by A K August
ANTHONY
I should have stayed home this morning.
Was Jeff, right? I got what I wanted, a distraction. It’s just Genie’s cruel joke, like when the guy asks for a million bucks and a million deer with six-point antlers appear in his back yard. When you rub Genie’s lamp, you have to be clear and precise. I asked for a distraction, so Genie puts this golden goddess in my path, the only problem, she hates me.
I followed Katie to the grocery store noticing she seemed flustered when she came out, her head hanging down as she walked quickly to her car. Her confidence returned as I watched her move about her kitchen, her shoulders squaring. A small smile and flush to her cheeks made me think she had a secret she was keeping. I wanted to know her secrets, her fantasies, her dreams. She grabbed a banana and ate it in one bite; my cock jerked so hard in my driver’s seat, I banged into the wheel.
CHRIST!
I ran fingers through my hair and took a few breaths to calm my raging hormones. I had to laugh. Girl’s got skills.
The last time I had such a primal reaction to a woman, I’d been thirteen. She was the new wife to my aunt and uncle’s neighbor, their ancient neighbor with a young trophy wife. Stephanie Chamberlain had no shame and craved attention from everyone. My body’s reaction to her scared me; barely a teenager, I had no idea what to do about it even after she spelled it out for me, which had me running away as fast as I could. As I got older, her relentless advances intensified. I hid from her whenever I could, and when I couldn’t, I tried to make sure I was never in a room alone with her. I wasn’t altruistic; I had dreams about her and jerked off thinking about what she’d said we could do together, especially once I told my friends and we looked it up on the Internet. But I understood marriage and I understood love. I saw real love with my parents and with my Aunt and Uncle and I knew that’s what I wanted. I’d also heard Mom and Aunt Claire talk about what a hussy Stephanie was. I had to look that one up too.
I wasn’t special to Stephanie; she threw herself at half the county, most taking her up on the opportunity. Hell, a couple of years later, my less-moral buddy, Billy, made a play and had a romp in the hay with her. Literally. He broke out in a rash across his ass after. We never did let him live that down.
But at thirty-six, you’d think I’d matured by now. I chuckled at the absurdity. I’m loitering in my car, spying on the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, with an engorged erection, and the government sanctions this.
I sobered when I heard a scream and saw Katie spill cut vegetables as she used her cutting board for a shield against a masked man. I ran up her steps and pounded on the door, throwing my shoulder against it until the wood gave way and I was in her apartment. I saw Katie on the floor, her hands around her neck as the intruder flew over the balcony outside her living room.
I kneeled to assess her injuries. “Are you okay?” My hands roamed over her shoulders, down her ribcage. She winced slightly on her right side, then further down her legs. I tried to keep my professional demeanor in place, but damn, her body made it hard.
Hard in all the right places.
I shook off the inappropriate thought, focusing again on my protectee. Right. I was assigned to protect her and a damn lousy job I’ve done so far.
Katie hadn’t answered my first question, just stared in disbelief at me. She was probably going into shock. I needed to get her off the floor. “Can you breathe? Are you hurt?” Could she have a concussion? “Do you know who I am?”
“You’re a jerk.” She said without any rancor.
Okay, so probably not a concussion. “Can you stand?”
She nodded and I helped her to her feet. “Slowly. It looks like you were hit on the head and you have a bruised rib.” She continued to stare at me a confused look in her eyes like I was a Warshak ink print and she couldn’t decide if I was a warrior eagle who’d swooped down to carry her off to safety or I was a slug that drooled all over her floor and was good for nothing. I settled her on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around her as best I could, rubbing her shoulders to increase blood flow. I noticed a cut on her neck. I grabbed a wet towel from the kitchen and dabbed it gently to clean the wound and stop the bleeding.
I was inches from her and couldn’t resist breathing her in, rose petals and lime. Her brown eyes that had sparkled this morning were flat as the adrenaline receded and the shock wore off. She blinked a few times and glanced around the room, her gaze settling on me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was outside, saw the intruder. Came in to help.”
She nodded, processing. “Why were you outside?”
“We told you we were worried about your safety. Turns out we were right.”
She nodded again. “So you were spying on me?” Bitterness edged her voice and I sat back.
“I wasn’t spying on you. I was assigned to protect you. You refused, so I was forced to camp outside and a good thing I did. I saved your life; you could be a little grateful.” I choked on the words as soon as they left my mouth.
What was wrong with me? That was a completely inappropriate thing to say to a protectee. In training, we are constantly reminded that protectees are not used to the violence, they don’t understand what’s at stake or what it takes to protect them and we, as agents, have to be sensitive to their circumstances.
I knew that, but this girl sets me off so easily I wanted to throttle her or silence her protests with my kisses.
I did feel a little like I was spying. This assignment was not typical for me. I usually didn’t have a carnal lust for my protectee. Every time I looked at her, it was first as a conquest to attain, then as my assigned witness. It was wrong and I should ask to be reassigned. I couldn’t protect her this way. But I also felt strongly that no one could protect her better than I. I didn’t want to trust her safety to anyone else.
I got up and moved away from her, partly because I needed distance to think and to call in with an update to the office. The phone rang ten times before my boss answered.
