by Isabel Jolie
“Yeah. Are Bennett and Mitchell still in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“Has surveillance picked up on any of their meetings?”
“No. They’re acting like people who are fully aware they’re being monitored. It doesn’t matter. This case was never about BB&E, anyway. They were more of a piece to understand how everything was happening. Maitlin gave us everything we need yesterday, although we suspect additional businesses may be implicated, so we’ll be bringing him back in. He agreed to testify. His lawyer basically agreed to him doing anything at all to help our case.”
“In exchange for indemnity?”
“Of course. He’s got a damn good defense team already lined up. If we hadn’t already determined he was innocent, I’d be suspicious.”
“He’s not a party to any criminal activity.”
“I know. How’s he gonna take it when he finds out you’re FBI?”
“Crossing the line, Hopkins.” He chuckles, but a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach tanks my runner’s high.
“Did you already tell him you’re FBI?” The question bears no semblance of the earlier friendliness. I understand. This is mission-critical.
“No. I would not jeopardize the operation.” I pronounce each word with care, slow and precise.
Hopkins is on the phone, but I can visualize his shoulders relaxing as his business-as-usual voice returns across the line. “Well, my advice is you wait. See if you still feel the same about him after you’re not seeing him every day.”
“I won’t tell him until I get clearance.” I tell Hopkins what he needs to know, and nothing more. He’s a good colleague, but that doesn’t mean I want his relationship advice.
After we end our call, I drop the phone on the kitchen table, and it clatters, the sound ricocheting through the barren white-walled apartment. How is Chase going to take finding out I’m UC? I shake the thought out of my head. It’s my job, my career. He can’t be mad at me for doing my job.
Last night, the early-in-the-dating-process nerves dissipated. He wouldn’t have been sitting on my doorstep waiting for me if he didn’t feel something. But Hopkins is right to a degree. There’s no guarantee we’ll still work when I’m not seeing him every day, and when we’re struggling to find time to see each other at all. I’ve tried to be as honest as I can with him, but I wouldn’t blame him if he decides I’ve told too many lies.
By the time I’m dressed to go to the office, I have an entirely different set of disconcerting emotions rolling through me. That’s another reason I shouldn’t date when on the case. I’m not good with relationship emotions, and I prefer to not have them. I’m also nervous about Chase’s safety, and I don’t feel like I can express that to Hopkins without him thinking it’s because I have feelings. It’s all a mess.
Frustrated with myself for putting myself in this situation, I focus on my gun options. The gleam of the metal has a calming effect. My slim Smith and Wesson M&P Shield calls to me. It’s too bulky to fit in the suit jacket unnoticed, and I don’t treasure the idea of it resting all day on my inner thigh.
Since we’re going to a club tonight, I choose a black sheath dress and a black suit jacket. Kitten heels for the office, and black stilettos for night. The outfit works for going from work to a club, but it’s not great for concealing a gun.
Yesterday was the first day I carried into BB&E’s office. Maybe that’s why I’m on edge. We’re close to issuing indictments, which always generates a whir of excitement and nerves. I don’t see any of these guys, almost all of whom are dads with pictures of kids on their office desks, attempting to off an FBI agent, but you never really know how someone will react when they’re facing incarceration. It’s a piece of training they drill into us.
It’s doubtful they’d have Chase followed. Highly doubtful. His suspicion they might plan to use him as the fall guy is probably spot on. But if it occurred to them a lawyer might encourage him to step forward as a preemptive measure, well, it’s not an inconceivable scenario they’d want to track who he was talking to. If they saw him enter the FBI building, then at the very least, Chase dialed up the heat yesterday.
If only he could’ve waited until later in the week to play the role of an informant. I don’t like running through possible scenarios, but I can’t shut my mind down. And if they’re aware he’s talked to the FBI, then that would foil their plan. But the team has probably already thought of this. If they thought Chase was in danger, they’d pull him off the street, and he’d be in WITSEC right now.
