from anony chat: Aunty DD I need something from the Trifecta so bad. Idc which one your pick! "I'd never lie to you." đŠI can't wait to see what you do! I love your writing!
đđđSweet Anony? You still with me?𼺠I'm SO sorry Johnny's took so long, but here it is!! Forgive me! Enjoy! đkjxđ
Johnny Tuturro x Reader
1.9k
prompt in bold print
đŠMINORS GO AWAYđŠ
Trifecta Ask -> see RIO fic MANNY fic
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WHAT DO YOU WANT?
In the coolness of your hotel room, you were comfortably propped up by several pillows in the middle of the bed. With your back to the headboard and a laptop on your bare thighs, you worked on an update for your bosses. Freshly showered and dressed in only an oversized tank top and panties, you checked your notes and glanced at the time again. Your fingers tapped in a race against the clock to finish your report before heading out to dinner.
When this new assignment scooped you up from your home in Virginia and landed you in sunny California, you thought the swanky hotel the bureau put your team up in was going to be the only perk... turns out there was another one - Johnny Tuturro. You were drawn in by the way he handled his team - concentrated and smart but funny.  Soon, your playful banter was mixed with lingering looks. It didnât take long for that to graduate to personal conversations and a daily game of not-so-innocent touches concealed from the others in the room. The building tension between you inevitably sparked into a flame in the dark of a surveillance trailer - the white-hot kiss started something neither one of you was willing to slow down long enough to define or stop.
The problem with Johnny was that being with him was easyâŚtoo easy. There was no need to apologize for long hours or missed calls like in your other failed relationships. And even though you were unofficial - there was a freedom with him that youâd never had before - you could be your whole self. The only problem was that with your assignment in California coming to an end, you werenât ready to give it all up. And just when you thought returning to your life in Virginia was going to be the hardest thing youâd have to do, the bureau dropped a new complication in your lap.
0.o.0.o.0
Hearing the shower turn off, you stretched and hit send on your report. Seconds later, Johnny appeared with just a towel around his slim waist. Between where you sat and the location of the mirror, you could see him from the front and the back. Iâm no better than a manâŚyou thought, feeling your temperature rise as you watched him complete the simple task of toweling off. It wasnât your fault God made him like that - all lean muscle and sun-kissed skin with that pouty, bottom lip. He playfully arched an eyebrow at you through his reflection in the mirror and you bit your lip as his carefully curated smirk spread into a roguish smile. It didnât matter that you two had already spent the last couple of hours happily defiling the bed that you were now lounging on; watching him rub on lotion and slip into a pair of basketball shorts was making you think about doing it all again.
As he flopped on the bed, checking his phone, you leaned over the edge to plug your laptop into its charger and place it on the floor. Sitting back up, you found Johnny stretched out, with his feet near you and leaning up on one elbow, watching. You flashed him a smile, thinking he was checking out the side-boob your loose tank top offered, but your smile faded a bit at seeing something was brewing in his dark eyes. âWhat?â
âSo?â
Raising your eyebrows, you tipped your head. âWhat?!â
âWhatâs up? Are you taking the job down here or what?â
You blinked in surprise before your shoulders drooped in resignation. This was not the conversation you wanted to have, at least not yet. Clocking the hesitation in your expression, Johnny bristled - cutting his eyes away from you, worrying the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth.
âI donât know yet.â
Sitting up, Johnnyâs eyebrows screwed themselves up in a frown, visibly annoyed. âWhy not?â
Dodging the question, you leaned on a technicality. âI meanâŚI didnât get the real offer âtill this morning. Aaaand there are things to think about.â
âLike what? Didnât you say last week how much you love it here?â When you didnât respond, he dropped his chin and raised his eyebrows, waiting. After a beat, his face transformed and the offended expression sank your heart. âOh, so you were just talkinâ then? Aight.âŚcool.â
âJohnny,â you sighed.
âNahâŚI got it.â
You held your tongue as he swivelled his feet to the floor to stand up. He walked the length of the room, his body needing to find something to do with its energy while he was in his head. You watched him do a lap from the door to the bathroom and back, swinging his arms in wide circles - his black bar tattoos flashing as he moved. Wanting him to come back and sit down, you tried to make eye contact as he passed the foot of the bed. âJohnny, câmon.â
His ignoring you made you get up off the bed and step into his path. He stopped but only to keep physical space between you, folding his arms across his chest, lips pursed in annoyance.
âI do love it here but thatâs not the only thing that matters.â He stared back at you with his eyebrows drawn together, skepticism written all over his face. âCome on, Johnny, you know how they are. Itâs not real till they say it is. I didnât even allow myself to think about it till this morning. So yeah, todayâŚright this second, I donât know.â
He nodded as you spoke, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He understood how that part of the bureauâs machine operated. Transfers and promotions were dangled in front of agents, only to be stripped away all the time. And like it or not, he knew you werenât wrong to wait before really considering it. As the tightness left his jaw, you stepped closer, placing your hands on his chest. You were relieved to finally feel his hands settle on your waist, despite the slight frown he still wore.
