No shit. Too bad for her. I’m not a typical agent.
“Just one hour.” Gabe called after her as she climbed the stairs, not wanting her night to end on a low note. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
Come on sweetheart, work with me here.
Halfway up the stairs, her face averted, she kept climbing. “I’m not really up for it.”
“We need to build on what we started yesterday.” It wasn’t quite bullshit. Especially for her, now, as she stood on the second floor landing and looked down at him with an absent-minded glance that seemed to be more focused on the nightmares that played in her brain than anything in the real world. “Daily workouts are the only way to improve on that hesitation thing.”
Her pause was so protracted, Gabe figured she was about to give him a resounding no. Again.
“Okay. I’ll change.”
His profound relief was a sure sign he’d crossed the boundary line into doing things he hadn’t been hired to do. But he wouldn’t waste time worrying about it. Interacting with her on a personal level, trying to take care of her emotionally, as well as physically, and it mattering so damn much to him that she let him, was just another turn in the path that had been set from the second he’d opened her file.
As he entered the bedroom that he’d claimed on the second floor, Gabe’s watch vibrated with an incoming call from Marvin Paquin, a private investigator who frequently worked with Brandon’s local law firm.
“Hey Marvin,” Gabe said as he answered the call. “I’m going to get Ragno on the line for a conference call. You guys have met before, right?”
“Yep. Via telephone on some of Brandon’s more difficult jobs.”
Ragno picked up immediately, but asked him to hold for a few seconds. As Gabe waited, he undressed, and pulled workout gear from the dresser where he’d unpacked. The conversation with Pic earlier that afternoon had Gabe’s gut telling him he needed eyes on the kid, because serious trouble was brewing. Before leaving the restaurant, a fast bathroom break for Gabe had included a call to Brandon for local assistance. Brandon had suggested placing a hiring call to Marvin Paquin. From what Pic had told Andi, he was heading to the corner of Chartres and Conti Streets to play music on a street corner. Marvin’s eyes had been on Pic shortly after Gabe called him.
Throughout the late afternoon and early evening, Gabe had received reports from Marvin. At the last text message, which Gabe had received while at the gallery, Pic was in a line waiting to get into a shelter.
“Okay,” Ragno said. “I’m back. How did she do at the opening?”
“Fantastic. You have a few minutes to talk with me and Marvin?”
“Sure thing.” Through his earpiece, he heard her clicking on her keyboard. It was an indication of multitasking, which Ragno could do like no one else. After Gabe had talked with Ragno about what he’d discovered in Andi’s journals, her concern for the client had spiked. It hadn’t abated throughout the day, and Gabe’s interaction with Pic, which Gabe had told Ragno about, had Ragno even more interested in the job. She’d told Gabe that she needed to be kept in the loop, and that’s what he was doing by including her on the call.
“Hello, Marvin.” Ragno’s voice slipped into her matter-of-fact tone. “Good to work with you again.”
“You, too.”
“Did Pic make it into a shelter?” Gabe asked.
“Nope,” Marvin said. “He tried two. Going to be in the low forties, upper thirties by morning, as the front comes through. Shelters were full early. Now he’s in the Bywater, heading away from St. Claude. On residential streets. No cheap hotels or shelters in the direction he’s heading that I know of.”
“That’s near where he said he got mugged last night,” Gabe asked. “Right?”
“Yeah. He’s three blocks from there.”
“Any idea where he might be going?” Ragno asked.
“Nope. And he’s not getting anywhere fast. Hacking up a lung. Every hundred yards or so, he sits on the curb with his head on his knees. I could be two yards from him and he wouldn’t notice me. He wouldn’t even notice a second-line parade right now. He’s too sick. Shivering, for God’s sake.”
“You’re close enough to see that?” Ragno asked.
“With binoculars, yeah. I’m two blocks away, on foot, behind a hedge. He’s sitting on a curb, under a streetlight, with his guitar case and backpack on the ground. Arms folded at his stomach. Bent, like he’s fighting off a good puke. Oh hell, he’s vomiting. Look, I know this neighborhood. It’s fighting turf for a few gangs. At any moment, some assholes could give him trouble. If the guy he clocked last night with those knuckles is looking for him now, this kid’s good as dead.”
