by Isabel Jolie
I don’t really quite know why I’m here. I had a shit day. An overwhelming day. I didn’t want to go home. Or even the gym. I wanted to see Sydney. But you can’t share that kind of shit when you’re in a new relationship.
“Chase, are you okay?” She touches my arm. I exhale the day’s exhaust. All the bullshit seeps away. Does she know the effect she has when she touches me?
“Can we go inside?”
“Yeah, sure.” Her head turns left and right as she takes the steps up to the apartment building door. I look up and down the street, like she does, but don’t see anything unusual. There’s a homeless person leaning against a trash can at the end of the block. He or she has been pretty still. Hasn’t moved since I got here. And there’s a guy sitting in a car down the street. He’s parked illegally, so I figure he’s waiting for a spot to open up. Finding free street parking in Manhattan is not for amateurs.
I follow her inside. It’s my first time inside her apartment building. The black and white tile floor bears the standard New York grunge look. The grout between the tile is black, but there are spots of lighter gray grout, proof that a long-ass time ago all the grout was white. There’s a metal mailbox with slots for all the residents. She opens one of the narrow doors with a tiny key. There are a few fliers inside. Her mail slot is the only one in the row without a name below the number. She glances at the fliers and tosses them in the round blue recycling bin placed conveniently by the mailboxes.
There are stairs leading up, but she bypasses those, and we walk down a narrow hall to an elevator. She presses the number four, and we wait. And wait.
“It takes forever. Want to just take the stairs?” she asks.
“Sure.”
I follow her up, sort of hating the cardigan wrap sweater thing she’s wearing, as it falls midthigh, completely hiding that firm, perfectly shaped butt of hers. Not that I’ve spent a lot of time looking at it, but we do go to the same gym. And I did get a chance to have my hands all over it, all over her, this past weekend.
If I’m honest, I’m hoping to get to reacquaint myself with all her body parts again tonight. It’s been a long time since I wanted to see a woman immediately after a hook-up, or a date. But Sydney’s not a random hook-up. There’s depth to her. She’s intelligent. Driven. She holds back from sharing too much in a way that reminds me of myself. I’d bet she’s been hurt before.
Hell, it would be smarter to walk the other way given we work together, but I’m drawn to her. I like being around her. My life is a shitstorm, and for some reason, I find myself clinging to her as if she’s a life raft. Instead of going home, I came to her place and sat on her doorstep. During that wedding, foreign emotions were piping up. What I’m feeling is more than lust.
The timing sucks, though. Never in my life have I been involved in anything this fucked up. It’s unnerving. Jackson has me taking enormous steps to protect myself. He’s convinced they’re setting me up as the fall guy, and he says even if they aren’t, I’ll be a suspect. Me, a suspect. The worst I’ve ever done is buy some ganja from a guy who knows a guy.
Inside, I’m a fucking ball of nerves. On edge. I should be having dinner with Anna and Jackson. Hanging with friends. Letting them tell me it’s all going to be all right. But I’m here. Climbing four flights of stairs to be near Sydney. My friend? Girlfriend? Are we going there?
She unlocks the door to her apartment, and from behind her I push it open. As soon as she’s inside, I follow, closing the door and flipping the deadbolt with a click.
“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” Her fingers caress my jaw, and that’s it. I snap.
My lips fall to hers, and I back her against the wall. She’s slow to respond at first, caressing my back. I grind into her, and within seconds, her legs wrap around me, welcoming me into her core. And fuck, this right here is what I need. I need to sink into her right now. If only she was wearing a skirt. But no, she’s in full-on workout gear.
“Bedroom?” I grunt, teasing her nipple through the thick material. She returns the favor, massaging the outline of my erection through my khakis, and I know we’re on the same page.
“Down the hall.”
I break from the kiss and hoist her higher around my waist. For the first time, I glance around her apartment. It’s a standard nothing one bedroom. We’re standing in her den, there’s a kitchen behind me, a short hall and a door at the end of it. That’s where we’re going.
She kisses along my neck, sucking on my earlobe, driving me fucking crazy as I charge toward her bed. I don’t bother with the light. I set her down on the comforter and toss off my jacket, then pull my t-shirt over my head. She’s still at first, watching me, then she springs to action, removing her sweater. She performs arm stretches to spring herself free of that jog bra. There’s no way to get a woman out of one of those things easily. I would’ve taken her with it on. But damn if seeing those breasts doesn’t make my already hard erection harder. All blood heads south, and I have no thought other than slamming into her.
I undo my buckle, kick off my sneakers, and drop my slacks as she rises on the bed to wiggle out of those Lycra leggings. She pushes the leggings and her panties down those long, lean legs where they crowd her ankles. I reach for her feet and drag off each shoe. She’s naked before me, but I’m mesmerized by those dark, hungry, alert eyes of hers. She wants me as much as I want her, and damn if that isn’t one powerful aphrodisiac.
