Owned: An Alpha Anthology Part 47

"Take a seat," Greer instructs me, and I move to sit down.

"This is Agent Emery," he informs me and I nod at the man across the table, noting that he doesn't do the same to me. "And I believe you already know Agent Birdwood. She's been catching Emery up on the case before we begin discussing the new developments."

"And what new developments are those?" I ask, folding my arms on the matte black surface of the table and leaning forward.

Greer's eyes meet mine as he lifts the small remote from the table and points it over his shoulder, powering up the monitor that is affixed to the grey concrete wall behind him. On it, the feed to one of the holding cells is delivered. It shows a man cuffed to the table, sitting stoically with his hands clasped in front of him. The camera points down on the room, so all you can see is a ma.s.s of hair and the filth on his skin in the grainy image.

"A person of interest has been apprehended." Greer turns and picks up a manila folder with the typical confidential markings on it before turning back to us. "And despite Emery and Birdwood's persuasive techniques, he's been unwilling to speak to anyone, unless he speaks to you first." His eyes land on me as he flicks the file onto the table. It lands with a slap and slides towards me as I clap my hand over it to stop its motion.

"To me?" I ask. "Why?" I look around the room and get no answer from the impa.s.sive faces of my colleagues. So I drop my eyes and open the folder in front of me, the name of the man being held, jumping out at me before I see anything else. "No." I slap the folder closed and shake my head. "No, that's not..." I glance at the monitor, still shaking my head. "No."

Greer leans on the table and levels me with his gaze. "I don't need to tell you how important it is that we gain some sort of information from that man. Now what I want you to do is put aside any sort of personal s.h.i.+t you may have, and get in there and do your job."

Glancing again at the monitor, I swallow hard then nod and follow when Greer indicates that I need to. He takes me down a set of stairs to where I know the holding rooms are. Suddenly, he stops, halting outside one of the cell doors. They aren't your typical cells for holding prisoners. These are the kind of cells that while they have cameras, they don't have any rules.

He narrows his eyes at me, and I can see thoughts warring across his face. From what I hear by way of reputation, Greer is a man of very few words, in his mid-fifties, he's worked tirelessly for our country by using his keen instinct and precise actions to get where he is today. When he talks. Everyone acts. Because if he talks, it's important, he doesn't do chitchat.

"I had to call you in here, Samuels. It's against my better judgement to have someone so close to this working here. But I don't think we have much of a choice. Now, I want you to get in there, and get as much information as you can. Find out what he wants and get him to talk. I'm giving you one hour with him, and then you're out."

I open my mouth to question him, but he doesn't give me time to speak, he just opens the door and places his large hand on the centre of my back and pushes me through.

I stumble forward, frowning slightly as I look back at the closing door that leads into a small viewing room. The lighting is practically non-existent in here. There is a dim globe that hangs above a small alcove where normally there are other agents watching and listening in. However, this time, there's no one.

The strangeness of the situation makes my already unsettled stomach tighten. Something feels very wrong here.

I glance into the interrogation room and see him, still handcuffed to the table, his head bowed and his long, dark wavy hair, hangs in a mess around his bearded face. It continues down past his shoulders in a matted tangle of blood and grime. It appears he's already been worked over, and I remember the awful look on Emery's face while we were in the meeting room, and an involuntary shudder runs through me.

Moving closer to the one-way window, I study him more intently, if it wasn't for that tug of familiarity in his movement, I wouldn't believe it. But the way he clasps his fingers together, and the set of his shoulders as he hunches forward, tired. I know him.

I know him. As sure as my heart is beating in my chest, I know this man. I lift my shaking hand and place it on the gla.s.s, staring at him in disbelief. And as if sensing my presence, he looks up, and somehow, he meets my eyes.

It's in that moment that I know for sure. I know what my heart knew all those years ago but no one believed. My body can feel himit had reacted to him before I'd even entered the room. But it's his eyes that make me certain. Not their colour because there's nothing unusual about them at all. It's the way he looks at me, like he can see right through me. Even though he can't see me at all...

I rush to the door, throwing it open to make sure I'm not dreaming. And as I stand there, my breathing heavy like I just ran a mile, he looks over at me and smiles. And that's when there's no doubt in my mind.