Looping your arms around his neck, you tipped your head up to press a quick kiss on his chin, trying to coax a smile out of him. âI know you understand, so maybe stop being so damn twitchy about it?â
âYeah, yeah.â He pulled you in tighter, wetting his lips to give you the lopsided, close-lipped smile that won you over in the first place.
His hands rubbing up and down your back didnât stop you from rolling your eyes. âTall ass, pouty ass, baby faced--.â
âWhatever.â His chest bounced in a chuckle, making you smile before letting you go. Taking a step back, he exhaled hard, puffing his cheeks out a bit. Carefully avoiding your eyes this time, he asked, âWhat are you gonna do though?âÂ
You shrugged. âMy whole life since the academy has been in Virginia. Iâm not sure I can--.â
âNot sure you can what?â Johnny fixed his face in a âbe for realâ expression, challenging you. âI mean, whatâs there to be confused about? The perfect weather? The food? The beach?â
âYou really should work for recruiting,â you deadpanned, giving him a light shove in the chest. âItâs a big move--.â
âTo do a job you already do,â Johnny interjected, shoulders and hands bobbing and weaving to emphasize every point he made. âIn a city with some cool ass people you already know. In an office, you technically already work at! Not to mention--". With a cheeky grin, he swept his hand down his bare chest and defined torso. ââŚthe pièce de rĂŠsistance.âÂ
Snorting at the audacity, you tried to fix him with an annoyed look and failed. âYeah. Definitely canât forget that part.â
âHell naw, you canât!â
âOkayâŚokay. Those are all pluses but still thereâs--.â
âCome oooon. LookâŚyou know whatever youâre about to say is just an excuse!â Dipping his knees to be able to look you in the eyes, his Adamâs apple dipped in a silent chuckle. âYou're losing this argument. You do know that, right?â Nodding in agreement with himself, he raised his eyebrows high, mocking your silence while his smile blossomed into a full grin. âYeeeah, you know.â
Folding your arms across your chest, you reminded him. âThis is not an argument, itâs a discussion.â
All grins, he crowed, âYou just sayinâ that cuz youâre losinâ, son!â
Pushing him away, you burst out laughing, âUgghh! I hate you. Shut up!â
Your laughter faded as he pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you, tapping a kiss on your forehead. âSo then, what do I get for winning this non-argument?"
With a sigh of long suffering, you looped your arms around his neck. âIâll think of something.â
âYeah?â His hands slipped a little lower, patting your hips with his eyes sparkling in interest. âLike what?âÂ
âItâs classified.â
Johnny tossed his head back, laughing, âOh, you got jokes! Daaaamn, you just gonna steal my shit? Naw, thatâs my intellectual property, bro!â
âSo arrest me,â you offered with a straight face.
âOh, word?â He arched his eyebrow high, wetting his lips. Dropping the register of his voice low enough to turn you weak, he added, âCuz you know I got some cuffs in my bag right now, right? I mean, I can just get âem.â
âMaybe later.â
Johnny studied your face for a moment, âDefinately.â
âPromise?â
He nodded slowly, loving that the heat in your eyes matched his. âI'd never lie to you."
âNever?â You held his gaze captive, trying to let your heart speak to his. âPromise me.â
Drawing you tighter to him, he rested his forehead on yours, shifting his weight from foot to foot, swaying you both. âI promise.â
It was exactly what you wanted to hear but you were still unable to relax into the intimacy of his soothing motion. One of you needed to say âthe thingâ, but your throat was locked up tight. Your heart was beating out of your chest, trying to gather up the nerve to ask the question you had been avoiding since the first whisper of you being transferred to the Los Angeles office. Raising your head, you swallowed twice before you could force yourself to speak.
âSooo, this whole move thing? Do you want me hereâŚwith you?â
With the heart of your indecision finally laid out plain, your eyes locked and neither of you dared to breathe for a moment. Lowering his head, he hummed out a sound, nodding yes. His voice poured out raspy and low, his mouth hovering so close to your lips that you could feel his breath with each word he spoke. âYou wanna be with me?â
You answered with a plush kiss - teasing his mouth open with nudges of your tongue. His response was slow and exploratory, dragging his hands up your sides to hold your head with both hands. When he released a quiet groan down your throat, you clutched at his waist, urging him on.
Your back hitting the mattress canceled your dinner plans. His pushing up your tanktop to litter your exposed skin with nips and kisses made you forget everything else you needed to talk about. And as his kisses ventured lower, you squirmed, arching up for more. Dragging your fingers into the short, soft hairs on his head, you gently guided him to where you needed him the most. Raising up suddenly, Johnny climbed your body, straddling your thighs. Leaning forward, he took both your wrists, pinning them over your head with his weight. Wide-eyed, you stared at his sultry expression as his eyes traveled down your body, making you pulse in anticipation. Lowering himself, his dark brown eyes were fixed on your lips, and you automatically strained up for a kiss.
