Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(78)

“What do you want?” My voice is barely a whisper as chills blanket my skin, fear of what their answer is going to be the realest thing I’ve ever faced.

“See, Abel? I told you she was intelligent. She’d figure out she can help herself while helping us,” good-cop Noah says as he smiles over to bad-cop Abel.

“We’ll see just how much she wants to help before I make a decision on that,” he replies and leans against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.

“So is it Lucy that matters the most here?”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand—”

“Well, when we called good ol’ Priscilla to report a hotbed of activity at your house, you jumped right into action.”

“That was you?” I say the words as if I have a hard time believing them, and yet I’m here, right? That’s hard enough for me to believe too. “You were watching me?”

“FBI.” Abel holds up his badge. “We watch everything.”

“I don’t—”

“You see, Vaughn, we were rather impressed with you and your ability to hold things close to the vest.”

“Excuse me?” I ask as confusion ratchets to an all-time high.

“Lucy is one thing. You sprang into immediate action. But then there’s Carter. He isn’t exactly the subtlest of men, is he?” Noah asks.

“I’m not following.”

“All it would take is one anonymous call to highlight those pictures you have of your friend there.”

“Carter Preston is not my friend,” I assert.

“Oh, we more than know that.” Abel’s smile is tight and knowing and makes all the blood drain from my face, the other part of his statement hitting my ears and registering.

“You’ve been listening to my phone calls?” I ask, each word louder than the last.

“It’s easy to get a warrant for things like a wiretap when you have a madam catering to a dirty senator,” Abel says, his stare unwavering, his smile chilling. “You can imagine the leads we can chase there. Each one of your clients getting calls by the feds, one by one, until your reputation is ruined . . .”

The panic humming through my veins jumps to new heights as I think of all the phone calls I’ve made. To my clients. To Archer. To Ryker. The ones I’ve received from Carter, like tonight’s, for instance.

The mention of Greenwich.

“Wait—”

“Yes”—Noah smiles—“all of them.”

I press my fingers to my eyes for a moment as I try to gather myself and think five steps ahead to know where this is going. To figure out what they want. To . . . fuck if I know.

“Is this about the underage girls, then? I have no problem giving you the pictures so you can pursue that avenue and charge him.” My words come out in a rush, my desperation to find an out in this situation all-consuming. Then it dawns on me. “You knew about the pictures, about the underage girls, and you did nothing? Isn’t your job to protect and serve?”

“Our endgame is much bigger,” Abel states without any emotion, and I hate him on the spot.

“You let young women be manipulated by him and—”

“Yes.” No apology. No anything. “Much the same way we knew about your operation and did nothing about it.”

I open my mouth to say something—anything—and then shut it without speaking a word.

“The senator,” Noah continues. “Why didn’t you release the photos when he was obviously threatening you?”

“You’ve seen how these stories end, right? The senator has a few months where he hides his head from the world, and then all is forgotten. But the woman? She’s ruined. Her name a joke. Her life in shambles. Her reputation the constant butt of jokes.”

“So you have blackmail information, but you refuse to use it?” Noah asks with an astounded shake of his head.

“I have it on all of my clients, but it has to be played very carefully or else it can backfire. The threat of it is typically enough to keep my clients in line.”

“But Carter isn’t your typical client? Is that your reasoning? Why you didn’t do anything more than just threaten?”

“Because I’m scared of him.” My voice wavers, and I don’t think I realized until now just how fearful I am of Carter and what he could do to my life.

“Understood,” Noah says. “Can I speak with you a moment in the other room?” he asks Abel.

“One moment,” Abel says to me with a smile. “No phone calls or texts, please. We’d know.”

I can hear the low murmur of their voices as they step into the other room, door open. Their discussion is heated for a moment while my head spins and my ears strain to try to catch what’s going on.

And then it hits me. Maybe it’s because I don’t have the two of them staring at me. Maybe it’s because I have a chance to breathe. Regardless, the gravity of everything about this situation blindsides me.

Oh my God.

This is really happening.

The FBI.

All of it.

And just as I sink into the reality of all this, the two men walk back into the room, Noah scratching his head, Abel resuming his bodyguard stance against the wall.

“Change of plans,” Noah says.