Page 2 of Bourbon and Lies

Del crouched over a still body in the grass. My eyes squint as my chest laces with pain. “No.” I rush past Del and to his other side, and pull her away from him and into my arms. Tears that I don’t remember falling wet my face as I shout at her unmoving body, “No, baby, what happened? Fuck. Fuck. No.”

I don’t care that I’ve just taken her out of her father’s arms and into mine. I don’t care that I’ve just shown all my cards that my relationship with Fiona Delaney had moved far beyond colleagues, friends, and even the ridiculous idea that it was only physical. I don’t care that I keep repeating the same words over and over again. “I love you. You cannot die on me, do you hear me?”

I pull back to see where she’s been injured, the small slit along her neck barely pulsing any longer as blood coats my arms and the ground below me. I push my palm against it to stop the bleeding. The shirt of her uniform is unbuttoned all the way down past her vest and a patch of wetness lines her side.

When I roll her toward me, Del’s tear-streaked face squints in pain as he mutters out, “Jesus Christ, Fiona. My baby.” We both look down at a piece of her skin that’s shredded like she had gotten caught in a wired fence.

Her body grows heavier in my arms as I hold her tighter. “Just hold on, Fi. Just hold on.”

I know she’s not breathing, but I can’t let go.

“She’s gone, Grant.”

5 years later…

Chapter 2

Laney

“You only liewhen it’s necessary.”

I look down at my hands. Ballet slippers pepper my nails, colored with a pale pink nail polish I’ve grown to hate. My cuticles are a result of my nerves—freshly bitten and picked. I’ve been ignoring what was “right” for months.

“Might as well be a liar now,” I mumble, shaking my head.

I’m frustrated, and that energy has my nerves graduating toward anger and sarcasm. A winning combination. I don’t know where we’re headed or for how long. The only certainty is the mess I’m leaving in my wake. I take a deep breath.You can do hard things.

The sound of the window cracking open drowns out the low bravado of Johnny Cash crooning away on the radio.

“He would be proud of you.” The way she exhales while saying it makes it clear that encouraging or kind words are not something she typically offers. I would guess that needing to console an “asset” would be par for the course in her line ofwork. But maybe that’s not her strong suit. When I study her from across the cab of the truck, it’s too dark to tell if the way she grips the steering wheel tightly and scratches at the side of her face is her tell. If she’s shoveling shit to keep me from spiraling, or if she’s just not used to saying things like this to people like me. She may have known my father professionally, but she sure as hell didn’t know him as a father.

My dad used to tell me regularly how proud he was—I don’t need that reminder from her. Even when I was doing nothing other than giving him an ulcer. No matter how many jobs I cycled through, the end of one always came with a “you’ll find what feels right, kiddo.” Even when I’d come home crying and wouldn’t tell him exactly why, he’d always say “that boy never deserved you.” It didn’t matter what it was, he always told me things would be okay. And that I’d figure it out.“You can do hard things, Laney. Never forget it. You’re a Shaw.”

But right now, my dad would be disappointed. And he’d be angry. Pissed off that a monster crossed my path. The kind of monster that he spent his life trying to prevent from hurting anyone—and especially anyone he loved. He’d be disappointed at what I’ve become. I know I am. I blink back the tears blurring my vision.

“Agent–”

She cuts me off. “Just Bea. Get used to calling me Bea.”

“Fine. Bea. I don’t need you telling me what my father might have thought of this situation. That’s not going to win me over. I’m on your side. I’m pissed at myself...” I grit out. “No, you know what? I’m pissed at a lot of things right now. Myself for—” I shake my head at the reason why I was even in that place for as long as I had been. “I’m pissed at that monster for existing, for hurting people and uprooting my life. But I know exactly how my father would be feeling if he were here.”

She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this, and you had a life?—”

I lean my head back against the headrest with a small laugh that stops her from finishing that sentence. My life was in the midst of the deepest nosedive. I had a life. One I was finally proud of building, and I tarnished it. I justified doing the wrong thing. Maybe that monster was my punishment. I cringe at the thought of the universe being so cruel. I made some bad decisions, but I didn’t deserve this. His victim didn’t deserve this. Squeezing my eyes closed, I pinch the bridge of my nose. The headache that’s been dull and throbbing has moved to a more stabbing pain behind my right eye.Great, a migraine to add to the fun.

Being awake for more than twenty-four hours, I’m emotional and not thinking logically. The adrenaline that buzzed through my veins, pushing me through this nightmare, has worn off. I just need sleep.

“I have always listened to my gut, Laney. And it’s telling me this relocation needs to stay quiet and away from any official channels.”

My gaze flicks to her again. I should feel relieved to see a familiar face in all of this, but I don’t. I wish it were my dad getting me out of this.

“The woman you saved that night will never forget what she went through. Remember that.”

“I know.” My skin breaks out in goosebumps when I think about the way that woman screamed and ran right at me, pleading for anything that resembled help. I should have never been there in the first place. I never wanted to be a hero. I wanted to feel close to my dad. I wanted to be picked.

But she’s making me curious. “What’s your gut saying that doesn’t feel right?”

“That it’s been more than seventy-two hours now and nothing has happened. Someone had brains enough to get the U.S. Marshall Service involved because something isn’t right.” When she glances at me, I’m studying her profile and trying to read between the lines of what she’s not saying. She shakes her head, like she’s shaking off what she really wants to tell me. “With the type of evidence they found, you and his victim shouldn’t have to be relocated.” She pauses for a moment, swallowing audibly. “They couldn’t get him to give a name and they can’t find him in the system.”

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