She crawls backward on her elbows, pushing those round, perfect breasts out toward me, with a sexy as all get out, come hither look. I bend down, lift a condom out of my wallet, fist it, then crawl up the bed to her.
She spreads her legs, making room for me, as I trail kisses along her smooth inner thighs. My plan had been to take her hard and fast. But she’s offering herself up. And we’ve slowed down.
Sydney waxes. I stop, hovering over her core, placing kisses, then take in her smell. I love her sexual scent.
She wiggles and tugs on my arm, attempting to pull me up to her.
“I’ve been at the gym. You don’t want to do that.”
I lick my lower lip. She thinks a little sweat’s going to bother me? Oh, no. It’s like a salty dessert. I slide my tongue inside her, and she moans, spreading her legs further. Yeah, baby likes that. I find the precious little button that will send her over the top and coax it with my tongue, as I finger her. Her back curves up off the mattress. She’s so close, I can feel it. I’m learning her body, her tells.
“I want you. Now. Fuck me, Chase.”
Fuck. I rip open the condom, slide it on, and place myself at her entrance. I pause, but baby doesn’t want to wait. She lifts her hips to meet me. I look in her eyes and slide straight home.
“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight.”
“No, you, Chase, right there.” She’s thrusting up to me with her hips, guiding me. Fuck, she’s perfect.
Then she flips me over onto my back and takes over.
“Holy shit. Yes. However you want,” I tell her, and I mean it because there is nothing like watching her take charge, owning it. If she wants to use me for an orgasm, I’ll let her any day. The only problem I have as I pinch her nipples and make her moan, as I raise my hips to pound into her, is that she feels so fucking good I’m going to come, and I have to stop staring at her to make it last. The moment she stills and angles forward, groaning, I let go. And fuck, that release.
She collapses onto my chest, and I hold her. This, this is what I needed. Sydney, naked in my arms, spent. All the fucking worry of the day gone.
I kiss her. Run my fingers through her hair, slide off the band holding it back so it spills forward.
She rolls off me onto her side, and I slip out of her.
“My hair.” she mutters, running her fingers through it and pushing if off her face, behind an ear.
“You’re gorgeous. Always.” I place a kiss between her breasts and climb off the bed to take care of the condom. “Stay here.”
When I return to
the room, feeling a whole lot fucking better, she’s under the covers, leaning back on pillows. I join her beneath the covers and pull her delectable tight body to my side. She positions herself so she can play with my chest hairs, strumming her fingers lightly through them. It feels fucking amazing. She’s amazing. I kiss her forehead.
“So, where were you today?”
I groan. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Ah, fuck. I suppose getting all this off my chest is the other reason I came over here.
“I was in the FBI headquarters.”
“What?” She lifts her head off my chest to stare at me. I want her cuddled against me, so I maneuver her back down.
“Yeah, remember how I told you if I were you, I’d leave BB&E?”
“Yes.” She’s tentative, drawing the word out as she answers.
“Well, I’ve pulled in lawyers like I told you. As a precaution. I might be being paranoid, but the whole thing doesn’t sit right with me. I told Jackson. Now, he’s a lawyer, so you know the type. Super cautious. But he hooked me up with some defense lawyers from his old firm. Next thing I know, they’ve got me sitting in a room at New York FBI headquarters.”
“Who’d you meet with?”
“FBI agents. Real fucking agents. With guns. Real guns. Like, you wouldn’t believe it. But not as cool as in the movies. A lot of them weren’t even in great shape, you know, pudgy.”
She lifts her head again off my chest. “Which department did you meet with?”
“General? My lawyer set up the meeting. They took the information as a tip. Said they’d look into it. Asked me if I’d be willing to testify if it came to it, and I said yeah. Have to tell you, I do feel a bit like a weasel. But I did tell them BB&E might do the right thing. I mean, I can’t imagine they’d go to the FBI, but there could be a press release about errors in reporting, and it could all be handled on the up and up. My legal team, the guys Jackson set me up with, insisted I do this. Said it’s better if I go to the FBI myself, rather than wait until I’m a suspect. They said if I’m right about BB&E, what I’ve done is confidential, and the FBI probably won’t even open it up as a case. But if they have plans of shipping me down the river, letting me take the fall as the corrupt employee, then, I’ve covered my bases.”
She rests her head back down on my chest. “Smart lawyer.”
“Yeah. Never thought I’d be a whistleblower. Anyway, hopefully nothing’s going to come from it.”
“Let’s hope.” She places a kiss on my chest and holds me close. This right here, her naked body against mine, it’s the most perfect sensation.
