Trevor’s kisses became more passionate, tantalizing and seeking the recesses of her mouth, and she gladly reciprocated. In an instant, he closed the one or two inches that separated them on the swing and she found no reason to object.
Trevor’s hands swept up and down her back. Jae couldn’t control the soft whimper that escaped her. Soon, Trevor dragged his lips from hers and kissed a path to her ear. In a voice thick and hoarse with arousal, he whispered a command. “Hit me now, Jae, please.”
Had she heard him correctly? He wanted her to hit him? Jae’s eyes flew open. “What?” she managed to say, meeting his blue eyes as desire swam through her veins.
As they stared into each other’s eyes, the air around them became thicker. When a thump came from the opposite side of the patio, Jae sprang away from Trevor and spotted the source of the noise. The potted palm Trevor had originally set upright was tilted over on its side again.
Sitting back from him, Jae became aware of two things. First, the hardness that had been pressing against her wasn’t anything in his pocket, and second, although his movements were subtle, she noticed he’d pulled something from the small of his back. To her surprise, it was a gun and he’d had it aimed at her potted palm. Her head, temporarily clouded by kissing, cleared immediately.
“I’ll get it,” he said, effectively breaking the tension and sliding the gun back into the holster before getting up.
Walking over to the fallen potted palm, Jae was glad for the distraction and distance from him. She needed to get her bearings. After setting the pot upright and concentrating on unbending several leaves, she noticed the six-foot wire she’d strung along the bases of the plants to keep them in place had been cut. Turning, she presented Trevor with a lethal look.
Trevor sent her a half smile but held her gaze. “Yes, I cut the wire. If I hadn’t I would’ve strangled myself coming over the patio after scaling up four levels,” he said, pushing himself up from the swing and crossing the patio. Kneeling beside her, he pulled out a multi-tooled apparatus from the back pocket of his jeans, flicked it open, cut the ends and then twisted the wires together. When he finished, he stood up and reached down for her hand. Ignoring his outstretched hand, Jae continued fussing with the bent palm. When she turned to go back to the swing, he’d already returned to it and got comfortable by stretching his arms across the back again. Marching her way over to him with her arms crossed over her stomach, Jae snapped, “Don’t touch me like that again, you got that?”
“All right,” he said, moving over and patting the empty space beside him.
“Is that all you have to say after…” Truthfully, Jae was at a loss for words. She was astounded by her own lack of self-control, feeling far too many conflicting emotions at the moment, most of all how she liked kissing him.
“Is that all you have to say after that, Jae?” Trevor asked, his voice low, gaze searching her face.
“I have plenty to say about it.” Jae waved a hand in his face.
Trevor’s eyes were feasting on her breasts. “Should I apologize, sweetheart?”
Jae pointed a deadly finger at him. “Your little endearments are a waste of breath, so keep them to yourself,” she said before turning and storming back inside her apartment. The thought of locking him out on the patio came and went from her mind. He had a tool that she now knew he’d already used to pick the lock and break in.
Trevor followed her. “Were you put off by the kiss because I’m White and you’re—”
“An African American or a federal agent?” Jae asked over her shoulder, walking into the kitchen before turning and demanding to see his gun.
Removing the weapon from the belt holster beneath his shirt, he rechecked making sure the safety on, then handed her a Glock similar to her own. She cleared the chamber then swiftly pulled the gun apart before raising suspicious eyes to his.
“You filed the serial numbers off?”
Trevor walked around her and turned the coffee pot back on. “Willow gave me that gun, so I suspect either he did it or he bought it off the street that way,” he said.
“FBI agents are not in the habit of buying guns off the street, Trevor,” she said, putting the weapon back together just as rapidly as she had taken it apart. Suddenly, Jae thought back to how proud Grainger had been of her skills with a weapon. Hearing Trevor say her name, Jae glanced up to find him just ten inches in front of her. Balancing the gun in her hand and running her finger across the area of the missing serial numbers, Jae frowned in deep concentration.
