Target

by Julia Sykes

Chapter 2

  Ian

  “Agent Holmes? You with me?” Director Parkinson's pack-a-day rasp called me back to the present.

  I jerked my thoughts away from the memory of Lissa’s hot mouth under mine. My gaze focused on Parkinson’s, noting the yellowish tint that muddied the whites of her eyes. I recalled that I used to find her attractive, but years of long nights and the stress of the job had hardened her countenance to something too severe to be pretty.

  So unlike the soft innocence Lissa exuded. She was still young, pure. Even if she could kick ass when she needed to, there was something deliciously vulnerable about her when she stared at me with those wide emerald eyes.

  Director Parkinson cleared her throat.

  Shit. I had to stop thinking about the mistake I’d made the night before and focus on my task. Because that was what kissing Lissa had been: a mistake. The innocence I found so damn appealing was the exact reason I should forget all about her. She needed a nice, responsible Dom to guide her into the world of BDSM. And I wasn’t that man.

  “I’m with you,” I told Parkinson coolly, forcing most of my thoughts to hone in on my reason for being in the headquarters of the Chicago unit of the FBI. “I’ve been with you for quite some time,” I added drily. “Are your people ready for me to move in on Salvation or not? You’ve had me on point here for a month and I haven’t even spoken to the anarchists.”

  She pursed her thin lips, bristling. “I know you’re on loan from Washington, but while you’re here you answer to me. You’ll go into the field when I say it’s time.” Her eyes roved over my face, studying me with disdain. “I need you sharp for this. And to be honest, you don’t look like you’re on your game. Were you out drinking last night?”

  My shoulders rose and fell negligently. “I just haven’t had my coffee yet.”

  A lie. My flask was too light in my pocket. It needed refilling.

  I’d hit it hard after leaving Dusk. Getting drunk helped blur the memory of the smoking hot little blonde who had tempted me with her sweet scent and pliant mouth.

  Focus, Holmes. My attempts to blot her out obviously hadn’t worked; she still ensnared my mind.

  “And I’m not on loan,” I continued smoothly, my busy thoughts barely breaking up my words. Hangover or not, I was competent enough to multitask. “The purpose of the National Joint Terrorism Task Force is to orchestrate interagency cooperation to stop terrorist threats. I’m here to coordinate with your team; I’m not on your team anymore. While I’m on this op, I consult with you when necessary, not when you say.”

  If I gave Parkinson an inch, she would be bossing me around and screwing with my op the whole time I was here, just like she used to do when I was part of her unit. Now, I preferred to stick to my own methods. They weren’t always strictly by the book, and I didn’t need the director interfering with that.

  She stiffened. “This is our lead, Holmes. We’ve been working on it for months. You can’t just come in here and take over.”

  I straightened my shoulders, filling the space around me so I loomed over her. It worked on subs, and it worked to intimidate even the toughest people in the Bureau. “This is bigger than your pride, so I suggest you put it aside unless you want to get a lot of people killed. You want to take these bastards down. The best way to do that is by working with me, not getting in my way.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, but after a moment she gave me a tight nod. “Okay, you call the shots once you’re in the field. It’s time for you to move in. Let me brief you on where we are now with the investigation.”

  Our little pissing contest over, I returned her nod. So long as she remembered that I wasn’t one of hers to command anymore, we would get along just fine.

  “I understand you’ve been in communication with Salvation for some time now.” I directed the conversation back to the op, relaxing my posture to give her a reprieve from my overt intimidation tactics.

  She relaxed as well. “Yes. Salvation.” She grimaced around the word. “We’ve been monitoring their website for three months now. It’s full of radical propaganda. They believe America has become a godless, corrupt nation, and they plan to ‘purify’ it. We had our tech team open email communication with them, posing as a supporter of the group who wants to help. That was five weeks ago, and we finally have an invitation to meet. That’s where you come in.”