“That’s why you’re there, Marvin. Cover him,” Gabe said. “Andi would die if he got seriously hurt.”
When Gabe had told Marvin that Pic was a friend of Andi’s, Marvin had said that it ‘tore Brandon up what his brother did to her.’ And then, he’d said to tell her ‘not to worry ‘bout her friend’. At that, Gabe told Marvin that Andi didn’t know about the job. He’d explained the kid was skittish, didn’t want help, and he’d freak out if he knew he was being tailed. Andi didn’t need to know how worried Gabe was that the thugs Pic had fought with the night before had a brass-knuckle inspired vendetta.
Pulling baggier shorts over his impact protection shorts, Gabe asked, “You’re okay with keeping eyes on him through the night, assuming he’s got nowhere to go that’s indoors and safe? I’ve got two agents on rest. If needed, I could send them out.”
“No need for that. I’ve got reinforcements. Plenty of ‘em. Brandon told you about my team?”
Gabe chuckled. “Yeah. Two sons, multiple cousins, and relatives in almost every utility and city agency.”
“Yeah. Sometimes we get resourceful. Pic’s standing. Walking towards the river. My son’s trailing me, three blocks away, in an SUV. I can call in someone else if we need a break. My thinking is, you should let me intercept him. I’ll be diplomatic with him.”
“No. No contact. Give me hourly reports. More frequently if needed,” Gabe said, pulling on a t-shirt.
“Gabe, we’ve got to do something more,” Ragno said.
Gabe thought about the instant fight and wariness in the kid’s eyes. “Not yet.”
“Yo, Gabe. I haven’t worked with you before, but I’m agreeing with Ragno. I’m no softie, but watching this kid hurts. It’s like watching a stray dog, lost in traffic, and not helping. Sure you don’t want me to drop a hundred bucks or so and help him get a room for the night? Hell, he’s so pathetic, I’d take him home.”
Gabe thought about it. Once he figured out the right approach, he’d go the extra mile for Pic. Pic had saved Andi’s life, which was a fact that meant Gabe owed him a big one. But it was a fact Gabe wasn’t supposed to know, because he only knew about Andi’s suicide attempt through reading her journals. The fact that the knowledge was forbidden sure as hell didn’t mean he was going to ignore it.
For now, Marvin’s offer was tempting, but there was no telling how Pic would react. “Nothing yet. Eyes on him, watch his back, and protect if needed. Keep the reports coming.”
By nine p.m., Gabe was in the workout room, dropping two yoga mats to the hardwood floor. Positioning them parallel to each other near the treadmill, he dropped a couple of towels within easy reach.
From the doorway, Andi said, “I’m not sure I’m up for this.”
Heartbeat accelerating by just looking at her, he drank her in. Snug white tank-top. Black micro shorts that barely covered an inch of her thighs. Not much else. Just creamy skin, gentle curves, and big eyes that revealed uncertainty.
Gabe tried not to focus on the sliver of abs that showed between her tank top and her shorts. Or her long, creamy-skinned, lean legs. Her lips carried a hint of the reddish lipstick she’d worn for the party. The makeup she’d worn was almost gone, but she looked even prettier. She had her tennis shoes in one hand, hanging from her index fingers. A pair of socks were balle
d in her other hand.
“Really not sure about this,” she emphasized.
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. Put on your shoes. Tyre?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going silent. Yell up the stairs if you need me.”
“Will do.”
He pulled off his earpiece, but left his watch on. The watch would receive texts. It would also vibrate if Marvin or Ragno called, and he’d then pick up the earpiece. He set the earpiece on the kettlebell shelf as Andi walked to the blue mat, sat down, facing him, and shook out her socks.
The underside of her foot had a delicate arch. He wanted to run his thumb along it, feeling the softness of the ivory white skin. Her ankles were slender. In silence, she slipped on her socks, then put on her running shoes. All the while, seemingly unaware that he couldn’t rip his eyes from her.