“Taking into consideration what you’ve told me about this Agent Willow and tying in Grainger assigning me as your contact and his subsequent disappearance, what would be the possibility that these events are somehow connected?” Jae asked. Recalling when she’d returned to work and tried to correlate Trevor’s story, she’d initially wondered if there was a connection between him and Grainger. But her search to find a connection came up with nil and now she had an opportunity to get some answers from Trevor, and if she was going to help him, she had to disclose some information to him.
“I’d say that anything is possible, Jae,” Trevor said, rubbing the back of her hand.
“Trevor, listen, I’ve checked numerous FBI agent files, current, past, retired, deceased, and new recruits and there was no one by the name of Dan Willow.” She searched his face, all traces of arousal gone. “Were you close to him?” She returned his gun to him.
“No, he was my contact. I’d only seen him that one time on the airplane. He seemed genuine in wanting to help me and protect my family.”
“Describe him.” Jae listened with rapt attention as Trevor gave a physical description of Willow.
“So, you do know him?” Trevor asked as she rushed from the kitchen with him on her heels.
Jae hurried through the living room and returned to her bedroom. Her heart was racing at the thoughts bouncing around inside her head. On the dresser was a digital picture frame. Picking it up and turning it on, she scrolled through the many pictures.
Trevor walked over just as she held it up for him to see. “Is this Dan Willow?”
“Yes, that’s him,” he said, giving her a cynical look. “So, I see that you do know him after all and from each of your happy faces in that picture, I’d say you know each other very well.” He left the bedroom.
“I don’t know a Dan Willow, but what I do know is the man in this picture is SAC Luke Grainger,” she called out just before he returned to her bedroom. Dropping the heap of warm linens on the bed, Trevor took the digital frame and studied the man’s face more closely before pressing a button and scrolling through more pictures.
“Trevor, if I were going to file serial numbers off a firearm, I’d do it exactly like what you have, with a grinder clear down through the metal.”
“And you’re sure Dan Willow and SAC Grainger are one and the same?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she retorted. “Look at those pictures again.”
And he did. Sitting down on the bed he said, “I’m positive. But this is crazy. He saved my neck by burying my information once I was in the witness protection program. It’s now very obvious that he must have felt the need to further protect me. But, why? What’s his connection to me or my research?”
“He must have believed that your information was no longer safe within the FBI. Do you know what all of this is pointing to?” Jae asked, sitting beside him.
“Yeah, that the target on my back just got a whole lot bigger and the longer I stay here, the more I’m putting your life in jeopardy,” he said.
“It also means we have a mole inside our operation and if Grainger gave both of us that SYOA code, it proves that he was in danger and so are we. He knew it and he tried to warn both of us.”
When the front door buzzer sounded, Jae and Trevor shot up from the edge of the bed, as each was on full alert.
She cou
ldn’t chance anyone seeing him. “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” she said, walking out and closing her bedroom door.
Chapter Eleven
Walking down the hall, Jae went into the guest bedroom to retrieve her service weapon before answering the door.
The second Jae opened the front door she remembered it was Saturday morning and that she and her team members were taking part in a charity softball event.
When Darius, Iverson, McGuire, Amil, and Mike all murmured good morning and brushed past her and into the living room, Jae struggled to come up with a reason to get out of it. Joining them in the living room she managed a weak, “Hey guys,” and rubbed her stomach.
Darius was the first to respond. “Uh-uh, don’t even think about it, Jae. You’re not backing out on another team event. Our unit is already on the bottom of every event list for either coming in dead last, or not showing up at all,” Darius said.
“But—”
“No buts, Jae,” Amil chimed in. “The last time you pulled this stunt and bailed on us we had to use Jeanie Walker.” He gave two thumbs down. “Now, she’s a sweet girl and great as our unit secretary, but in a relay race or any kind of sport, she sucks,” he said frowning.
“Yeah, and she runs on her tippy toes.” McGuire laughed.