Drake has returned.

"Did you feed the fish?" he asks, the first words I've heard from him in four long years. Four years in which I believed he was dead. Four years in which I mourned his loss.

A sob escapes my throat as I cover my mouth and nod, tears pooling at the corners of my eyes as I make my way over to him, placing my hands on either side of his face. "Yes. I fed your b.l.o.o.d.y fish," I whisper.

"I've missed you, Trix," he says, using my old nickname, given to me not long after I joined the Federal Police, because I always had 'tricks' up my sleeve.

"I thought you were dead," I whisper, my fingers stroking his beard, touching his hair, his face, making sure that he's real.

"I almost was."

"Where have you been?"

"To h.e.l.l," he murmurs.

"And back again," I finish for him but he shakes his head.

"No. I'm still there."

I release his face, nodding my head in understanding as I lean against the heavy metal table, taking a deep breath as I let my mind catch up with my emotions. Then, I turn to Drake and raise my hand, slapping his face hard, the loud clap of my hand against his cheek, echoing through the holding room.

"That's for leaving," I say, forcing my words out through my thickened throat. I'm refusing to cry. I'm done with crying over Drake. For four years, I've thought he was dead. I've mourned his loss. I fought for his memory. I began to believe what they said, becoming angry at him for going rogue and for turning into the very thing we were fighting against. But in the end, I was hurt, hurt that I wasn't enough for him to want to come back to. I'd thought we were each other's everything, but I was wrong. He left me. And the pain is even worse now that I find out he's not dead.

I raise my hand and slap him again, his eyes closing as he takes my blow without protest. "And that's for not coming back."

Pus.h.i.+ng through my thighs, I stand up from the table and walk around to the other side, knowing I'm being watched but not giving a s.h.i.+t. This man was my husband. My love. If I can't come in here and react to his return with a little emotion, then they can go and f.u.c.k themselves. They need me, and this is going my way.

Pacing up and down the room I try to decide what I want to ask him first, or whether I even want to talk to him at all.

Finally, I stop and place my hands on my hips, as I face him. "Why now, Drake? Why are you back? I was finally getting my life together. I was finally getting on without you. Why are you here?" I demand.

"I was captured," he replies, and I begin pacing again, shaking my head at what I know is a lie.

"Don't give me that s.h.i.+t, Drake. There is no way in h.e.l.l that you were captured. Don't forget that I know you. I know what you're capable of. There are very few people who can best you in this world, and I know that no one in law enforcement is going to bring you in unless you want to be caught. So I'll ask againwhy now? Why are you here?"

He smiles, glancing down at his interlaced fingers before he answers. "You haven't changed a bit."

"I've changed more than you know. Grief changes people, Drake. Especially unnecessary grief." I stop in front of him and fold my arms across my chest and just glare, focusing everything I have on the hurt inside me to keep control. But I'm hanging on by a thread.

"I almost forgot how beautiful you look when you're angry. How your cheeks get all heated and your eyes s.h.i.+ne," he muses, giving me his most enigmatic smile, and much to my dismay, my heart does one of those acrobatic flips that they only seem to do around that one particular personyour soul mate.

For a moment, I lose a grip on my mind, and it's flooded of images of Drake and I together; of the love we shared. I had been so sure that Drake and I belonged together, everything between us had been perfect. I mean, we fought, but we made up, and oh could he make it up to me...

Closing my eyes, I force my mind to focus, holding on to that feeling that sits heavy in my stomach and tells me I wasn't enough for him. He obviously didn't want me. He didn't come back. He left me. Mentally, I grab hold of that emotion and open my eyes before speaking again.

"You still haven't answered my questions. Why are you here?"

"I'm here to work with you."

It's my turn to laugh. "To work with me? That's interesting. What makes you so sure I would 'work' with you again?"

"Work is probably the wrong word. Consider it 'help'. I have information. Information you couldn't possibly get access to yourself. And I'm willing to share it with you, and only you. This could make your career, Trix."

"I really don't give a f.u.c.k about my career, Drake. It was ruined the moment my husband became a wanted man. There isn't a s.h.i.+tload of trust between agents when that happens. You should have seen how fast they approved my request to be moved to an internal job."

