Undercover Lover

Scarecrows

A/N: Thank you to those who have been reading. It means a lot :)

~*~

You settled in your usual seat by the window in Groundhouse Café, fingertips caressing the warm curve of your ceramic coffee cup. Steam billowed from the top, fading into the air in front of you as you gazed at your phone. You scrolled through Frank's recent text messages to Gerard, your eyes narrowing in confusion.

You should've known they would talk in cryptic code. If cops got a hold of their phone records, they would still be covered because none of their messages made sense. You had to admit it was smart on their part. They were very adamant about covering their tracks, but it did make your job even harder.

Despite the code, you could tell there was aggravation and worry. Something bad must have happened to Ray because Frank constantly checked in on him with Ray telling Frank to just look out for himself and stop worrying about him. You hadn't seen Ray in a minute either. You couldn't help but wonder if that bloody knife had anything to do with Ray.

You brought your coffee mug to your lips, sipping at the warmth of your cappuccino just as Frank received a text message. You jumped at the notification, nearly choking on your last sip of coffee as you scrambled to put your cup down and read the message from Gerard.

Scarecrows on the move.

What did scarecrows mean? Was that the Way family? The cops? You waited for Frank to reply, your teeth biting into your bottom lip impatiently as you watched the message screen.

Staying low.

You wondered where Frank was "staying low" at. Luckily, the app had another feature for you to access: geolocation. Whoever these scarecrows were, Frank didn't want anything to do with them right now. Who could the Way family be trying to avoid? It had to be cops or something of the sort.

You watched the map update, a red pin showing you where Frank was currently at. You clicked the pin, little information coming up about the address. It just looked like a tall building in the city not too far away from Club Killjoy. There had to be more to it. You sent the address to another agent, asking them to look up information on the building for you.

More waiting. You finished off your coffee, staring out of the window at Club Killjoy. You'd have to go into work in a couple of hours and act like you hadn't been listening in on everything Frank and Gerard were texting each other. Not like any of that had helped you.

Your phone buzzed, a paragraph of information from the agent you had contacted popping up in your messages. You read through the message, learning it was a brick, multi-story loft building owned by Gerard Way himself. None of the floors were even for rent, so it was just his entire loft building.

Wow, I wonder where the money for that came from?

You shook your head at your thoughts as you set your phone down. You could go over to the building and do some recon, but, if they were smart, which you knew they were, the place would have very strong security and surveillance. It would be hard to explain to Gerard why you were snooping where you weren't supposed to be again.

There was something else you could try. It was risky, but it could guarantee great results. You could plant a mic in the VIP lounge. It was obviously where they felt safest to talk; you could compromise that. You decided to grab the equipment you needed from the Agency tomorrow after your shift tonight. Then, it was just up to you to successfully sneak back into the VIP lounge without being caught again.

A few minutes before your shift began, you left the café and headed across the street, shedding off your black coat at the door. You ruffled your hair a little, adding some volume as you strode inside the club.

"Look who decided to show up."

You glanced up in surprise, watching a smirking Gerard walk toward you. He still looked a little worn down, but his limp was pretty much gone. You tucked your coat over your arm, offering him a small smile.

"Here I am," you responded, smile uncontrollably widening as he stopped in front of you. You could detect the slightest smell of whiskey from him, the scent making you feel warm. He had his black button-down rolled up to his elbows, the thin material snug against his chest and shoulders, the sight only fanning the flames already burning at you. To top it off, he had on a red tie, reflecting his own club's theme.

Charming motherfucker.

"Does this look okay? I usually have Frank tie it ...," Gerard trailed off with a laugh that almost sounded bashful to you as he gestured to his tie.

Was the mafia boss blushing? You could've laughed, but instead you found yourself reaching forward to better tuck his tie beneath the collar of his button-down. You felt your hands threaten to shake as your fingertips brushed his neck, your body closer to his than you meant for it to be.

"There you go. It looks great," you murmured, trying to avoid his eyes as you smoothed down his collar. You were glad for that dash of anxiety because if you had been staring into his eyes you would've missed the healing cut on the side of the base of his neck hiding beneath his shirt. You felt your blood run cold as you stepped away, unable to meet his eyes now for another reason. It hadn't been a deep cut, obviously, or he wouldn't be here, but that wasn't a razor nick. Someone had cut him.

"Thanks," Gerard beamed, not noticing your unease as he smoothed his tie down against his chest.

You couldn't help but imagine it was some innocent person that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and Gerard had cut him down like nothing. The person probably fought so hard to survive, managing to hurt Gerard in the process, but it wasn't enough. What you were doing had to be enough.

"No problem. I'm gonna go clock in," you told him, flashing him the briefest and fakest of smiles before walking away, jaw clenching in anger. You were ending this soon.