Chapter One:
Emma's stomach rolled and her temples pounded. The dry, cottony feeling in her mouth and throat forced a cough from her when she tried to swallow, her eyes blinking open to take in the unfamiliar room.
She bolted upright in a bed that was not her own and immediately took stock of herself. Her coat and boots had been removed, but everything else about her person seemed to have been left untampered with. Again, her stomach lurched… or had that been the room? Closing her eyes, Emma focused on slowing her breaths which had started to come in panicked pants and homed in on the gentle sway affecting her surroundings.
Was she on a boat?
She searched the room, locating her boots and coat. Once they were back in place she tried the door, expecting it to be locked. To her amazement it opened. Peering out, she stared down a narrow corridor and risked exiting when no evidence of another soul made themselves known after several moments. With unsteady steps, Emma traversed the passageway until she came upon a set of stairs that appeared to lead up to the deck.
When her line of sight crested the hatch a tall mast caught her eye, sweeping her gaze skyward towards the billowing sails fluttering ever so slightly. A second mast could be seen just beyond the first, and as Emma stepped out fully on deck she turned to find the luxury sail boat surrounded by ocean for as far as her eyes could see.
"It's about twenty-five nautical miles to the nearest shore." Jones' voice caused Emma to jump and spin around. He was leaning casually against the rail at the edge of the boat, arms crossed over his chest with a slight quirk at his lips. Pushing off, he moved his hands to the pockets of his pea coat and took a few swaggering steps her way. "So, unless you are a very, very, very good swimmer and immune to hypothermia, there's nowhere to go, love."
"What are you doing out here?" Emma shivered, the brisk sea breeze cutting straight through her despite the added layer of her coat.
"I have a business meeting," he answered with a shrug, stopping just shy of her personal space.
"What am I doing here?"
Jones leaned in close and whispered, "You're the reason for the business meeting."
He winked at her then rocked back onto his heels. Something in the distance grabbed his attention and the playful expression that had taken up residence on his features quickly evaporated.
"Bollocks. They're early," Jones' muttered. His hand shot out and took hold of her arm. Before Emma could protest, he hollered, "Scarlet! Would you please escort our guest back to her room?"
Emma struggled against his tight grip while trying to locate that which had caused his demeanor to change. Off in the distance she could just make out another boat heading their way.
"Who is that?"
"My father and brother." His eyes were squinted in the approaching vessel's direction, probably gauging how much time they had. "Trust me, love. You do not want to be on deck when they arrive."
"Why not?"
His gaze dropped down to her, a look of absolute seriousness within his steely blue eyes. "Because neither of them understand why you're still alive, and think I should have dealt with you when I did Walsh."
Emma's heart leapt into her throat and she hoped he would take her small stumble as he pulled her back towards the hatch as a by-product of not having her sea legs rather than the fear surging through her, making her knees go weak.
"Why didn't you?" she choked out when he handed her off to the mouthy man with the buzz cut she'd kneed in the groin the night before. He didn't look particularly happy to see her either.
"I told you, love," he answered with a soft purr in his lilt and a devilishly handsome smile at his lips, both of which Emma recognized as tactics to try and placate her. "It would have been bad form." His attention switched to his henchman, Scarlet, and the flirty countenance vanished once again. "See to it she stays put."
Scarlet gave him a stiff nod. "Sure thing, boss."
Just as she had the night before, Emma dug in her heels and refused to budge. "I'm not going anywhere. I think I have a right to know what you plan to do with me."
"Aye, love. You do." His eyes flicked once again to the yacht that was nearly upon them. "Unfortunately, that isn't entirely my call." His eyes landed back on her, a small flicker of exhortation sparking from deep within their recesses. "If you'll go below and wait where I've asked my associate to escort you, I'll have him turn on the intercom. You'll be able to hear everything through the ships' system once my brother, father, and I come below to discuss things. Will that satisfy you enough to acquiesce to my... request, or does Will have to bodily remove you from my deck?"
Emma swallowed and chewed her lip. She knew that wasn't an idle threat. If they wanted her below when the other men got there then they'd just carry her kicking and screaming if necessary. If she complied, and he was good on his word to let her listen in, she at least wouldn't be left in the dark about her fate.
