Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(4)

I didn’t need a relationship to be happy, but since she’d brought it up, that particular brand of bliss had eluded me for some time: that ass-over-teakettle, rocket-ship-to-the-moon, heart-stopping, nerve-wracking kind of love that simultaneously hijacked and destroyed your entire existence. I’d tasted it once, several years ago, and it’d been achingly glorious.

Comparisons between holding my hand over a candle and jumping bodily into a five-alarm blaze didn’t begin to describe the difference. Lucia was great, and I enjoyed her company. But what I felt for her was nothing compared to the pull—to be near, to touch, to hold, to protect—the draw, the all-consuming fire of the love I’d once felt for someone else.

“That right there tells me all I need to know,” Meaghan said.

“What?”

“If you were happy, you would’ve argued with me.” She pinned me with a mysterious look and opened her door.

I swung my own open and hopped out, taking a second to adjust the gear around my waist. I shut the door and rested my hands on the roof of the car. I tried to think of a rebuttal, but all I could come up with was, “I’m not unhappy.”

Meaghan’s smile was laced with sadness. Or maybe it was pity. Whatever it was, I didn’t like it. “I don’t have to tell you there’s a big difference, though, do I?”

She turned and headed toward the building, leaving me to stare after her. “No,” I said softly, even though she couldn’t possibly hear me. “No, you don’t.”

I snagged the file folder I’d need out of the backseat and hurried to catch up to her, determined to stay on task and keep all thoughts of love and happiness out of my mind for at least the next couple of hours.





Chapter Two


Bang, bang, bang!

My very best police knock broadcast throughout the dreary hallway that something was about to go down. I winced. But people in New York tend to mind their own business. I wasn’t knocking on their door, so they wouldn’t get involved. Still, I looked up and down the hall. No one and nothing moved.

My back to the wall, my weapon side canted away from the door, I glanced across the doorway at Meaghan, who appeared to be listening for some indication of life inside the apartment. She lifted her eyes, head cocked to one side.

“Anything?” I mouthed silently. I hadn’t heard a damn thing, but I’m not infallible. Maybe she’d picked up something.

Meaghan frowned and shook her head. The furrow in her brow deepened, and she broke eye contact. She leaned closer to the door, keeping to one side so she wouldn’t be caught in the so-called fatal funnel.

Bang, bang, bang!

I pounded with the side of my fist, harder than before, then hesitated as I considered whether to verbally announce our presence. I glanced at Meaghan again. She shrugged.

“Police. Open up.” Surely the occupant would hear my demand. Again, I checked the other apartment doors. Everything seemed still.

A soft scuffle sounded from just inside the doorway, and I met Meaghan’s gaze. She nodded, and her right hand strayed toward the butt of her gun. We just wanted to interview this guy, not arrest him, and didn’t suspect that he was either armed or dangerous, but Meaghan’s weapon side was close to the doorway. It never hurt to be proactive.

I retrieved my baton from my belt and opened it, the clack ominously loud as the metal pieces fell into place. Using the weapon’s tip, I pounded on the door again, a small part of me childishly hoping whoever was skulking there had their ear near the door.

“Police. Open the door.” I struck the door a few more times.

Turning locks clicked, and I slammed the tip of the baton hard against the faded-yellow cinder-block wall. It collapsed back in on itself, and I jammed it back into its holster. The door opened as far as its chain allowed.

“Yes?” The slightly accented voice from within sounded mildly annoyed.

I held up my badge to the crack in the door. “Amin Akbari.”

“Yes?”

“We’d like to talk to you.”

A long pause followed. I held my breath. My patience with this situation was already becoming threadbare, and I was tempted to free the side of myself that had reduced grown men to tears and force this man to open the damn door. But I’d learned patience as well as situational awareness. It might be best to wait until I was actually inside to unleash the thunder and lightning. So, as the lone eye peered at me somewhat warily through the crack in the door, I flashed my brightest smile and tried to appear nonthreatening.

“Mr. Akbari, I’m Special Agent O’Connor. This is Special Agent Bates. We’re with the United States Secret Service. We just have a couple of questions.”

The eye blinked once, but at least the door wasn’t slammed in my face. That was a good sign.

“I know it’s late, and I apologize for interrupting your evening. We won’t take up much of your time. Definitely less than an hour. We don’t want to keep you from your evening prayer.”

The eyebrow above the petulant-looking eye went up, and I spotted a hint of surprise in that dark gaze. The door shut softly but firmly, and my shoulders sagged. As I debated whether to resume my assault on the door, I heard the scrape of a chain being released from its fastenings. A moment later the door opened.

Mr. Amin Akbari wore a dark-blue galabia and a matching pair of linen pants. Comfortable-looking slippers covered his feet. He rubbed his close-cropped beard with one hand as he looked at me somewhat resentfully.