

ATF Agent Bentley James

“If I was a wanted man on the run, would you take a fall if we were under the gun? And drop down beside me in the nooses they've hung?” PLAIN WHITE T'S – KILLER

I hate waiting in line. I hate airports and its dull chatter that sounds like static. The distant wail of a kid. The cough from behind you. The clacking of those ridiculous luggage wheels on the hard, unforgiving floor. I’m wired. Nerves shot. White noise. Glasses clinking at the bar. Music playing overhead. Conversations murmured. I can't focus on a singular sound. It all clashes together, mixing and creating new sounds. My mind is frazzled from overstimulation. I stare at two people waiting on their check at the bar. They don't look at each other. They don't talk. How awkward. The table behind them is bustling with conversation. Lazy talk about traveling for the summer, friends, and parents. The waitress sets my bill down for me. I didn't tell her I was done but maybe I look like a one-drink kind of person. I put cash down and thank her when she comes to take it.

I don’t want to fly to Virginia and have this conversation with the Napolis or Pepper. A woman behind me bumps into me casually. I half turn and murmur a growl. Her mouth drops open at my response. I didn’t bump her, she bumped me.

The masses are idiots, aimlessly wandering about without taking time to stop and think of all the horrors that surround them. Without wondering if the person next to them is what nightmares are made of. My line shifts two steps ahead. I move with it like the sheep I am. Always a sheep. If you aren’t kissing one man’s ass, it’s another’s. School tried to mold me. It wanted me to conform. I didn’t. I escaped that life only to find that to survive, I’d have to conform in other ways.

The day I applied with the Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms office was the best day of my life. I’m skilled. With my false identity, luck, and clean record, I’d had no issue being accepted. I’d felt like on some level I’d come to a place where I fit in. It was a happy medium between school, living in the wild, and being a normal human being. I could use my training and talents from school here. Only, instead of being the bad guy, I’d be using those skills to
catch
bad guys. The idea appealed to my whole soul. A happy medium of sorts. The hero of my own story.

Now. Now, though, I’m just weary of it all. I don’t have a life. My personal connections are few and far between. I am almost always undercover. Run ragged. Surrounded by the filth of the Earth, trying to make my small mark on the world. It feels lonely and tedious. When I’d left for Arkansas to follow Pepper, my marriage--or what was left of it--crumbled. It came down to a simple voicemail that I’d played three times over to make sure it was real. The line shifts forward again, and again, I move with it.

The stale air of the plane dries out my skin and gives me a headache. I can almost feel the pallid tinge take over my face. I hate flying. Soon enough I will be where I need to be. I wonder if Rachel is happy now. Resting my head on the seat back, I close my eyes.

“Bentley, it’s me.” Pause. “Rachel.” Her voice had sounded so distant. Broken. I knew I should’ve called her by now. I’d been in Arkansas for months. “I don’t think this will come as a surprise, but I’ve filed for divorce. Please just sign the papers for me. Clint said he’ll get them to you.” Click. If you’d like to hear this message again press...I pressed one and listened. And again. That was it. Three years of marriage and a year of dating warranted a voicemail. I knew I wasn’t the best husband, but she knew my job. She knew who I was. She said yes willingly when I proposed. How could I have ever anticipated Magnolia happening? I slid the cell phone across the trailer’s counter and dropped my head into my hands. I felt sad but...lighter somehow. We were never meant to be together forever, Rachel and I. Yet I wanted the American Dream: the wife, the two-point-five kids, the house in a bustling, friendly neighborhood. I had been determined to grab hold of that dream. Turns out I strangled that dream into a lifeless corpse. I should feel something. I knew that, but surprisingly, I felt nothing. I hadn’t been a very good husband. Not a cheater or lazy, just absent: a workaholic who supported my wife in theory but never in action. I sabotaged my own wants and for what, the hope that a different woman would make it easier, more attainable?

Glancing at the clock, I realized I had a little over thirty minutes before Mags woke up. Rachel be damned. Apparently, I’m a free agent now. I felt rotten. I trotted out the door, around the corner, and stuck the gift certificate I purchased for her under the windshield wiper of her car.