"Alright," she agreed, tugging her arm free of Scarlet's grasp, "But I can get below without you getting handsy."
Jones chuckled and lifted his brows towards his goon, giving his okay that she be allowed to walk back without the man's assistance while escorting her.
"Make sure to switch on the intercom for her," Jones instructed before straightening his posture and making his way towards the back of the boat.
Scarlet swept an arm out, indicating she take the lead, and Emma descended back down into the belly of her prison. When they reached the room she'd awoken in, Scarlet went to a panel along the wall and turned a series of dials. Staticky pops crackled through the in-ceiling speakers before the room went silent again, and Emma wondered how long it would be before the men would congregate wherever the intercom was picking up from.
"I'll be right outside," Scarlet told her before drawing the door closed.
"Hey. Be straight with me," Emma called out, stalling his actions as he gave her a bored look. "How likely am I to get off this boat alive?"
Scarlet snorted. "Not very if you keep calling the boss' lady a boat. She's a ship, sweetheart."
The door snapped closed, leaving Emma alone with the hysteria of her thoughts now that she had a moment to truly evaluate her situation. She had no misconceptions of who she was dealing with. The name Jones may not have tipped her off last night, but the evidence of the man's influence and wealth left little doubt in her mind that she was dealing with one of the members of Storybrooke's most ruthless and powerful organized crime families. And not just any member, but one of the sons of the infamous crime boss, Brennan Jones.
Emma clasped her hands together and buried them in her lap as she sat on the edge of the bed. She couldn't fathom what reason Jones had for keeping her alive after what she'd witnessed last night, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't dreading hearing the men talk about what they planned to do with her now. Still, it would be better knowing, she told herself. Better to face it head on with some shred of dignity than go out groveling like Walsh had.
Noises began muffling through the speakers, preceding the voices that echoed through Emma's room as the men entered their meeting space. Emma tried to remember to breathe as she listened with rapt attention.
"I would have thought you'd both be happy I stopped and considered the consequences of my actions for once," Jones' voice quipped before the sound of a door clicking shut, chairs being shuffled around, and the creaking of leather seats came through the speakers.
"Consequences didn't stop you from killing Walsh," a voice replied. A voice tinged with agitation, despite its attempt to sound otherwise.
"Killing Walsh was always the plan," Jones countered. "We had everything in place to dispose of him. The Swan girl was an unforeseen complication."
"Then why not just shoot her and dump her alongside Walsh?" a third, calmer and cooler voice questioned, with a slight gruffness that told Emma it might belong to an older man. Jones' father, Brennan Jones?
A huff sounded. "I can answer that," the agitated voice jeered. "She's quite a looker, isn't she little brother?"
"Younger brother," Jones clipped.
"Beautiful women have always been your weakness, son," the older man said with a note of teasing.
Now Emma knew for certain the identity of her abductor was Killian Jones, the younger of the two Jones brothers, making the agitated sounding one Liam.
"For your information, it was the fact she'd already admitted to being there on Humbert's behest that gave me pause. I knew she'd be missed, and if we wanted to handle things without it leading right back to us, then we'd need time to craft a solid plan rather than engaging in damage control that could potentially lead to mistakes."
Emma could feel herself trembling. It sounded as though the decision to kill her had already been made. Why would he have offered for her to listen in if he knew that was going to be the outcome? To torture her? Was the man some sort of sadist?
"And what plan have you come up with?"
"Scarlet has put things in place that, should we decide it in our best interest to eliminate the girl, will look as though the deed was done by Walsh, who will appear to have gone to ground."
"I take it from your expression," Brennan responded with a hint of amusement in his tone, "that you have another option than simply disposing of her."
"We buy her off," Killian suggested casually. "Or better yet, get her to work for us."
"What makes you think she can be bought or trusted?" Liam asked with a heavy dose of incredulity. "My source at the precinct says she has close ties to the Storybrooke Police Department."
"Aye, but Swan seems to be cut from a different cloth. She's a bounty hunter." Killian stated it in such a way as though it should be obvious her ties to law enforcement would be no problem. It didn't appear such a statement garnered him the response he'd been hoping for, if his heavy sigh was any indication. "That lot is good at keeping things close to the vest and they are driven by money. Plus, based on what Rob was able to dig up on her, Swan doesn't seem too concerned with the amount of blood or legal questionability attached to her bounties. Offer her enough and she'll stay quiet." He paused for a moment and the creak of leather betrayed his change of position. "I'd rather have use of her skills, though."
