The parking lot was crawling with cops and agents. All the club-goers had long since run off. Only two dancers had stuck around to answer questions about the fighting. As my eyes scanned the crowd, I couldn't see Dallas or Matt anywhere.
I jerked my arms free from the agents who had dragged me out of the club and I marched over to Director Jordan. He was standing with his hands on his hips in his usual suit and tie, observing the scene. My escorts came running after me, but Jordan halted them with a wave of his hand and told them it was alright.
He turned his attention to me with an unreadable expression and gave a curt acknowledgement. "Agent Dobreva. Interesting choice in apparel."
I cringed at the awkwardness of the situation, talking to my director while wearing the standard stripper's uniform. How classy of me.
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to hug the robe tighter around my body out of embarrassment.
"Would you care to tell me what the hell is going on here?" I brazenly asked, practically getting up in his face about it. "I – we – had everything under control here until all these cops and agents crashed the party! Why are you here? And where the fuck are Dallas and Matt?"
Jordan tried to raise his hand to silence me the same way he always hushed everyone, but I wasn't having it.
"No!" I shouted at him, placing my hands firmly on my hips. "Somebody better give me some information right now, or so help me-"
"Natalia!"
He cut me off and surprised me by using my first name. He'd never called me by my first name before. He'd always been strictly formal about how he addressed everyone.
"Agents Carver and David are fine," Jordan said sternly, though the hint of sorry in his eyes told me that he understood why I was furious and that he was sympathetic to my situation. "They've been taken to an emergency room to get checked out. I'm sure the prognosis will be fine, too, because they only appeared to have a few cuts and bruises. You need to calm yourself down. Go sit down and drink some water. Cool off."
Oh, he thought I was going to lay off after only hearing that much? That wasn't near enough information to satisfy me. I wasn't about to go "cool off." I was going to be up Director Jordan's ass until he had me arrested, if that's what it would take.
"I will not go 'cool off'," I hissed, glaring at my superior. "You're not telling me anything! I think I have a right to know what the hell just happened in the middle of my mission!"
Jordan returned my icy stare and fired back. "Listen to me, Agent! You will watch the way you address your director! Do you understand me?"
I wasn't about to back down. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he was going to get.
"I have never treated you with anything other than respect, because you've earned that!" I hollered, getting mere inches from his face. "And the least you could do is show me some respect back! I know I've damn well earned it!"
Jordan's angry expression seemed to soften and he took a step back, folding his arms and sighing deeply. Had I struck a nerve behind his stone wall of emotions?
He looked tired. Real tired. Like he'd been awake for a week straight. His eyes were bloodshot and he hadn't shaved. I wondered what had had him so strung out. Had he been trying to track me down for the last few days? Was he stressing over Matt's and my situation?
"You're right," the director finally said. "You're right, Agent. You deserve to know what's going on. Have a seat."
He gestured to the open trailer behind us and we both sat down on the edge. All around us, the parking lot, club, and back alley were still bustling with activity.
"Todd Lancaster came to my office three days ago," Jordan began, adjusting the knot in his tie.
"Lancaster was in on all this shit!" I exclaimed before he could say another word.
He nodded, unfazed. "I know."
I scrunched up my nose in confusion. "You do?"
Jordan nodded again. "Yeah. I know all about Agent Gallows' plot to have you killed. I know about Agents Lindsey and Carpenter. I know about Miguel Santiago and Enrique Bellucci. I know about the murder of Raul Bellisario. Lancaster filled me in on the whole scheme. Said he'd tried to meet with Santiago to call off the deal, but he wouldn't go for it. So he came to me as a last resort."
I was stunned beyond words. I blinked at him in utter shock. Lancaster had dropped the bomb and sold out Brit? It was a dream come true when the bad guys screwed themselves over, but I never would've guessed that Lancaster, of all people, would've admitted to their plan, much less voluntarily confessed it to the agency director.
"He told you all that?" I asked, my jaw practically on the ground.
Jordan blew out a breath and looked up at the starry sky. "Worst case of corruption in A.R.T. history. I'm ashamed to say I had a part in hiring that man. I never would've believed he'd be in on something that heinous. What Lancaster did was unforgivable, Agent Dobreva, and I applaud you and Agents Carver and David for everything you all did to try to put an end to this mess."
I ran my fingers through my hair, still not believing what I was hearing. "What happened to Lancaster?"
