by Rosa, A.
I look back at the men, wondering if under their professional blazers they have guns too. I've never even touched a gun.
The older man stands. "Hello, Mr. Hunt. I apologize for everything. As you'll see, we are under heightened security, so I am sorry for any abrupt way that you’ve been treated. My name is Chief George Alvarado." He extends a hand to me.
I can't stop staring at Alex. She still hasn't said anything to me. She is biting her lip so hard it looks as if it might bleed. Speak to me, please, I beg with my eyes. How long can I manage to look strong? I turn back and formally shake the man's hand.
"Will I ever get to find out what this is all about?" I ask icily.
The man peers over at Alex and then back at me. "I'm not sure where I should begin, Mr. Hunt. Please, take a seat." He gestures to a leather chair in front of his desk. I smooth out my hair, unbutton my blazer, and do as I am told.
"This is Agent Derek Matthews, and I think you know Agent Alex Turner."
Fuck yeah, I know her. I look at Alex again and she smiles weakly. Why do I have this strange need to hug her?
"Mr. Hunt, let me start with where you are. This is the main office of the F.B.T.C.P. Sorry it is kind of a mouthful. It stands for the Federal Bureau of Terrorism Control and Prevention. We are a federal agency handling international terrorist issues. We are a branch of the CIA, technically. We handle specialized matters of homeland security, and we are currently presented with an issue involving your company."
He has my full attention now. I sit up, tensing in my seat. "Excuse me?"
He sighs. "Have you been in touch with your father lately?"
What a question. "No, sir, I haven't. He was diagnosed with cancer a couple years back, so he has been taking some time off in Arizona."
"Hmm."
What the hell is that supposed to mean? "Should I be calling my dad?" I am getting irritated, and now is not the time to lose my cool.
He shifts in his seat. "I am not exactly sure how to approach the situation. Therefore, I am going to explain the basics, and then I am going to let Agent Turner explain the rest. There are things you need to know, things you need to understand and decide. From what I understand, it would be better if you heard them from her. She is a capable agent."
I bet she is. Why do I have a bad taste in my mouth? I'm angry, but at what or whom? At Alex? Yes, I'm mad. Her words are resonating in my head now.
I'm bad news.
You don't want to get involved with me.
I'm dangerous.
You are just going to get hurt.
There is so much for you to know.
I am sorry for whatever happens.
He continues. "There has been a breach within your company. This had originally started out as a much simpler investigation, but things have changed. We have confirmed that one of your employees has created a biological weapon, a disease, which he plans to sell to the highest bidder. We know that he deals mainly with a contact in France, but that the contact is only a link to a handful of terrorist groups. Which terrorist groups? I don't know. That's what we are trying to figure out before it gets out of hand. Our current goal is to find out who the suspect has been dealing with in France."
His words are like a punch to my gut. "And my father knows about this?"
"He's the one who brought this to our attention. But again, let me restate this is not where your father or where we thought this would lead to."
My dad? He knew about this? He has been handling a terrorist issue right under my nose? Without telling me a God damn thing? I am all sorts of pissed off.
"Who ... who in my company is doing this?"
"Marcus Gibbs."
My jaw drops to the floor. My best friend. I am beyond shocked. Bile rises in my throat. Keep it together, Hunt.
"I-I-I had no idea," I sputter. So much for keeping it together.
The chief looks stern. "I know, Mr. Hunt. For the rest of this, I am going to leave you with Agent Turner. She can answer all the questions I am sure you have, and if you decide to work with us, here is my card. We would greatly appreciate your help regarding this sensitive matter."
He hands me his business card, and I am confused again. Join them? What?
Alvarado leaves, but the other guy walks around Alex, getting too close for my liking, but she doesn't flinch. He whispers in her ear, causing a smile to flit across her face. Who the fuck is this guy? He leaves, shutting the door behind him.
Alex leans against the desk, staring at me. We still haven't spoken. The silence is deafening. Abruptly, she gets up and walks to the window that looks out over the cubicles, where it feels like everyone is watching us. Noisily—nervously, even—she closes the blinds. Finally, we are alone.
She resumes her position in front of me, leaning against the desk. I keep rubbing my face, trying to wrap my head around the situation.
