by Marie James
I struggle to get away, going so far as to kick my legs, forcing Flynn to hold every ounce of my weight. Unsurprisingly, he does it with ease, hissing for me to calm down in my ear.
People walk around, looking at us with disgust for causing a scene, and that makes my blood boil. How do they know that I know him? I could be being kidnapped for the sex trade or something here, and no one is offering a hand. Even a little old lady, who looks like she’s wearing a beaver skin on her head—fashion over comfort always in New York City—despite the heat of the afternoon, scowls at me, her head shaking as she walks away.
I decide to test things even further, yelling, “Help me! Help me!” to no avail.
If anything, people give us a wider berth.
“What’s going on here?”
I sigh in relief, seconds away from giving up on humanity altogether, at the question.
“Miss, do you know this man?”
I freeze, halting my struggle when I see a uniformed police officer standing in front of us.
“Miss?”
“Remington.” The warning in his voice is clear, and maybe I react the way I do because he’s managed to foil two escape attempts today and it’s no longer fun for me. Maybe it’s because I’m too embarrassed to face him right now. Maybe I just want to see how he responds to such a situation.
“I’ve never seen him before in my life. He’s trying to kidnap me.”
Flynn’s arms release me immediately. I step away to give the police officer room to work, finally facing Flynn. His eyes never leave mine as the cop instructs him to lie down on the filthy concrete. Even as the cuffs are placed on his wrists, he doesn’t stop watching me. I almost recant when he’s tugged up from the ground violently. Dirt and street debris stain his shirt. The front panels of his slacks looks like he’s rolled around in sidewalk chalk, yet his eyes still never leave mine.
“Go home,” he hisses as the cop tugs him further away.
“Miss, wait right here and let me get him in the car. I still need to take your statement.”
I don’t wait. The second the police officer turns to drag Flynn away, I bolt, heading right back to the valet stand at the salon. It’s ridiculously easy to get my car keys without the valet ticket, and I know that should concern me, but I can’t concentrate on anything other than what’s going to happen to Flynn because of my antics.
I don’t want him fired. He’s only been around for a day, and I still want to get to know him. The mysteriousness of Flynn Coleman intrigues me, and I’m not finished having my fun with him.
The drive back home, I argue with myself that it’s where I want to be and that’s why I’m going there. I’m not heading straight home because that’s what he told me to do. Nope, not even close.
Chapter 5
Flynn
I could’ve easily convinced the cop on the street that I wasn’t trying to kidnap Remington, but I didn’t argue when he told me to get down. I didn’t name drop or insist she tell him the truth because I needed a little time away from her, even if it meant getting booked into a New York City jail.
The drive to the station is spent with the beat cop cursing under his breath. Clearly, Remington doesn’t listen to anyone, including cops. When he went back to get her statement, she was gone. Despite not having a witness or victim to a crime, I still qualify as an assailant, and he’s taking me in. If I were a real criminal, I’d have this guy’s badge for how he’s reacted, but I understand he’s young and new, and who doesn’t want to rescue a gorgeous woman from a would-be attacker? Especially one flailing around in a damn sundress.
My only regret was not making sure she was okay. With blood running down her leg, it’s clear she tripped or fell in the alleyway as she snuck out of the bathroom window. I knew she was going to. I read over the list of places she likes to escape from. It was in the dossier that Phillip gave me before he left yesterday. I gave her the opportunity, testing her to see if she’d try it twice in one day. It looks like that’s a yes. She’d probably do it over and over as many times as possible if time permitted. Some would call that tenacious. I think she’s a royal pain in the ass.
“Should be ashamed.” I tune in and hear the cop say, “What if someone went after your sister or wife or mother like that? Guys like you make me sick.”
I simply nod in agreement because I feel exactly the same way about men who hurt and prey on women, but he only sneers at me in the rearview. There’s no doubt in my mind, if this guy was given the opportunity with ten minutes alone with me and zero repercussions, he’d beat my face in.
Thinking I’ll get booked in then offered a phone call, I calmly allow myself to be escorted into the police station. The cop beside me gives me a little extra twist of the wrist, causing pain to shoot up my arm. In a way, I understand where he’s coming from. The guy thinks I’m a kidnapper at best, and a rapist sicko at worst.
I’m not escorted to booking, however. He shoves open a door, pushing me in the middle of the back into a dark room. I grunt in disapproval as my face is pressed into a wall and the beat cop pats down my pockets, removing my personal belongings before handcuffing me to a heavy metal table in the center of the room, all the while not saying a word. The disgust and bravado he displayed in the squad car on the drive in is only hinted at in his irritated actions and the scowl on his shadowed face. The room is very as seen on TV, and oddly enough, I think I’ve been in this interrogation room before. Only I was on the opposite side of the table then, my back to the two-way mirror instead of facing it.
The cop places my things in a bag, sealing it in front of me before walking out of the room. I know most people would be terrified to be left in a dark room with only the red EXIT sign putting off a little light, but the quiet and darkness makes me want to drop my head to the table and catch up on some of the sleep I lost last night.
