Page 84 of Dangerous Promises

"What is it this time?" I ask, far too distant and emotionally drained to entertain any banter with her.

"It's time that we have a conversation," Angie says. "I'm going to be honest with you. Probably honest for the first time in years."

I harrumph. "And what could you possibly have to gain by being honest with me?" I sit back in my chair and fold my arms.

She rolls her eyes like she's very exasperated with me already. "Nothing to gain. Just a favor to repay."

I keep my expression blank as I wait for her to spill whatever it is she came here to spill.

"You'll want to hear this," she says, her bright red lips forming a thin line. She mutters something about ungrateful brats as she reaches into her handbag and pulls out a black case, sliding it across the table towards me.

I recognize it instantly.

My features drop as I sit upright and snatch the black ID case off the table. Flipping it open, I see Angie's picture inside. "Is this fake?" I ask, because that can surely be the only explanation for why I'm looking at an FBI ID with Angie's name and picture on it.

"Sadly, it's not," she says, looking like she's annoyed that she has to explain all this to me.

"You're FBI?" My mouth drops open.

"Ex-FBI," she rushes to correct me, snatching the ID back up from me and returning it to her bag.

"Well you guys are everywhere aren't you," I smirk.

She clicks her fingers in my face. "There's a reason I'm telling you this. Pay attention." She gives me a harsh look. "It's for-"

My mind makes the connection just as she finishes her sentence. The familiar sting of grief builds up my throat and goosebumps rise on my skin at the memory.

"Nicholas," I say, sitting further forward to rest my arms on the table. "You knew Nicholas."

"Yes," Angie says with a smile. That's enough to throw me. She speaks fondly, something I've never seen her do before. "He was a good agent before he came here. We worked together a few times, partnered for a few years. Obviously the straight and narrow life suited neither of us."

She chuckles, but I don't dare chuckle with her. This is a side of her I don't know, and I'm unsure how to take it. Her eyes gloss over with memories and all I can feel is irrational jealousy. I hate that there are parts of him that she knew and I didn't.

"Anyway, he went undercover, fell for you, and decided life was better here," she says, shrugging.

"And you?" I ask, treating her with suspicious caution.

She smirks like she has a secret.

"Something similar," she says, brushing it off with a shrug of the shoulder. "Point is. I'm not FBI. But I have just enough contacts there to be the one who has to give you this."

Before I can ask what she's talking about, she picks up a generic cardboard box and slides it across the table to me.

"What is it?" I ask, refusing to touch it.

"It's his personal effects. Everything he left behind at the agency."

The box sits ominously on the table between us. I can't bring myself to reach out and take it. How could his whole life fit into this shoebox? How has he been reduced to a gravestone, a shoebox and a name that I refused to speak out loud for over a year?

"It's not representative of his life," Angie says and I purse my lips at her trying to guess what's going on in my head.

I want to reach out and touch it. To open it and consume what's inside. But a dark cloud settles over me and I wonder if I should even be allowed to. If it's even my place to accept something like this.

We loved each other. But I got him killed. Would he even want me to have this? Can he forgive me if I haven't sought out his revenge? Can I forgive myself if I don't? I can't deserve to be the one to see this.

I'm distracted when I look out the window and see the front gates open. Freddie's car comes up the driveway at speed, kicking up dust from the gravel.

I can't see if anyone is with him, but I have the urge to go find out.