  “I should have been in on this a month ago,” I asserted. I’d been forced to sit around doing nothing while the desk jockeys set up the op. Dusk had been a welcome place to pass the time. But I’d had it with fucking around, literally and figuratively. I needed action, purpose. Allowing myself to kiss Lissa proved how badly I needed something to occupy my mind.

  “Their emails have mentioned ‘taking action’ and have implied that they have ‘contacts’ to help them accomplish their goals,” I pressed, urging Parkinson to see that it was time for me to get to work. “They could lead us to a larger terrorist network. I need to infiltrate their group and find out if they’re a real threat.” I didn’t give her a chance to argue. “What’s my cover story?”

  “I’ll let Hassan brief you on that,” she said, glancing at her watch with an irritated flick of her wrist. “He should be here by now.”

  “He’s here,” a Middle Eastern accented voice said. I glanced to my right to see a tall, swarthy man striding toward us at a pace that was a bit faster than was natural. He was in a rush to catch up.

  “You’re late,” Parkinson criticized.

  Hassan’s white teeth flashed against his darkly tanned skin. “Did you really expect me to be on time?”

  “I always expect you to be on time, but you never are,” she said tersely. “This is Ian Holmes from the NJTTF,” she introduced me. “Agent Holmes, this is Oded Hassan. He’s going to be your primary point of contact for this op. If I don’t fire his ass for incompetence.”

  Hassan shrugged. “I’m not incompetent. I’m brilliant, and you know it.”

  Parkinson snorted. “If you’re so brilliant, you should be able to read a watch.”

  “I don’t work in analog,” he retorted.

  “Use your phone, then,” she snapped. “You’re supposed to be the tech whiz. I’d think you could at least read a digital clock.”

  He shook his head, his shoulder-length black curls bouncing slightly. “You’re making me look bad in front of Agent Holmes. You don’t want him telling Washington that the Chicago unit really is incompetent.” His black eyes sparkled as he baited her.

  Parkinson grunted in exasperation. The tightly controlled woman who had tried to face off against me was coming unraveled when faced with Hassan’s flippancy.

  He turned his attention to me, extending his hand for me to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you face to face, Agent Holmes. From your emails, I understand you’d rather we’d acted sooner. I don’t blame you for that. It’ll be good to take out these anarchist assholes. I’m the one who’s been emailing them, and they believe in some pretty fucked-up stuff.”

  “I’m assuming the tone of your emails hasn’t betrayed your distaste. Otherwise they won’t trust me.”

  Hassan’s eyes widened with earnestness. “Oh, no. They thoroughly believe that I’m on their side. Well, that you’re on their side, that is. You’re supposed to have been the one emailing them. I’ll pass all the communications to you so you can establish your cover.”

  “And what is that, exactly?” I asked.

  “Your name is Isaac Holloway. You’re a radical Christian who believes America is corrupt and needs to be reminded of the might of the Lord. You’re a racist, misogynist, homophobe, and all-around dickbag.”

  “How much time do I have to prepare?”

  “The meet is scheduled three days from now. We’ll get you set up in a motel.”

  I carefully hid my distaste. “A motel?”

  “Salvation expect you to be travelling to Chicago from Iowa, so we can’t put you in an apartment. Isaac isn’t exactly a one-p
ercenter. He wouldn’t be able to afford somewhere nice.”

  “Got it,” I agreed tersely. I’d stayed in some pretty rough places during my five years with the FBI, and even rougher ones in my two years with the NJTTF, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed that particular part of the job.

  I really should retire to some cushy desk position. I immediately rejected the thought. I needed to be out in the field. Ever since I lost Marie, I needed a purpose to keep me going every day.

  I winced. Even after two years, thinking about her caused the hole in my heart to expand painfully.

  I need another drink. Better yet, a good fuck. The memory of Lissa’s cotton and lavender scent teased across my mind. Guilt followed immediately after. She was too innocent for what I wanted from her.