"Her skills?" Liam scoffed. "Is that what you're calling it these days?"
"Think what you will," Killian continued, his voice sounding unfazed by his brother's jibe, "but it is rare for someone to best me, and anyone who does deserves some consideration."
"Best you? She didn't best you," Liam argued. "You got to Walsh first."
"Barely," Jones shot back, sounding more impassioned than he had during the entire meeting. "Do you have any idea how many thousands of dollars and man hours I had to spend to find him? She tracked him down with only herself and whatever limited resources she had. The only reason I had eyes on him first was because I parked on the side street. If she'd chosen that location instead of the back alley then Walsh would be in police custody right now and we'd be having a far more pressing discussion."
Silence descended upon the room. For several long moments the only sound Emma heard was the rush of blood thundering in her ears. Jones wanted her to work for them, had been impressed by her ability to track down Walsh, and thought she'd be a useful asset. He was right in his assessment about her. Despite her ties to the SPD, her life on the streets as a runaway from foster care, plus the time she'd spent in prison as a juvenile, had left her with flexible scruples and a perspective that life was rarely black and white when it came to right and wrong. There had been multiple occasions when she'd turned a perp over for the highest bounty, knowing full well the kind of justice that would be dispensed. For all she knew, she'd already taken money from the Jones family in the course of her occupation without even knowing because of the degrees of separation organizations like theirs typically employed.
Still. She didn't like the idea of being beholden to an organized crime family.
She liked the idea of dying even less, though.
"It seems to me," Brennan's voice unexpectedly broke the unnerving quiet, causing Emma to flinch at the sound, "that it is up to Miss Swan to decide. Why don't you go and have her join us, Killian. Then we can lay out the choice before her."
"Actually," he shifted in his seat once again, based on the tell of creaking leather, "she's already aware of her choice. She's been listening to this entire conversation."
"She what!" Brennan and Liam both roared.
The sound of scraping metal and a crash indicated that someone had stood and sent a chair flying. Emma's heart hammered in her chest and her eyes locked onto the door, half expecting an enraged Brennan or Liam Jones to come through it with a gun at the ready. Emma hated how close to tears she was when she heard Killian's voice.
"Would you both please calm down? I can explain."
The chair sounded as if it were being righted, and Brennan relented. "He's right, Liam. We should at least give him a chance to explain." The man paused, probably waiting for his son to heed the request, which given that it came from the head of the family, wasn't a request at all.
More shuffling sounds crackled through the intercom, presumably everyone taking their seats once more, before Brennan spoke again.
"Why would you allow such a thing, Killian?"
"Because the type of relationship I'm proposing requires trust… from all parties involved," Killian explained with a determined edge to his voice. "I want Swan to know exactly where she stands with us. I want her to be able to make her choice without questioning whether we have ulterior motives. If we expect her loyalty, then the least we can offer her is our honesty."
Emma heard Liam's now familiar scoff before he accused, "So, you'd have her believe you're some sort of white knight? The honorable one among us? The one falling back on good form, while we're ruthlessly calling for her blood?"
"I'm doing nothing of the sort," Killian countered. "If the choice is to get rid of her, I'll do the deed myself. This is my mess to clean up, after all. I just think it would be short sighted to act so rashly when she could be of use to us."
"Of use to you, you mean," Liam grumbled. "Just have her and be done with it, why drag it out under such pretenses?"
"Bloody hell, Liam! This isn't about my lust!" The sound of what Emma assumed was Killian's hand slamming hard against a table thudded through the air. "If I had shot the woman last night, you'd be berating me for causing a potential shit storm with the SPD, but when I come up with a reasonable plan of equal benefit to all those involved, you accuse me of only thinking with my cock. There is no pleasing you!"
Again, a disturbing silence permeated the air. When Liam Jones spoke again, his low tone of quiet menace sent a shiver of dread down Emma's spine.