He dropped down near your ear instead, his voice a whisper-soft rasp. âStill want me to cuff you?â
SYNOPSIS: Kevin Atwater gets handed his most unconventional assignment yet- falsifying an engagement and subsequent marriage, to a witness involved in a political assassination case. Xania Dempsey was attempting to get her life back on track after being mounted under her deceased father's debts, and inadvertently witnesses a heinous act of violence that makes her a target. In the background of their lives, Kevin and Xania also grapple with complicated family relationships, grief, and hardship.
WARNINGS: language, discussions of violence/murder, discussions of political/police corruption, complicated family dynamics, grief/mourning
WC: 3.1k
The bright Chicago sun pores through in rays through Kevinâs slitted blinds. His eyes flutter in adjustment. He stretches his limbs against the mattress, curling out the cricks in his muscles. He hasnât been sleeping well. The house is too quiet. Heâs used to Jordan blasting music through his Bluetooth speaker or Vinessa FaceTiming with her friends. Ever since they moved to Texas to live with aunt Jannie, the household has taken on a quiet, unsettling still.
He sits with a grimace, rubbing his eyes.
Itâs been over a month and the unease that fills the brownstone has yet to fade. These days, heâs barely home, grabbing overtime work with enthusiasm or spending the evenings perusing the neighborhood bar. Burgess, who knew how much it cut Kevin to send his siblings away, had been checking on him frequently, but less so, now that she had starting dating this prosecutor. Ruzek had gone out to the bar with him a few times, but heâd been taking up more undercover assignments recently.
Everyoneâs life was business as usual and Kevinâs still felt thrown off axis.
His feelings contort from guilt to devastation to disappointment, on any given basis. And still, life goes on and he canât get stuck behind. So he rises from bed and takes today as the day that has the chance to be better than the last.
His face and knuckles feel sore and heâs not surprised at the bruise that seems to have flowered his back over night. A suspect getting the jump on him yesterday on a raid was his wake up call. He couldnât continue going through the motions. Something had to change.
And right now, that meant sprucing up. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he grabs the razor and lines his hair up. Then, he trims his mustache and beard, effacing some of the excess scruff that had begun to sprout. Somewhere in the process, he turns on a playlist, one of Jordanâs favorites, and sweeps up the stray hair now on the floor. Colognes and lotions rearranged. The medicine cabinet gets back to neat organization. His Saturday morning is well spent and flies through quickly once half of his brownstone is cleaned and vacuumed.
He puts the vac back into his linen closet and as the hip hop track transitions to a Sade deep cut, Kevin realizes thats someoneâs banging on his door.
âThe hell?â
âWhat are you, deaf?â
Trudy stands in his doorway, with her perpetually irritated attitude on display. âI was cleaning, damn.â He replies.
âOh good, youâre nesting. That means youâre in the mood to come help at the community garden.â Kevinâs face morphed. âHuh?â
Trudy folds her arms, not letting up. âRemember when I did you the favor of getting you that overtime shift doing security at the Nerlander? What did I tell you?â
Recognition begrudgingly flits his features.
âExactly. âYou owe me.â The time has come. I need some muscles at the garden. Got a bunch of soil I need to lay if I want to get everything planted in season.â
Some wealthy tycoon had recently donated millions of dollars to the city to combat the plague of food deserts within the more disparate neighborhoods. Part of the initiative was a call to action for community members to get directly involved with the efforts and Trudy, the ultimate green thumb, had gotten involved with the new garden being started down the block from the 21st district. While Kevin admired the initiative, he (and the rest of Intelligence) had been dodging Plattâs not so suggestions to help with the manual labor.
His mouth was open and empty. There was no excuse he could think of, especially not one that
would get his Sergeant off his doorstep. He blows a resigned sigh. He supposes the productivity kick he was on should only keep going.
He doesnât bother closing the door. Heâs already dressed. His keys are by the door and he nabs his wallet off his nightstand, just down the hall.
He puts his shoes on, not unaware of the way Trudy peers at him with a scrutinizing gaze.
âGlad youâre alive by the way,â Trudy remarks. âWas afraid this was going to be a wellness check, the way Halstead said you got knocked on your ass yesterday.â
Kevin smirks. âThe only thing that hurts is my pride.â His laces are tied, so he stands back up and he just barely conceals the wince as that tender spot on his back aches with the movement.
âMmm.â
Trudy neednât say nothing else. She doesnât have to.
Theyâre out the door and Kevin throws back at her, âWe stopping for breakfast, by the way.â
She allows this but decrees that breakfast will be to go. Itâs going to get even hotter as late morning soon approaches early afternoon. She doesnât want to be out in the sun at todayâs peak of 90 degrees.
