by Brynne Asher
When I’m home by myself, whether I’m working or pondering, this is where I am.
It’s quiet and peaceful, a place where I can pretend I don’t have a care in the world.
I fold my legs underneath me in the deep, white slipcovered chair and stare at Reunion Tower as it winks at me through the reflection of the Trinity River.
When I’m more than halfway through my massive glass of wine and getting sleepy since I had two normal-sized ones before this, there’s a knock at my door.
My head whips around because no one ever knocks on my door. The building has around-the-clock security in the lobby and every guest is announced. It’s one of the reasons I bought this place despite my father calling it a cement pit from hell. But he loves his dirt so, of course, he wouldn’t approve.
I grab my cell and set my wine down on my way to the door. Padding across my floors silently on bare feet, I get to my door just in time to pull up the security on my phone. Right when I click on the hallway closed-circuit camera, I see and hear him at the same time, rapping an additional three impatient knocks.
Eli.
What the hell?
My heart pounds and I’m not sure if I should be grateful or nervous that he’s alone. Just when I’m about to call Patrick because I’m not about to speak to him by myself, I see him look up, straight into what is supposed to be a hidden camera over my door.
Looking into my eyes through the screen, he speaks loud enough where I can hear him both through my phone and the door. “I just want to talk to you. You don’t have to say anything, but I need you to listen.”
Well, shit. I shouldn’t want to hear what he has to say.
But I do.
And I hate myself for it.
Chapter 5
Boldest of the Prophets
Eli
This is the gray area I’m usually so comfortable working in. Pushing the boundaries, doing the right thing but going about it unconventionally. Over the last few years, I’ve taken that area between magnetic north and true north and redefined it. Hell, I’ve made it my bitch.
But coercing my way into a building with my federal credentials after I was taken off the case is pushing it—even for me. That shit may fly on TV, but not in real life.
I notice her security cameras as soon as I step off the elevator. They aren’t complete shit and most wouldn’t recognize them for what they are—but I’ve planted enough cameras in my day, I should know.
Giving her door three more hard raps, I look up into the camera and repeat myself. “You don’t have to say anything, but I need you to listen.”
I wait.
Nothing.
I raise my voice. “I know you’re in there. I saw your family leave.”
Still nothing.
I sigh and bang on her door one more time with my fist, holding it there. “I’m not leaving until you hear me out, Jensen.”
That does it. I hear the lock thrown and she swings the door open—her face angry and her hair in a mess pulled high on her head. She’s even a little flushed, just not the way I prefer making a woman flush, but definitely the way a woman gets when she’s pissed.
The other clue she’s pissed is that she holds a finger up to me.
Damn. The index finger.
Somehow, I bite back my smile. Jensen Montgomery has a fire inside her and I hope to hell and back this shit gets cleared up soon so I can experience it in other ways.
“Do not call me Jensen.”
This time I can’t hide my smile. “Noted.”
Leaning on the door frame, I take a second to look her over. She seems smaller, probably no taller than five-seven on bare feet and she’s in a pair of ripped jeans that are snug around her slim hips and loose everywhere else. Her t-shirt, on the other hand, fits her like a second skin. But what I like most of all is she’s makeup free and by far the most beautiful at this moment of all the times I’ve seen her. I regret the fact I can’t touch her.
“You’re watching my building? I’m under surveillance?”
I tip my head. “Not that kind of surveillance.”
I push off the doorjamb and move to step inside, but she puts a palm up. “You’re not coming in. Stay right there. I have a camera recording your every move. Now, say what you have to say and leave. I’ve had a shit day and I’m ready for it to be over.”
I lean back onto the doorframe. “You didn’t call me.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you deranged? You’re the FBI. After the last two days, why in the hell would I call you?”
I fold my arms. “I was taken off your case today.”
Her eyes flare but she says nothing. Smart.
“Not because of last Saturday,” I go on. “I don’t know who you’ve told about our time on the dance floor, but no one at the FBI knows about that.”
Mirroring my stance, she crosses her arms, challenging the threads of her already skin-tight tee and I have to force myself to focus on her copper-brown eyes.
“Don’t say anything. Just listen.”
“I’m not an idiot and I’m innocent. Use that against me in the court of law, Elijah.” She throws my name at me as if it’s a curse word.
I can’t help but hope she’s right on both counts and try to calm her. “I’m trying to do you a favor here. Are you going to hear me out?”
“I don’t know what favor you can do for me, but you’re down to four minutes.”
Shaking my head, I lay it out for her. “I’m not completely breaking the rules since your attorneys will get everything when discovery is presented. Bree got the search warrant based on those shell companies. Do you own some investment companies dealing in natural gas?”
She says nothing but shifts her weight. I’ll take that as a yes.
“Well, those shell companies that have been buying up shares of Birmingham Refining are tied to one of your investment companies in Delaware, which just happens to be the easiest state to set up shell corporations with little scrutiny.”
I swear, that made the color drain from her face.