“I think we have a problem.”
“What happened?”
I laid out the bullet point version of events, “I’m worried, Jeff. There’s a leak.”
Jeff didn’t say anything, so I continued. “Think about it. This girl waits days before coming forward with evidence; then, less than twelve hours after she’s been to our office, she’s attacked in her home? You told me she went to her lawyer. Her lawyer went to a colleague, who came to you. Who else knew she even had the evidence? No one.”
I listened to Jeff run through the steps in his head as he outlined his thoughts. “I created a case number and uploaded the video this afternoon. It’s on our servers. Anyone in the bureau with proper security would have access. If they set a flag to be alerted to references of Colby, they would have received the file almost immediately. We can track who accessed it, but something like this, they would’ve covered their tracks, it’ll take some time.”
I leaned my head against the wall. “What do we do? This girl is not safe here; he’ll be back. It would be hard to track us to the hotel tonight, and by the time the bill is processed in the morning, we can be out of there. But then what? All our usual safe houses will be the first place they check. “
Jeff’s mind was spinning again. “I didn’t take you off leave.”
“What?” I didn’t follow where Jeff was heading, but he seemed to be forming a plan.
“I mean, I put the file together and meant to add your name as the protective agent, but couldn’t because you are officially on leave. I was going to go to HR and update your status, but I got busy and made a note to follow up tomorrow.”
“So, no one knows I’m connected.”
“Right. So you disappear.”
I’d stepped into Katie’s hall as I spoke to Jeff. Returning, I found her still on the sofa, clutching the blanket around her shoulders. She wore a dejected film in her slumped shoulders and pale complexion; even the blanket clung to her shoulders th
rough gravity and not the grip from her fingers. She was a shell of the girl that snapped at me in the coffee shop then again in the conference room, refusing protection. A surge of anger hit me, directed toward the man who did this to her. I vowed to find him and end him.
I sat on the coffee table in front of her, resisting the temptation to sweep her into my arms. “Ms. Corcoran, how are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” she croaked. “I just want to go to bed.”
“I’m afraid we need to move you before you can do that.”
A flicker of life flashed in her eyes. “Why? No. I have to stay here. I have to work on my film. All my files are here. You can set up agents outside, whatever.”
I shook my head, “I’m sorry, but this location is compromised. He may come for you again; you can’t stay here. We’ll check you into a hotel for the night and tomorrow arrange a longer-term option. An agent will be with you at all times.”
Katie nodded again, and I know she was trying to process this, but things were moving fast, and she was barely holding on. I wanted to get her moved as quickly as possible so she could relax and feel better. I told her she could take her computer equipment and files with her so she could work on her film while in custody. It would be a good distraction for her. While she went to put a bag together of everything she’d need, I checked my watch. We had twenty minutes before Jeff and CSI descended on this location and scoured it for the attacker’s DNA.
Nobody could know I was connected to this case if we were going to keep Katie safe from the FBI leak. I had to hurry her up.
CHAPTER FIVE
KATIE
I sat on the edge of the bed in a mid-level hotel just over the river in Rosslyn, staring at three bags on the floor. This is my life for the foreseeable future. I packed up the essential gear I would need to continue working on my doc and threw a bag of clothes and personals together without paying much attention. I hope whatever was in there would match.
I pressed my fingertips together, watching the edges turn white but not feeling anything. Numb. I looked at my toes, thankful they were still there even though they felt disconnected from me. I wiggled them to reassure myself they worked.
My arms were heavy and I had an overwhelming desire to curl up in the fetal position. The muted colors of the room did nothing to inspire me, although a print on the wall caught my attention. Staring at the photograph of our Capitol Building, anger brewed.
Anger over Jonathan Colby’s death, the DC detectives who tried to bully me, my broken door, the murderer who believes he needs to kill me too. Why? Why am I a threat to him? It made no sense. I wanted to scream in frustration.
I spoke with Desk Boy; he had been very kind, assuring me the FBI would get the door fixed and the locks changed as well as clean up the kitchen, so when I returned home, I wouldn’t be reminded of this unfortunate time. A nice thought, although I couldn’t imagine when I could go back, considering everything was such a mess right now. I didn’t even get dinner.
I made this realization as the smell of spaghetti sauce wafted into my room. It smelled so good my stomach growled in protest and I went to see if Mr. Hottie had ordered food. Yeah, Hottie was in the next room and would continue to be. I’m going to have to give him another name, something tamer, something less evocative. Maybe even learn his real name? I mean, he did save me from the attacker. I never did thank him. I was going to, but then he got all indignant and self-righteous and I wasn’t going to capitulate to his guilt trip.
I spun around the corner to the little kitchenette where Hottie held a bowl in one hand while he shoveled a fork of pasta into his mouth. I looked around for the take out containers. “That smells so good. Did you get food?”
He nodded. “I was so hungry. Following you around all day, I didn’t get lunch or dinner for that matter, and this is delicious.” He paused, a fork halfway to his mouth. “I’m sorry, I should have asked, did you want something?”
My face fell and my stomach growled louder.