I don’t know how long I sit, waiting for a detective to show his face, ready to grill me on my actions, but as time drags on, I’m unable to relax. The thoughts of grabbing a nap flew out the window seconds after I considered it. Remington was left alone on the street. In my haste to get some time away from her, I left her vulnerable. Any attempt to shove the threatening stack of letters out of my head is impossible.
My fingers twitch, tension racking up my blood pressure the longer I sit. My leg, bouncing up and down is sore from the impact of Remington’s heels as she flailed in my arms, but it has nothing on the discomfort I’m feeling for doing something so foolish.
She could be seriously hurt. She could’ve been nabbed a block from where I was arrested mere moments after the cuffs were clicked in place, and time is just wasting away while I sit here waiting for whatever they plan to do to me.
An eternity passes before the door opens, only it isn’t some amped-up detective walking into the darkened room and bitching about the lights not being on.
“Jesus, fuck,” the guy complains, and even before the lights flicker on causing me to squint, a smile is spreading across my face. “Kidnapping celebrities now, Coleman? Oh how the mighty have fallen.”
A chuckle bubbles out of my throat as Ryan Booker takes the seat across from me.
“You know better,” I say, lifting my hand to shake his only for it to be prevented by the cuff around my wrist. “Remington—”
“Is fine,” he interrupts. “I made sure she was at home.”
“She could be lying if you called.”
“I’m not a rookie, asshole. I spoke with house staff.”
“Good.” I nod my head for extra effect, letting the tension in my back drain away a little. It won’t go completely away until I set my eyes on her, but for now, knowing she’s safe, I can relax some.
“You’re the third.”
My brows furrow as I look at him. “Third?”
“The third guy she’s had arrested much the same way.”
“And no repercussions? It’s criminal.”
He shrugs. “Eh. What can you do?”
“You c
an take these cuffs off.” I look down at my wrist, shaking it and making the metal clank.
Without hesitation, Booker pulls a key from his pocket. “You didn’t call and let me know you were in town?”
“Didn’t know you were in the city, thought you were still kissing asses in Virginia.”
He laughs. “I’ve been here a couple months. It’s a whole other ballgame. So Blackbridge has you chasing teenagers now?”
“She’s twenty.” I feel the need to clarify, especially after having racing thoughts of spanking her ass for the mess she created today. “How did you know I was here?”
“Rodriguez saw you get dragged in. It took five minutes for him to stop laughing long enough to explain.”
“Yes, very funny.”
“We’ve all been there. Have you forgotten about the bruised ribs I suffered a couple years back?”
“I was a hard takedown.”
We both grin. Sometimes when undercover, shit goes wild. We know it’ll all get worked out in the end, but staying in character in front of our marks is important. Booker takes it to the extreme, sometimes fighting with police to gain a little more credit.
Me? I’ve never liked the feel of metal around my wrists.
“How are things with Blackbridge? I’ve heard great things.”
“Looking for a career change?” I try to hide the animosity in my tone but a little of it sneaks out.
I love my job, don’t get me wrong, but working for Deacon Black in St. Louis was never my life goal. I wanted a career in the FBI. I started young, researching and learning everything I could about the organization. Everything from the time I was nine until I was sworn in was done with perfection in order to make myself a better candidate for the agency.
One case gone wrong. One slipup. One time I was the played instead of the player.
Five years is all I got with the FBI before the Office of Integrity and Compliance gave me walking papers. Many considered me lucky not to have been brought up on federal charges, but losing my lifelong dream in the blink of an eye didn’t leave me feeling anything but defeated.
“Not a chance,” Booker says with an emphatic shake of his head. “They’ll have to force me out.”
“Keep your nose clean because that’s always a possibility.”
There are a lot of gray areas when working undercover for the FBI, but helping a target escape federal custody, even when you think it’s to save her life, tips the scale, especially when it comes to light that you were her target all along.
“How are things at Blackbridge? I don’t know how to answer that.” I give him a small smile. “A week ago, I would’ve told you it was awesome. Working for Deacon has been an amazing experience, but I’m in New York chasing after a starlet’s daughter who can’t stay out of trouble, so maybe now isn’t the best time to ask.”
Booker nods in understanding before standing. “Well, I’m sure you have shit to do, a child to tuck in and all that.”
I stand as well, taking his hand as he offers it. “It was good seeing you, man.”
I follow him out of the room, pausing when I see the beat cop with his head hung low, my bag of belongings clasped in his hand.
His eyes dart away from me when I stand in front of him, but he lifts the bag to hand it over to me.
I clap him on the shoulder. “Awesome work today.”
Confusion spreads across his face, but he doesn’t say a word. There’s no doubt the man is going to be dressed down by a superior before the end of his shift. I wave to Rodriquez, who is still laughing, on my way out and wave down a cab. The guy isn’t very happy about the distance he has to take me, but he settles after I assure him a nice tip.
The drive is quiet, spent in contemplation of how I’m going to act once I get back to the Blair residence.