I go on. “I told you I’m new here and that wasn’t a lie. I’ve only worked with Bree for a week, but she has tunnel vision. She’s putting all her cards on the fact you’re acting alone. Depending on where you were the night of February nineteenth around eight-thirty when those corps were created online, that’s a crack in your case.”
Her expression changes to one of cautious curiosity.
I lower my voice. “Check the date and times when those dummy corporations were filed and compare them to your whereabouts.”
This time she exhales as her face falls.
“I assume someone in your position probably keeps a pretty tight schedule and you still have a record of where you were months ago.”
I instantly lose her eyes and she focuses on her phone, skimming across the screen a hundred miles an hour. When she finds what she’s looking for, her eyes pause before jumping to my face. Right now, she’s completely transparent and I know what I see is my doing. After a shit day, I gave her this.
Relief.
An extrication.
Fuck. Even a balm to her soul.
Her tongue sneaks out to wet her dry lips, making me itch to taste them.
“Why did you come here to tell me this?”
I take a breath, deciding how to answer. “Do you know who I am?”
She frowns.
“I’d tell you to Google me, but the tap on you is probably still live, so don’t. They’re monitoring your internet activity.”
Her frown deepens.
I lean in and lower my voice. “I don’t like bad guys, Jen. I’ve been known to go to great lengths to put them away.”
“That still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
“I also don’t like lazy investigators or innocent people being wrongly accused. Shit like that gets under my skin and burns like a nasty rash.”
Her arms fall dramatically to her sides. “So, you believe I’m innocent?”
> I hitch a shoulder. “Bree’s essentially accusing you of stealing from your own family. Why would you do that if you’re being groomed to take over the empire? From what I’ve seen, I think Bree’s investigation wasn’t thorough and I’ve said so. That’s why I was taken off your case. I don’t give a shit about stats or what might make the news, but some supervisors are greedy like that. I’m still trying to figure out my new co-workers—I can’t be certain, but more could’ve been done.”
Her eyes drop, unfocused to my chest. “I see.”
“Jen?”
She looks back to me.
“My intuition is usually spot-on but, when it comes to you, I’m not sure I can trust my instincts.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I take a step, crossing her threshold, but she doesn’t budge. She tips her head back and I’m so close, I can see the gold flecks in her eyes and smell her perfume that seeps through my senses. “Because while I was supposed to be doing surveillance on you, I got too close. I talked to you when I was supposed to be watching you. Then I did something I’ve never done before and lost my mind while working a case.”
“That’s why you were upset after we danced?” she guesses.
That’s an understatement. “Yeah. To say the least, I was upset with myself.”
She swallows and nods, her eyes wandering from my eyes to my jaw and then to my neck.
“Jen,” I call for her and she looks up. “Even though my instincts have been cloudy when it comes to you, I don’t think you created those dummy corporations.” I lean in, closing what little distance remains between us. No camera or microphone can pick up what I say. I brush her ear with my nose and feel her warm breath hitch and then grace the side of my face when I whisper, “You need to prove you’re innocent and, if you are, I plan to help with that.”
She says nothing but nods and when she does, her hair brushes my skin, reminding me what it was like when she was in my arms and how much I want her there again.
I really fucking need her to be innocent.
I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out the prepaid cell I bought on my way over here. Making myself move away, I lean back only far enough to look at her and shove the phone between us. “Your lines are tapped. You can call or text me from this phone whenever you want. But Jen, from now on, answer the fucking phone when it rings. It’ll only be me.”
She looks down at the cheap prepaid cell I put in her hand and her voice is small, like she’s talking to herself, “I don’t know if I should trust you.”
Tired of fighting that control I thought I had a strong hold on, I give in and put my hand low on her hip, giving her a squeeze.
“I don’t know for sure if you’re innocent, so we’re even.”
Her features turn determined. “I am innocent, Eli.”
“Then you can trust me, Jen,” I counter.
She sighs. “I’m used to proving myself. I’ve had to do it all my life—show everyone I’m deserving of what I’m given.”
I don’t take my hand away when I add, “Well, this time you’ll have my help. If you’re smart, you’ll take it. From what I’ve read on you, you’re pretty damn smart.”
She tips her head. “You’ve read up on me?”
“Jensen, I investigated you.”
“Don’t call me Jensen.”
This time I don’t try to fight it—I smile. “My five minutes are up. In case you didn’t keep it, I programmed my number into that phone.”
“I memorized it,” she admits.
My smile turns into a grin. “Now I feel special.”
She stands straighter and puts her hand on top of mine that’s still on her hip, but she doesn’t pull me away. She gives me a firm grasp and she’s back to business. “You shouldn’t. I retain numbers, it’s how my brain works. Trust me, I’ve tried to forget it. And up until two minutes ago, I hated you.”
“See? Subconsciously, you wanted to call me.”
She shakes her head and pulls my hand from her body. I miss her already when she shoves it away and takes a step back.
Jen grips the door in one hand and is ready to shut it on me as I leave her with one last solid reminder. “You’d better take my calls. If not, I’ll be forced to track you down. And sometimes, like today when I called your office to warn you Bree was on her way with an arrest warrant, time is of the essence.”
