TRIGGERED: A Romantic Suspense Bundle (5 Books)

by Evie Nichole

  “Jason. I was right about Alan, being slimy and sleazy and stuff, but you were right about Jason, weren’t you?”

  Monica stared at the ceiling, her head spinning slightly. She’d stopped crying, though, so she wasn’t going to complain. “Huh?” she said, still not registering Zoe’s words.

  “When you met the dude, Mr. FBI or whatever, you said he was acting suspicious. I said he was just trying to sleep with you, but you were right. He was working that night, wasn’t he? He was there to try to meet you and get the deets on Alan.”

  “Deets?” A half-smirk formed on Monica’s face, and she looked down at her friend, her head lolling lazily.

  “Shut up, I’m drunk.”

  “You kids these days,” Monica teased. Zoe looked at her with a bleary smile and leaned her head back to poke Monica’s stomach playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I convinced myself I was being paranoid because I was drunk and because of Alan and all of his bull. But I was right. Jason was definitely being fishy. And…” She looked back up at the ceiling, getting lost in thought for almost a minute before Zoe let her head fall back and bump Monica’s stomach again.

  “And?” Zoe prompted.

  “And I don’t know if…I told him I believed him that he’d stopped working the case and recording our conversations after that first night. But I feel like he was communicating with his team on our first date. He kept checking his watch.”

  “His watch?” Zoe was reaching half-heartedly for the tequila bottle, she had to lift her head and squint to focus on the correct direction to send her hand; she almost knocked it over when she grabbed at it sloppily with a hand that only closed around it at the very last moment. She giggled at herself as she turned the bottle over, splashing some liquid on the table as she filled her shot glass. Monica thrust her own glass over Zoe’s shoulder and Zoe slammed it onto the table and filled it just as messily as her own. They clinked glasses and downed their shots. A shiver wracked Zoe’s body, and she sighed in pleasure as the liquor warmed her from the inside out. She was now so drunk that it didn’t burn her throat. Monica had to steady herself by placing both hands firmly on the couch as her head spun more vigorously with the replenishment of alcohol. After a moment, she also sighed with pleasure and leaned back to continue staring at the ceiling, which was now pleasantly and relaxingly blurry.

  “Yeah, he had one of those smart watches you can read your text messages on. Kept looking at it. Definitely wasn’t checking the time that much. Unless he found me that boring.” “You’re not boring,” Zoe said, flopping her hand backwards in an unsuccessful attempt to give Monica a reassuring pat; her voice held the unmistakable over-sincerity of strong inebriation.

  “Thanks, Zo.” She paused, closing her eyes and succumbing momentarily to the spins, which, in that moment, she was kind of enjoying. She opened her eyes again, trying to remember what she’d been talking about. The digital clock on her DVD player caught her attention out of the corner of her eye and she remembered. “Yeah, he definitely wasn’t checking the time, though, because he was like reading stuff, you know? Then when I was leaving, I saw him take a phone call and he looked really upset. He was definitely talking to them.”

  “Them?” Zoe’s head had lolled back onto the couch and her eyes were closed.

  “His team or whatever. His fellow stalkers.”

  Zoe’s laugh was slurred, and she sort of hissed out a few chuckles, her head bouncing along with her shoulders. “Is it considered stalking if it’s the government doing it?”

  Monica continued to stare up, not really seeing anything anymore, her face stony. “I don’t know. Probably not illegal, technically. But it’s still freaking scary.”

  “Uhhh-greed!” Zoe drew out the word and raised the empty shot glass in her hand as if toasting a full room. There were a few minutes of silence; both women stared ahead of them, eyes glazed and lids heavy, trying with difficulty to focus on their thoughts and not fall asleep.

  “I need coffee,” Monica said, sitting up too quickly and receiving a fresh roll of dizziness that forced her to brace herself on the couch again.

  “Woah Nelly!” Zoe said, placing a slack hand on Monica’s back in an attempt to steady her.