"Fine. If you truly believe bringing this woman into the family business is the best way to clean up your mess, then so be it. But should this blow up in your face, don't expect father or me to come bail you out. If it all goes to hell, you're on your own."
The metallic scrape of the chairs echoed one last time. Heavy footfalls retreated past the point where Emma could make out their thuds as a low murmuring of voices became impossible to make out. Straining to pinpoint every little sound, it seemed the two Joneses were making their way back to the boat that had brought them to the rendezvous point, its engines rumbling to life before the wake of its departure threw Emma off balance.
Once her surroundings had righted themselves, Emma began pacing the length of the room, chewing her thumb nail down to the quick as she waited for Jones to grace her with his presence. When the lock on the door released, she braced herself for his entrance, feet planted wide, arms crossed over her chest, and chin lifted, ready to face him head on without giving away any of the fear or panic coursing through her.
She wasn't expecting the jovial smile and outstretched coffee he presented to her when he crossed the threshold.
"Here you are, Swan. Thought you might could use a bit of caffeinated fortification after all that." Emma cocked a brow at the proffered cup then shot him a suspicious look. Seeming to read her mind, he brought the mug up to his lips and took a large sip before extending it to her once more. "I assure you, I did not just go three rounds with my brother, fighting to keep you alive so I could poison you with a Trojan coffee."
Satisfied he had no nefarious intentions with the offered beverage, Emma accepted the coffee from him then took a seat at the small table and chairs set he gestured her toward. Jones reclined back in the chair, projecting a casual ease as he twisted one of his rings around his finger with his thumb, an action Emma suspected was more of a tell of the underlying aggravation still coursing through him than any sort of tick meant to portray composure. Determined to wait the man out with her silence, Emma didn't have to remain quiet for long before he finally addressed the rather large elephant in the room.
"I assume you've had a chance to consider your position."
"Work for you or walk the plank, you mean?" she quipped over the rim of the mug before taking a drink, her brows scrunching together at how he'd managed to fix it exactly to her liking.
"A bit dramatic, don't you think, love?"
"That's why we're out here, isn't it?" she challenged. "A great place to do business without the worry of being overheard, or having uninvited guests drop in while you dispose of a body where it'll never be found."
Jones ran his tongue over his teeth, his gaze quickly flicking towards the portholes that led to the vast ocean beyond. Shrugging his shoulder, he shot back a flippant response. "I admit, the term sleeping with the fishes is a bit cliche, but you can't argue the effectiveness a watery grave has in helping to cover one's tracks."
"Well," Emma replied, wetting her lips and setting the mug on the table before her. "I've never really been a fan of water sports, so I guess that just leaves me with option number one." Snapping her eyes up, she met his gaze, and a look of understanding passed between them.
"I was hoping you'd see it my way." Shooting her a wink, he stood and made his way for the door. "It'll take about an hour to get back to Storybrooke Harbour. You'll find your vehicle parked there, good as new. I'll be in touch about the particulars of our arrangement. In the meantime—"
"Keep my mouth shut," she finished for him, pulling an amused huff from him.
"Scarlet will escort you off the ship once we've docked," were his parting words, leaving her alone once more with a deafening click of the door behind him.
~/~
"Where the hell have you been?" Graham roared across the bull pen when Emma entered the Storybrooke PD precinct later that morning. She knew she'd have to smooth things over with him once she saw the numerous missed calls and unanswered texts after she disembarked from Jones' yacht and made it back to her bug.
"Tracking down leads," she snapped back, hoping her surly exterior and the tale she was about to spin would mask the real reason behind the shadows under her eyes and the rumpled look of the clothes the detective had last seen her in. "Damn wizard led me on a wild goose chase all night. The fuse blew in my bug's lighter again, so I couldn't charge my phone until I stopped at some diner outside of town, seeing all your missed calls and panicked texts, which meant I had to come here to show you I'm just fine instead of heading straight home so I can crash. Happy now?"
Graham crossed his arms tightly over his chest, a stern look still taking up residence on his features. "You can't just go off the grid like that. You have to check in. You have to—"
"I don't have to do a damn thing," Emma interrupted. "I don't work for you. I went after Walsh as a favor, and it cost me hours of time I'm not getting paid for because he seems to have gone to ground. I'm tired, I'm dirty, and I have to catch up on new cases so I can pay rent and eat this month, so I don't need you breathing down my neck. The next time you need someone to do your work for you because you lack the resources and know how, don't call me."
