Target 84 (6 page)

“What was that about?” Pepper asks at my left.

“He wants things he can’t have. He’s acting like a petulant child,” I complain.

“He wants you, Greta.”

“I know,” I snap.

“Okay, okay! Don’t freak at me. I just want you happy. I don’t care if it’s with Hoot or not.” I regret losing my temper with Pepper instantly.

“I know. I’m just...I don’t love him. There’s no connection on my end. I was honest when I laid out the rules. Sex. Period. Nothing else.”

“Sometimes rules change,” Pepper says.

“I don’t want them to,” I admit.

“Then maybe it’s time to tell him that. Because it looks like he’s trying real hard to change them on you.” She nudges me with her elbow and takes her bourbon. I pinch the bridge of my nose to relieve the tension forming in my head.

“Pepper. I’m not...”

“I know. Shh. You’re not good at all this. I get it. Just...just be open to possibilities in life, okay?” she states. “There is so much good out there waiting for you.” Her faith in me, given how little she actually knows, stuns me. Her acceptance of me is mind blowing. Quite frankly, it’s the only reason I’ve formed a relationship with her and the people that surround her.

“I love the way you see the world.” I whisper the truth like it’s an ugly secret I’m revealing.

“How do I see the world?” Pepper asks, cocking her head sideways.

“The way I wish I could.”

“She's got the gun to my head. Well, pull the trigger already, baby, bang bang. She turned my heart bloodshot red, but you can't leave me for dead, I'm already dying.” ESCAPE THE FATE – “DESIRE”

“The U.S. government doesn't kill people, Agent James, in or out of custody. Did you see this shit?” Clint tosses the paper at me. It lands at my feet. Irked, I reach down and pick it up.

More ATF sting cases dismissed as top agent cannot testify James, the agent in charge of the operation in Memphis, was transferred over the summer to ATF national headquarters, according to sources with knowledge of the move. James did not return calls from the
Journal
this week seeking comment. ATF spokeswoman Rachel Scataloni said James remains an ATF agent, but refused further comment, adding, "We do not discuss personnel actions."

I blow out a ragged breath. The latest dismissals means none of the cases to arise out of Operation Eminent
--
in either state or federal court
--
will go to trial. I was banking on uncovering the ring leader for the better part of a year. All signs pointed to Torren Delanti but I didn’t have time to get hard evidence. I was pulled to work on the Serpentine case when shit exploded all over the fan.

"The DA played a game of chicken," Clint says as I continue to skim. "I don't think they ever intended to take this case to trial."

What began last year as a conspiracy to acquire illegal firearms expanded to include a plot to destroy property. In a joint investigation with the sheriff’s office, ATF agents and sheriff’s deputies seized a variety of machine guns, explosive devices, and other prohibited weapons from the home of one suspect. They also recovered notes and schematics delineating plans to detonate a bomb.

Forty-seven explosive devices were found in the residence, along with instructions on how to build bombs. Search warrants were executed in 11 different locations, yielding 50 firearms, 47 destructive devices, and important documentary evidence. The collective crimes included multiple murders, kidnappings, firearm violations, robbery, and violent shootouts with police, using a portion of the loot to purchase a Memphis property for a training base. Five suspects were arrested by ATF agents and sheriff’s deputies on a variety of federal charges, including conspiracy, possession of unregistered destructive devices, and firearm violations.

“The principal suspect, Torren Delanti, was never held or charged, but his accomplice was convicted on three charges and sentenced to 140-months’ imprisonment. We know now that he has come out of hiding in the last month and reached out to Dominic to try and rebuild his empire,” Clint says.

“I should have stayed on the case. You
never
should have pulled me,” I grind out.

“And risk your cowboy antics garnering any more unwanted attention? No thanks, Bentley.”

“I was making progress,” I protest.

“Bullshit. You were making a mess. Before we go in to speak with Dominic Napoli there are two things you need to understand: one, you are to have no more contact with Pepper Philips. You’re too recognizable and we’re working on keeping her as low profile as possible, two, your main focus is to watch Dominic Napoli, from
afar
. I want you setting up surveillance options as soon as the location is in renovation phases.”

“Understood.”

“Agent James, one report that you’ve overstepped either of those requests and you’ll be taking a vacation without pay.”

“Why the hell’d you even bother putting me on this case?” I snap.

“To break the news to Pepper and, quite frankly, because you give a shit about her and therefore the people around her. I needed someone emotionally involved on our side to make sure this all goes according to plan.” Clint stalks towards the glass double doors to Dominic Napoli’s empire. Flipping Clint off behind his back, I follow him in.