  “I’m good,” Monica said after a moment, standing and walking into the kitchen. She opened and closed cabinets carelessly, dumped too much coffee into a filter without measuring, filled the machine all the way up with water, and turned it on. She stood there, hand on her hip, head drooping to the side slightly, watching steam and hot, brown water start to stream from the machine into the glass pot.

  From the kitchen, Zoe’s voice was muffled, somewhat. “Ee jest dew rings job.”

  Monica walked unsteadily back into the living room. “What?”

  Zoe was still on the floor, and she looked at Monica with a serious intensity. “He was just doing his job.”

  It took Monica a second to figure out what she was talking about. Then a surge of anger that was only slightly muffled by her intoxication began to fill her up. “He lied to me!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Zoe said, waving her hand to try to ward off Monica’s emotion so she could explain herself properly. “Of course. He’s a butthead. But maybe he wasn’t still working with them when he was with you, but they were, like, bothering him about it.”

  Monica stared at her, starting to understand what she was getting at a little bit. She crossed her arms defensively in front of her chest.

  “You said he looked angry, right?”

  “When?” Monica asked, trying to quell the frustration in her voice.

  “After date. The first one.” Zoe’s eyes had closed, as if she needed all of her energy to talk. Monica smelled the coffee and turned back into the kitchen, quickly and somewhat sloppily pouring them both cups. She didn’t bother with milk, because the thought of it made her feel nauseated. When she returned to the living room, Zoe was looking at her as if she was working very hard to keep her eyes open and remain focused on her train of thought. Monica sat on the couch, and Zoe scooted herself awkwardly up to sit beside her, taking the mug from her friend and blowing on the beverage to cool it down. She took a huge swallow, sighing satisfactorily, and continued.

  “He was angry when he answered his phone, right?”

  “Yeah,” Monica was really starting to resent this conversation. She loved Zoe, but if she was defending this guy, she was going to be really pissed at her.

  “What if that’s because they were trying to get him to tell them stuff about you and Alan and, like, he really didn’t want to. If you think about it, he was blowing off his job. He was the one that was supposed to be getting stuff out of you and he blew that off because he wanted to date you.”

  “So he says.” Monica was staring furiously into the steaming liquid in her mug.

  “I thought you believed him.”

  Monica sighed. She wanted to contradict her friend, but even in her anger and sadness, she still had this gut feeling that Jason had been truthful with her for the most part, including what he’d said the last night she’d seen him.

  “They must have been pissed, too. This is probably a big assignment for them, and he just screwed it up because he got a crush on you. I mean, I can’t blame him,” she continued with a smirk, nudging Monica with her elbow in an attempt to lighten the mood. Monica bit back her smile. “They were working on this case for, how long, you know, and he just ditches them. I don’t know, babe, but that’s kind of a big deal in my book.”

  Monica whipped her head to face Zoe, clenching her jaw to power through the dizziness that overwhelmed her with the movement. “HE LIED TO ME!”

  “Of course, of course. I know. He shouldn’t have. I totally agree with you on that. But—”

  “BUT?” Monica was starting to shake and some of her coffee spilled onto her hand. “Dammit.” She slammed it onto the coffee table and shook the burning liquid off her hand aggressively.

  “Mo, come on, he’s in the CIA or something. He’s worki
ng a drug case, international drug thing, that’s not minor, you know? Those guys, they can’t just go around telling anyone what they’re doing and what they’re working on. I mean, come on, he didn’t know you that well. It would have been better if he’d told you so you didn’t have to find out that way, but then maybe you wouldn’t have gone out with him. And I know that’s crappy, too, but, like, I get it. And then there’s Alan.”

  Monica was glaring at her but taking in everything she was saying. She was stubbornly refusing to relax and accept what she was saying; she wasn’t ready to stop being angry just yet. “What about Alan?”

  “Well, they were trying to talk to you because you were dating him. They must have thought you were still dating him that night.”

  “But we’d broken up.”

  “Yeah, but you know how breakups are. So they could still try to get info out of you. But maybe he couldn’t tell you everything until he was sure Alan was out of your life. What if you went to him and gave him the heads up and blew everything?”