Emma spun around and marched out of the precinct, praying Graham wouldn't come after her. This wasn't the first time they had butted heads this way, and while he usually let her storm off like this, allowing each of them time to cool off and get their heads back on straight before hashing it out in a more adult fashion, her nerves were too frayed to face an apology from him. She'd likely crack and confess everything, putting herself and him in danger from the Jones family. Given what Liam had let slip about his sources at SPD, Emma suspected they must have a cop on their payroll. Maybe even more than one. She didn't doubt for a moment that her exchange with Graham would get back to the family, and Emma needed them to believe she was walking the thin line they'd laid out for her.
Getting back to her apartment was a blur, the minimal amount of chemically-induced sleep not sufficient enough to alleviate the exhaustion she could feel seeping into her bones. She couldn't shake the feeling that something felt off about the space once she crossed the threshold into her living room, but her tired mind filed it away for later. Right now, she needed rest so she could approach the problem, the utter shit show, she found herself in with fresh eyes in the hopes of finding a way out of the mess she'd landed herself in. After stripping off the clothes she'd been wearing for more than twenty-four hours, Emma slipped into bed, falling asleep just moments after her head hit the pillow.
It was later that afternoon before Emma finally woke up. Given her line of work, it wasn't unusual for her to sleep most of the day after being out running down leads and skips all night, but that didn't make her any less groggy or disoriented. She was sure the added drugs her system still seemed to be purging weren't helping matters.
Hoping a nice, hot shower and some food might resolve the lingering fog, Emma phoned in an order for pizza then jumped in the shower. The streaming scald of water hitting her shoulders and cascading down her back, combined with the heady steam filling her sinuses did wonders clearing her head. She needed to have all of her faculties running at top performance if she had any hope of finding her way out of the mess she was in, or worse case scenario, survive being in the employ of the Jones family.
The knock at the door came earlier than expected. Emma tightened her robe around her and ran her fingers through her still wet strands as she opened the door. Her mouth dropped open when she found, not the pizza delivery guy, but Killian Jones, standing on the other side.
"Well, well. Isn't this a pleasant surprise," he drawled while his gaze raked over her.
An eye roll and sharp retort were halted when Emma saw the looming presence of a scar-faced man emerge from the elevator at the end of the hall, his hand purposefully reaching into his jacket. On instinct, Emma grabbed Jones and yanked him into the apartment, slamming the door once he cleared the threshold and reaching around him to bolt the lock. Before she could move them away from the door, Jones' arms wrapped tightly around her, trapping her arms to her sides as he smiled down at her with a smug grin.
"About bloody time," he purred into her ear, and a cascade of goosebumps erupted over her skin when his lips made contact with the side of her neck.
Wriggling in protest, she wrenched herself out of his hold and scowled into his confused face. "There is a big, scary dude heading this way," she whisper-spat at him. "I saw him get off the elevator. I think he may be here to kill you."
Jones hummed, one brow hitched up his forehead before he turned to peer out the peephole in her door. "Yes, I see," he whispered back. "Very scary dude, indeed." Stepping back from the door, he scratched behind his ear before facing her once more. "That's a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time," his eyes flicked up to hers with a sultry look, "don't stand on ceremony."
Emma's hands balled into fists, but she refrained from taking a swing at the obnoxiously arrogant expression he was giving her. "Aren't you at all concerned about the guy—"
"Relax, Swan," Jones said in his normal tone, no longer matching her hushed exasperations. "That's Mr. Hyde, my bodyguard."
"Your bodyguard? You didn't have a bodyguard with you last night."
"I didn't need one last night."
Emma crossed her arms over her chest, almost regretting the action when his eyes lowered and lingered where she knew the edges of her robe had started to gape, revealing a generous expanse of her cleavage.
Almost.
"You didn't need one last night when you went after a known scumbag, but felt it necessary to have one while meeting with me? I'm flattered," she deadpanned, shooting him a withering look.
"You went after said scumbag all on your own," he reminded her with a pointed tilt of his head.