"I'm sure my disappearance caused you a lot of strain. But things are changing, and it's time to make this right."

"Make it right," I repeat, my voice laced with disbelief as I place my hands on the edge of the stainless steel table that he's chained to and lean slightly forward. "Fine. Talk. Tell me this wealth of information you have, so I can go home to my boyfriend and be done with the ghosts of my past."

I glare at him and wait for him to speak. If I didn't know him, I wouldn't have seen the slight twitch of his left eye that is his only tell when something affects him.

He returns my stare and for a moment, I wonder if he's going to go on or just clamp up and refuse to talk after I threw the fact that I've moved on in his face. Finally, he takes a breath and resumes his usual c.o.c.ky disposition.

"I know how this works, Trix. If I give you everything now, then I'll get locked away somewhere and they'll lose the key. You get the information you need when you need it, and I get to go back out there, resume my duties and keep this all going. I've built quite the name for myself among the criminal elite, and I have a long list of contacts that you'd all love to get your hands on. But to help you, I need to be out there, continuing my work so they don't know where the information is coming from."

A laugh bursts free from my throat, and I stand up again, placing my hands on my hips as I look down at him. "You think they're going to let you go? There is no way in h.e.l.l they're going to let you out of here. So you can talk, and maybe get some sort of leniency, or you don't talk, and we really will find that deep dark cell to lose you in."

He laughs as well, but it's as laced with condescension as mine is. "There are many things that are outside our control, Trix, and this deal is one of them. Close your eyes."

"Close my eyes?"

"Yes, and I suggest you close them now."

I'm stubborn. And to my own detriment, I don't listen. Instead, I glare at him.

"Suit yourself," he says, as he sits calmly and closes his own eyes, just as a bright light explodes around us, searing itself as a blinding white image on my retinas.

I'm blinded.

"Drake!" I yell, I can't see a thing, and I reach for my gun, holding it out in front of me in some meagre attempt at protection.

Arms wrap around me from behind, knocking the gun from my hand as a voice speaks quietly in my ear.

"Perhaps next time, you'll listen to me," Drake says, and I wonder how he got out of his cuffs so quickly. "The blindness will pa.s.s. You'll be fine."

"They're going to hunt you like a dog after this, Drake."

"Good. I'm counting on it."

He spins me around, his hands roughly cupping my jaw as he presses his mouth to mine, taking me in a searing and desperate kiss. My hands grip his wrists where he holds my face, and I'm not sure if I want to fight him or if I want to fall into him.

"Now they know who's in control. I'm the one with the information and I'll give it when needed." "I'll be in touch." He presses another kiss to my mouth. Then he releases me, leaving me off balance and unable to see or even hear movement from within the room.

"Drake!" I call out after him, swinging my arms out in the hopes to grab on to something. "Get back here, you a.r.s.ehole!"

I stumble into a chair and almost lose my footing. f.u.c.k! I hate this. I hate not being able to see.

I blink rapidly, rubbing my eyes with one hand as the other reaches out, and I walk carefully toward where I think the door is. I have no idea what I'm going to do if I find someone, but I have to try. Drake is escaping and I don't have any information from him. The commander is going to kill me.

Slowly my vision begins to clear, and I realise that I'm alone. He's gone. Of course he's gone.

"Who the f.u.c.k set that up?" I hear Greer groan from outside the room.

I shake my head, leaning down to the floor to recover my gun. "Well, one thing's for sure. That wasn't one of our extraction teams."

DEEP COVER: CASE 001.

BY LILLIANA ANDERSON.

003.

For hours, we have to go over every detail of what happened when Drake escaped our custody. The commissioner comes in, and Commander Greer is berated so loudly that I swear the concrete walls manage to vibrate around us.

He's berated for using poor judgement by bringing me in to see Drake, even though Drake refused to speak unless he was allowed to see me. Turns out, he'd signed paperwork stating that if he could have one meeting with me, he'd go with them willingly and cooperate entirely, telling them everything they want to know about a money laundering ring, led by a man called Frederik Le Doux, that he's been a part of for the last few years.