  Monica’s jaw fell open cartoonishly, and she closed it quickly. She furrowed her brow, staring blankly at the floor, analyzing what Zoe had just said. Now she felt angry because she was starting to see sense in Zoe’s defense of Jason.

  “That makes sense,” she said slowly, begrudgingly.

  “I don’t know if it’s what happened or why he did any of this. But from what you said, it seemed like he really did like you. And that conversation with his boss, he quit the team officially. Think about what would happen if you just up and quit a project in the middle of it at your job. And that’s not even a big government spying agency or anything.”

  Monica nodded, scanning her mind for all the moment’s she’d been suspicious about Jason.

  “He was still asking questions about Alan, though, on the other dates.”

  “I thought you said he kept telling you he wasn’t like Alan and talking to you about how shitty Alan was to you.”

  Monica didn’t respond. She started chewing the inside of her cheek. “But he lied. He said he was in sales.”

  Zoe’s smile was mildly condescending, but she could tell that her friend was grasping at straws now. “Every secret-agent man has to have a cover story.”

  Monica nodded. She reached out for her coffee mug and took a big swallow, trying to clear her mind more.

  She looked at Zoe seriously, almost begging. “I still want to be mad at him, Zo.”

  Zoe nodded and placed a reassuring hand on Monica’s knee. “I know, babe. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t be. I think you’re totally right to be pissed and to never talk to him again. I just think that maybe he’s not such an awful guy and that he took a lot of risks for the chance to be with you. Including possibly risking national security or something.”

  Monica snorted. “National security?”

  “Hey, these drug cartel dudes are no joke. Don’t you read the news?”

  Monica was smiling, but her eyes still showed concern. Her brain was a mix of sober focus and drunken confusion.

  “Hey,” Zoe said, squeezing Monica’s leg comfortingly. “You don’t have to do anything or decide anything tonight. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s against the law to think and drive…I mean think and drink.” She giggled at her own mistake, and Monica gave a short chuckle. “We won’t talk about it anymore tonight. I just wanna say that I support you no matter what. In my opinion, you maybe should take a risk on him like he did for you. I think there’s a pretty decent chance it could make you really happy. And remember, if it makes you really sad, as someone who is friends-with-benefits with both a bartender and a barista, I have an endless supply of any pick-me-up you could possibly need.”

  Monica laid her head on Zoe’s shoulder. “Thanks, Zo.”

  Zoe laid her head on Monica’s head. “You got it, Mo.”

  They both smiled. Zoe continued, “Okay, how about a drunk viewing of the first awful made-for-TV movie we can find.”

  Monica laughed, lifting her head and finishing her coffee. “That sounds perfect.”

  Zoe grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels on Monica’s television. It was after one in the morning so their chances of finding something truly awful and therefore wildly entertaining were very good. After a moment, Zoe settled on something based on a true story about a couple who went on a killing spree together.

  “You’re hooking up with that barista?” Monica said, tauntingly.

  Zoe looked slightly bashful but mostly proud. “Guilty.”

  “Cougar,” Monica said, elbowing Zoe in the ribs. Zoe grinned and laid back to enjoy the movie. Monica found herself imagining being like the couple on the screen with Jason, except instead of committing crimes together, they would solve them. She shook her head to empty the thoughts from her brain. She still wasn’t ready to stop being mad at him. Not yet.

  Chapter 10

  Monica methodically folded the paper wrapper from the straw in her iced coffee; back and forth and back and forth until it was a small, springy fan-shape. She let it bounce out of the folds, smoothed it out, and started again. She’d done this ten times already, hardly touching her drink, and looking up as if startled every time the bell over the door jingled. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves each time the person coming into the coffee shop was not the person she was meeting. Then she went back to folding the straw paper.

  It was late afternoon, and her hangover was miraculously subsiding. She and Zoe had slept until noon and then had cold pizza and coffee for “breakfast.”

  “I love being a freelancer,” Zoe beamed, stretching her arms above her head.