"I don't have much of a choice, seeing as I don't have a legion of goons on my payroll and at my disposal."
"You do now," he stated. "Have goons at your disposal that is. Though, I wouldn't advise calling any of them goon to their face."
A series of taps rapped at her door and Jones took the liberty of answering it. The imposing figure she'd seen exiting the elevator held out the pizza she had completely forgotten she'd ordered, prompting Emma to step forward and take it from his hand.
"Um… thanks. Let me uh, let me get you some cash."
"Don't worry about it, Swan," Jones told her, nodding to his man and closing the door, leaving his bodyguard in the hallway to… Well, Emma wasn't really sure what he was doing out there.
Emma deposited her pizza on the counter and anchored herself to the laminated surface, drawing up her courage to finally ask the thing she should have when he first appeared on her doorstep. "What are you doing here, Jones?"
"Please, love," he said over her shoulder, startling her with how close he was as she spun around to find him standing right behind her. "Call me Killian. Jones can get confusing, what with myself, my brother, and father all answering to the name."
Emma swallowed at having him pressed so closely into her personal space, the scent of him washing over her as it had in those moments before she'd lost consciousness the night before. "Okay, then. What are you doing here, Killian?"
"I told you I'd be in touch." He shrugged, rocking back on his heels.
"And it didn't occur to you to use the phone?"
Stepping back, he made his way over to her living room while tossing out over his shoulder, "Phones can be… complicated when one wishes a conversation be kept private."
Emma's brows rose, and she cocked her head at the inference behind his words. Looking around her apartment, nettles of apprehension began prickling her skin as she recalled the off feeling she'd had when she first returned home earlier in the day. Casting an accusatory look Jones' way, she snatched her phone off the counter and examined it, finding that which she'd begun to suspect after more than a cursory glance.
"You bugged my phone?" she said, shaking it at him angrily. "And my apartment, too?"
"Liam insisted upon it," he told her, making himself at home on her couch, his arms stretching wide over the back cushions, matching the position of his splayed knees. "However, father said installing cameras would be bad form, more's the pity."
"Unbelievable," Emma muttered, tossing her phone back onto the counter. She'd deal with its infestation later.
"What did you expect, love?" Killian asked with a challenging tilt of his head. "It's standard practice for us to keep new assets under surveillance, nothing more than a formality, I assure you."
"A formality?" Emma scoffed. "And how long will this formality last?"
"Until you've proven your loyalty." He shrugged again, picking at an invisible thread on the back of her couch. "Which leads me to my visit."
Reaching into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, he pulled out a small device and depressed the button at its center, then set it on her coffee table. His eyes flicked up to hers, and her breath caught at the grave look within their forget-me-not depths.
"What I am about to tell you, will never leave this apartment. Do you understand me?"
Emma swallowed thickly and nodded, her nerves on edge at how quickly his demeanor had switched from flirty and seductive to hard and menacing.
"Then have a seat, Swan," he instructed, gesturing to the worn, wing back chair positioned adjacent to her couch.
Hesitantly, Emma padded forward and sank down onto the cushioned seat, pulling the ends of her robe tightly around her, and smoothing the fabric over her thighs before fixing her attention on the organized crime boss staring her down in her own home. A home currently being monitored by his criminal enterprise. Though, as her gaze flickered down to the black device he'd placed between them, she wondered if it wasn't blocking whatever surveillance the Jones family was utilizing against her, seeing as how he was adamant their pending conversation be kept between just the two of them.
Jutting out her chin, she met his gaze with determination of her own, and demanded, "What's so urgent you couldn't risk telling me over the phone or having your goons listening in?"
The corner of his lips briefly quirked up into a smirk, before his expression turned serious once more. His jaw clenched, the muscle above ticking a number of times before he released the tension and swept his tongue over his lips.
"It appears my family has a bit of a rat problem," he confessed in a hushed tone, his voice dropping nearly a full octave. "I need you to help me suss the rodent out, so it can be dealt with."
A small shudder ran up Emma's spine at the murderous look she saw flash within his eyes, leaving no doubt as to the manner in which this rat would be dealt with once found.
"Why me?"
