“It’s my way of reminding you I’m still alive.”
JJ’s face instantly falls, and she doesn’t even try to hide her reaction to my words. It’s moments like this that I know she cares about me. I just can’t figure out if it’s platonic or more.
Climbing to my feet, I say, “Let’s get the ball rolling so I can get knee-deep in Albanian shit.”
I walk out of the conference room and head toward the outdoor smoking area. Lighting a cigarette, I take a seat on a bench and stare at the gravel. JJ sits down beside me, and neither of us says a word until I’m done smoking.
I nudge my elbow against her arm. “We’ll be okay. Just don’t take any risks.”
JJ shoots me a glare. “I’ll be stuck in an apartment. You’re the one who’ll be in the thick of it.”
My lips curve up into a grin as I meet her eyes. “Don’t forget, I’ve done this many times before. I know when to get out.”
“I’m still going to worry over you.” She places her elbow on her knee, resting her chin in her hand. “Who kept an eye on your state of mind during previous ops?”
“Briggs.”
“Has she ever pulled you out?” JJ asks, turning her gaze to the building across the road.
“No.” Resting my forearms on my thighs, I link my hands together. “The longest I’ve been under was six months. That operation ended right before things started to blur for me.”
“Blur?”
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I start to see the enemy as a friend. I’ll no longer be undercover with them, but instead, put up an act with you until I break all ties.”
JJ places her hand on my shoulder, her gaze filled with an unwavering belief in me. “You won’t do that.”
She’s right. I have too much to lose.
Her.
“That’s why I’m allowing you to be my handler, per se.” A slight smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You’ll keep me grounded. Sane.” I let out a heavy breath, knowing this operation will be fucking brutal. “You’ll be my lifeline.”
“I won’t let you down,” she promises.
I know she won’t. Just being able to see her during the operation will be enough to keep me focused. “Just remember everything I taught you.”
“I will.”
Silence falls between us, the worry of what’s to come hanging heavily between us.
After a couple of minutes, JJ admits, “I’m worried about leaving Lindsay alone.”
“Chief wouldn’t mind taking her in. She’ll be safe with him.”
JJ gives me a hopeful look. “You think?”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to him.”
“That would be great, then I can focus on the job.”
Climbing to my feet, I smile at JJ. “We have a week to get everything ready. Let’s get to work.”
Dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a white t-shirt with a plaid short sleeve shirt over it, I stand outside the restaurant I’ve been eating the same shitty meatloaf at the past month.
Christ, I can’t stomach that shit, but it’s the cheapest meal on the menu, and I’m putting on an act of being poor as fuck.
My hair’s gelled back, and I look like any other guy struggling to make a living in New Jersey. Glancing up and down the road, I cross it and head toward Dobroshi’s car. I pull the long nail from my pocket, and crouching down, I slam it into his back tire, pull it out, and throw the nail beneath the car. Walking to the restaurant’s entrance, I let out a relieved breath. I relax my muscles, feigning my usual exhausted look.
I know Dobroshi’s sitting at his usual table in the right corner.
Taking a seat at an empty table near him, I let out a sigh, pretending to check the cash I have on me. I tuck the dollar bills back in my breast pocket and don’t bother smiling when a waitress brings me a menu.
“The meatloaf,” I mutter, shoving the menu away. I let out another heavy sigh, my shoulders slumping. “Like my fucking day’s not bad enough being laid off,” I mutter, shaking my head.
When the waitress brings me the plate, my stomach rolls at the sight. “This shit’s bound to kill me.”
Reluctantly, I start to eat, the food souring on my tongue. I wash it down with a beer, constantly aware of every movement Dobroshi makes.
His phone rings, and I set down the fork, staring at the beer bottle in my hand as I listen in on the conversation. Italian and Albanian were the first languages I learned when I joined the bureau. I’m busy teaching myself Russian in my spare time.
“What?” Dobroshi snaps. “Why are you fucking calling me for that? If she’s worn out, get rid of her… Not my fucking problem.” He ends the call, then mutters, “Motherfucking useless piece of shit.”
I hear his chair scrape against the floor, and a couple of seconds later, he stalks past me.
Taking out enough cash for the meal and a tip, I drop it on the table.
Here goes nothing.
Getting up, I walk out of the restaurant just as Dobroshi climbs into his car.
“Yo, you have a flat tire,” I call out in Albanian while gesturing to the back of the car.
Dobroshi’s head snaps my way, then he climbs out and looks at the tire. “Fuck!”
I keep walking, my pace unhurried, then glance over my shoulder. Dobroshi kicks the tire, letting out a string of curses.
I stop walking. “Need help changing it?”
His attention turns to me, and for one fucking intense moment, he stares at me. “Yeah.”
I head toward him. “Pop the trunk.”
I get to work, keeping my posture relaxed. When I have the lug nuts off, he crouches beside me. “Thanks.” I feel his eyes locked on my face. “What’s your name?”
“Danny Laze,” I mumble, pulling the flat tire off. I roll it to the side. “And you?”
“Joseph.” He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “You from around here?”
I shake my head. “California.” Fitting the spare tire onto the vehicle, I add, “Got into some shit and needed a fresh start.”
His expression turns curious. “I couldn’t help but overhear you said you got laid off?”
“Last in, first to go.” I shake my head.
“What did you do?”
“Deliveries for a butchery.”
He shakes his head. “What did you do in California that you need a fresh start?”
We stand up, and he takes a cigarette from a box, offering me one.
We both light up before I answer, “Got some heat for transporting something I shouldn’t have.”
Understanding fills his eyes as he nods. “So you’re out of a job?”
“Fucking hard getting one with a criminal record,” I mutter, glancing around us as if I’m on guard.
“I can help,” he gives me the golden fucking ticket I’ve built this entire operation on.
I lock eyes with him, this time staring him down. “I can’t have a spotlight shining on me. I’m trying to lay low.”
“You can drive, and I need a driver.”
Taking a pull of the cigarette, I ask, “What will I be driving around?”