Even Jae had to laugh at McGuire’s comment, recalling the pictures of Jeanie coming in last place and for sure she was on the tips of her toes. “Listen, I know my track record, pardon the pun, but really, guys, I’m not feeling well. My stomach’s been all queasy, you know, since getting shot.” Jae ran a hand over her injured side to emphasize the point.
“Well, it obviously didn’t bother you to eat breakfast. Not to mention this is the best coffee you’ve ever made, Jae,” Iverson said coming out of the kitchen and stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth with one hand, while holding a coffee mug with the other.
Both McGuire and Mike sniffed the air before sweeping curious eyes over Jae. “Hey, I smell pancakes. What’s up, Jae?” Mike asked, rushing into the kitchen with McGuire complaining that his wife refused to make him breakfast.
“What do you mean? I’m fine,” was Jae’s feeble response.
“I thought you weren’t feeling well,” Darius and Amil said in unison.
“I don’t feel up to running around a softball field today.” Seeing they weren’t going to let up, she added, “It’s female, okay?”
When a loud thump, followed by a crash, was heard coming from the direction of her bedroom, all five men leaped over her living room furniture and took off down the hall in that direction with weapons drawn.
Dropping her head as she heard their shouted commands, Jae geared up before heading down the hall to her bedroom. When she heard the unmistakable sounds of a tussle, Jae took off running, all the while praying no one got shot, specifically Trevor.
Trevor knew his mistake when he’d backed into the nightstand, causing the lamp to fall against the wall then hit the floor. As he picked it up, the bedroom door flew open. Dropping the lamp, he instinctively reached for his weapon when five deadly looking men rushed forward, pointing their weapons at his chest.
“Who the fuck are you?” one of the men said, then he pushed Trevor to the floor.
Another man had his weapon pointed dead center of Trevor’s chest, ordering him to turn over on his stomach.
When yet another man suddenly charged at him, Trevor held the man tightly, then flipped him over onto his back as he extracted the man’s weapon from his hand. Trevor now sat atop the man’s chest with his own gun pressed against the other man’s temple.
“Everybody, stand down!” All six men turned in the direction of Jae’s shout.
“I said, stand down,” Jae repeated in a slightly less threatening tone as she walked into her bedroom. Crossing over to Trevor and the other man down on the floor, she removed the service weapon from Trevor’s hand, returning it to guy who’d pointed it at him before telling Trevor to get up off the guy.
Turning to face the heaving and puffing men, Jae searched their faces. She was spitting mad. “If you clowns ever pull a stunt like this again, I swear I’ll shoot you one by one myself.” “Trevor, these men are my teammates,” she called out their names and titles as she pointed to them. “Guys, this is Trevor Grant.”
There was no hand shaking, no nods of acknowledgement, just ominous, deadly glances and raspy breathing.
Jae shot the guy standing up on her bed in filthy sneakers with a look that sent him jumping down to stand in front of the stranger. “Well, why the hell couldn’t this shithead identify himself before almost getting lit up full of bullet holes?”
Trevor took a step closer to the tall Black man with jet black eyes and thick eyebrows. To him, the man looked more like a linebacker than an FBI agent. “You didn’t ask,” he said.
Jae angled her body to stand between the two men. She sent Darius and McGuire a look before Darius ordered everyone back to the living room. Then fuming with indignation, she stormed into her walk-in closet as they marched from her bedroom.
Stripping out of her pajamas and kicking her legs into a pair of jeans and then tugging on a T-shirt, Jae walked back into the bedroom to find Trevor holding her sneakers out.
“I was making the bed when I bumped into the lamp and it fell.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, taking her sneakers from Trevor’s outstretched hand and pushing her feet into them. While he paced the floor, Jae headed into the master bathroom. When she returned she had pulled her hair back into a haphazard ponytail.
When she was about to leave the bedroom, he caught her hand in his. “Let me talk to them.”