Dominic’s office is plush and opulent. Floor-to-ceiling windows line a single entire wall, giving an impressive view of downtown Richmond. Dark, mahogany wood and leather fill the space nicely. It’s a man’s room. As I enter, I wonder if my face looks as tight as my heart feels. Dominic looks at ease, for now. Not that I blame him. He’s a smart man but probably assumes that because we’re here to hold his hand step by step that he’s not in danger.

I’ve seen the evil that Torren Delanti is capable of and I can only hope that everything works out the way we intend so that no one in this room feels the wrath of Delanti.

“Agents. Welcome,” Dominic greets.

“Dominic,” I say and nod.

“Mr. Napoli.”

“So, I have a rather busy day, can we get started?” he asks.

“Of course,” Clint answers, settling into the deep couch across from Napoli. “We need you to solidify the deal with Torren. Handshake, contract, whatever it is he wants. We need a concrete timeline on the construction of these new clubs and their locations. We will be sending undercover agents in with the construction crews to bug the clubs.”

“And how long after the clubs are up and running will I be required to keep Torren happy?” Dominic asks.

“I’m not going to lie, Mr. Napoli, we could gather enough evidence within a month of opening or it could be years. There’s no hard timeline. When he trusts you enough, he will use the clubs to move and store his product. We just need to have access to those areas when it happens and you can wash your hands of all this.”

“How long does it take you to get a club up and running?” I ask Dominic.

“If the building’s sound and it just needs a makeover, sixty days till the doors open and the music’s pumping.”

“I suggest we get moving then. The sooner this is all over, the better. Our contact has set up a meeting for you and Torren on Friday.”

Dominic nods his agreement and stands.

“One last thing, I understand that yes, this may just be gun running, but also that this could be a move to tie up a loose end for Torren. I want a police detail put on Pepper and Clara during home hours. I’m more than confident that work hours will provide safety for them.”

“That seems reasonable,” Clint states. “After your meeting with Delanti secures this business venture, we’ll get local PD to watch houses at night.”

“Pepper and Sawyer frequently have my daughter, Allie. I want to make sure that everyone is going to be safe or I’m not going through with this. Obviously my main concern is for me, Clara, and Allie, but by default that extends to Sawyer and Pepper as well. I want guarantees.”

Clint sighs. He hates this part of the job. Guarantees. There aren't any in life.

“Listen, Dominic, there are no absolutes in life. We will do everything we can to make sure that no one gets hurt,” I offer before Clint lies and makes promises he can’t keep. Clint lifts the corner of his mouth at me and nods at Dominic, who seems to be placated for now. A couple firm handshakes and we’re exiting the building.

Now we hurry up and wait. No way to move forward until Dominic Napoli seals the deal and construction begins.

“I’ll see you soon, James,” Clint states as we head toward separate cars.

“Not soon enough.”

“Easy, cowboy. Some things take patience and planning. We don’t have room for errors in this situation so keep a cool head.”

I stare at him a beat before saluting him and folding into my rental. He’s right, of course, there is no room for a plan B in this particular case. However satisfying it might seem to simply slit the bastard’s throat, we’ve got one window of opportunity to garner enough evidence to put Torren Delanti behind bars for life.

“Take one step and make it count. Hold your breath and let it out”

PHILLIP PHILLIPS – “SEARCHLIGHT”

The disdain on the cashier’s face is evident to anyone paying attention as Clara pays for our meals. It makes my blood boil to see her judged solely on her appearance. She's beautiful inside and out. A small hand encompasses mine. I look down.

"Don't be mad," Allie says, noticing the direction of my gaze and rigid body language.

"I'm not mad," I answer.

"You are. Dom used to get mad too, but I told him what Mum always tells me."

"And that is?" I question, wondering what she's going on about.

"People who are worth loving come in all shapes, sizes, and looks. People who judge are just scared. Fear makes people do silly things. She said, 'if my hair was a rainbow and my face was covered in warts would you still love me?'"

"Ew," I say with a smirk and scrunch up my nose.

"Yeah. Kinda gross but of course I would. She asked me why. I said, cause you're my mum. She asked why else. I had to think for a while but I got it then. I don't love her because of what's outside of her, I love my mum because of what's inside her. So the outside is just art."

"Art," I repeat, stumped.
This
kid. Pepper is always saying she's a genius in the making and right now, I'm starting to believe it.

"Yeah, art. We are all allowed to be art. To show what we feel we are on the inside, on the outside. I like clothes, Mum likes crazy hair color, Dad likes tattoos...see? Art."

"You are one deep kid you know that?" I rub my back gently on the chair back to rid the itch from the healing portion of the tattoo. This is my second session with Clara and in another hour or two it will be complete.

"Dom says I'm an old soul, but I'm not really old so I don't get that." She shakes her head and grins at me as Clara plops down in the chair to her left.

"What're we talking about?" Clara asks.

"Art." I shrug.

"What kind of art?"

