Actual Stop Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  About the Author

  Other Bold Strokes Books Titles Available via Amazon

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Special Agent Ryan O’Connor’s life is exactly on track—she’s with a wonderful woman, and she’s doing something she loves. Sure, her boss can’t stand her, but she figures if that’s her biggest problem, she’s pretty damn lucky. She should have known it was too good to last and that when fate finally slapped her, it would do so hard enough to leave a mark.

  When Ryan’s ex-girlfriend, Special Agent Allison Reynolds, suddenly reappears in New York, her carefully constructed world is thrown into chaos. As they’re forced to work together, Ryan is compelled to confront several realities that she wishes she could avoid. One of which is that it’s terrible to mix the past with the present. The other is that it’s not only the past that paints the present with lead.

  Actual Stop

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Actual Stop

  © 2016 By Kara A. McLeod. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-676-0

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: June 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Melody Pond

  Acknowledgments

  This book represents the culmination of about six years’ worth of off-and-on writing (clearly, I’m the absolute queen of procrastination; you don’t have to genuflect in deference to my reign, but feel free to bow your head respectfully), and then maybe a year of off-and-on editing after that. A great many people showed an inordinate amount of support during both processes, and I’d be absolutely remiss if I didn’t express my sincerest gratitude for their contribution to this work:

  Rad, who was an amazing friend and influence long before I started this journey and who has been nothing but encouraging since. Funnily enough, words are failing me at the moment, so I’ll just say thank you.

  My editor, Shelley, who I’m sure wanted to reach through the computer and strangle me at several points during the off-editing process but who somehow managed to refrain. You gave me a lot of great advice, some of which I actually remember, and I look forward to working with you on the sequels…assuming you haven’t already told BSB you’re busy that day. (Not sure I’d blame you if you did.)

  Chief, who’s tirelessly diplomatic even when telling me I’m a hot mess. You’re so good at it, I didn’t even realize that’s what you were saying until now. I’m currently rethinking all our conversations. Don’t worry. I’ll catch up. Eventually.

  My hetero soul mate, who patiently listens (and re-listens) to the plots of every book I have in the works whenever we’re together and still manages to express the same level of enthusiasm each time. You’re a trooper, lady. I managed to work in variations of your favorite words several times, that’s how much I love you. Happy hunting!

  Thing One, who’s always down to read any draft of anything I write, who tirelessly boosts my ego by repeatedly asking when she can have the next installment, and who’s unendingly positive in her comments and critiques. I miss you like crazy. Keep calm and UNGA on, my friend.

  My dad, who’s actually given me all the advice credited to Ben throughout the book. Just because Ryan sometimes acts bratty and rolls her eyes doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the pearls of wisdom. Especially the one about the wagon. That one’s my favorite.

  And finally, to Glocamorra, whose generosity in allowing his name and likeness to be used can never be fully appreciated. I sincerely apologize for calling you a crocodile. I know you’re an alligator. No disrespect was intended, I swear. Please don’t eat me.

  Dedication

  For Pumpkin, who handled my “f-you attitude” toward the apostrophe with all the grace and poise anyone could ever hope to muster. You can’t see it, obviously, but I’m clapping for you. I know how much you like that.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Thanks for coming with me,” I said to Special Agent Meaghan Bates as we pulled out of the parking garage and onto Adams Street. “I really appreciate it.”

  “You owe me,” Meaghan replied without hesitation. “I definitely didn’t want to be out here this late. What are we doing exactly?”

  “Going on an interview.”

  I didn’t even have to look at her to know she’d rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks. Do you think you could be any more vague?”

  I grinned at her sarcasm. “A buddy of mine from WFO asked me to take a run at a guy who passed a counterfeit hundred down in Maryland.”

  “Since when do you do favors for the guys from Washington?”

  “Since she did a favor for me. Quid pro quo and all that.”

  “Why didn’t you just pass it along to the counterfeit squad?”

  “Because she asked me.”

  Meaghan sighed and slumped down in the passenger seat. “You know Mark’s going to crucify you for this if he finds out, right? That man has made it his mission in life to destroy you.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  “So why are you taking this chance? Can’t you find less consequence-laden ways of annoying your boss like a normal person?”