Four hours later I’m in Virginia after an uncomfortable nap on the plane ride. My eyes are bloodshot from the recycled cabin air. I’m in need of a shower too. I feel stale and hung over. If I’m going to see Pepper again, I want to at least have my wits about me. My
aha
moment came after Carmine was apprehended for blowing Pepper’s Witness Protection cover. It hit hard and quickly; I’d watched Sawyer Crown from afar as he found where Pepper Philips had broken down in that piece-of-shit car she drove.

She was a fool leaving the counseling retreat in that weather that day. She didn’t know I was following her but I couldn't risk her leaving the counseling retreat and not making it home. The majority of my time with
Pepper Philips
was spent watching her without her knowing. She was no longer my
Magnolia
, she had a new life that didn’t include me. As Sawyer blared some ridiculous song from his truck in the middle of a freak snowstorm, her face had lit up in a way I’d never even seen before. Not when she was with Cane Ash, her first love, now buried six feet under the dirt, and definitely not during her time with me. It was as if she was colliding with the other half of her soul as she careened into Sawyer’s arms. Together, they made one.

Right then, I knew without a doubt that she was going to be happy. Content. I knew that he was it for her. It stung, but I knew it was for the best. My love for Pepper was not as deep as his was. It was more fierce, more protective--like one would be over a sibling.

The drive to the Napolis' cabin, which is only a cabin in the sense of the materials used to build it, takes forever. It’s forty-five minutes outside of Blacksburg, and the “cabmansion,” as I like to call it, sits on twenty acres, complete with a lake--private, of course, for swimming and other water activities. Dominic Napoli definitely did something right in life to amass the pleasures he has.

Little dust clouds fly up in the rearview as I pull my rental car up the drive. I can’t help but compare them to my love life, little clouds that start out thick and dense before evaporating into the air. There have only been three women worth mentioning. Darla, who helped drag me out of the wilderness and into society, Rachel, who helped me learn what it means to be a man, and Magnolia, who at least gave me hope that I am capable of love and commitment. Sure, there were some random one-night stands mixed in there over the years, but they were meaningless. Means to ends.

I park next to a newer Mazda CX7 with “Bloodlines” screen printed across the back window. That must belong to Clara Napoli, Dominic’s wife. I know that Pepper’s fiancé, Sawyer Crown, owns and runs Bloodlines with Clara, his ex of sorts. Beyond that, the details of their seemingly tangled web elude me. I step out of the car, straighten my shirt, and rub my eyes. I need to focus here.

The door opens and a petite-but-buxom woman appears at the top of the stairs. A flash of neon yellow hair peeks out as she runs a hand through her long, brown hair.
Interesting
.

“You lost?” she asks rather boldly. A tall, broad man steps up behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and squeezing. He’s tan and dark haired with just a bit of gray showing at the ears.

“He’s not lost, Clara. Behave,” he says playfully. “Agent James, I presume,” he calls out.

“Yup. That’s me.”

“Well, come on in,” he invites. I make my way up the stairs and into the large, open cabin. I lied. “Cabin” does this place no justice. It’s like a slice of heaven on a lake. A slice of wealth mixed with all the peacefulness and serenity that nature has to offer. Lucky bastard.

“Agent Bentley James,” I say, extending my hand to the feisty brunette.

“Clara Napoli, but I gather you already know that,” she replies, raising an eyebrow.

“One can never be too polite.”

“Oh bullshit. Social graces are for fools. Come on, pick a seat. Apparently we have crap to discuss that my
husband
has refused to enlighten me about until you arrived.” She narrows her eyes at Dominic as she moves to a large plush chair and plops down in it, tucking her legs up underneath her. Dominic sighs and shakes his head slightly before taking a seat on the couch. I sit in the armchair next to Clara’s, anxious to get this conversation underway.

“I want to get something out in the open before we dive in here,” I start.