As they eat inside the car, Kevin snickers at Trudyâs biscuits with extra gravy. She got an order of extra hash browns, too, and sheâs sniping as Kevin chuckles turn into full blown laughter.
âOh, bite me. I try to be a good example at home for Randall, but a girlâs gotta have her carbs on the weekends.â She shakes her head at his shaking shoulders. âYouâll understand when you capture your own ball and chain. The things you do for the people you loveâŚâ
âYeah, sure,â he utters, his laughter dying down.
Trudy looks at him. âDespite the fact that you and the other nitwits get on my nerves, Iâm not worried at all that youâll find that some day. Unless you want to be stupid and clueless like Nitwit 1 and
2.â She rolls her eyes at the terrible timing, never ending saga of Burgess and Ruzek. âOr unless you want to work yourself into an early grave. Or mess up your circadian rhythms being out at night all the time. That must be what you want with the things youâre doing, right?â
Just like Trudy to clock you directly and without qualms. And they hadnât even made it to the garden work, yet.
Kevin guesses he shouldnât be surprised. Getting pulled into the manual labor was unlucky, but Platt was already on a mission by coming to his house directly. She lifts her eyebrows expectantly, as if to say Iâm waiting.
He gulps down his orange juice.
âI donât know what to do with my life, Platt. Those kids are my life.â
Sheâs quiet for a moment. If sheâs waiting for him to say more, he doesnât know. But thatâs really all he has to say. Itâs the root crux of his problem, laid out. She turns back to her to go plate, eating the last of her hash browns.
âYouâve been taking care of those kids your whole life. I know youâd never look at them like a burden. You love them, theyâre your siblings for chrissake. But moving them away mightâve not only been the best thing for them. It might be the best for you, too. A chance for you to experience life without as many responsibilities? Albeit, they were responsibilities you took without hesitation or complaining, but still. Maybe this is what you need? Some time to figure out who you are outside of being a caretaker.â
Everything that sheâs saying makes sense. It feels wise and something to consider. He just canât get himself to see from that perspective yet. Whatâs wrong with taking care of the people you love? Even when itâs been hard, itâs what heâs loved to do. Still, Trudy means well and if it can get him out of this funk, heâll at least mull over her words.
âYou smart every now and then, Sarg,â he jokes as they get out.
She huffs at him as they get started. If he was thinking of hitting the gym later today, he had reneged on the idea as the tasks progressed. Platt had him carrying heavy bags of soil, wood for boards, and water cans every which way around the grounds. Beads of sweat rippled down his face and arms. A lot of the fencing work for the plots was already done but it took a solid hour for them to lay and arrange the soil for the plots. He never wanted to hold a shovel again.
Once the bulk of the work was done, Trudy used a cloth to wipe at the dewy sheen at her temples. âWhile youâre here, I happened to have another ulterior motive.â
Kevin froze, drumming his fingers against the shovel.
âRemember that alderman who got murdered earlier this year? Slain like in front of his law office in Oakland?â
Kevin nods. âYeah, I saw in the news not too long ago that the trial is set to start in a few months.â âExactly,â Trudy assents. âYou didnât hear this from me but an eyewitness got a winning photo of the
shooter fleeing the scene. The details are being kept under wraps, but essentially it was a murder for hire and the ASAâs office is pushing hard to nab whoever was calling the shots.â
âOkay?â
âAnd push comes to shove. Scary, hired assassin is turning out not to be so scary when heâs got three life sentences hanging over his head. Desperate is more like it. And whoeverâs calling the shots is also desperate. Desperate enough to track down whoever took that photo.â
Kevinâs head starts to stir, connecting the dots. âWho took the photo?â
âApparently, the most wanted woman in the city. And not by the police.â Trudy takes a casual look around her, confirming thereâs no one snooping around to eavesdrop. âItâs a young woman who was there coincidentally. She was there to meet at the aldermanâs law office to discuss her fatherâs will.
Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. ASA Stone wouldnât dare have her testify in public so he got her testimony in a closed deposition instead. They still found her. Ransacked her apartment, killed her cat, and left dead rats all over. Itâs pure luck she didnât get snatched. Based on video footage, there were two masked men still inside her unit. Had she taken an extra few steps inside, sheâd be dead.â
âDamn,â Kevin blows out a stressed breath.
âExactly,â Trudy agrees. âShe got put into a protective detail but these slime-balls are sneaky. Her safe house got leaked.â
âHow the hell did that happen?â Platt pins him with a stare.
Because how does a safe-house get leaked? Thereâs dozens all over the city and some outside of the state. Theyâre all rented or owned under different fiduciaries, randomly chosen for certain assignments, with only a select few knowing who and where a unit might be occupied. Being on Intelligence, Kevin has worked cases directly where even he or all of the team is privy to where a possible witness or perp might be stashed away. Not to mention people get hoped around occasionally as a further measure. It was a very rare instance for that sort of intel to get out.
