Saved by the Outlaw(58)

“It might do more harm than good,” Genn says. “And if they find out the leak came from you, Cherry, you’ll be putting yourself directly in danger.”

“I made my decision the second I met Leon, whether I knew it then or not,” I assure him confidently. And deep down, I know it to be true. “If loving him means that I have to spend the rest of my life on the edge, that’s what I’ll do. He put his life on the line for me, and it’s only right I do the same for him.”

Lukas grins, to my complete surprise. “Damn, Cherry. You’re a tougher kid than I thought. I’m really starting to dig having you around.”

“Okay, we can all do a group hug later,” Vasily cuts in, his face serious.

“Who are you gonna send the photo to?” Genn asks.

I’m already scrolling through my contacts, looking for one name in particular. When I first moved to New York City, I had a brief internship at what I call “a real newspaper.” It paid a pittance barely enough to get me a 300-square-foot hole in the wall on Staten Island, but it gave me insight into what it’s like publishing articles that really change the world. I only filed papers and fetched coffees and snacks for the editorial staff, but my cutesy name and upbeat personality helped me stand out among the other tight-lipped, buttoned-up interns. The head editor-in-chief always had a soft spot for me, giving me the kind of glowing recommendation letters that helped me land my cushy, albeit inconsequential, jobs writing puff pieces.

I find her name in my contact list and my thumb hovers over it, hesitating. I have not spoken to her in months. She may not even remember me anymore — she’s a high-powered editor who talks to a hundred people a day. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd that big.

But I have to try, for Leon’s sake. Because I love him.

So I send her a long email with the photo of Doyle and Chandler, detailing the situation and their respective roles. The three club guys watch silently as I type out the email and click send. Then I look up at them and say, “It’s done.”

“Who’d you send it to?” Vasily asks, concerned.

“An old editor friend,” I explain simply. I don’t tell them that she was only my boss for six months and I haven’t spoken to her in a long time. They don’t need to know that right now.

“And you think she’ll side with us?” Genn pipes up.

I nod firmly. “I know she will.” Ellen Hardy was always suspicious of all law enforcement, and her paper often focused on issues of police corruption and other similar topics. She’ll jump at the opportunity to run a story like this.

“So what now? How long do we wait for her response?” Lukas demands impatiently.

Just then, my phone lights up. Ellen’s email back comes instantaneously, containing a brief thank you and a phone number next to the word ‘FBI’ in bold.

She’s given me a direct line to the FBI. At the bottom of the email, there’s a line that reads: PS - You make the call. We’ll light up the print. Good to have you back.

I press the number and hold the phone to my ear, my heart pounding as it starts to ring.

“Who are you calling?” Vasily asks, his blue eyes wide and round.

“The FBI,” I answer flatly.





20





Leon





“How many times have we gotta go through this song and dance, Agent Boyle? You know for a fact I’m the most upstanding citizen in this whole damn city.” It gets to him when I mess up his name, even though he tries not to show it.

“We’re not in the city of Bayonne’s jurisdiction, Mr. Volkov,” Agent Doyle says, pacing around the interrogation table once again. This time, though, I can see a certain excitement in his eyes, and I have to admit that it’s not entirely unfounded. He has a hell of an upper hand here.

“You’re in the county lockup, and well within my jurisdiction now.” He takes a few steps forward, crossing his arms and sneering at me. “But you really should be more careful at those wild parties of yours — it looks like you got into one too many fistfights with your criminal associates.”

He’s talking about my swollen lip, black eye, and the trickle of blood running from a cut in my forehead. Not to mention all the bruises I can feel forming on my chest from the pummeling I’ve taken since getting in here. The moment I was behind a closed door, Doyle turned his pigs loose on me. The young bucks at the county sheriff’s office were eager to get their hands on a man like me. Doyle “turned a blind eye” to me for a good half hour before returning to start the official interrogation.

But I wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing me in pain, so I spat what blood I had in my mouth onto the floor and kept that same old grin on. After all, I still have all my teeth. It’s driving him nuts, too.