"He's in holding at headquarters along with Ms. Gallows, Ms. Lindsey, and Ms. Carpenter. They're each being interrogated as we speak." Jordan wiped his palms over his face a couple times and yawned. "Carpenter was never an agent to begin with, we found out. Ms. Gallows is no longer your superior, obviously. Her employment with Alpha Recon has been terminated, as has Ms. Lindsey's and Mr. Lancaster's. I'm promoting Agent Carver to replace Ms. Gallows, and in his place, I'd like to extend to you the promotion to team leader."
My mouth fell open again. "W-what? You want to promote me?"
I never thought I'd see the day that A.R.T. would promote me, given my infamous addiction to alcohol and how often I gambled with danger, compared to the rest of my team. Matt most certainly deserved to be in the higher chain of command, though. He'd worked extra hard for so many years, trying to prove his worth to our superiors. He'd told me on numerous occasions that his goal was to someday be the agency director. At this rate, I was pretty sure he could check that off his bucket list eventually. Jordan had talked about retiring in the next five years. I could definitely see Matt replacing him.
"You've earned it, Dobreva," Director Jordan said and smiled for the first time in the longest time. "There's a jet waiting for you at the airport. Get checked out by medical and then Agent Garcia will give you a lift. I expect you bright and early in Washington next Monday. Take the weekend off, recuperate, and bring your A game to work next week."
With that said, Jordan got up and headed over to the ambulance where EMTs were loading up Bellucci to take him to the hospital. What little happiness I'd felt over the news of a promotion vanished when I laid eyes on the wailing, wounded drug lord. If I'd only had another minute, or even twenty more seconds, I could've rid the world of that bastard. I could've gotten the revenge I so desperately needed to help myself feel whole again.
Bellucci's eyes met mine for just a moment and I shot him a glare that told him he would never be able to feel safe again. No matter where he went or how many bodyguards he employed, no matter how well he hid himself from the world, no matter how long it took, I would track him down again and I would finish what had been started in Washington. I would find Enrique Bellucci, and I would kill him.
"Agent Dobreva?" a man's voice came from behind me.
I turned around to see Director Mark Bartley from the International Defense Alliance. He'd aged quite a bit since my last unpleasant encounter with him four years ago. Clearly, being the director of I.D.A. had taken a big toll on him. He sported large dark circles under his eyes and the same bloodshot, tired look that Jordan wore. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.
"You're never the bringer of good news, Director," I addressed him in a monotone voice and crossed my arms once more, tapping my foot expectantly. "How do you want to piss me off this time?"
I could tell by his expression that he'd known his presence wasn't wanted before he'd even garnered my attention. This was the first time I'd seen or spoken to him since the Washington incident, and I no longer held any respect for his authority since I'd discovered his plot with Jordan to keep Dallas and me apart. As much as I hated it, I did understand their point of view, but that didn't make what they'd done forgivable.
Bartley eyed the gravelly ground and gave a low whistle, stuffing his fists in his pockets. "I guess you found out."
"Dallas told me."
He nodded and finally met my stare again. "We didn't separate you two to be cruel. We-"
"I understand why you did it," I interrupted venomously. "I don't want to hear any excuses for it. It can't be forgiven. We can't get those years back. Don't try to talk to me about that."
Bartley raised his brows and looked to the ground again like he was searching for what to say.
"Is there something you want to say to me, Director, or are you just wasting my time?"
His head snapped up like he had been snapped out of a trance and he pursed his lips for a moment before telling me that I.D.A. would be prosecuting Dallas for desertion once he returned to their division in Israel.
I was shocked and dumbfounded. But before I had a chance to explode at him, the director walked off to chat with Jordan, a ruminative look on his face.
I turned around to storm after him, but Agent Garcia and a Spanish officer apprehended me and lead me to the EMTs in the next ambulance who were waiting to evaluate my condition. I was so highly strung that they were forced to secure my flailing limbs to the gurney just to get my off-the-charts blood pressure reading.
I made a scene so big and loud, it wouldn't have surprised me if people all the way over in Madrid had heard it. I was going to give Director Bartley a scalding piece of my mind if it was the last thing I did. I continued fighting everyone, even though I knew they were only trying to help me, and eventually, the EMT trying to get me to calm down finally had to resort to sedating me.
I awakened two days later in the medical division of A.R.T.'s Washington headquarters.