Clara nods as does Dominic so I continue. “Pepper Philips and I were involved before. I was on another case that involved her. They’ve assigned me to this case because I might have better insight given our history.”

“Holy hell,
you’re
hot ATF guy?” Clara chortles. “This is freakin’ priceless! Sawyer is going to shit himself.”

“Clara,” Dominic interrupts.

“Sorry, but...
come on Dom,
” she says.

“So...apparently I’m famous,” I cut in, looking between the two, surprised that Pepper shared any information about me.

“You are more like...notable.” Clara chuckles. I’m beginning to think they know a lot more about me than I want them to.

“Notable?” I question.

“Yeah, like worthy of notice but not famous. You’re notable in the Pepper-Sawyer-messed-up-history-slash-falling-in-love kind of way. Quite frankly anyone who can make Sawyer steaming jealous with little to no interaction gets my seal of approval. He’s a hard nut to crack sometimes and needed the kick in the ass you provided,” she rambles. Jesus.
Women
.

“Let’s focus,” Dominic cuts in. I nod my head in agreement and Clara snaps her mouth closed.

“So, Dominic, Agent Douglas, my superior, gave me the general details of the case. Torren Delanti has contacted you, correct?”

“He has. He wants to partner our talents together to open a few new clubs around the U.S.”

“Your talents?” I ask.

“My clubs, Agent James, are very lucrative. Mr. Delanti seems to have some real estate in prime locations that need developing. He suggested we take a sixty-forty percentage from the clubs’ profits. The ten percent in his favor is in lieu of me buying the land.”

“So he retains the property. In his name?” I ask.

“Yes, it seems he just wants my name and reputation on the face of these new clubs.”

“Are you aware of his...extracurricular activities?” I ask.

“I was enlightened when your superior called me.”

“What in the ever-loving-shit are you two talking about?” Clara butts in. Her eyes are narrowed in concentration as she tries to make sense of our conversation.

“Torren Delanti is a notorious drug and gun runner. The DEA and ATF have been trying to nail him for years now. Here’s where things get tricky.” I continue, “Some of our undercover agents have heard chatter that Torren will use the club as a front, keeping his name out of things by having Dominic’s name plastered all over the face of this endeavor. The clubs will be a safe house of sorts for storing and shipping guns and more than likely drugs. However, I’m not DEA so I only speculate on that end.”

“No,” Clara states to Dominic. Her posture is rigid and she looks completely irritated and ready to throw down.

“Clara,” he refutes firmly, standing his ground.

“Hang on, Clara,” I interrupt before this turns into a domestic violence dispute. “We haven’t even reached the key part yet. Torren’s cousin is Carmine Delanti. The Mayhem MC brother who, two years ago, was prospecting with your business partner Sawyer.”

“I know who Carmine is. I tattooed him plenty,” she cuts in, seething. Her glare returns back to Dominic. “NO.”

“Clara, we have the opportunity to help the ATF take down a ring leader. I can’t in good conscious say no to that. Our risk is slim to none here,” Dominic pushes.

“Our risk, sure. You
men
! If it was
our
risk I was worried about I’d say go for it. Christ! Is this about Pepper? Is Torren trying to get to her? Using Dom to tie up the last fucking loose end?!” Clara is clearly losing the battle to remain calm. I suck in a deep breath as Dominic leans over to her, placing his hand on hers.

“We don’t know for sure. It could be a legitimate business partnering to keep his name quiet but gain more space to move more product, or this could be about Pepper. Either way, we need Dominic to take the deal because either way we can get Torren Delanti,” I state.

“Crap. This is a shit show. You must know that Pepper works for Dom now.” Clara sits staring at me unyieldingly. Her arms are crossed over her chest stiffly.

“I was made aware of that. It seems like it’s all a little
too
coincidental but to be honest, we just don’t know if this is about her or the club front at this point. We need Dominic to set up a meeting with him and get more detailed discussions under way for the business deal. And for all that is holy, keep Pepper far away from Torren until we have a better handle on the situation.”