  “I told you, because she asked me. Besides, how’s he going to find out?”

  “That man’s the devil. If there’s a way, he’ll find out.”

  “I’ll keep you out of it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “It’s only partly what I’m worried about.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “This has disaster written all over it,” Meaghan muttered.

  I grinned again.

  In case you’re wondering, I’m a special agent for the United States Secret Service. I won’t be offended if you don’t believe me. When most people think about Secret Service agents, they think of tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired males wearing mirrored sunglasses, an earpiece, and no facial expression. Medium height, blond-haired, bl
ue-eyed, smirking females never enter anyone’s mind.

  Because of that, I’m a natural choice for undercover assignments. And my air of innocence helps me get anyone to tell me anything during an interview, given enough time. Usually my friends laugh when I say as much. Okay, they always laugh.

  Most people think we work only out of Washington, D.C. and only protect the U.S. president and his family. Not true. President Lincoln actually founded the Secret Service in 1865 to combat the growing counterfeit-currency problem plaguing America. We didn’t even get in on the protection gig until 1901.

  While every agent dreams of going to a permanent protection detail like the Presidential Protective Division or Vice Presidential Protective Division—commonly referred to as PPD and VPD, respectively—those have only so much room. The rest of us in the field—and we have offices covering every state, as well as several overseas—wait to be called to The Show by guarding visiting dignitaries and investigating various crimes. We deal with counterfeiting, financial-institution fraud, credit-card fraud, and identity theft. We also investigate threats against the president, vice-president, their families, former presidents, and foreign heads of state.

  Meaghan and I are assigned to the Protective Intelligence Squad, which handles the threat cases. Any time anyone threatens a Secret Service protectee either verbally or in writing, an agent gets sent out to look into it. The majority of the threats we receive are made toward the president or the vice-president, but people also make them against former presidents and their spouses or other dignitaries sometimes, too.

  Many times, the people making the threats are just venting. Or drunk. Sometimes they’re just plain nuts. Occasionally, it’s an interesting combination of the three. And every now and again, someone’s just acting like an idiot. But we take each and every threat seriously and investigate it thoroughly because the person making the threat might like to do someone else harm, if given the chance. That’s normally where I come in.

  Today, however, I was getting into the spirit of Throwback Thursday. I’d transferred to the PI Squad from the Counterfeit Squad early last year, so I’d become accustomed to a certain type of investigation. This would be a good chance for me to reuse some techniques I hadn’t needed to employ in my PI cases.

  My phone rang before Meaghan could find another way to tell me to punt this to the counterfeit guys, and I smiled when I saw the caller ID.

  “Hey,” I said as I lifted the phone to my ear.

  “Hey,” Lucia Mendez, the NYPD Intel detective I’d been seeing, replied. “Where are you?”

  “On my way to an interview with Meaghan. Where are you?”

  A long pause. “So, I guess it’s safe to say you forgot we had dinner plans.”

  My heart sank. I was such an asshole. “Oh, shit. Luce, I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you?”

  I sighed and clenched the steering wheel. “Of course I am. I feel terrible.”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “You never do it on purpose.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that lately I feel like your job is more important to you than I am.”

  What the hell was she talking about? “Come on. You know that’s not true.”

  “Do I?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Another pause. “I’m starting to have my doubts.”

  Irritation swelled inside me, and I struggled to remain calm. She’d known about my lifestyle when she’d started pursuing me. Hell, we’d met on a detail, so none of this should’ve been a surprise. While I’d been wrong not to cancel tonight, I didn’t appreciate her implication that I didn’t care about her or my job was more important. She was a cop herself. She understood that things cropped up without warning. Or so I’d thought.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve called. I’m still playing catch-up from UNGA, and I’m distracted. That’s all. Once I get out from under my casework, it’ll be better. I promise.” No need to mention that what I was about to do wasn’t strictly within my purview. Nope. None at all.

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

  “Of course. What else would it be?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Hmm. Clearly she had something big on her mind. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time to press her on it. For one thing, I wasn’t alone. For another, we were almost at our destination. Time for damage control. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

  “Forget it,” Lucia said, sounding resigned. “We’ll do it another time.”