Thatâs when it clicks. âYou think thereâs a mole.â
She stares again, but this time with a subtle nod of endorsement. âDamn,â he mutters again.
He lived in a city that was no stranger to corruption and evilness. He encountered it often. Itâs how he knows that this is more than just your everyday homicide. The oxymoron is not lost on him, alas. But the pieces are coming together, painting a picture of conspiracy instead of a crime of passion. There were larger forces at play here.
Some innocent woman was now wrapped up in this and a man was dead. This world was never fair. At some point in his empathy, Kevin realizes that Trudy is waiting. Waiting to continue.
He falters once more. âWhat do you need from me?â
âXaniaâs handler, thatâs the woman, wants to switch up tactics. Keep her hidden in plain sight instead of through the proper channels. With the caveat that Major Crimes lays out of false hints as a means to drawing out more of these henchmen and getting at least one of them to flip on head honcho.â
âAnd how does the handler want to do that?â Kevin squints, having a hint at where this could be going.
âWell, we need to hide her off the books, so to speak.â Trudy informs. âSomewhere theyâre not going to think to look.â
Kevin sighs, pinching his nose, âMind you, you just gave me a whole speech about being a caretaker.â
âWell less of a caretaker, and more like a fiancĂŠ.â âA fian-WHAT?â
âAnd possible wife, but hopefully we might not get that far.â âTrudy, what the hell?â
She holds her hands up. âLook, I know, but like I said, completely hiding her away obviously didnât work the first time. Major Crimes wants to lay traps while still protecting Xania. The news will spread about you getting engaged and no one in the force will think twice of it. Then the trap laying begins with subtle hint dropping about where Xania could be. No oneâs obviously going to connect two and two until maybe Ruz or Antonio start blabbing out loud to people they shouldnât be.â Platt goes on, explaining the plan exactly how her good friend leading Major Crimes had. âMeanwhile, Sergeant Riba and her team will have been focused on narrowing down potential moles. Ultimately, itâll go a long way to finding out whoâs the mastermind behind all this.â
Kevin shakes his head, as if thatâll help wrap his mind around all of this. Heâd done a lot of crazy firsts in his over five years on the job, but this was truly something else.
He chuckles humorlessly.
Silence takes the space, the sun beaming down on them as they stand amidst freshly drawn plots and unharvested potential.
âI feel for this woman, but this is crazy.â
âThere are worse fates than having a pretty lady in your midst. I mean, youâre doing it right now and you seem fine.â
Kevin rolls his eyes.
âAre you sure about this?â
âRiba once single handedly took down one of the most screwed up, police-involved larceny schemes back in the day. Even if I canât fully see the vision yet, I trust her implicitly.â
His shoulders slump in fated resignation. âI guess Iâm proposing,â he finally says. âGood, hope she says yes.â
He chuckles.
âIâm not joking.â Trudy scowls. They gather their things, loading them into the car. âPrincess hasnât exactly been the easiest to deal with, Iâm hearing, so good luck with that.â
Kevin hops into the passenger seat, immediately blasting the A/C once his sergeant starts the car up. âMediterranean for lunch. Gotta compensate with something light after that breakfast,â she says.
He pulls out his phone. âOrdering you a chocolate cake for dessert.â
She cuts her eyes, mumbling something about having to deal with Mouchâs disappointed, puppy eyes.
âSo howâs this going to go?â Kevin asks. The ball seems to have already started rolling and now
thereâs logistics to sort through.
âRibaâs going to reach out. Iâll let you know. Could be tonight.â She leaves it at that.
Instead of eating in the car again, Trudy gets out so she can charge her phone. They eat at Kevinâs breakfast table, her chatting with Mouch and the spouses telling each other when theyâll be home. Kevin is left alone to his thoughts, over a grilled lamb wrap and crispy potatoes. He looks around the house.
Shit, he has to finish cleaning. He got through his bedroom and bathroom this morning, but the kitchen and living room need some love. And heâs got to make sure thereâs adequate food in the fridge. He barely gets by with cooking and the last several weeks have comprised of frozen meals and fast food.
âEarth to Kevin.â Platt barks. Sheâs standing with her bag. Her food is in the trash can and her arm is outstretched. âI said I want to get home. Randallâs finishing up with his shift at Mollyâs. Hand me my damn cake.â
He hands it to her.
âBy the way,â her expression turns careful. âVoight is back on the team starting Monday. Halstead is still running things for the foreseeable future, but the Deputy Chief reinstated him for active duty now that heâs been cleared.â
Kevin nearly gasps. âGet out.â
Platt shrugs as if to say what can you do?