"People art," Allie tells her, smiling. Clara looks to me, perplexed, and again I shrug.

"Okkaayy," she sings.

"Let's just eat so we can finish this damn tattoo.”

I’m flat on my stomach as the needle buzzes across the flesh of my back.

Ink.

It’s saturating my pristine skin.

The raven I requested is almost completed. A big, black raven in flight, wings spread, spanning my shoulder blades. A tribute to remember. To forget. Through the heart of the raven is a dagger. Blood trickles from the raven’s chest. My only way to kill the beast is through this tattoo. Two weeks ago, Clara had completed the outline and much of the shading. It had been a grueling five-hour session. Today we finish it. Knowing it’s on my back, this reminder, sickens me and pleases me simultaneously. The buzzing creates a trance-like blanket in my head.

Everyone here, while outgoing, seems to go through periodic cycles of withdrawal, times when they just didn’t feel like dealing with other people. We all seem to be like that. I try to conjure up a memory from before I arrived but they’re foggy. The smell of the beer that my pop drank. A blurry outline of my mama’s figure. No details. No true memories. They’ve been stripped clean. Taken from me. Beaten and tricked out of me. I trust my feelings. I trust what my instincts tell me about situations and other people but I can’t truly recall my life before Ravenbrook.

The threat of inflicting pain triggers fears that can be far more damaging than the actual sensation of it. We’re all on edge. Twenty-two’s gaze is dull, his face blank. The other students’ reactions, when they do react, frighten me with their dislocated calmness. Is that how we all appear now? Am I like that? Our enhanced interrogation saga has concluded and we’re allowed to return our rooms. I sleep on the floor. The bed is too supple now.

“I found a stray and Mum won’t let me keep it,” Allie pouts from the back door. My brain snaps from its morbid deliberations. She’s setting a bowl of tuna down for a rusty-colored, skinny cat.

“Allie!” Clara scolds.

“What?”

“That was rude.”

“It’s all right,” I mutter from my prone position. My skin feels raw under the gun, like a sunburn being repeatedly slapped as she shades in a section of wing.

“Ask Pepper,” I offer. Clara snorts and Allie’s pout deepens. The cat rubs against her, purring.

“Dad said, ‘No way in hell kiddo,’ and then gave me a noogie.”

I try not to laugh at Allie’s impersonation of Sawyer.

“But, Greta,
look
at him. He needs a home. Someone has to love him and keep him warm. I mean what happens when school starts and I can’t be here as much? What if he dies!?” she shrieks.

“Allie, we’ve talked about this. Dom is allergic to cats. Sawyer said no. The cat has survived this long alone. He will be fine.”

The look on Allie’s face is devastating.
Survived
.
Alone
. Her words play on repeat in my head.

“I will take the cat,” I state.

Allie’s face breaks into a brilliant smile. She leans to the cat’s head and whispers, “Did you hear that, buddy?” Clara stops the tattoo gun.

“Greta. No. You don’t have to do that. Allie would save every. Single. Animal. If I let her.”

“It’s okay,” I answer, watching the cat soak up all of Allie’s affections. “I want to.”

*

The last three weeks have been utterly uneventful. Morning workouts with Pepper. Lounging around my apartment. Waiting for my next target. Reading. Meeting Hoot out for a nightcap and family dinner nights. Rinse and repeat. A scratching at my kitchen window lets me know that Stray is ready to come in. Apparently he enjoys walking the roofline. I imagine the view is killer.

“You’re pathetic.” I let Stray inside and he makes a beeline for my bedroom. I follow the cat Allie conned me into taking into the room at the back of the apartment where Stray has taken up residence on my bed. He purrs in greeting and then stretches out over the crisp sheets. “Get off.” Stray stretches and rolls over. He chuffs a sigh and is then quiet. Stripping off my damp gym clothes, I toss them into the laundry basket and then make my way into the sweltering bathroom. I turn the water toward cold and step into the spray, leaning against the cool tile.

In three hours I need to be ready for Pepper’s wedding. She is so excited. Not a drop of nervous in her. It’s refreshing to see someone so confident in their love. Today has been a whirlwind of sensory overload. Part of me wants to skip the wedding but the other part of me can’t imagine abandoning Pepper on such a monumental occasion. I’ve been warring with myself all morning. Efficient, cold-calculated me battles for dominance with friend-normal-lonely me. The bar of soap slips from my fingers, landing with a thunk. Water whirls around the soap at the drain. My thoughts grow hazy. I want to open the shower stall door. I need more openness. My limbs numb and my stomach churns as I sink to the floor.

We’ve been placed in an isolation tank. It bans all sensory stimuli. We breathe through small, open vents. We are supposed to stay in the tank for thirty-six hours. That’s what we were told. We must complete these interrogation methods so that we become unbreakable. So that we know how to do them ourselves. So that if we’re ever interrogated we won’t talk about Ravenbrook. So that we’re stronger than anything we come up against. When the lights went off I welcomed the dark and quiet.