  Innocent like Marie. I wouldn’t put another woman in the line of fire ever again. One night was all I had to offer, and Lissa deserved better than that. She was new to the lifestyle, and she’d already had one bad experience with that douchebag Master C. Despite her ability to defend herself physically, she had a delicacy about her that told me she wouldn’t be able to handle rejection after her first real BDSM scene. She would need aftercare, intimacy, and that wasn’t something I could give her.

  Forget about her. I couldn’t afford any distractions. I had a job to do, and fixating on some woman I barely knew could cost me my life if I didn’t maintain my focus. Letting my mind wander in a meeting was one thing. Losing it in the field would be catastrophic. Isaac Holloway didn’t kiss gorgeous, green-eyed submissives. He hated women.

  Hatred came naturally to me. I’d hated myself for two years. It wouldn’t be difficult to create my cover persona.

  Chapter 3

  Lissa

  Three. Freaking. Days. I gave my body opponent bag a particularly hard punch to punctuate each word as they resounded in my head. Three days had passed since I kissed Ian, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I was mortified at my behavior, but my body still burned for him. I found myself fantasizing about meeting him again at Dusk, and I replayed our kiss in my mind to an obsessive degree.

  This is my crazy brain messing with me, I reminded myself for the thousandth time. Bipolar Disorder made my emotions swing ruthlessly in different directions. I’d had enough therapy that I could recognize when it was happening. With my meds, I could resist the pull of the mood swings. Usually.

  I delivered a particularly brutal punch to the flesh-colored, frowning man who represented my opponent. I’d always turned to martial arts to channel the wilder, darker parts of myself. The controlled precision of the movements helped me feel in control of my emotions.

  Unfortunately, Krav Maga didn’t seem to be helping today. I stepped back from the punching bag and fell into the more deeply ingrained movements of Taekwondo. I’d taken it up when I first started therapy at sixteen, and the familiarity of the sport typically served to calm me when my more recent hobby—Krav Maga—failed to help.

  Ian’s sinfully sweet taste on my tongue. The strength of his fingers around my wrists, his fist in my hair.

  My heavy ponytail swayed as I jerked my head in irritation. I knew this fixation wasn’t natural, but I couldn’t seem to get over it. I hated the loss of control.

  Control. It was the whole reason I’d gone to Dusk in the first place. I’d hoped giving control to someone else would grant me a reprieve from the strain of constantly keeping my moods in check. Instead, it had just made everything worse.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” My mom asked.

  I spun to face her, breathing heavily from fruitless exertion. “Just working out. What are you doing down here?” It wasn’t like her to come into the basement and interrupt me when I was trying to get a handle on myself. She knew I needed time to process things or I might lash out for no good reason.

  Just like I lashed out at Master C. My humiliation at my behavior that night burned hotter. I hadn’t been that unrestrained in years. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

  “You’ve been at it for over an hour. I thought you might need to talk,” she said, her green eyes kind.

  “I don’t want to talk,” I told her. I wasn’t about to admit to my mother that I’d gone to a sex club.

  The fine lines around her mouth deepened. “Have you been taking your meds?”

  “Yes, Mom,” I replied with a roll of my eyes. I never missed a dose, and she knew it. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need you nagging me about it all the time.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You might be twenty-three, but you’re still my little girl. And you’re still living under my roof. I worry about you. Don’t snap at me for that.”

  I sighed. My emotions were getting the better of me. Again. “Sorry. I promise I’m taking my meds, but I’m having a hard time right now.”

  She softened. “You should talk to Alik. He’ll help you work through it.”

  I nodded. Seeing my therapist was definitely what I needed. And he wouldn’t judge me when I told him where I had gone. Heck, he was the one who suggested I explore my forbidden desires. Alik knew what was best for me.

  “I think I will,” I agreed. “I’ll call him soon. I’m going to train for a little while longer.”

  “Not too long. You look exhausted already.”