  “I’d really like to see you.”

  “And I’d like to see you, too. I—I miss you.”

  “Well, then let me come over after I’m done. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Lucia chuckled lightly, and my tension eased. “As great as that sounds, we both know there’s no way for you to tell how long this’ll take. And I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  Damn. She wasn’t wrong. I didn’t want her to be waiting on me. “How about tomorrow night? Are you free?”

  She hesitated. “Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow night would be great. Be safe, okay?”

  “You, too. See you tomorrow.”

  I took a deep breath as I re-holstered my phone. What would be the best way to make this up to her? Flowers wouldn’t be enough. Jewelry would be too much. I could offer to cook for her, but I wasn’t great in the kitchen. Maybe I could pick up dessert from her favorite bakery and—

  “How’s that going?”

  “Hmm? How’s what going?”

  Meaghan let out an exasperated huff. “That was your girlfriend on the phone, wasn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “Just someone I’ve been seeing.”

  Meaghan looked skeptical. “But not your girlfriend.”

  I shrugged. “Not officially.”

  “Ah. You haven’t had the exclusivity talk.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Is she seeing other people?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I know you’re not.”

  I scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t you think I’ve realized you don’t date?”

  “I didn’t realize my love life fascinated you. Something you want to tell me?”

  Meaghan scoffed. “Please. Even if I were into girls, you wouldn’t be my type.”

  “I am everybody’s type.”

  “Stop quoting that stupid TV show.”

  “Hey, if you’re going to open the door…”

  “And stop trying to change the subject. Unless you want to tell me who made you swear off love. I’d be willing to let you distract me with that.”

  Every nerve ending in my entire body started humming in warning. I loved Meaghan like a sister, but no way were we going to talk about that. Now or ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you don’t. Fine. Then let’s stay focused on how this girl has managed to do what many others have tried and failed to achieve.”

  “There haven’t been that many others,” I muttered.

  “There’ve been a few. Yet none of them have made it past what? Two dates? Three? I was starting to think you had commitment issues.”

  “I don’t have commitment issues. I’m not opposed to the idea of dating someone exclusively. It just has to be the right girl. I refuse to settle just so I’m not alone.”

  “Well, this girl must be pretty special. I mean, she’s made it a lot longer than any of the others.”

  “Good God. You make it sound like I’ve been participating in my own version of a reality dating show. There’ve been like three.”

  “Three who’ve never made it past a couple dates,” Meaghan pointed out smugly as she moved the radio mike a little, shifted so she was facing me more, and crossed her legs. “And how long have you been seeing this one?”
r />   I tugged on the cartilage of my ear as I did the math. “About six months.”

  “Wow. Isn’t it past time for you guys to have moved in together and adopted a cat?”

  I made a face and shook my head in exasperation, trying not to laugh. “If you try to tell me stereotypes exist for a reason, I’ll be forced to punch you.”

  “Fair point. But still, that has to be some kind of record for you.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  She ignored my name calling. “So what is it about her?”

  “She’s persistent as hell,” I quipped dryly, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

  Meaghan’s expression was disbelieving. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That can’t be it.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “How about something real, for starters?”

  “That is real. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. Wore me down. And here we are.”

  “Maybe that’s how it started. But that doesn’t explain why she stuck around.”

  “She’s a glutton for punishment.”

  Meaghan smiled. “Cute. But we both know I meant why you let her.”

  I tapped my fingernails against the steering wheel as I considered the best way to explain it. “It’s easy.”

  “Did you just call your girlfriend a whore?”

  I rolled my eyes and made a face. “Not my girlfriend. And I said it’s easy, not she’s easy. Jesus.”

  “Ah.” A pause. “So what exactly does that mean?”

  “It means we have fun together. She’s funny and smart, and it’s not any more complicated than that.”

  “Complicated by messy feelings, you mean.”

  “There are feelings. I’m not a sociopath. I really like her.”

  “If she’s so amazing and she’s managed to tie you down for this long, why the hell isn’t she your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve never talked about it.”

  “Well, do you want to talk about it?”

  “Meaghan, I don’t like having women I’m actually seeing push me into talking about my feelings. What are the chances I’ll tolerate it from you?”