âIsnât the Denny Woods investigation still ongoing? How did he manage to get Chief Hugo to agree on that?â
âI donât know,â she shakes her head. âAnd him and Al have been so hush hush, I donât know what to believe anymore.â
âI mean, a buried body with Voightâs DNA is evidence I can believe in. The fact that heâs not being upfront with anyone doesnât help.â
Denny Woods, an independent auditor for CPD investigations, had been in charge of reviewing proceedings from every single Chicago Police Department case with a fine tooth comb. What he found was a range of perfect, flawless procedure to stark, outright corruption and abuse of power. It was his job to recommend actionable solutions for pitfalls and even retribution and punishment, if needed, depending on the circumstances. Inconsistencies in a long-solved case from decades ago mustâve been a frustrating find but Denny was like a dog with a bone. And what he found was a shaky confession, incomplete police reports, and decayed remains of one of the caseâs previous suspects, hidden in the silos.
Voight had been questioned and subsequently placed on leave, with rumors floating that an innocent man was in prison and a perverse sense of justice had been committed against the real culprit.
Trudy shakes her head. âWhat can you do? Business as usual, right?â
It shouldnât be. People who are given the role to protect and serve oneâs community shouldnât be able to take advantage of their position and get away with it. He knew joining this unit that Voight skirted the line often, but his brazen, depraved spirit was becoming more and more apparent as of late. Theyâre supposed to be better than that.
Still, he leaves it at that. âI guess.â
âItâll all work out in the end,â she says as he stands and walks her to the door. She looks up at him, her eyes leaded with significance. âFor you, too. Things seem shaky right now but everythingâs going to be okay. With you. With Jordan and Vinessa, too.â
Once Kevin bids her with a thankful goodbye, he leans against his heavy door for a moment of grounding. Things have to get better. They have no choice.
Summary: One of the Secret Intelligence Service's most gifted operatives returns from lunch to find every member of his office murdered. Hunted by his own agency and branded the prime suspect, he has no one he can trust except the handler assigned to him. He's in a race against time to uncover the conspiracy before they find him.
Word Count: 2.4KÂ
A/N: I know some of my older projects never reached the finish line, so I'm doing this one differently. This is a complete three part story, and I can't wait to share all of it with you.
Burn Notice is a conspiracy thriller inspired by Three Days of the Condor.Â
Secret Intelligence Service, MI6 Headquarters
85 Albert Embankment, Vauxhall
"I need analysis plans from you all by the end of the week." The section chief reached for the remote, and the last satellite image faded from the wall of monitors.
Half-empty mugs of coffee sat between classified briefing binders as officers gathered their tablets and notebooks.
Aaron closed his laptop, slipped off his wire-rimmed glasses, and rose from his chair.Â
He glanced down at his phone while gathering his laptop and a classified folder. Beyond the glass, rain blurred the Thames.
"Think Southgate believes any of us actually read the seventy-page appendix?" Murray Mercer asked, stepping beside Aaron.
"I did."
"You're the reason the rest of us look bad."
Aaron picked up his things and headed toward the exit.
"You heading out?"
"Trying to."
"You and that Tuesday lunch. One day you'll miss it."
"Maybe.âÂ
Aaron headed toward his desk, weaving around colleagues crossing between cubicles. He slowed as another officer pushed a trolley stacked with archive boxes across the aisle.
Conversations overlapped across the operations floor as analysts drifted between glass meeting rooms carrying classified folders and coffee.
âAaron.âÂ
âNovak.âÂ
A tall, ginger-haired man strode down the carpeted aisle, tapping the tops of cubicles as he crossed toward Aaron, a blue lanyard dangling against the stack of folders in his hand.
"Catch the match last night?"
âCaught the highlights. Tons of work to do.âÂ
âYou must come out to the pub next time.â
Aaron grinned. "Peter, you lot party harder than anyone I know."
He dropped the briefing folder beside his keyboard and set his laptop on a stack of papers.
âA Scot in my blood through and through,â Peter called out as he continued down the hall.Â
Aaron pulled his rain jacket from the back of his chair, straightened the framed photograph of his family in Curaçao tucked beside his monitor, and checked the time once more.
"Curaçao?"
Aaron glanced up. A blonde woman stood beside his desk holding a stack of papers and a cup of coffee.
âYeah, family vacation.âÂ
âGod, donât we all need one of those,â she groaned.Â
"I mean, a vacation. Not the family part." She laughed. "Sorry."
Aaron reached for his wire-rimmed glasses and slipped them back on before zipping his jacket.
"Olivia." He smiled. "I understand."
Olivia opened her mouth, stopped, then laughed instead. "Right. Of course you do."
Aaron gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and headed toward the elevator.Â
He scrolled through his messages as he passed screens cycling through international headlines while analysts compared satellite imagery beneath the fluorescent lights.
He flashed his access card against the reader beside the glass security door leading to the sixth-floor corridor.
"Pierre."
Aaron looked up as a colleague caught up beside him.
"Leaving already?"
"Harry, it's twelve-thirty."
Harry fell into step beside him.Â
"You know, one day I'd like to beat you to the food trucks.âÂ
Aaron smiled and pressed the down button.
"You'd have to skip the meeting before lunch."
