“Hey. Amelia, hey.”
The sound of his voice froze her in place. She’d expected him to ignore her, to pretend that night had never happened. Attempted sexual assault was probably a regular Tuesday for him.
Lifting her chin, she turned to face him as his footsteps grew louder. “What do you want?”
He stopped a few feet away and held his hands out to his sides. Opening and closing his mouth, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I’m sorry for how I acted and for treating you like that.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know what got all screwed up in my head to make me think you’d do that. I took a couple weeks off, so I’ve had time to think about it. I just, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
A month ago, Amelia might have been inclined to believe he’d just uttered a genuine apology.
Now, after everything she’d learned, and after all he’d put her through, she knew better.
She could ask him why he’d lied about being in the room when Alton was killed, but she didn’t want to give him another opportunity to manipulate her.
Glancing at the dark bubbles of the security cameras mounted along the overhead beams, she stepped closer to him and dropped her chin. His curious gaze was glued to her as she leaned in until she was half a foot from the side of his face.
“I’m going to say this once,” Amelia said through clenched teeth. “I know you weren’t in the room when Alton Dalessio was killed. I know you lied to the Bureau, and I know you lied to me. You tried to use Dalessio to blackmail me into screwing you.”
He opened his mouth, but the withering glare she shot him stopped him from uttering a sound. He remained quiet, but he held his ground. Just like she knew he would.
“I’ll say this slowly for you because I don’t want you to misunderstand me.” She inched a little closer. “If you ever try to touch me again, I will fucking kill you. I will bury your body in a hole so dark, so deep, that no one will ever find you.”
As her eyes met his, she put every ounce of venom she could muster into the stare.
Rather than shocked, worried, or any other reaction she’d expect from a normal human being, his gaze was cold and resolute.
Slowly, Amelia shook her head. “Don’t test me, Joseph.”
32
Blinking against the orange and gold rays of declining sunlight, Joseph Larson strode through the sleek reception area of what was normally a very busy building.
The young man or woman who sat behind the black desk during business hours was already gone for the day. Glancing at the impressive wall of windows, Joseph took a moment to enjoy the sight of the bustling city.
In all the years he’d spent in the dirt and mud of his grandfather’s farm, he’d never have thought for a second that he’d wind up here, in the heart of one of the largest cities in the United States. A stone’s throw from Sears Tower, or Willis Tower, whatever it was called these days.
A building he had to learn about way back when he was a little kid who spent his spare time digging rusted washers and bolts out of the yard. Back then, he didn’t have the first clue where his life was headed. Arthur Larson would lose his mind if he knew his grandson worked for the Feds, and he’d have a heart attack all over again if he knew a woman was in charge of the field office.
And if Arthur knew a woman had threatened to kill Joseph a week earlier, he could already imagine what the old man would say.
Put her in her place. It’s what I had to do with your grandmother. Sometimes you just need to remind them who’s in control.
Joseph had been almost thirty when he realized his grandfather’s absolute disdain for women. He’d never met his grandmother, Elaine Larson. She’d died in a house fire before Joseph was born. Probably better that she did. Arthur Larson had been hard enough to deal with as a little boy. He could at least go home whenever his mother had time off from her jobs.
When he thought back to his time in rural Missouri, he was glad to be gone. There was no sense of nostalgia, no deep-seated yearning to return to the countryside.
Everyone in the podunk town near Arthur’s farmhouse had known the man’s reputation for being a royal prick.
In Chicago, no one knew who you were. No one cared.
As Joseph pulled himself away from memory lane, he checked his watch. He was five minutes late to the impromptu meeting with Stan Young.
Joseph tried to minimize his in-person visits to the senator. There was nothing illegal about an FBI agent meeting with a sitting U.S. Senator, but Joseph took the precaution in case any part of his, Brian’s, or Stan’s relationship to the city’s criminal underbelly was exposed.
If Stan went down, Joseph would be damned if he followed suit. And on the flip side, he didn’t expect Stan to sink with the ship if Joseph or Brian were caught.
The soles of Joseph’s dress shoes echoed against marble tile as he strode to the hallway past the reception desk. As he took note of a golden name plaque, he knocked lightly on the door.
“Come in,” a muffled voice called. “It’s unlocked.”
Wordlessly, Joseph let himself inside. After flicking the lock into place, he made his way to one of the squat armchairs in front of Young’s mahogany desk.
Stan pulled his gaze away from the sheet of paper he’d been studying so intently. “Nice to see you, Joseph. It’s been a while. How’s life? How’s
