For the first time, he spotted a second man.
A guard.
Before Carlo could make out any of the corrections officer’s features, his leaden eyelids drooped closed.
He was so cold, and he only wanted to sleep. Even the blare of alarms echoing through the hall couldn’t keep him from the slumber he so desperately needed.
A slumber from which he already knew he’d never awaken.
Paper coffee cup in one hand, Amelia approached the glass door as she stifled a yawn. Her sleep the night before had been broken and marked with violent nightmares, and no matter how much coffee she’d poured down her throat, she couldn’t shake the fog following her like a shadow.
Pressing down on the lever handle, she pushed open the door with one shoulder. Late morning sunshine streamed through the wall-spanning tinted windows, though the blinds had been drawn to block out the brightest glow. Still, Amelia blinked back tears at the sudden shift from manmade fluorescence to sunlight.
When her vision cleared, her gaze settled on the well-dressed woman seated at the circular table. The warm glow of the sun accentuated the red highlights in her long auburn hair, and though Amelia could tell the shade wasn’t natural, the color complimented her porcelain skin like it had been made for her. In the back of her mind, Amelia could almost hear Joanna praising the woman for her choice of dye.
At the thought, Amelia’s mouth twitched.
Brushing off the front of her pastel purple blouse, the redhead turned to step out of the office chair. The heels of her red-soled shoes were at least four inches, but even with the added boost, she was only an inch or two taller than Amelia.
In truth, Amelia sometimes wished she was a few inches shorter so she could wear high heels without towering over everyone else in the FBI office. Pumps were uncomfortable as hell, but she’d always adored the sassy vibe that came with a good pair of heels.
Forcing herself to get back into a business mentality, Amelia cleared her throat and extended a hand. “You must be Assistant U.S. Attorney Cassandra Halcott. I’m Special Agent Amelia Storm. It’s nice to meet you.”
Cassandra mirrored the pleasant greeting, clasping Amelia’s hand in a businesslike shake. “Good to meet you too, Agent.”
The familiar clatter of blinds drew Amelia’s attention to the door. “Oh.” She waved a hand at Zane as he stepped over the threshold. “I was going to say that Agent Palmer will be here shortly, but there he is.”
Easing the door closed behind himself, Zane nodded at Cassandra, the prosecutor who also happened to be the beautiful woman he’d slept with a few months earlier.
In light of the moment—if that’s what it even was—that Amelia and Zane had shared earlier that morning, Cassandra’s presence should have annoyed her.
Instead, Amelia wanted to giggle like a middle-schooler any time she noticed a hint of awkwardness between Zane and the Assistant U.S. Attorney. Apparently, she was twenty-nine going on twelve.
Coughing into one hand to disguise a sudden chortle, Amelia pulled out a mesh-backed chair and moved to sit. After her encounter with Alex the night before, she’d lose her damn mind if she didn’t find some way to amuse herself.
She wasn’t surprised that Alex had kept the information about Trevor to himself, nor was she surprised that Trevor’s mystery employer had been the D’Amato family. Amelia had hoped that Trevor’s supplementary income had come from a hidden ability to count cards at Blackjack, but she’d recognized the wishful thinking for what it was.
Everyone in this damn city owed allegiance to one criminal enterprise or another. Her brother had been no different.
She was just as guilty in some respects. All Amelia could do was hope she’d picked the lesser evil.
As Cassandra went over the plea agreement that she and the U.S. Attorney had worked out for Carlo, Amelia was careful to maintain an attentive expression. But each time Cassandra stopped to gauge their approval, she might as well have been speaking Greek.
The woman could have merely read off a series of cookie recipes, and Amelia would have smiled and nodded like a bobblehead.
Sometime in the middle of Cassandra’s explanation, SAC Keaton arrived, but even the presence of the Special Agent in Charge couldn’t yank Amelia’s brain out of its cloud.
Squeezing her eyes closed, Amelia patted the polished table with one hand. “Excuse me. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just…I’ll be right back.”
She caught a fleeting glimpse of concern in Zane’s gray eyes, but otherwise, she didn’t pause to gauge the reactions before she rolled the chair away from the table and pushed to her feet.
You’re no different.
The words echoed through her head on the short journey to the women’s bathroom. Alex had kept the knowledge of Trevor to himself because…why? Because she was a cop? Because he didn’t want to hurt her? Or, more likely, because he didn’t think telling her even mattered? She’d been stupid to think she was special to begin with.
Her stomach roiled as she shoved open the heavy door. The faint scent of bleach wafted up to greet her, but to her relief, the room was empty.
As her heart hammered in her ears, Amelia went straight to the last stall in the line of four. Once the lock was in place, she rested her back against the cool drywall and closed her eyes.
Amelia hadn’t been under any illusion that she and Alex would ever have more than a strained, bizarre friendship. The mafia lifestyle had seemed glitzy and glamorous when she was in high school, but as an adult woman, she wanted nothing to do with Alex’s world. Nothing past what she did at the FBI, anyway.
She’d thought their past connection had meant something to him. Enough that he wouldn’t use her like he did anyone else under his command. After all, she’d known Alex was a good man at heart. He wasn’t like the others. He was special. Even on opposite sides of the law,