Harry laughed.Â
âAbout thatââÂ
He glanced down at his watch, then back up at Aaron.Â
"Are you free after lunch?"
"For what?"Â
"Martin wants another pair of eyes on the Baltic report."
"I'll come by."
DING.
The elevator doors slid open, already half full. Another dozen officers shifted just enough to make room as Aaron stepped inside.
âWhat floor?âÂ
"The lobby, please. Thank you."
He checked his watch as the elevator stopped floor after floor, filling with officers who barely looked up from their phones.
DING.Â
Officers filed out of the elevator, splitting left and right as they headed toward the security gates.
"Arsenal this weekend?"
Aaron sighed dramatically as he flashed his security pass against the reader and waited for the steel barrier to slide open.Â
"Lester, my man,â Aaron grinned. âI thought we were pretending that match didn't happen."
âOkay, okay,â Lester laughed, waving him off.
"Same time tomorrow?âÂ
"Am I really that predictable?" Aaron smiled as he slipped his access badge into his jacket pocket.
"For an intelligence officer? Yes," Lester replied. "But I won't hold it against you."
"Thank you." Aaron nodded and continued toward the glass doors. Beyond them, gulls circled above the Thames before disappearing into the low gray clouds.
A cool breeze rolled off the Thames the moment the glass doors opened. Aaron descended the entrance steps, pulled up his hood, and stepped beneath the tiered green glass and limestone façade of SIS headquarters.
Beyond the security poles and concrete barriers, office workers spilled across Albert Embankment in every direction, brown paper bags and umbrellas in hand.
Double decker buses hissed to the curb, their doors folding open and sliding closed as tourists climbed on and off speaking French, German, and Spanish.
"Excuse me, is that Big Ben?" A girl in a yellow rain jacket asked as Aaron strolled past a group of tourists taking photos across the river.Â
âThat way.âÂ
âThanks.âÂ
He turned left along the Thames, passing benches overlooking the river. Across the water, the Palace of Westminster disappeared behind fog and rain as people hurried beneath umbrellas toward Vauxhall Bridge.
A City Cruises boat sounded its horn somewhere along the river. Aaron glanced over just as a cyclist rang their bell, narrowly avoiding a tourist, before continuing toward the line of food trucks serving civil servants from nearby government offices.
"Gyro, white sauce, bottle of water today?"
An older man with a long salt and pepper beard called out, flipping the last of a row of meat on a sizzling stovetop grill.
Aaron grinned and stepped closer.
"You've been keeping track?"
"You've ordered the same lunch every Tuesday for six months."
Aaron smiled as he took the paper bag through the serving window, sliding exact change into the man's hand.
"I should probably branch out."
The older man snorted as he reached for another pita.
"You won't."
Aaron thanked him, bottle of water in one hand, paper bag in the other, and stepped away from the truck.
âI might surprise you one of these weeks, Mr. Omar.âÂ
"I'll believe it when I see it."
The older man shook his head, already reaching for the next order.
"See you next Tuesday."
Aaron raised the bottle of water and stepped back into the flow of pedestrians.
The lunchtime crowds had only grown thicker.
Civil servants clutched umbrellas and hurried back toward nearby government offices as the rain poured.Â
"Dad, is that Parliament?"
"No, that's the... I actually don't know."
Aaron smiled as he watched the man studying a damp, upside down map of London beneath an umbrella while the little boy pointed excitedly toward a building disappearing into the fog.
"Can you see Big Ben from here?"
"I think so? Wait, let me check."
Aaron slowed near the river wall, taking another bite of his lunch as a City Cruises boat pushed through the gray water below.
Across the Thames, the clock tower at the Palace of Westminster rang out across the river.
He finished the last bite of his gyro, crumpled the wrapper into a nearby trash can, and kept walking.
Buzz.
Harry: Still good for after lunch?
Aaron typed a quick reply as he walked.Â
Aaron: On my way. Give me ten.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket as a gust of wind swept along the embankment. Aaron pulled his hood a little tighter and crossed back toward the familiar green glass exterior rising above Albert Embankment.
A pair of tourists stopped just outside the security perimeter, angling their phones toward the green glass façade.
"Is this really MI6?" one of them asked.
Aaron smiled to himself as he passed.
He climbed the steps toward the entrance, crossed beneath the green glass canopy, and stepped inside.Â
He lowered his hood, reached into his jacket for his access card, and joined the steady stream of officers returning from lunch, umbrellas dripping onto the marble floor as the security barriers admitted them one by one.
Aaron held his card against the reader until a green light flashed and the barrier slid open.
A few officers crossed toward the elevators with coffees in hand while another hurried through the revolving doors, rain still dripping from his coat. Aaron tucked his phone into his pocket and stepped into the first elevator that opened.
âWhat floor?âÂ
âSix.âÂ
The doors slid shut and the elevator climbed in silence as Aaron watched the numbers tick up in red.Â
DING.Â
When the doors opened, Aaron stepped into the sixth-floor elevator lobby. He held his access card against the scanner beside the glass security door and stepped inside when the light turned green and the lock clicked.