His lips twitched again, and his eyes - now burning with a different sort of intensity - ran over her once more. "You're good at finding things," he acknowledged. "Your efforts in tracking down Walsh proved that, and my sources at the Storybrooke Police Department tell me you have the highest catch rate of any bounty hunter or bail bondsman they work with." Twirling the large ring on his forefinger with his thumb, he paused and broke his eye contact. "Plus, I need an outsider," he admitted with reluctance. "Someone who can investigate the matter with fresh eyes, and without bias."
"I would need access to the inner workings of your organization," she told him, earning her an acknowledging nod that divulged he'd already considered that. "Your brother's okay with that?" she asked with a heavy dose of skepticism.
"Liam doesn't know," he disclosed. His discomfort at revealing so many details about his family and the business was palpable. "One of my brother's strengths is also his greatest weakness. He's loyal to a fault, and believes the same of everyone within our organization. That's why I need proof before going to him. It's the only way he'll believe such a betrayal."
"What about your father?"
Jones reached up and rubbed his hand across his forehead, massaging his temples with his thumb and fingers before scrubbing his palm down his face and over the stubble outlining his mouth.
"My father is ill." His strained tone made her stomach clench in an unexpected way. "He's grooming Liam to take over for when he dies, so it'll be my brother's call on how to handle things once the culprit is identified. That's why he's been…"
Killian shook his head, cutting himself off when he realized he was about to say more than she needed to hear. Lifting his hips off the couch, he dug into the pocket of his well-fitted jeans and pulled out a flash drive.
"Everything you need to get started is on this," he said, tossing it onto the coffee table. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you what would happen if anyone else ever got a hold of that?"
Emma plucked the drive from where it had landed and tucked it into the pocket of her robe, shaking her head in response to his question, even if it was rhetorical.
"Along with the notes I've made thus far, you'll find a dossier on every person within our employ, as well as our associates. Trust no one, Swan. Everyone is a suspect."
"Even you?"
She hadn't meant to blurt that out, but despite the nerves wreaking havoc within her chest about how he might respond, she kept her assessing gaze locked on him.
His brows pinched together, and he met her challenging look with one of perplexity. "If I were the rat, why would I task you with seeking me out?"
Emma wet her lips, and focused on keeping her breathing even before accusing, "You just told me your dad is dying, and the business is going to your brother. Maybe there is no rat. Maybe you're planning a coup, and want to see if you're being sloppy so you can cover your tracks better."
Visions of him pulling out a gun and affixing a silencer to the end of the muzzle flashed through Emma's head before a chuckle rumbled from Killian's chest. "Booth was right about you." Leaning forward, he waggled his finger at her with a wide grin plastered on his too handsome face. "You are bloody brilliant, amazing."
Emma couldn't stop the blush working its way up her neck from her chest, the heat of it pooling in her cheeks as she forced herself not to preen under his praise. Why the affirmations of a mob boss would affect her like this, she had no idea, but she certainly didn't want him knowing how his words had affected her either.
His words.
Emma's head snapped back up. "Wait," she back tracked. "Did you say Booth was right about me? As in August Booth at the SPD?"
"Aye," Killian affirmed, sitting back against the couch cushions and propping his ankle over his knee. "He's worked on our payroll for years. The information is all in the files."
Emma sat rubbing her temples at that bombshell, wondering what else was awaiting her within those files.
"One last thing before I go, love," Killian stated, his tone softer and more compassionate than she'd ever imagine it capable of being. "From what I've gathered about you, I imagine you don't fancy being at my family's mercy indefinitely, so this assignment comes with a deal attached to it."
"How many people have ever come out on the good side of one of your family's deals?"
"Fair point," Killian yielded with half a smile. "Though, I assure you, there are worse families you could find yourself entangled in."
The pointed look he gave her from beneath his lashes made Emma's skin break out in a skittering of panic. Just how much had he gathered about her and her past?
"Let's call it an offer then," he suggested, bringing them back to his deal. "You find me my rat, and in addition to whatever compensation you require while working for me, I'll pay you a hundred grand and release you from any further obligation owed to the family once the pest is dealt with."
Emma's jaw dropped. A hundred thousand dollars? Was he serious?