When she was through, she folded her legs, lotus style. She leaned back on the mat, let her neck and head drop back, placed her palms flat behind her and arched her back for a good stretch. It was impossible not to stare at her breasts, as the tight t-shirt and thin jog bra underneath accentuated the outline. Small-ish. But full. Teardrop shaped. Full on the bottom, the peaks of her nipples sitting high.
She lifted her head, then rolled it in a circle. Glancing up at him, she asked, “Well?”
Stop staring. Asshat.
“Sprint intervals, push-ups, and sit-ups.” She extended her legs straight out, hugged them to her chest, then extended them again. She did a few side to side stretches, but when she was finished, her butt was still planted firmly on the mat.
“Get up. You’re first on the treadmill.” As a matter of self-preservation, he would do drills as she did. Self-preservation, because if he stood there and watched her workout for an hour, after the not-so-subtle air of sexual innuendo at the party, he’d be fully erect in no time. Baggy shorts over compression shorts, which had a built-in cup over his goods, were great for concealing his growing erection. Still, there was only so much the shorts could hide if he went full-fledged hard. She’d see it.
As she stepped on the treadmill, he programmed it to start with a thirty second walk/jog, then pick up speed for a ten-minute run. The whisper-light essence of lavender and rose encircled him as he stood beside the machine.
Okay, now I’m hard. Hell. I should’ve gotten laid before this job started.
His erection meant trouble, because she had enough going on in that beautiful head of hers without seeing how much she turned him on. Plus, he was working. She was an important client. One who tended to be damned irritable when things didn’t go her way.
Sleeping with a client had pitfalls. The obvious one being that it was against the rules. The written rule—Black Raven Rule 1.2(A)(1)—was that professional decorum was to guide client/agent interaction. Meaning—sex with Andi wasn’t a company-sanctioned option.
The unwritten rule among the handful of agents who got away with bending rules and crossing boundaries, was that if it did happen, the job damn well better result in client satisfaction. On every job, the client periodically filled out job performance and satisfaction surveys. JPSS for short. It had numerous questions regarding whether the agents had maintained an air of professionalism.
Notably absent from the JPSS survey was whether the agent was good in bed. Orgasms did not count for job performance scores, no matter how astounding they might be. Which meant he had no business thinking about what it would feel like to run his fingers along that slash of skin above the waistband of her shorts, and grip her narrow hips while he kissed her. He’d pull her close, so close…because given what he knew about her, and what he felt for her deep in his gut, their first time would be damn important. Monumental might not be an understatement.
Whoa! Is a first time a foregone conclusion?
Getting on his knees on the second mat, and lifting himself into a palms-flat, toes-down, plank-ready position for push-ups, he prayed that the answer was yes. If only for the sake of his penis.
I’ll figure out the rest later. But I damn well can’t do anything until I learn the proper way to be intimate with a victim of sexual assault. It’s not like I can talk to her about it. Because I’m not supposed to know.
“I can’t run this fast,” she said, one and a half minutes into her interval.
He glanced up at her. “You did last night. Actually, you ran faster.”
“That was last night.” She leaned forward to adjust the control panel.
“Do not lower the speed.”
She undid the settings he’d fixed, until she reached a slow jog.
“If you’re going that slow, at least do it on a higher incline.”
She ignored him. On his fifth sit-up, he assessed her. She stared straight ahead, barely breathing heavy, as she went at a fast walk. “That’s not going to cut it. It’s almost zero exertion for someone in as good a shape as you are. We walked faster on the way home from the gallery, when you were wearing six-inch heels.”
“But I’m tired.”
“Work with me here. I’m trying to give you a good workout.”
Bullshit, because this has nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with getting that flat, dead look out of your eyes.
“Look—” She put the treadmill on pause, and looked down at him. “This was a mistake. I don’t have the energy—”
“Sure you do,” he said, reaching for his toes, gripping the tips of his running shoes, and pulling his upper body forward so that his chest flattened on his knees and his forehead touched his shins. “Focus. Put your mind on exercise, instead of wherever it is right now.”