I hold the slim graphite gun, the metal cool on my palm. It’s not my favorite weapon, but it’s discreet. I slip it into my briefcase, in the interior side zipper compartment with my FBI issued cell. That will work for the day. It’s better than having it between my thighs all day. The bag will be sufficient. Better to have the safety than to end the day in regret.
Twenty-Five
Chase
* * *
“Anna. Why?” Whine mode has gone full throttle. Getting Anna to cave is typically within the realm of possibilities.
“I’m sorry. It’s just Jackson has some research he wants to focus on tonight, and I need to brainstorm some fresh concepts. Work’s been too busy lately. It stifles the creative flow.”
Yeah, I have a feeling I know the kind of work Jackson and Anna want to focus on tonight.
“And it’s a Tuesday night. Why are you so hot on going out on a Tuesday?” Now she’s whining.
“I’m curious about this Calvin Harris. Aren’t you? I mean how do you become a celebrity DJ?”
“By dating Taylor Swift?” she asks.
“No. He was big before her. And, besides, who turns down tickets to a sold-out show at The Velvet Room? I’ll tell you who. A lame-ass, that’s who.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. But we’re gonna pass on this one.”
I huff, but I don’t hold it against Anna. I should be taking a pass on this one, too. I have several more accounts I should be reviewing, but at the same time, I’m ready for a release. All day I’ve been going over spreadsheets with a fine-tooth comb, and I’m ready to let it go for a night.
“Sam and Olivia are still in. And Sydney’s still going, right?” Anna asks.
“Yeah.” I tell her, not missing her slick little segue.
“I like her.”
“I do, too.”
“I can tell. Chase, I’m happy for you.” I can hear the smile in her words. I have a full-on visual of the way Anna must look right now with her goofy grin. She probably thinks her little buddy has grown up and fallen in love. And all signs point to her being correct. Last night, after an intense, stressful day, there was definitely only one place I wanted to be.
Rhonda taps on the door. It’s the end of the workday, and she always stops by before heading out to catch her train.
“I gotta run. Maybe this weekend we can all get together?” I say to Anna.
“I’d love that. Have fun tonight.” Yeah, yeah. I’ve got eight tickets in a VIP booth, and we’re going with four people. I hang up.
“Rhonda, you sure you don’t want to come tonight? VIP booth. That’s, like, five grand.” I asked her over the weekend, and she shot me down, but I didn’t do the hard sell. “Wouldn’t Ronnie like a night out?” Yeah, Rhonda and Ronnie. High school lovers. I keep asking her to bring in her yearbook so I can check out their dated hairstyles. In current times, Rhonda sports tall black bangs that are more eighties Halloween than anything you’d see in a magazine.
“He’d love it, but there’s no way I can get a sitter. And besides, I told you, soccer practice. No can do. But have fun. You’ll have to let me know if this Calvin Harris is worth the money.”
“Which client did we get these tickets for, anyway?” I really should have taken these tickets and invited clients, not all my friends. But my head’s not in the BB&E game these days.
“I have no idea,” she answers as she backs out into the hall. “But I know why they ended up in your
lap.”
“Because I’m the best?”
“No. Because it’s a Tuesday! No one else wants them,” she shouts as she waves goodnight.
I check the time. We’re not meeting up with Sam and Olivia until after eight. Even that’s early, but it’ll be fine. It might be Tuesday, but it’s sold out, so it’ll be packed when we arrive. I’m in the mood to blow off some steam. But, truth be told, I’m a little jealous of Jackson and Anna. I wouldn’t mind sitting back with a glass of wine and unwinding in the quiet of my apartment with Sydney instead of going to a packed club. I’ve spent so long taking free tickets, always being on the go, it didn’t even occur to me to turn the damn tickets down.
I unplug my laptop and slide it into my backpack, spinning my office chair as I do so. I freeze. Several filing cabinet drawers are ajar.
The tall metal cabinets are to my back when I sit at my desk, so on a normal day, I don’t pay them much attention. I scrutinize the uneven drawers. Don’t freak.
