Page 54 of To Claim A King
I weighed my options as I stared at my opponents on the other side of the table. The junior agent was a pawn, no authority, no control. My mark was Patricia. I just needed to get a read on something or someone she cared about—and if that didn’t work, I’d fall back on the old classic—blackmail.
“Mr. O’Donnell, I’m Agent Stanhope, and this is Agent Smith. I’m going to cut to the chase. What were you doing in the middle of a shootout on government property?”
“I would think that was obvious, Agent. Did you miss Hillary Lane being taken off in the ice-cream van by a band of cartel criminals? I was trying to save her life.”
Two sets of beady, suspicious eyes grilled into me like I was a plump steak.
“With an unregistered weapon, as a foreigner on American soil? Not a good choice to make, Mr. O’Donnell.”
Weston’s hand grazed my arm. “You do not need to respond to that.”
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “Wasn’t my gun. I grabbed it from one of the hired security team after they were all murdered by the real criminals. ‘Stand your ground,’ and all that—isn’t that what you Americans call it? My life was at risk, and my girlfriend was being carted off to who knows where for who knows what. Too bad I’m a shyte shot.”
“So that is who Hillary Lane is to you? Your girlfriend?” Agent Smith’s lip curled in disgust, as if being in love with the ballsiest woman in the world was some sort of crime in itself.
“Sure is.” I shot another sunny smile at her sour face before turning to Agent Stanhope, my expression narrowing to deadly seriousness. “Kellan Carlos and Aaron Rodriguez were also kidnapped and in that van that took off. It’s not Alvarez this time—it’s Antonio. Do you think he’s going to let any of them live?”
Well, they didn’t call her “The Fish” for nothing. Not a twitch in a facial muscle, not even mute recognition in her eyes. I’d be thoroughly impressed if not for the fact my lovers were on the precipice ofdying. Didn’t she care about the man she’d mentored for most of his life?
“And why should that concern us? Aaron Rodriguez’s family is known to the FBI, and Kellan is Antonio’s son. Big deal.” Agent Smith was one hell of a terrible poker player. Evidently, she didn’t like billionaires, or men of any sort of criminal affiliation, even the ones they groomed for the FBI. What a fecking shrew.
“The big deal is that a recognized former FBI agent and a well-known billionaire have been kidnapped by a cartel organization that’s been running unchecked in your country for over two decades. One you had a wee ‘arrangement’ with. A little odd that shots were fired in a building you lot were in, and it took you longer to show up than I did. Bit coincidental, innit? A hell of a story forTime Magazine, eh?”
Patricia’s lips widened into a sardonic grin, her eyes squinting into little slits, like she had me pegged. “Soyousay, Mr. O’Donnell. Or should I call you Mr. Donovan? Liam Donovan, is that correct?”
Ah, so they knew who I was—and the only way they could know that was through The Six. Welp, it was a Band-Aid that had to be ripped off, eventually. There wasn’t a chance they’d traced me back to the hacking, so they had nothing on me for crimes on American soil.
“Liam Lauchlan Donovan Jr.” My shoulders rose and fell, as if hearing my real name aloud for the first time in years wasn’t a jarring shout in my face. “I’ve turned over anew leaf in America. You’ll see in my records I legally had my name changed once my Da died. I’m just a humble software engineer who picked the wrong employer and fell in love with the right woman.”
Agent Smith couldn’t hide her snort, but I was done with her. We were running out of time. Lives were on the line, and I wasn’t interested in playing footsies with this farce of an organization.
“Here’s the thing, ladies. Kellan Carlos is a dear friend of mine too. You know who signed a sworn affidavit with this man here?” I gestured a thumb toward Weston, who was surprisingly good at keeping a straight face, given everything I was saying was an outright lie. “Kellan Carlos did. The bloke confessed his involvement in all of Antonio’s operations, his illegal recruitment, how you’ve effectively been allowing the cartel to kill Americans for years. Does the DEA know about this little arrangement? How about NSA? The American people sure don’t. You cut your best fish loose, and he got himself some protection from you sharks.”
I’d been speaking out of my arse about their timing tonight, but itwassuspicious. Why hadn’t they been shadowing Blondie the moment she left their sights—the evidence and the accusations were too strong. How’d it take them so long to show up and arrest me—the least likely criminal of the bunch?
I leveled my gaze at the two women with stones for hearts. This next bit was a gamble, but fuck it. Either I convinced them to move their arses, or everyone I loved died. It was a risk I had to take.
“You used Hillary Lane as bait tonight. Not a doubt in my mind. You let him die, and we’ll release it all to every national news outlet. Don’t care about some billionaire who’s saved more kids and women in this state than you sorry lot ever have? Fine. But you’re gonna care about theman who gave you his entire life, when you bent him over and fecked him without a single drop of lube.”
Weston cleared his throat. The aggressive ‘ahem’ cut through my final statement like I hadn’t just threatened two federal agents with bullshit blackmail.
“What my client is trying to say,”—he briefly met my eyes with a “shut up now,” expression—“is that he has ample proof of wrongdoing within your organization, and to deny the pursuit of justice for a former federal agent and an American citizen who has done nothing wrong, would be the exact opposite of what the Federal Bureau of Investigation stands for, and potentially have catastrophic consequences for all sides.”
He let that statement settle into all our bones, the four of us caught in a teensy staring contest standoff as the FBI considered their options.
“I am not Kellan’s legal representation yet,” Weston added, “but I’ll warn you that whistle-blower protections are in place for a reason.”
“I can tell you where they are if you give me my phone,” I blurted, bravado now disintegrating into brain-melting anxiety. “I’ve got trackers on all of them—with their consent,” I hastily added when I saw even Weston’s eyebrow raise in question. “Can’t blame them,” I argued, sweeping my handcuffed hands upward as if to say, “Look around. Seems everyone and their dog wants a piece of this pie.”
“I can’t think of a more confusing mix of people.” Patricia’s penetrative stare held me glued to the hot seat. I simply stared back into the steel gray abyss, hoping like hell she had either a conscience, or feared for her own career. Otherwise, I—we—were fucked.
“I make friends easily,” I quipped, praying to every god in the universe this worked. They’d answered me to save Aaron’s life—I hoped the man was every bit of the black cat he was in personality, and had a few more lives in the hopper to save.
“You’ve made a compelling argument, Mr. Donovan.” Two stares—one shrewd and one constipated—glared back at me from across the table, but in that moment, I knew I’d won.
Thank feck, I’d won.
“Agent Smith, please get this man his phone, so we can get a team mobilized for a hostage rescue mission.”