“Easy for you to say.” She restarted the treadmill at a snail’s pace, and refocused her attention forward. “Count this as a warm-up.”
“What you’re doing isn’t a warm-up. It’s more like a cool-down. Pick up your pace and elevation and get your ass moving.”
She ignored him.
This version of Andi, different than any he’d seen before, bothered the hell out of him. Her funk was a heavy, dense fog, obliterating her personality.
But she’s here, on the treadmill, trying to work through it. For that, I’ll give her a gold star.
“Mental stamina’s as important as what we do with our muscles. We’re trying to eliminate the hesitation in your sparring. You’ll need focus for that. Weakness begins in the mind.” He flattened himself on his back, then stretched his arms above his head as much as they could go, and started with a slow sit-up, lifting one vertebrae at a time. He knew from reading her journals that she didn’t like pity, so he wasn’t going soft on her. “If I have to stand up to fix the settings, the incline I set is going to be pretty damn high. You’re going to be flat out running.”
She flashed him a look of annoyance, which he took as a solid sign of improvement. “Stop being such a hard ass.”
He didn’t reply immediately. As he tried to think of a way to jolt her out of her funk, he did another sit-up, another arm pull from his toes, and then flattened himself out on his back again.
Hell. Be direct. She’s sick of people soft-shoeing around her. Her journal said as much.
Intentionally stepping out on a very thin limb, he said, “If you want to talk about whatever it was about the party that’s hit you like a sucker-punch in the gut, I’m all ears.”
She shot him an annoyed look. “I damn well didn’t walk in here for a therapy session.”
Ah. There’s my Andi.
“Couldn’t agree more, P.T.B. Besides, last I checked, I’m not a psychiatrist. So, start working out and I’ll stop acting like a therapist.”
Her brow furrowed. “P.T.B.?”
“Power That Be.”
She rolled her eyes. “Andi is shorter. And uses less brainpower.”
Yeah, but I’m not supposed to call you by your first name. Your rule, which you pronounced last night. Something about us not being friends.
Averting his head to hide his smile at the undeniable sign of progre
ss, he stood and walked over to the treadmill. As he reached in front of her for the incline button, a beep signaled that her interval was over. “I’m adding four treadmill minutes on the back end, since you just wasted these four. Keep going at this rate and I’ll keep adding more time. We’ll be here all night. Or, you can just quit right now. Stop wasting your time.”
Sparks flew from her eyes at the idea of abandoning the workout. He knew she wasn’t a quitter. If she had been, she’d have figured out another goddamn creative way to kill herself and she’d have eventually succeeded.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s five after nine. Which is it? Quitting time, or time to start exercising?”
Arms folded, jaw clenched, she said, “I’m not quitting. I’m here to exercise. If anyone is leaving my exercise room, it’s you.”
“Well, obviously you’re not going to do anything worthwhile on the treadmill. So, if you really do feel like working out with any effectiveness, get on the mat. Face down for push-ups. Or, just do whatever the hell you want to for the next hour and see how you feel at the end of it.”
“Cocky ass,” she said.
“You’re one hundred percent right.”
Despite her grumbling, she got on the blue mat, face down, and started doing push-ups. He bit back a smile. “Thirty of those, then thirty sit-ups, then repeat the set while I’m on the treadmill. I’ll instruct you as I watch your form.”
Cranking up the speed on the incline, he counted out her push-ups as he ran. “Five. Six. Seven.” When he saw her arms start to shake, when she could barely push herself off the ground, he said, “Drop to your knees or you won’t make it to thirty.”
Instead, she laid herself flat, face down. Her shoulders started shaking. He heard her sniffle, and realized…Oh hell!
He hit the pause button, jumped off the treadmill, and put one knee down on his mat.
“Go. A-a-away.” Muffled words, but the meaning was clear as a bell.
Leaning towards her, but giving her enough space so he didn’t crowd her, he pulled her towel close to her hands, then rested an elbow on his knee. “Hey. It’s okay. You’re alright.”
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