Her eyes widen slightly with the news I’d tried to give her a heads-up. My warning wasn’t going to change anything, but she could have at least rounded up her attorneys.
“Yeah,” I add. “From now on, I hope you’ll answer.”
“Your five minutes are up.”
“I’ll talk to you soon.” I lean in one more time while I have the opportunity. When my lips brush her ear, I warn on a whisper, “Answer the phone.”
I step out of her doorway just in time to catch a glimpse of her small frown right before the door slams in my face like a metaphor for what she most likely dreamed of doing since she walked off the dance floor Saturday night. But tonight, I’m not worried.
Tonight, I’m almost positive she’s innocent and pretty sure she’ll take my calls from now on. But more importantly, I’m one hundred percent sure I want her when I haven’t allowed myself to want anyone in years.
As I turn for the elevator, I wonder how far I’ll have to go to make that happen.
*****
Jen
I listen to If I Ran the Zoo by Dr. Seuss being read in the background as Donny frowns at me from about five feet away. Ignoring them all, I click on the browser.
Elijah Pettit, FBI.
I hit enter and wait. Damn, the public library needs a faster router. If anything grates on my nerves, it’s slow internet.
Finally, the results pop up and there’re a shitload. The Washington Post, The New York Times, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal just to name a few, not to mention every other media outlet in the country.
Holy shit. He wasn’t kidding when he said I should Google him.
I click on an article from The Washington Post dated two months ago and after the wheels of motion take time off my life, pictures of him slowly unveil before my eyes.
Eli fills the screen—tall and domineering, wearing black cargo pants, combat boots with a black tee under a bulletproof vest. Besides the gun strapped to his waist, he’s holding a rifle while standing amidst others dressed just like him and he’s focused on something from behind his aviators.
The next picture is Eli walking out of a building surrounded by woods, holding a handcuffed man by the arm who looks worse for wear, and directing him to a police car.
When I scroll further, my breath catches. Eli, dressed in a black suit and crisp white dress shirt with a blue tie the color of a perfect dusky evening, is in court, sitting on the stand testifying. His dark hair is perfectly smoothed besides one pesky curl that doesn’t want to cooperate. It’s kissing his forehead, unruly like the middle child who’s different and not like the others.
Sort of like me.
Scrolling further, the story to support the pictures unravels.
For two years, Special Agent Elijah Pettit with the Federal Bureau of Investigation went deep undercover for the second time in his career. Acting the part of a recruit in the MacLachlan crime family, he obtained critical information that built one of the largest RICO cases our country has seen in decades. Racketeering, money laundering, embezzlement, fraud, drug trafficking, murder, and murder-for-hire are just some of the charges brought against the crime boss, Ronald MacLachlan, and his son, Weston MacLachlan, as well as many others inside the organization.
Pettit brings a special skill set to the Bureau. With a degree from Harvard University, he specializes in financial and white-collar crimes. His supervisors describe his sharp intellect combined with top-notch tactical skills as a lethal weapon while undercover. The files, key information obtained through hidden mics and cameras, and his eyewitness accounts of what he saw while acting as a recruit,
were all critical to the open-and-shut case the United States Attorney was able to bring against many in the MacLachlan organization. Guilty verdicts and maximum sentences were delivered yesterday in court, making this case one of the largest and most impactful in RICO history.
I keep reading—more about the MacLachlan case Eli made such a difference on and prior cases where he was able to offer his business-savvy mindset with acute instincts. How victims who were wronged by the MacLachlan family coined Elijah Pettit a modern-day hero—brave and daring to insert himself in the situations he did. The article ends with a quote from a seventy-six-year-old victim who lost all of his investments through an embezzlement scheme by one of MacLachlan’s side companies, saying, “Pettit is not unlike the bravest of all God’s prophets, Elijah, who stood up in a time where idolatry swept our land. I’ll always be grateful for our modern-day Elijah, the brave man who made sure my wife and I were given back our hard-earned retirement.”
I scroll back up and memorize the pictures of Eli, the contemporary prophet who helped good overcome evil. But when I zoom in on the picture of him in his FBI entry gear, his big hand wrapped around his firearm, all I can think about is the night when those hands were on me. When he teased my skin, ground his body into mine, and when I felt his breath on my face.
My cell vibrates on the computer table at the library where I feel like a sneaky teenager searching porn in a place where my parents won’t find my search history. Except in this scenario, my parents are the federal government who are spying on me with court-approved wiretaps and Eli Pettit is my dirty little secret.
Eli was right. If I’m being tapped, I couldn’t exactly use my own devices to research the sexy-yet-confusing agent who takes down entire crime families in a single bound, but who can also make me warm in the place I’ve recently started referring to as the forbidden land, because it’s been that long.
When I look to my screen it’s Patrick and I pick up my phone and speak low so I don’t disrupt storytime. “Hey, sorry I’m not in yet. I worked from home this morning, but I’m on my way now.”
