He was blowing it on such an epic scale. Paul Sloan had been Atlas’s idol within the bureau since he was a student at the academy. There was no doubt that Paul was the coolest, most competent person in the room the moment he walked in. Which was an impressive achievement in a room full of cocky future agents and veteran instructors. But Paul had everyone’s attention when he entered the lecture hall to share his insights on the ever-evolving landscape of digital crime.
It had been a fascinating presentation. Atlas was enthralled by the breadth of Paul’s knowledge and his understanding of the internet and its criminals. Afterward, Atlas learned that Paul was practically engaged to an infamous hacker and much of his knowledge had been gained firsthand. It was a brow-raising revelation until it was pointed out that being in a relationship with a known criminal was only a problem if it was kept secret and left an agent vulnerable to blackmail. But no amount of money was ever going to impress Paul, being married to Lord Marston. And Paul hidnothingfrom the bureau.
You couldn’t blackmail a man like Paul and he’d brilliantly convinced the FBI that an alliance with Lake Cliff was to everyone’s advantage. Paul had been right and had an impressive run with Lavender, Marston, and—recently—Speed’s assistance. Even Paul’s connection to Blackhurst, of all things, had been seen as a boon to the bureau.
Paul was a god within the FBI and he’d seen something in Atlas. He didn’t have to take a kid from Chicago under his wing, but Paul kept an eye on Atlas and often requested him when it was time to put together a team. Paul hadn’t disappointed as a mentor and Atlas was flattered when his role model recommended him as head of the Chicago field office. At thirty-eight, it was unheard of for an agent his age to hold such a powerful position within the bureau. But Paul had made sure that Atlas had the resumeandthe political support within the agency when the committee met to select the next Chicago chief.
That wasn’t to say that Atlas hadn’t busted his ass to get there. He’d spent his whole career determined to make his parents and Paul proud. Now, Atlas was in jeopardy of fumbling another brilliant opportunity—thanks again to Paul—over a guy with dreamy blue eyes who blushed every time he smiled at Atlas.
“What if he’s worth it?”
Atlas had never felt that kind of connection so suddenly with anyone. He’d dated a handful of men and women over the years without ever feeling much of a spark until he met Declan. It had been so easy to put his career first for so long that it was a little disorienting, falling like that for Mickey Winterstone’s son.
Of all people…
And Declan was nothing like you’d expect the son of a ruthless gangster to be; he was so shy and selfless. He had the softest heart and seemed to have every bit of the empathy his father and brother had lacked. His mother wasn’t the most empathetic person either, but Declan had loved and looked after her until she moved to Florida to be closer to friends who had migrated there for the warmer weather.
But Declan had turned up just as Atlas was finding his footing in Lake Cliff and everything changed. Atlas began using his visits to check in with Lavender and Speed as excuses to see Declan, hoping he’d cause a few more blushes and get another shy smile.
Then, Eddie Flanigan had to book a flight and reserve a suite at the Waldorf. Atlas was taken aback at first by the terror he felt when he saw the report and knew that Flanigan was inbound. It was as if Flanigan was coming for something that was his, and deep down, Atlas didn’t care what it took to protect Declan.
They had gotten to know each other well after a few casual dates and being paired-up for the wedding in Sparks, but Declan wasn’t his. It wasn’t Atlas’s place and Declan obviously had plenty of people looking out for him.
And it wasn’t entirely clear if Declan wanted Atlas’s protection. He was very obviously attracted to Atlas, but Declan was incredibly sensitive and introverted. Thanks to the nature of the investigation into Frank Leary and Mickey Winterstone, Atlas had been given access (with the patient’s permission and full cooperation) to Declan’s medical files. Declan was very quiet about it because he didn’t want to be perceived as fragile or helpless, but he’d spent most of his thirty-two years battling his anxiety and depression while recovering from the trauma of being Mickey Winterstone’s son.
He was thriving despite his proximity to Speed—a constant reminder of his past—and had coped with the investigation well, and Atlas didn’t want to set Declan back. Declan was making a fresh start and could be or do anything he wanted. So, Atlas had done his best to keep Declan in the dark about the target on his back and Flanigan.
And Atlas had done his best to give Declan time and the space to find himself. People rarely had a chance to start over with such a unique team of cheerleaders rooting for them and easing their way, but Atlas couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than Declan Leary. Beneath his shy, anxious exterior, there was nothing but sweetness and sunshine. He couldn’t hurt another living soul and Declan was patient and generous to a fault.
It didn’t help that Atlas also wanted what was beneath Declan’s fadedStar Warst-shirt. He’d only packed a change of clothes when he hopped on a plane to Chicago, yet that seemed to be all that Declan needed. He had a mortgage on a modest condo in New Jersey and $42,687 in his checking account before inheriting millions from Frank Leary. But aside from the digits in his bank account, Declan hadn’t changed.
He was as ascetic as a monk, but Declan wasn’t as pure and innocent as most assumed. Atlas had learned that firsthand in Sparks. He still got turned on and anxious whenever he thought about that night, but Atlas had to keep that memory locked up tight until he knew what to do about Declan and Lake Cliff. And Atlas had to wait for some sign that Declan had made up his mind.
But, about that night…
ChapterTwo
Fight or Flight.
Those had always been the two guiding principles of Declan’s life. He could defend himself if he absolutely needed to because Declan had been raised around loud, toxic men who talked with their fists and guns. But Declan’s idea of fighting was different from most. To him, fighting meant standing his ground and holding back against the screaming in his head. It was a constant frantic chorus that warned that extreme mortification or death was imminent.
Run, Declan!
But Declan being the meek and hopeless people-pleaser that he was ran away via the Church. What better way to escape from your father’s and your brother’s dark reputations than dedicating your life to God? He had hoped that it would be his Get Out of Social Jail card, but people still treated him like a monster until Mickey was killed.
Once the word had spread that they were gone, no one had any reason to fear Declan. Or care about him, really. He began to hear all those bottled-up opinions about Winterstone and the Westies. And now and then, someone would give Declan a good shove or spit on him for good measure.
So, it was pretty easy to stuff a clean t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and his toothbrush in a backpack and get on the first plane out of Newark. He had no idea what he was walking into or how long he’d be away, but Declan knew it couldn’t be worse and that he could always go back. The condo he had shared with his mother was just as he’d left it. A neighbor was watering the plants and he was still paying the mortgage for some reason. Declan knew he was never going back, but he was afraid of closing that door because he didn’t know where he was going or what was supposed to happen next.
Since arriving in Lake Cliff, Declan found himself running for entirely different and wonderful reasons. He had friends who were lovely and thought way more of him than they should. They were the kindest and bravest people Declan had ever met and they had collectively decided that he was worthyandthat he was worthy of Special Agent Atlas Beesley.
Which was absurd and often resulted in Declan fleeing in abject mortification. He knew they meant well, but dating had always been an exercise in humiliation and Declan didn’t relish the thought of embarrassing himself with all of Lake Cliff watching.
Declan felt ungrateful, though, when he knocked on Lavender’s door in search of some advice. Sage answered and swept Declan into a warm hug, then pushed him into the studio with a glass of wine.
“I’m so glad you came! It was getting too quiet around here. Jeremy’s still in Chicago and won’t be back until tonight.”
“Things should get a little more interesting around here. I just talked to Paul and Reginald and they’re coming back in a few weeks.”