Rhonda may have been in a hurry when she was filing. I open the slim drawer in my desk and lift the tiny silver keys. The locks on these cabinets are so small, it’s hard to imagine they’d keep anyone out who wanted in. I push the drawers closed and lock them, my shoulders and neck muscles tense. Then I step outside to the cabinets that line the wall near Rhonda’s cube. Methodically, one by one, I lock them all.
“What are you doing?” Sydney’s standing at Rhonda’s cubicle entrance wearing sky-high fuck-me heels that put her maybe an inch taller than I am. I don’t remember what she was wearing earlier today, but it wasn’t those heels, because if she’d been wearing them, I would’ve been thinking of her in those heels and nothing else all fucking day. I want to slide my hand up her thigh and find out if those silky sheer hose adorning those long lean legs are thigh highs, but in my peripheral vision, I spy Trey, a guy on my team, still working at his cubicle. We are not alone.
“Closing up. You ready to go?” Please say yes.
“Yeah. Where are we meeting up with everyone?”
“Well, Jackson and Anna bailed, and Sam and Olivia are meeting us at The Velvet Room, so we’re on our own for dinner.”
“Jackson and Anna aren’t coming?” She sounds disappointed, which gives me a perverse shot of pleasure. I want her to like my friends.
“No. Can’t say I’m surprised. Those two bail with relative frequency.” That wasn’t like Anna before she moved in with Jackson, but she’s gradually been upping her cancellation rate.
“So, it’s just us and Sam and Olivia?” I like how she says “us.” I drop the file keys into my slacks pocket and enter my office to grab my backpack.
“Unless you have someone you want to invite? We have four extra tickets.” I should’ve asked her earlier. I’d like to get to know her friends.
“New here.” She lifts her shoulders, raising her hemline as she does so, exposing more thigh. “What about your friends at the gym? You want to invite any of them?”
“Any particular friend of mine you want me to invite?” She wouldn’t be the first girl I dated to harbor a crush on one of my friends.
“Chase,” she scolds, “I didn’t mean for me, you big goof. I was just thinking you spend a lot of time there, talking to those guys. You might want to invite one of them.” Two things strike me from her comments. One, she applied the word big to me. I like that. Second thing, she’s been watching me at the gym.
“That’s a negative, Ghost Rider. I’m not bringing along competition on our date.” Those glossy, delectable lips lift into a sexy as fuck smile, and Trey be damned, I pull her to me for a kiss. I press her slim tight body to mine, and I know she can feel the outline of my growing erection against her. She moans, which is hot, then pushes me away, which is still hot, but not as desirable.
“Let’s get out of here. Let me get my briefcase, and we can leave.”
I follow her out, close enough that I can rub my palm possessively against the curve of her buttocks. When we arrive at her office, I see the briefcase in her chair, and I step past her, chivalrous. I lift her briefcase, and it’s heavier than my backpack.
“What’re you carrying in here?”
She reaches for it. “You don’t have to carry it. I’ll get it.”
“Nope.” I brush her hands away. “I’ve got it. But, man, you don’t pack light, do you?” I ask as we head down the hall, side by side, for the elevators.
“Where do you want to go for dinner?” she asks, changing the subject.
“It’s just the two of us. What’re you in the mood for?”
She gives me a look that goes right to my crotch.
“You want to skip dinner? I can be down with that.”
She responds with a laugh, and it’s pretty fucking adorable.
“No. Come on, big goof. Let’s walk around and check menus. See what we find.”
“Big goof? Is that your new name for me?”
She wrinkles her nose. “I guess? Does it bother you?”
“No. I never mind being called big.”
She giggles again.
“I’ll be your big goof,” I tell her then sneak a kiss on her cheek.
All in all, I could get used to this. My girl working down the hall from me, us leaving the office together, scouting for food. Who would’ve thought it? Of course, on the flip side, this is the second day in a row I’ve skipped my evening gym routine.
“Tomorrow after work, we gotta hit the gym, okay?” I ask, but it’s as much to reassure myself. Sydney’s hot as fuck, and she’s smart, easy to talk to, gets along with my friends. More than any of that, I want to be with her. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to be one of those people who slips into a relationship and does a personality one-eighty.