Yelling and shaking her like a rag doll seems like a good idea despite the aggressive nature of it, but then I’m struck by images of her tits jiggling, and I throw that out the window. Touching her would be a mistake. Protecting her from getting run over on the street earlier was enough to drive me insane, so I know it’s a line I can’t cross again.
Ignoring the situation entirely also doesn’t seem like the best way to handle it either because she mentioned more than once that her parents act as if she doesn’t exist. Remington is clearly in the negative-attention-is-better-than-no-attention camp, and doing the same would only backfire on me.
I settle on having a calm, adult conversation with her about her actions, and although that makes me feel like a school guidance counselor, I think it’s the best way to get past it and move on.
As the cab pulls up outside the house, I have the money ready to pay the astronomical fee as well as the tip. Bet your ass I’ll be adding this cab ride as well as the ridiculously overpriced pedicures Remington skipped out on this morning to the itemized bill when I submit for expenses.
I knew she was home. Booker said as much, but it still stuns me to find her standing in the kitchen, facing the counter with one foot propped on the inside of the other knee like she’s practicing a yoga move while making something to eat. Then again, maybe it’s the tiny tank top revealing the tantalizing strip of skin on her back and shorts short enough to tease the curve of her ass cheeks. Somehow, even though all of her most intimate parts are covered up, she’s sexier like this than half-naked in a bikini.
No. Not sexy. She isn’t sexy. I don’t find her sexy at all. Annoying is what she is. She’s trouble, too much work, and a brat.
I clear my throat when she doesn’t turn around despite the fact I know she knows someone is here. The alarm system beeps when the front and back doors are opened, so she had to have been alerted.
“Are you hungry?” she asks without turning around. “I was just making myself a snack. I imagine you’re starving. Jail food is horrible.”
Her teasing almost makes me smile, but I clench my jaw to prevent it at the last second. I wasn’t even at the police station long enough to be arraigned much less be offered a meal, and she damn well knows it. I’ve seen her history. She’s no stranger to the inside of a jail cell either. If I’m not mistaken, she’s been taken in at least a half dozen times.
“I’m good, thanks.”
I wait until she’s done spreading cream cheese on slices of cucumber, all the while wondering if the healthy snack is something she wants or something to counterbalance the dinner-plate-sized pita pocket she had earlier.
I take a seat in the kitchen nook, a small area I’m sure staff use more than anyone else. Surprisingly, when she’s done, she doesn’t disappear up to her room but sits across from me.
I only look at her once, and after finding her watching me as she swipes her delicate finger through cream cheese before licking it off like she’s teasing a cock, I keep my focus across the room.
“Why did you pull that shit today?”
She shrugs, and it’s an answer I expect from her. I’m beginning to think she has issues with impulse control.
“Why did you come home?”
She shrugs again, and I begin to reconsider my stance on shaking some sense into her.
“Running is no fun when I’m not being chased.” She pops a full slice of cucumber into her mouth, and her struggle to chew draws all of my attention.
“It’s dangerous. How’s your leg?”
Without hesitation, she lifts her leg, swinging it out from under the small table and drapes it across the top. A small bandage adorns her kneecap, but it doesn’t detract from the silkiness of her tanned skin.
“It’s fine. Just a little scrape. Were you worried about me?”
“I have a job to do.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I frown, leaning back in the chair and crossing my arms over my chest.
“That!” she hisses, pointing at me. “That’s all you ever do. Why are you always so damn serious? Do you ever let loose? Have fun?”
I slowly blink at her. I doubt there’s a single thin
g I could say to make her stop acting recklessly.
“Do you want to play strip poker?”
My frown deepens, but it’s mostly in disappointment of the lower half of me that thinks the suggestion is the best idea in the world.
“Does anything ever penetrate that cool and calm demeanor of yours?” I don’t say a word. “Do you even smile when you come?”
She drops her leg from the table, then stands, but she doesn’t grab her dirty dish and I swear I’m going to teach her some manners if she walks away from this table and leaves that plate for someone to clean up after her.
“How often do you laugh?” She leans in closer, and I do my best to keep my eyes on hers. God do I try, but the charm on the end of her necklace swings like a hypnotizing pendulum, and of course right behind it are those perfect tits of hers. One quick glance is all I allow myself before I’m staring back into her eyes. “What sounds do you make in bed?”
She inches even closer, her hair tumbling close enough that I’m able to get the scent inside my nose like I fantasized about earlier in the day. She’s inches away, playing a game of chicken I didn’t sign up for but I’m determined to win.
Irritation grows in her pretty features and I want to commend myself for at least keeping my face impassive. God knows the rest of me is on fire. My lips tingle with the need to touch hers. My hands are clenched into painful fists under my elbows. My cock, always the first to lose its mind is standing at attention. Half of my mind is trying to convince myself to sweep everything off the table, spread her out with her legs over my shoulders, and discover what types of sounds she makes when she comes. The other half is warning me that we’re already crossing a million lines.
Suddenly, she snaps up straight and grabs her plate from the table. Without a word, she drops the dish in the dishwasher and leaves the room.
I’ve never felt more relieved and disappointed in my life.
Chapter 6