To the left of the main aisle, the briefing room door still stood open. Southgate's handwriting was scrawled across the whiteboard near the front of the room.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and continued down the main aisle. The secure conference rooms lining the back wall remained closed, their red OCCUPIED lights glowing above each door.
The television screens hanging above the analyst desks cycled through international headlines.
He passed analyst desks where half-finished coffees sat beside glowing monitors.
RING.
Michael Oliver remained at his workstation, back to the aisle, shoulders slightly hunched toward the glow of his monitor.
A stack of classified folders lay open on Shanice's desk beneath a pair of reading glasses, her monitor still unlocked.
A Teams message chimed from Marty's workstation in the records section. Aaron gave him a quick nod as he passed.
RING.
He passed Southgate's closed office door and rounded the cluster of desks leading toward his workstation.Â
"Harry?"
He moved to his desk, unzipped his jacket, and draped it over the back of his chair.
He reached for the Baltic report beside his keyboard.
"You still wanted another pair of eyes?"
RING.
A nearby printer whirred steadily, feeding page after page into an already overflowing tray.
"You ducking out on me already?"
Harry didn't answer.
"Mate..."
Aaron picked up the Baltic report and started toward Harryâs desk.Â
His chair was turned away from the aisle.Â
One hand hung limply over the arm of the chair.
His H is for Harry coffee mug lay on its side beneath the desk.Â
Coffee had spread across the carpet beneath the overturned mug. A dark red stain pooled through the middle of it.
Aaron dropped the report.
"Harry?"
He rounded the desk in two quick strides and caught the back of the chair. Harry's head lolled with it.
Aaron stumbled back a step.
His eyes snapped toward the aisle.
"Marty."
He crossed the aisle so quickly he tripped on the corner of a desk. Marty's chair faced the monitors exactly as it had a minute earlier. When Aaron turned it, Marty folded sideways before the chair settled again.
The printer spat out another page.
"Southgate."
He raced to Southgateâs office, passing desks where monitors still glowed beneath abandoned mugs and open folders.
Station Chief Southgate lay sprawled across the floor, classified files scattered around him. Blood had spread beneath his suit jacket, one arm twisted beneath his body.
Aaron backed out and let the door drift shut.
He glanced toward the open HR office and ran over.
Judy from HR lay slumped across her desk, blood soaking through the papers beneath her and dripping onto the carpet.
"Shit," Aaron muttered, lifting Judy's head before gently lowering it again.
Aaron swallowed hard.
He reached his desk in three strides, yanked open the bottom drawer, and pulled out a black duffel bag. He dropped the duffel onto the desk and unbuttoned his shirt.
He stripped off the dress shirt in one motion and reached for the folded t-shirt inside the duffel. His tie landed in the chair behind him.Â
He pulled a charcoal t-shirt over his head. It stretched across his broad caramel shoulders before settling over the tattoo sleeve winding from his left shoulder to his forearm.
He stepped out of his trousers and into a pair of gray sweats, traded polished Oxfords for worn running shoes, tugged on a black baseball cap, and swapped his wire-frame glasses for a pair of dark sunglasses.Â
He grabbed a burner phone from a drawer to his right and slid it into his pocket, tossing his current phone into the duffel.
He slid his chair back and dragged the safe from beneath the desk. He spun the dial and yanked the door open.
Inside waited a row of passports, each bearing a different name, photograph, and nationality, tucked alongside stacks of foreign currency, replacement credentials, and burner phones still sealed in plastic.
Aaron swept everything into the duffel before stopping, his eyes landing on the monitor.
"Encrypted drive."
He entered his password, and the monitor sprang to life.
He inserted a key-shaped flash drive, tapped a few keys, waited for the confirmation, then pulled it free.
When he turned back toward the desks, the office looked different.
"Olivia?"
Every monitor glowed.
âPeter?âÂ
Every coffee sat half-finished.
âMurray?âÂ
He turned toward the exit.
Rain soaked through his jacket before he realized where his feet had carried him.
He stopped beside the Thames, unzipped the duffel just enough to reach inside and pulled out his own phone.
Harry's last message still glowed across the screen.
Harry: Still good for after lunch?
Aaron stared at it for a second.Â
He held the power button until the display went black. He removed the SIM card, dropped it into a storm drain, and tossed the phone into the gray water of the Thames before zipping the duffel shut.
A payphone stood outside a shuttered corner shop.
He dug through his pockets until his fingers closed around a handful of coins, shoving them one by one into the slot.
A few slipped from his fingers and clinked against the pavement.Â
He shoved the final coin into the slot.
RING.Â
RING.Â
RING.Â
"...Hello?âÂ
Aaron opened his mouth, but nothing came out.Â
Rain hissed against the receiver for a few seconds as his shallow breaths filled the silence.