She doesn’t answer me, and it might be my imagination, but I think her grip on my hand tightens as we walk. I take it as a sign she likes talking about future plans.
“You up for Italian?” She wrinkles her nose. We had reservations at a snazzy place near The Velvet Lounge, but they were for six, and I’m not really in the mood for fancy. Of course, this is a date.
“You want sushi?” I prompt.
“Sure. Sushi sounds good.”
I whip out my phone, press some numbers, confirm we can get a table, and have us in the back of a taxi in less than three minutes. I am a master at winging it.
We’ll have to be seated at the sushi bar instead of a table, but it’s all good. When we arrive, I offer our bags to the coat check. Syd reaches out for her briefcase. “That’s okay. I don’t need to check my bag.”
I look over to the bar. There will be some space below our feet, but not much. Whatever. I check my bag, and we’re seated in front of the two vacant stools. Kassandra, the hostess here, winks at me, and I thank her and ask about the design competition she’s prepping for at Pratt Design School. It pays to pay attention to all the people, and this is one of my regular restaurants.
After she leaves, I prepare to take a crucial step forward in my relationship with Sydney. Sushi ordering. Either we can do this together, or it’s gonna be a bust.
“What kind of sushi do you like?” I’m all nonchalant, playing it casual, like I’m totally cool with whatever she says. If she tells me she only eats California rolls, I’ll play it cool.
“Well, I eat almost anything, but I tend to prefer sashimi. But if you want to split a roll, I can do that.” She rushes to reassure me, but all I want to do is fall on my knees and worship her.
“Sashimi it is.” I wave the guy over and order a platter. It’s the purest way to enjoy the fish and by far the healthiest. Of course, no fun makes for a dull boy. I point at my favorite menu item. “You open for some tuna nachos to start?”
We order and get our drinks. We talk about work. She asks me questions about some of the different players on my team, about some of the accounts. It’s all the kind of stuff you’d talk about if you started a new job and were planning on staying. But she’s gotta get out of BB&E.
&nb
sp; “Do you need help finding another job?” Why didn’t I think of that earlier? She might think it’s too hard to get a job somewhere else, and that’s why she’s ignoring my advice to jump ship.
“No.”
I roll my wrist so she can see the time on my watch. “We’ve spent over an hour talking about that place. Why do you care?” Her gaze falls, maybe to the wasabi remnants on her plate. Guilt strikes. I’m such an ass. “Look, I’ve told you more than I should have. But I did that because I care about you. Trust me. You don’t want to stay there. I can help you find a new gig. I bet Sam can find a position for you. And if not, he’s got contacts. We can talk with him about it tonight.”
Her suit jacket hangs on a nearby hook on the wall, and I reach for the bare skin on the base of her neck, below her straight, angular bob. Goosebumps rise along her arms as the rough pads of my fingers trace the delicate skin.
She runs her fingers along my jaw, then slides off the stool in slow motion. She presses her voluptuous lips to mine. I trail my fingers along her thigh, up below the hemline, and hold back a whimper. Thigh highs. More than anything, I want to go back to my place right the fuck now.
“I’ll be back.”
Huh?
“Restroom. Then we’ve got to get going, right?”
Oh, yes. She slips past me to the back of the restaurant, and I watch her. The swing of her hair, counterbalancing the swing of her hips, the way her black dress curves around the lines of her tight, firm ass.
“Hot date?” Jin, one of the sushi chefs I’ve chatted with on occasion, asks as he delivers the billfold while wiggling his thin black eyebrows.
“Yes, Jin. Hot date,” I tell him as I slide my credit card into the billfold. She’s so fucking hot she has me wanting more, and this from a guy who days ago was adamant he didn’t do “more.” They always say you don’t know it’s coming, and when it hits you, you’re unaware until the damage is done. Well, the damage is done. I am knocked out. The single game holds zero appeal now, all thanks to Sydney. Mom might tell me it’s too early. And maybe it is. But you know what, it’s like tapping melons, searching for the best fruit. When you know, you know. And yeah, she is way out of my league. But right now she seems to see something in me. I’d be a nutjob not to go for it.