My vision adjusts to the dim light of her bedroom. Her bedroom’s in the back of the building, and there’s another building not far away. Light from one of the units across the way spills into her bedroom window. It must be a cloudy night, because there’s not much additional light. The walls in the room are bare, painted primer white. There are no photos anywhere. She has one bedside table with a white ceramic lamp. There are no magazines, no books. Our hotel room this past weekend had more character than this room.
“Where’s all your stuff?”
“Hmmm?”
“This room is barren. Do you still have boxes to unpack?” I didn’t really take time to look around when I came in earlier, but I don’t remember seeing any packing boxes.
“Yes, I still have stuff to unpack.”
She places her lips on mine. Soft. Plump. Lips I’m building an addiction for.
“Maybe I can help you?” I don’t like the idea of her living in a shell of a place like this. She’s new to New York, and I want her to get settled in. I want her to stay awhile.
She squirms, and I kiss her. Her thigh slides along mine, and my dick twitches. I roll her over onto her back and kiss her until she’s breathless, massaging her breasts because I can.
“Maybe you can help me…” Damn that seductive smile. This right here, this is what I’ve needed.
Twenty-Four
Sydney
The dark shadow of a male figure rummaging in my bedside table sends me from drowsy to high alert within two seconds. Not wanting to alert the intruder that I’m now awake, I lie perfectly still, muscles tense, ready to pounce. He reaches into the drawer, where I keep one of my handguns. I crouch, weight on my knees and the palms of my hands, ready to leap onto him if he clutches the gun and gain the element of surprise.
He picks up a ballpoint pen. My eyesight adjusts. Details fill in of the sub-six-foot male. “Chase. Holy shit, you scared me.”
“Sorry. I was trying not to wake you, but I wanted to leave you a note. You have no paper anywhere. I should’ve just texted you. I’ll see you at the office, okay?”
“What time is it?”
“A little after five a.m. I need to get in a run this morning. Shhh. Go back to sleep, sexy. I’ll see you later. And don’t forget, we have plans after work. We’ll go straight from there, okay?”
He pulls the comforter back up around my shoulders, kisses my forehead, and I watch his shadow depart. I close my eyes and try to drift back to sleep, but it doesn’t happen. Too much adrenaline pumped through me when I thought a bad guy was rifling through my drawer, searching for my handgun.
I stretch, put on my workout clothes and running shoes, and head out for a run. New York City never sleeps, it’s true, but there are times of day when it’s sleepy and slow. 5:30 a.m. qualifies. The people who are out and about are mostly delivering goods to bodegas or stores, or setting up their sidewalk food carts. The city cacophony, the humankind, rises as the sun does, and beams of light bend around buildings in sharp rays. I round out my run by jumping over the spray of a man’s water hose as he squirts the stretch of sidewalk in front of his deli. He smiles as I do so, and for one brief second, we acknowledge each other. I run on, and he continues, whistling as he sprays.
When I return to the apartment, I check my personal phone before going back for a shower. Sweat pours down my neck, along my chest. My shirt’s drenched. There’s nothing better than the post-run high, the feeling I’m checking everything off my list today, crushing every goal.
I have one text from Hopkins, sent around 11 p.m. last night, telling me to call him. Shit. I press his name, and he answers on the second ring.
“Morning.”
“You alone?”
“Yeeesss.”
“Maitlin didn’t stay at his apartment last night.”
“I know.” I run my fingers through the sweat-drenched hair at the base of my neck and wait.
“Wondered if you’d cop to it.”
“He’s not a suspect.”
“And he’s given us everything we need. He came in through tips.”
“He told me. Did he meet with anyone from Operation Quagmire?”
“No. He and his legal team were long gone before Tips connected his info to us. Unless you want him to end up in WITSEC, you may want to find a way to encourage him to keep his mouth shut.”
“WITSEC? What’s happened?”
“You’ll get a full debriefing tomorrow. So far, everything we’re uncovering is in Chicago. Did you notice anyone or anything suspicious yesterday?”
“No. I walked around on every floor except the executive floor. No one looked at me suspiciously. I didn’t see anyone acting strangely. Have you located Garrick?”
“No. At this point, we’re pretty sure he’s flown the coop.”
“What about his sick calls to the office?”
“He’s probably making them from the Caymans or some tropical locale without extradition. We’ve got an indictment for him, but he’s the one guy I don’t expect to locate tomorrow. Anyway, today’s your last day UC. So, one more day to keep an eye on your lover boy.”
“Ha.” He’s ribbing me. I deserve it. Don’t have a defense. Getting involved with someone while UC doesn’t look good. Hopkins, as my handler, could be making a much bigger deal about this.
“Keep an eye out to
day for anyone packing up files. Anyone watching you. Indictments go out tomorrow, and I want you here, in our offices, got it?”
“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.
