Scarlet
Spring is in the air as I head to the new Irish mob compound, a pub called The Leprechaun, which has changed hands twice in the last year. I think of dad as I walk down the street, the air biting but growing warmer.
I think of the mass of paperwork that had to be completed during what came to be known as The Ballroom Bust. I think about how we shared the workload together, conducting interviews and corroborating evidence. I think about the time we were in my apartment, surrounded by papers, when he patted me on the shoulder and said, “I’m proud of you, Scarlet. I’m so, so proud of you. I don’t know if I’ve told you that before. I should’ve said it when you graduated from training. I should’ve said it when you made your first arrest. I should’ve said it—I just should’ve said it. Well, I’m saying it now. Maybe it’s too late. And you need to know something else, too.” I always feel like crying when I remember how he looked in this moment, his eyes full of hurt and regret. “I don’t blame you. You need to understand that. I’m a monster for ever implying that I did.”
And all the hard work paid off, I reflect. Mickey is doing life for multiple murders. His men are in prison or being tried. The corrupt FBI agents—one of whom was a serial rapist and killer, I learned—are gone.
I stand outside The Leprechaun, listening to the sounds of families, couples, life, and laughter inside. When I step inside, I spot him straightaway. He’s shaved his beard since his time out in the cold, almost as though to acknowledge that he’s no longer fighting for survival. He wears it cropped close to his face now, his hair cut shorter. He’s sitting at the booth where this first started, all those months ago, moving his forefinger around the rim of a glass of whisky.
“I thought you might not be coming,” he says, when I reach the table.
“I wouldn’t miss this.” I smile at him, sitting down. I’m wearing the same sea-green dress I wore last time we were here together. “The place looks good,” I tell him.
“We haven’t had a chance to make any changes yet.” Cor shrugs. “I don’t know if we will. There’s nothing wrong with a family-friendly place.”
We stare at each other for a few moments. Over the past few months, we’ve been seeing each other regularly. We’ve even updated our ‘official’ status to boyfriend and girlfriend. And, yet, sometimes it still feels like we’re on a first date, playing the teenagers. The excitement and fun and thrill haven’t gone away yet. I’m not sure it ever will—not with a man like Cor.
“So,” Cor says, leaning forward, “Agent O’Bannon, it’s good to see you.”
I hide my smile behind my hand. When I remove my hand, I’m an ice-cold FBI agent again. “Mr. MacKay.” I sit up straight, staring at him sternly. “If you could please refrain from looking at me like that, I would be grateful.”
“Like what?” He grins carelessly, reminding me of the pre-Don Cor. “You shouldn’t be so keen to flatter yourself, agent.”
“I am here on business.” I tip my head back, looking down my nose at him. “If you could please try and be professional, Mr. MacKay, I would much appreciate it. Frankly, I think you are a brute and a horrible man. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible so we can get out of here.”
“We?” He darts forward, taking my hand. “Did you say we, agent?”
“I.” Just holding hands sends tingles up my arm and all across my body. I know what his hands are capable of. My belly gets warm and fuzzy. I am conscious of my breathing, being careful not to pant. But then he slides his hand up my arm, toward my neck.
“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to have some fun for once, agent?” He grins, massaging my neck, my shoulder. “You look so damn good in that dress I could die, Scar.”
“Hey!” I slap his hand away. “You just ruined the roleplay.”
He laughs. “All right, then. You look so damn good in that dress, agent, that it makes me wanna bend you over and fuck you until you’re screaming at me. Is that better?”
My cheeks are red. My body trembles. I’m reminded for the hundredth time of why I love this man so much. So much of this is still complicated, but—
“Maybe we should get out of here,” I say, already standing up. “I think it’s finally time I saw your place.”
Cor is on his feet in a second, offering me his arm. “Come with me, agent. Our work can wait until later.”
Soon, we’re being driven by one of Cor’s men to his penthouse suite.