Asa suddenly strides across the room toward Sloan. He gets in her face. “What the fuck are you looking at him for?” he yells, waving his hand in my direction. “What the fuck are you looking at him for?”

Oh, God. I start to walk around the table, but Dalton grabs my arm. Asa wraps his hand around the back of Sloan’s neck and shoves her toward the stairs. “Get the fuck up the stairs!”

She doesn’t look back as she runs up the stairs.

Asa is looking at me now. Dalton may not be happy that the FBI showed up, but I’m relieved. Chances are, Asa will be arrested for whatever they’re here to confront him for. Which means I might survive tonight, because the look he’s giving me right now is telling me otherwise.

He knows. He can tell, based on that one look Sloan gave me, that something is going on between us. But between the banging on the front door and the imminent possibility that he’s about to be arrested, he thankfully puts it on the back burner.

He points at all four of us. “Sit the fuck down,” he says. “Eat. I’m opening the goddamn door.” We all take our seats. Asa rushes to the kitchen and opens a cabinet, reaching to the back of it. He pulls out a gun and slides it inside the back of his pants. As he’s passing the table, he says, “If I find out any one of you fuckers is responsible for this, you’re all dead.” Asa turns toward the door and right before he opens it, he presses his forehead against it like he’s saying a quick prayer. When he pulls it open, he smiles. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

I hear a voice say, “Asa Jackson?”

Asa nods, but then the door swings open and several men swarm him, knocking him to the ground.

When Jon sees what’s happening, he scrambles toward the backdoor, just as it’s busted open and three men rush inside. Jon is immediately subdued and thrown to the kitchen floor.

It isn’t until this moment that I realize these guys won’t have any clue Dalton and I are undercover. I don’t even have a badge on me to prove it. They’ll just think we’re on Asa’s side.

The next several seconds are complete chaos.

More men appear through the doorway, guns are pointed at our heads, we’re on our stomachs, faces pressed to the floor, hands being cuffed behind our backs.

I’m lying next to Dalton and before they pull him to his feet, he whispers, “Stay calm. Wait until you’re alone before saying anything.”

I nod, but one of the agents notices us communicating. Dalton is jerked up by his arms.

I can hear Asa being read his Miranda rights as two men jerk me up off the floor by my arms. They’re barking orders, separating all of us into different parts of the house. I’m pulled into a spare bedroom off of the kitchen.

All I can think about is Sloan and how freaked out she probably is right now.

The door slams shut behind me and I’m thrown into a desk chair. There are two men in the room with me. One is taller than me with dark blonde hair and a beard. The other is shorter, stockier. Red hair and an even redder mustache. The red-head is the one who speaks first. They both pull their badges out of their jacket pockets and flash them at me. “I’m Agent Bowers,” he says. “This is Agent Thompson. We’re going to ask you a few questions and we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

I nod. Agent Bowers walks closer to me and says, “Do you live here?”

I shake my head. “No.” I start to tell them what I’m doing here and that they’re making a big fucking mistake, but the tall one interrupts me and says, “What’s your name?”

“Carter,” I say. I don’t say Luke yet, because I’m still not sure if Asa is even being arrested. The last thing I need is for the fucking FBI to blow my cover.

“Carter?” agent Bowers says. “You just have one name? So you’re like Madonna? Cher?” he bends forward, eyeing me. “What’s your fucking last name, smartass?”

I twist my hands behind my back, trying to ease the pressure cutting in to the circulation in my wrists. My pulse is pounding in my temples, partly because of the entire last few minutes and partly because I’m pissed that they’re about to end everything and get all the credit. Sure, they might be here to arrest Asa. And yes, I’m relieved that Sloan is now safe. But knowing the entire last few months were for shit and that I put Sloan in danger more than once really hits a nerve.

It grows quiet and I can hear Asa yell, “Fuck you!” from another room.

Agent Thompson kicks my chair, bringing my attention back to him. “What’s your last name, son?”

Little does he know I’m aware of how to conduct a proper investigation, and these assholes have already broken at least three rules. But the FBI, and even the police, aren’t really known to follow rules to the specifics in situations like these. I know that firsthand.

I open my mouth to respond to them, but I’m cut off by the sound of Sloan’s scream come from upstairs. I immediately jump up, but both of them shove me back down in the chair. “Fucking arrest me, or let me go!” I yell.

I have to get to Sloan. She’s probably scared shitless right now, not knowing what the hell is going on. I need to check on her before I fucking lose it, but they won’t let me out of the room. “I’m on your side,” I say to them, trying to keep my voice calm, when I just feel like screaming at them. “If you take the cuffs off, I’ll prove it and then get back to my fucking job!”

Detective Thompson stares at me for a moment and then looks back at agent Bowers and laughs. He points at me. “You hear that?” he says. “He’s a cop.”

Agent Bowers also laughs, and with a heavy dose of sarcasm, he says, “Our bad. You’re free to go,” he says, pointing toward the door.

I could do without the sarcasm. I also know I just fucked up by breaking cover, but I’m not sitting in here for another minute with these assholes. I’ll worry about dealing with Ryan later. “You’ll find my badge taped to the underneath of my passenger seat. It’s the black Charger.”

Agent Thompson’s eyes narrow and he looks at me like he might actually be entertaining the idea that I’m not lying. He looks at agent Bowers and nudges his head toward the door, silently telling him to go verify.

I can still hear Asa in another room, yelling back at whoever is questioning him. He’s demanding a lawyer now. I don’t think that’s going to help him at this point.

Agent Thompson doesn’t ask me more questions once we’re alone. I take the opportunity to bring up Sloan.

“There’s a girl in a bedroom upstairs. Can you make sure she’s okay when your partner returns?”

Agent Thompson nods. “Yeah, we can do that. Anyone else in the house we should be aware of?”

I shake my head. I already regret outing myself; the last thing I’m going to do is out Ryan. He can do that on his own time when he sees fit. He’ll probably wait until they have Asa in custody.

I hate that it wasn’t our investigation that ended things for Asa, but I’m relieved it’s finally coming to an end. For Sloan’s sake. Ryan, however, is probably fuming right now.

A moment later, the bedroom door opens. I glance up to see if agent Bowers found the envelope that contains my badge. I see the open envelope first, but as soon as I see who’s holding it, my relief turns into one big clusterfuck of confusion and dread.

What the fuck is happening?

Asa’s eyes meet mine.

What the fuck?

He looks down at the envelope in his hands and slaps it against his palm twice. He glances at agent Thompson and says, “I’d like some privacy with my friend, please.”

Agent Thompson nods and walks out of the room. Before he’s out the door, Asa points at agent Thompson’s blue FBI jacket with the three big yellow letters emblazoned across the back of it. “It looks so real, doesn’t it?” he says. He glances back at me. “I bought them at the costume store downtown.” He laughs and then closes the door. “The shady actors were a little more expensive than the jackets.”