  Mom pulled me in for a hug, completely unconcerned with my sweat-dampened tank top. Her unconditional love washed over me, giving me some sense of security. I wrapped my arms around her.

  “Thanks. I love you,” I said gratefully.

  “I love you, too, little Lissa. Don’t forget to call Alik.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. I couldn’t wait to talk through everything with him. Over the years, he’d become a close friend.

  Alik will make everything better, the guiding voice inside my head assured me.

  Alik leaned forward in his chair, his posture communicating the open interest he always showed me. He’d worked me into his schedule in a matter of hours. He truly cared about me, and I secretly thought we shared a closer bond than he did with his other patients.

  “Why did you need to see me today, Lissa?” he asked, reaching out to squeeze my hand. Calm instantly settled over me, and I opened up to him with practiced ease.

  “I went to Dusk. It… didn’t go well.”

  His expression remained neutral, completely unfazed by my admission that I had ventured to a BDSM club. But then again, he wouldn’t be; he had been the one to suggest I go there.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I drew in a deep breath and dived in. “Master C turned out to be a total ass. Well, after I punched him. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “You lost control,” he said, taking it in stride. “Why?”

  “He grabbed me, and I just reacted on instinct. I know I shouldn’t have, but he didn’t take it well.”

  “He provoked you further?”

  “I didn’t touch him again. I was able to keep myself in check. But then this other guy stepped in and took care of the situation for me. Ian.” I lingered over his name.

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  I blushed, remembering my extreme lustful reaction. “I liked it. I liked him. I practically threw myself at him. Then he pulled away and left. I think I did something to piss him off. Now I can’t stop thinking about him. When I think about missing out on the chance to get to know him, I want to cry. But that’s my Bipolar kicking in, right?”

  Alik cocked his head, his black eyes studying me intently. “We can’t help who we’re attracted to,” he said kindly. “How did he make you feel when you were with him? What makes him so special?”

  I paused, considering. “He was really confident, but I could tell he respected me. He wasn’t cocky in a grating way. And we had this intense physical connection,” I told him without a hint of embarrassment. I trusted my therapist completely.

  “Did you sleep with him?” Alik asked incisively.

  “No! You know I don’t sleep with strangers. We on
ly kissed, but it was, like, electric. You know?”

  “You were aroused,” he concluded. “Why do you think that is?”

  I took a moment to think it through, examining the memory of Ian’s scorching kiss. “It was like that ‘Have I met you somewhere before?’ cliché, but more than that. He felt… familiar. Right. I don’t know how to describe it.”

  “Let’s explore that.” Alik’s voice dropped deeper at the end of the last, giving it the ring of command.

  “Okay.” I was accustomed to following his instructions as part of my modified Neuro-linguistic Programming therapy. Ever since I started seeing him seven years earlier, NLP had helped regulate my disorder.

  Never letting go of his hand, I lay back on the couch and closed my eyes. His thumb brushed across my palm, and I relaxed into the cushions.

  “Do you remember when we talked about your interest in being sexually dominated?” he began.

  “Yes,” I said evenly, already falling into the trance state where Alik would help me sort out my feelings.

  “You want to give up control. You want to be dominated. You thought Ian could give that to you.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I did. I gave up control.”

  “And how did that feel?”

  “Wonderful,” I sighed. “But then it was over, and now I’m a mess. I think it made things worse.”

  “I’ll make you feel better,” he promised, his slight Eastern European accent rolling around the words. The familiarity of his foreign cadence was soothing. “Take a deep breath. Feel yourself relax, and open your mind.” He began the well-practiced induction, squeezing my hand gently as he spoke.

  A rush of fresh oxygen expanded my lungs. I held it there for several seconds, then released it. All tension left me on the exhale, and I settled into the peaceful state where Alik would take control of my emotions for me, where he would guide me to the right course of action. I fell out of space and time, until I barely existed at all. It was incredibly freeing after my days of turmoil.