Wow! Some knight in shining amour. Can’t even think to get something for me to eat?
I glared at him, several scathing insults on my lips when I noticed a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “What?”
He opened the microwave to reveal a container of food warm and waiting. My anger died as embarrassment flushed my cheeks. Why do I feel the need to spar with this man?
I reached for the bowl as he handed me a fork and we both stood in the kitchen scarfing down the food: spaghetti, one of my comfort foods. The basil made a beeline for my brain; it’s scent settling the synapses that had been continuously firing since the invasion of my house. Finally, I could relax, there was a way through and I’d figure it out.
“This is really good. Tastes even better than it smells.”
He chuckled, “you should like it; you made it.”
My eyes shot up to his and he shrugged, “it looked so good, I thought it was a shame to have it go to waste, so I boxed it up before we left.”
Tears welled in my eyes. He couldn’t possibly know how touched I was. The impulse was too great to resist, and I threw my arms around him, pressing close. “Thank you!”
He stiffened for a second when I hugged him then relaxed as his arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer. I breathed in his scent and felt a bulge push against my stomach as butterflies fluttered in my core. Bits of energy singed my skin like sparklers on the Fourth of July. I stepped away, and he released me, staring down at his food. I didn’t know what to make of him.
He cares more about his clothes than being human and accepting my apology. He risks his life to save mine but then wants credit. He saves my dinner so I could eat my comfort food. And he gets an erection from a simple hug like a pervert on the street, waiting to flash unsuspecting females.
He could flash me any day.
God. My cue to go to bed.
◆◆◆
We were up early the next morning, packed and driving west before the rush hour commute into the city began. “Any chance you’ll tell me where we’re headed?”
He flashes me a look. “Somewhere safe.”
Great. That narrows it down. Clearly, he’s not the talkative type. It’s been a series of commands since we woke, no exceptions.
That’s been on repeat.
“Coffee’s brewed. If you want caffeine, you should get it now.”
“If you’re hungry, there are breakfast sandwiches.”
“Don’t call anyone. Not friends. Not family. Not work.”
“Be ready to leave in twenty minutes.”
I chewed on the information. It made sense. I understood no one could know where we were. And Mr. Hottie was very kind to bring my pasta with us last night. But he didn’t need to bark orders like I was some retriever hanging on his every command. I tried not to be offended; after all, I’d already seen his true colors.
“I’d prefer tea. Can we swing by Starbucks?”
His reply was firm. “Can’t be seen on the street. We’re on a clock. No exceptions.”
“Any sandwiches with eggs whites only?”
“Nope. They’re all the same. I’d eat now, it’s a long drive, and we can’t stop along the way. No exceptions.”
“My family will worry if they don’t hear from me.”
“No calls. No exceptions.”
I debated ignoring him and going to Starbucks for my tea and an egg white croissant, craving the familiarity of my routine. But I’m not stupid. While the odds of the killer and I crossing paths on my two-block walk to the coffee shop were low, it wasn’t worth the risk.
I was ready twenty minutes later, and we set off in his car, heading west on Route 66. His silence was for the best. The man makes me nervous. When I’m nervous, I babble. If he’d given me any data to work with, I would’ve rambled on forever with nonsense. Instead, I can look out the window and try to ignore him while Nat King Cole song lyrics played in my head… Get your kicks on Route 66. After the third repeat, I needed new
material, and ignoring the Hottie three feet to my left was easier said than done.
The air circulated in his car until his scent filled my nose, a spicy cedar and apple combination. Tasty. I remembered pressing up to him last night, his swollen cock against my body. My thighs pulse and I shift in my seat, trying to lessen the pressure building in my core. I wanted him. It was wrong, but he was inches from me. I didn’t care if he was a pervert or a jerk or a knight in shining amour. I wanted to reach over and confirm his cock was as big as I’d imagined it would be. I wanted to wrap my hands around him before tasting him, the saltiness filling my mouth as I licked and sucked, drawing his essence into me.
Jeez. I needed conversation before my wandering hands strayed too far down the dark side.
“Can you tell me anything? How does this work? How long will this take? What happens after you catch him?” Any information would help me focus on something other than imagining his hands, leaving the wheel to land on my breasts, kneading, pinching, and pulling on my nipples until I was putty in his hands.
Still, he’s silent. Ugh.
My phone rang, and I checked the name. Annie.
“What’s that?”
Oh, he speaks! “My phone. It’s just my friend Annie calling.” I answered the phone as he sputtered, telling me to hang up.
I put my hand up for him to be quiet. “Hey, Annie!”
Hottie’s voice merged over my best friend’s.
“Katie, hang up the phone.”
“Katie, where are you? Who’s with you? Are you okay? You didn’t call me last night.”
I cringed. I forgot to let Annie know about the attack. I’m a horrible friend. “Annie, listen, I don’t have much time. I’m okay, but a man tried to attack me last night. I can’t stay at my apartment, but I’m going someplace safe until they figure out what’s going on. I’ll try to call you as I know more.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, and you’ll be safe?” I heard the concern in Annie’s voice and looked over at Mr. Hottie, whose jaw was taut, his hands were gripping the wheel tightly.