Frederik Le Doux, is the money behind Australia's horse racing industry. We've known for some time that his business practices were less than kosher, and when an ex-employee turned whistle-blower, suddenly disappeared, the case became important enough to set up a team to do surveillance and eventually send in an undercover operative to try and get close to Le Doux and find out what was really going on. There was money pouring into his pockets but we could never find out exactly where it was coming from, although we had our suspicions.

In Drake's early reports, he claimed that he had heard whisperings about the illegal trade in performance enhancing drugs. A winning horse is worth millions to its backers, and in a sport that is revered by the wealthy, status craving big shots of this world, there were a lot of people willing to pay out whatever it costs to have a stable full of unbeatable horsesespecially if the drug being used is kept undetectable.

Despite learning what was bringing the money in, we never managed to find out how he operated, and who was helping him get the drugs into the country through customs. We were just about to start liaising with international agencies when Drake stopped checking in with his handler, Agent Eric Blackwood.

Additional reconnaissance told us that Drake had flipped and was working for Le Doux in a capacity that broke the rules of his undercover operation. Soon after, the case was taken out of our hands, and a new task force was set up, its sole purpose to capture and bring in Drake Jefferson. He was wanted alive, but when his handler turned up dead after being shot execution style and thrown into the harbour, the capture order became a kill order.

At the time, I remember feeling like my world and my soul had been destroyed. It all happened so fast and before I'd even had the chance to accept that Drake had left both our team and me in favour of a life of crime with Le Doux, it was announced that he'd been killed.

But now we find out he wasn't killed at all. He is very much alive and from the sound of things, he is in so deep that his cooperation would have been a ma.s.sive game changer. Had this worked out, it would be the case to make Commander Greer's career.

But now, with Drake escaped, Greer's career is in tatters. He may lose his rank and t.i.tle over this and for me, well, they're threatening to have me fired all together.

"Now, walk me through his again," Agent August Emery, the man who I briefly met earlier demands. I had wondered why he'd creeped me out so much when I saw him with Gabby. But now I remember who he is. He's the man who a.s.sisted on Drake's case when he was p.r.o.nounced rogue. And he's the one who headed the team, who hunted him down like an animal and supposedly killed him.

I sit across from him with untrusting eyes as I wonder why they'd claim that a man who is very much alive was dead. I decide that I'm going to call him Agent f.u.c.ktard from now on. The name seems more fitting for a man who is talking down to me as much as he is.

"You were standing across the room where Jefferson was secured. By handcuffs. To the table. The door was locked and then suddenly it got really bright and when you could see again, he was gone. Is that right?" he asks for the fiftieth time.

"You would have been watching the monitors. You know that's exactly what happened," I state, folding my arms across my chest as I glare back at him.

"What I know, is that you were the only one in the room talking to him when the feed cut out and when it was back up, he was gone. Explain that to me."

It's at this point that Gabby cuts in. "Get off her back, Emery. She'd never do something like that."

"I can't believe this. You believe her? Her story is so ludicrousa bright light. And she heard no noise. Who extracted him-G.o.d?"

I narrow my eyes. "Don't treat me like an idiot. I'm simply telling you what happened."

He leans forward, pressing his palms into the table that stands between us as he hovers around my face, his breath smelling of stale coffee and gum that was chewed way longer than it should have been. "Don't treat me like an idiot, Agent Samuels. How can you expect me to believe that the man you were once married to, demands your presence and the only thing he does, is put on a magic act for you? There's something you aren't telling me."

I look at him, his dark eyes and slicked black hair looking almost painted on against his pale and angular face. "I don't know what to tell you. I got here. I saw you. I went in the room. I asked him a few questions, and then he told me to close my eyes. But I didn't. So, I got blinded by the flash bomb, along with Commander Greer. He told me he had to go and that he'd be in touch. Then when I could see, he was gone. That's all I have, and there's nothing you can say or do that's going to change my story."

His eyes narrow at me this time. He knows I'm holding something back. But I'm not admitting that I let him kiss me. It's Gabby who asks the next question. "Are you sure there wasn't anything elsea smell, a sound, a feelinganything else that could tell us how they got in and out without anyone seeing."

I shake my head. "I don't know what to tell you. They obviously exploited a weakness we don't know about."