Now I feel like I’m going mad. Chained in place, I cannot feel any walls around me. The floor sways, but I know it must be a trick of my mind. Anxiety and panic course through me. We’re deprived of sight, sound, taste, smell, and feeling. I have no concept of time. I know it’s only a little more than a day but it feels as though it’s been months already. Ear plugs keep me from hearing even the faintest breath coming from the other students. The silence is eerie. I want to cry but no tears come.

*

All I want to do is keep a low profile and save my money until the time is right to get out. Keeping this double life is exhausting. Who am I? It’s a secret even to me. Am I Thirty-three or am I Greta? Are they different people or just shards of one being? Three more jobs and I can sneak away into the night and live my life any way I choose. Yet I’ve grown to rely on the people here, which is a first for me. The longer I’m here the more I grow to feel for them. As if, when the time comes, I might actually miss them. I might choose to stay. That idea is terrifying.

I zip up my blood-red dress, buckle my heels, and check my makeup. Flawless. Bold, red lips. Cat-eye liner with smoky shadow and a touch of bronzer on my cheeks. Staring at my reflection, I practice my happy smile. My lips hurt from trying so laboriously. I am happy for the occasion. I’m happy that Pepper seems to have found herself, to have embraced her life and made a monumental go of it.

Smiling--that feeling of delight that causes an authentic one--doesn’t come naturally. So I practice a couple more times until it looks natural. When I’ve convinced myself, I text Hoot to let him know I’ll be down in ten minutes and not to be late. I hate tardiness.

He arrives two minutes late. My teeth grind together as he pulls up to the curb.

“You’re late.”

“Get in, fancy pants. You look amazing,” he coos.

“Thanks.”

He leans over to kiss me. I turn my head, giving him my cheek.

“Going to play that game today, huh?”

“Not a game, Hoot. You know better,” I state firmly.

“One of these days, Greta, I’m going to worm my way in so deep you won’t know how to breathe without me,” he says, throwing the truck into drive. I shake my head at him.

I’ve been clear since day one. Sex only. He has needs. I have needs. We can meet those particular needs together but nothing more. I’m already aware that he’s too keen on me and I will have to break up with him soon. Not that we’ve ever been
together
as a couple. I sigh and watch the world whiz past me through the window. I wonder if I will ever be myself again, that small, innocent child who I can’t recall from before Ravenbrook. I don't know if I have any self left over. I definitely don’t have enough to give to Hoot.

Not the way he wants.

The sun is bright overhead, making this just about a nearly perfect April day. Wispy clouds hang delicately in the clear, blue sky. The grass smells like it’s been freshly cut. White chairs adorn either side of a blue aisle runner. The final head count for the ceremony reached thirty guests. All eyes are currently on Pepper in her cream-colored gown. Her dress follows the curve of her body without clinging. A V-neck plunges enough to be sexy without overdoing it, and the cut at the bottom shows a hint of her ankles and strappy shoes. The shoes are to die for. We picked them out together just yesterday: stiletto with rhinestones, and straps. Really, she could have just worn those and been perfect. I snicker at my thoughts and raise my hand to my brow to shield the sun from my eyes.

Pepper stops at the end of the aisle and a rogue tear cascades down her cheek. Allie is the only person in the wedding party and I’ve never seen Sawyer look quite so hot before. The man was made to pull off a linen suit. Hoot, Beau, and Dom all sit in my row with me. Besides a couple of guys from the gym Pepper and I work out at, and Pepper and Clara’s therapist, the rest of the guests are Mayhem brothers and their old ladies.

Clara starts to speak. She’s marrying them today and it’s bittersweet, really. From lovers to friends to bitter, jealous shrews, Sawyer and Clara have done it all together. Yet here they stand, supporting each other’s new lives and happiness. It baffles me. If I were Pepper, I would have killed Clara long ago. Hoot’s hand rests on my thigh. I stare at his profile and wonder, if I just let him in, all the way in, would I have what Pepper has?

No. I don’t
feel
anything for Hoot. I use him and that’s it. He doesn’t dominate my thoughts unless I’m horny. He couldn't possibly be the
one.
I brush his hand from my thigh and refocus on the couple in front of me. Such joy. Abundant adoration. They radiate emotions that I war with. Emotions that I'm not even sure I’ve truly experienced or ever will.

Vows are said. Promises are made and Pepper and Sawyer strut halfway down the aisle before he sweeps her up into his arms and kisses her passionately the rest of the way down the aisle runner. I’m looking forward to the reception at Mayhem’s clubhouse. I could use a few shots and some loud music.

I’d like to lose myself tonight.