Page 3 of Marked

In a last minute twist, Z ended up being Zasha Popov, nephew of Machail Bolotov, the U.S. version of Pahkan of the Bolotov Bratva. The meet between him and Brandon had gone off without a hitch. We arrested both of them, along with a handful of their underlings. During the raid, we recovered six containers of Tranq Dope and another filledwith C-4. It was the explosives which had us all scratching our heads. Why bring bomb materials to a dope deal?

“You’re up, Lanie.” Duncan nodded toward the still open door.

“Be careful in there. If it doesn’t feel right, walk out.” Noah wrapped his fingers around my elbow. “There’s no need to put yourself at risk. This is the DEA’s problem, not ours.”

“If there’s more C-4 unaccounted for, it’ll be everyone’s problem,” Koen muttered, earning a scowl from Noah.

Skirting around my team, I exited the room. The only one who joined me was Waverly, which came as no surprise. She’d always been my mentor, someone I had mad respect for and looked up to. But in the weeks I spent undercover, she became my sounding board for whenever I couldn't work something out in my head. Unfortunately, it also meant she was acutely aware of the growing tension between myself and Noah.

“Don’t give up on him, Lanie.”

“I only have enough headspace to deal with one crisis at a time, Waverly,” I sighed, reaching out to grasp the door knob of the interrogation room. “And right now, bombs and drugs win out over an emotionally stunted federal agent.”

“He’s harboring a lot of guilt?—”

“Aren’t we all?” I interrupted. “Some of us choose to push through instead of wading in a pool of self-recrimination.”

“Fair point,” she acquiesced.

Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped into the well-lit room. Waverly followed, closing the door behind us. Agents Hendricks and Harty had their backs to me, however, my focus went directly tothe man sitting across from them shooting icy daggers at me from his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Alaina?” Brandon sneered.

The rules of interrogation were different for everyone. Some used the good cop, bad cop routine, which was fine, it just wasn’t my style. I preferred to infuse a bit of sarcasm in my approach.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He scoffed and I smirked as I crossed the room with confidence. “Figured I’d come shoot the shit with you.”

There was an extra chair beside Agent Harty which I slowly drug out from under the table, purposefully letting the metal scrape against the tile floor. I gave myself an internal high five when both Brandon and his lawyer winced at the obnoxious sound.

“I should’ve known you were up to something.” He shook his head, not in a disgusted sort of way, more like he was disappointed.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much.” I sat down. “I’m damn good at my job.”

“Ouch. Is that really all I was to you? A job?”

Before I had a chance to answer, his lawyer piped up.

“Are we almost finished here?”

My eyes cut to the older man in the finely tailored suit, who kept staring at his cheaply made, fake Rolex like he had somewhere else to be. Brandon definitely couldn’t afford the hourly price on this guy, which made me wonder who was footing the bill.

“How rude of me.” I stretched a hand across the table. “Special Agent Alaina Biggs with the FBI.”

“I know exactly who you are, Agent Biggs.” He lookedat my hand, but otherwise made no move to shake it.Asshole.

“Where’d you get the explosives, Brandon?” I returned my attention to my target. His gaze veered to the left, something I’d discovered during my weeks undercover he did when he was getting ready to lie. Which was about eighty-five percent of the time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“All right, let's change gears then. With the amount of drugs we found you with, the DEA is charging you with both conspiracy to commit a felony and possession with the intent to distribute a Schedule 1 narcotic.” I leaned forward with my forearms to the table. “I’m talking between two to thirty years—give or take a decade—in a federal prison when you’re convicted, Brandon. Notice I didn’t sayifbecause we both know you’ll be going down. If you cooperate, though, there may be a way to cushion your fall a bit.”

He slumped in his seat, eyeing the man next to him. It was small, but I saw the slight shake of the other man’s head. I had the answer to my earlier question. Considering who else we had in custody, my best guess was the Russians were picking up the tab for the high-priced suit, meaning Brandon wouldn’t talk. Not while this guy was in the room if he knew what was good for him.

It was time to shake things up; to poke the bear and hope Brandon had enough sense to his life over loyalty.

“Do you honestly believe the Russians are going to let you keep breathing, Brandon?”

Noah

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