  “Because you get to make your own hours?” Monica massaged her temples with her eyes closed, feeling a strong appreciation for Mr. Johnson for the tenth time since yesterday afternoon.

  “Yep. But that doesn’t mean no work for me today, unlike another boss’s pet I know.” She stood up, winking at Monica playfully, and starting to gather her things. “If I don’t finish these t-shirt designs by tonight, I’m going to have to put in my application at the coffee shop, and that would be terrible because you’re not supposed to sleep with people you work with.” She smirked as she slipped her shoes onto her feet. Monica knew she was exaggerating about the job at least, though probably not about the deadline. One thing that was distinctly different about the two of them was that Zoe was a horrible procrastinator and Monica was a horrible planner.

  Monica stood up, smiling through the pounding in her head. She quietly cursed Zoe in her mind for appearing to have no hangover whatsoever. It wasn’t fair; they were the same age and basic size.

  She hugged Zoe strongly and Zoe hugged her back. They really only did this in really serious situations, opting instead for playful poking affection and the occasional consoling hand-on-the-shoulder. The hug made Monica feel calmer, steadier. Her family was states away and she really only missed them when she was in desperate need of a hug.

  “Thanks Zo.” She felt Zoe smile as she squeezed her tighter in response.

  “You got it, dude,” Zoe said when they broke apart, giving her a goofy thumbs up. “Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency tonight though, I have to draw all the things.”

  “Betcha wished you’d planned ahead!” Monica teased, as she crossed to the door to hold it open for her friend.

  “Nah, I like the rush of working under pressure. Makes me feel alive.”

  Monica chuckled. Zoe gave her a little wave in the hallway and then disappeared. Monica stood with the door open, remembering the last time she’d stood here like this. She thought about everything Zoe had said the night before. There was a loud voice in her head, telling her that it was the worst idea ever and she should just move on and forget it. Forget him. There was a smaller voice, however, that was somehow much harder to ignore, that wanted her to give it a shot. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but the opening of one of her neighbor’s doors made her jump and she quickly closed her own.

  She
moved to the window that overlooked the street. It was slightly overcast. Zoe was standing at the curb, texting a mile a minute on her phone, glancing up periodically to see if a cab was coming. Monica watched her get into a cab and ride away. She scanned the street, wondering if anyone was in one of the parked cars with tinted windows; the hidden sun meant that she couldn’t see into any of the cars anyway. The thought made her shiver. She wondered if Jason had told them to leave her alone; she was hoping that they had. She wondered if, because he had taken himself off the case, they were still watching her. “Why would they be watching me?” she asked aloud. Then the answer came to her in the form of Zoe’s voice from the night before.

  “Maybe he couldn’t tell you everything until he was sure Alan was out of your life. What if you went to him and gave him the heads up and blew everything.”

  If they were still watching her, that would be why. They would want to see if she went to see Alan. And maybe they were trying to figure out how they could get someone else to infiltrate her life. It wouldn’t be easy now that she knew about them. She smiled at that thought, finding it mildly reassuring. She still felt uneasy, however, and despite the warmth of the room, a shiver ran through her body.

  They were either worried she would go to Alan to tip him off. That wouldn’t be why she would do it, however; she would do it to find out what the hell was actually going on.

  Was getting the information worth it, she asked herself.

  Was Alan the one to get it from?

  She looked up as the bell rang and her breath caught in her throat. She clenched her jaw, chiding herself for not keeping her cool at the sight of him. He was dressed more casually than she’d ever seen him, in dark, purposefully tattered jeans and a black t-shirt. The shirt hugged his muscles beautifully. More shocking to her than his clothes, however, was his face. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and there was dark stubble starting to take over his jaw and upper lip area.

  He spotted her almost immediately and didn’t even bother with the pretense of getting a drink. He made a beeline for her table, looking desperate and terrified and apologetic all at once. He did not sit immediately, but stood behind the chair across from her as if waiting for her permission to join her. She commanded herself not to smile and not to offer him some kind of reassurance to calm his obvious anxiety.