"But," he continued on with a clipped tone and steely expression, conveying the severity of the proceeding warning. "If you make me regret my decision to place this amount of trust in you, if you betray me or my family, then know it'll be you who takes the fall for Walsh, and shortly after, you'll be joining him in his eternal reward." He let the threat, which Emma knew was really more of a promise, hang between them before extending his hand and asking, "Do we have an accord?"
The urge to let out an undignified snort and roll her eyes was almost too much for Emma to suppress. Did he really believe there was much of a choice between doing his bidding or rotting in some watery grave? Had anyone ever actually taken option number two?
For the second time that day, Emma agreed to Killian Jones' conditions, but not without making a stipulation of her own.
"One condition," she bartered, letting his proffered hand retract as he raised inquisitive brows. "I keep working as a bounty hunter on the side. For appearances. You might have some of the SPD under your thumb, but there are still plenty who would question why I all of a sudden stopped going after bounties and skips."
"Aye," Killian granted. "Like your Detective Graham Humbert."
Emma didn't much care for the inflection he applied to the your, but let it go. Instead, she focused on the way he thoughtfully brushed his thumb over his lips while pondering an additional provision of his own.
"A similar stipulation should probably be applied to any endeavors my father or brother might think you ought to be included in for the benefit of the family."
"What do you mean?" she asked with trepidation.
"Attendance at functions, gathering intel on a project that has nothing to do with our bargain, things like that."
"They wouldn't ever ask me to kill anyone, would they?" Emma blurted out, finally giving voice to one of the many concerns she'd wrestled with since finding herself in the employ of the Jones family.
"Not unless you volunteered to," he quipped with a teasing wink, before assuaging her anxieties. "You'll not be asked to do anything more unsavory than that which you would have otherwise done in the course of your normal occupation. I simply mean, I may have to assign you additional tasks outside the purview of your clandestine efforts, in order to keep up appearances with Liam and my father."
"Okay," Emma conceded. "Then it's agreed. We both keep up appearances while I track down your rat, after which, you pay me a hundred large and we go our separate ways."
Standing, she stuck her hand out towards him before her resolve crumbled in the face of what she was agreeing to. Leisurely, Killian stood and wrapped his hand around hers, giving it a gentle but no less binding shake. Before letting go, he ran the pad of his thumb over the webbing of her hand, sending a tremor up her arm.
"For what it's worth, Swan," he murmured in the low, husky tone that sent the tremor cascading down her spine. "I'm not planning a coup, nor am I the rat. Feel free to do your due diligence, though. I'm always available for any hands on investigating, or anything else you may require."
Giving her hand one last caress, he hitched his brows at her and sank his teeth into his bottom lip while his gaze traced over her a final time.
"I doubt I'll need the help, but thanks," she sassed back, internally berating herself for sounding so breathless.
"Be that as it may," he retorted, picking up the jamming device from the table and putting it back in his pocket while retrieving one last item from its interior. "Take this." He handed over a small, padded, manilla envelope. "It contains a secure cell phone and a credit card tied to one of my front companies' accounts. Use both with discretion, and keep in mind that neither your regular phone, your apartment, nor your vehicle are safe places for us to discuss our agreement."
Indicating she understood, Emma let him pass as she turned the manilla envelope over in her hands. When he reached her door, opening it slightly, she caught a glimpse of Hyde's imposing form still standing guard just outside. Killian turned back before exiting and gave her a lopsided smile she might have found endearing if she didn't know the danger lurking beneath the charm.
"Keep me posted on your efforts, love. And, uh… sorry your pizza's gone cold."
The snick of the door clicking shut sounded much louder than it ever had before, and Emma wasted no time in locking the deadbolt and threading the door chain into place. Pressing her back against its cool surface, she slid down the length of the door until the floor met her. Her head thunked against the door behind her and she drew her knees up towards her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs.
She could do this. She could get through this. It was one job. Just another bounty. All she had to do was find Jones' rat and collect her spoils.
A hundred grand.
It was enough to start over. She could go anywhere, do anything. All she had to do was work the case. Just another case. She could do this.
Reaching into the pocket of her robe, Emma pulled out the flashdrive and stared down at it resting in the palm of her hand. Closing her fingers around it, she pushed herself up off the floor and went in search of her laptop.
She had work to do.