Jae tugged her hand away. “And say what exactly, Trevor? You know what they have to be thinking finding you in here.” Her head tilted toward the unmade bed.
“I imagine the same thing Maggie thought finding us together in your bedroom in Virginia.” He ignored her exaggerated eye roll and pulled her close, brushing a light kiss to her lips before she had a chance to stop him.
Jae pulled open the bedroom door. “And that’s Aunt Maggie to you,” she murmured.
Trevor followed her into the kitchen where her teammates had convened. Jae watched as they helped themselves to the surplus breakfast he had made.
The man named Iverson chuckled. “I should’ve guessed you had company, Jae, because you sure don’t make pancakes like this. These are delicious, mm mm mm.”
“Yeah, Jae’s are usually hard and burnt around the edges,” Amil said, slurping coffee. “And damn good coffee, too,” he offered up.
“Like I said in the bedroom, back there,” she hitched her thumb in that direction. “This is Dr. Trevor Grant. He was the extraction assignment I had near Richmond.”
Iverson choked and spit out the pancakes he’d been eating into a napkin. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean that fucking terrorist do you?”
The swig of hot coffee in Amil’s mouth was swallowed with an audible gulp before he pushed the coffee mug away.
“Hey, wasn’t he supposed to be six feet deep?” Darius said, chewing on a piece of bacon and scooping up the last of the scrambled eggs.
Mike pushed himself off the counter where he looked to be silently fuming. “What? Trevor Grant? The quack doctor who caused you to get shot? Are you out of your freaking mind, Jae? This fool is a wanted fugitive…by us, Jae. The FBI, remember!” Mike stepped closer to Trevor. “Where’s that damn gun, dude?”
“You want my gun so badly, you come and get it, dude,” Trevor retorted.
“If anybody pulls another weapon out, you will all get the hell out of here,” Jae said, then cringed when Amil commented that it was her business whom she slept with. “What? Hold up!” Jae spun around and glared at the man.
Trevor was thrown off guard when Iverson suggested that Trevor had taken advantage of her.
“But why w
ould he bother to make a nice breakfast spread and put fresh linens on the bed?” McGuire asked, adding more syrup to his pancake. He shared Darius’s opinion that Jae wasn’t in any danger.
Stepping between Mike and Trevor, Jae placed a hand on each of their puffed up chests and roughly pushed them apart. “You all had better get this straight because I will not repeat it. You’re right about one thing, Amil, who I sleep with is none of your damn business,” she said, her eyes serious. “I don’t owe any of you any explanations. But I’m not like you goofballs who think nothing about coming here to dump on me and subject me to the details of your escapades or conquests. So please don’t make assumptions about me. Now, just listen up and I’ll tell you why Trevor, Dr. Grant, came here last night, or rather this morning.”
“Yes, Jae, by all means tell us why you’re harboring a fugitive and possible terrorist,” Mike accused. “You might as well kiss your FBI career goodbye, honey,” he snapped.
In the blink of an eye, Trevor shot out his right fist and punched Mike in the jaw, sending him sailing back onto the kitchen table, where he landed in the plate of syrupy pancakes Iverson had just refilled.
Darius, McGuire, and Amil roared with laughter at the sight of Iverson holding a knife in one hand and a fork in the other.
It looked as if a dazed and cross-eyed Mike was Iverson’s meal.
And it was a funny sight to see.
* * * * *
Jae was positive the headache she was nursing was a result of an overload of male hormones. It filled the air inside her apartment.
Seeing Mike sprawled out on her kitchen table and listening to Iverson complaining about the syrup on his new jersey, coupled with their hoarse laughter, was too much for her. Adding to that was Trevor shouting down into Mike’s dazed face not to disrespect her again. It was all Jae could take. She ended up storming away from the mayhem and out onto the patio.
She sat on the swing hugging her knees. Closing her eyes she forced her mind to go someplace that made her feel good. To her surprise it floated right back to where she sat, two hours earlier…with him on her swing.
Jae's Assignment Page 13