Agent Turner? She is a federal agent. The secrecy makes a little more sense now, I guess. But am I OK with this? OK with her?
I let out a sigh. I don't know what to say. I still feel angry. Angry at her, my dad, my friend ... my whole life feels like it’s hanging in the balance.
"Agent Turner?" I mutter, unable to look her in the eye.
"I prefer Alex."
The statement annoys me. "But it is Agent Turner, isn't it?"
She opens her mouth to argue, but she shuts it. She doesn't want to fight. Even that annoys me. I want her to argue with me; it would feel more normal. This all feels bizarre.
"I am supposed to tell you everything you want to know. Isn't this what you've been wanting and waiting for? I knew this was going to be too much." She sighs and looks terrified.
Why does the statement wound me?
"I don't know what to say. Who are you ...?"
She turns to look at me. "The same person you thought I was."
I can't help but snort in response, because that's not true.
Catching me off guard, she pulls a chair from the wall and places it next to mine. "I am afraid I am going to say the wrong thing, but as I look at you, and the faces you are giving me, I am thinking that no matter what you are going to be mad. God, I am sorry. Are you mad?" It's as if she's confessing.
I swallow. I don't want to be, but I am. "Yes."
"Ask me."
"Ask you what?"
"Anything."
I have tons of questions. "I thought you were taking your whatever exam?"
She smiles as if amused with where I'm choosing to start. "That's not a lie. I did take my LLAT exam this morning. It’s a specialized test we have that stands for Law, Linguistics, Artillery, and Teamwork. Passing that test and putting that on my resume opens up a lot of doors for me here."
Oh. I nod, accepting it. "So I guess you're not a waitress?"
She bites her lip and shakes her head.
"So, what were you doing when I met you?"
"I was undercover. Trying to observe a suspect."
"Marcus?"
"Yes." Her tone is eerily calm as she responds.
My blood starts to heat. "Were you trying to seduce him?"
Her eyes empty of emotion. "Not exactly. I was trying to get close. Close enough for him to keep me around ... in a casual sense."
I growl. I don't think I fully accept the explanation.
"And I assume I got in the way?" I'm bitter now.
She looks hurt. "Why would you say that? After this weekend, this is where this is going? I am sorry if I gave you that impression. I told you to stay away from me for this exact reason. I told you I was dangerous and that I wasn't good for you. But you kept coming, and I couldn't stay away. This weekend was better than great. I don't date, I don't let people touch me, and I don't let people in. Those are my facts. You don't know who I really am though, and I have to admit I am afraid to tell you."
"Who are you, then?"
"I am a fully trained operative who is prepared to kill at a whim for the greater good. It's my job."
The statemen
t speaks volumes. I open my mouth to speak, but then almost immediately close it, unable to find the words. A sickening thought starts to surface. "Am I a job to you? This whole thing? This weekend? Was everything all to get close to Marcus?"
She gasps at my words and gets out of her chair. She leans close to me, her face swollen with panic as she takes my face in her hands with more confidence than I have ever seen her have. Her touch is reassuring, but I am still scared.
"How can you think that? I told you not to think these thoughts. You had the real me. Everything was real. No matter how hard I tried to fight you, I couldn't stay away. Everything I said was the truth. I have never allowed myself to be me with anyone but you. You are so much more. Don't you feel it too?"
I know it’s hard for her to express herself this way, and I feel guilty. Her eyes dart around my face, searching for my reaction. I still feel an oncoming panic attack. I close my eyes, replaying her words. Didn't I feel it too? Everything feels so different now. I lean into her touch.
"Jeremy, please tell me you feel the same. Tell me you at least understand."
She is looking for reassurance too, but how can I give it to her when I feel lost? I still can't speak. My chest feels tight. Her proximity, although comforting, is smothering my ability to think.
I open my eyes and pull away from her grasp, standing up to pace the office.
She sighs, and I can sense her anguish as she says, "I've said too much. I'm sorry. We had a good weekend, and maybe that's it. We don't have to continue this if that's easier for you. Actually, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. I'm sorry I kept this from you, but you have to understand I had to."
Do I?
I run my hand through my hair, exasperated with the situation. I thought this weekend was me trying to be normal, but now my life has been turned on its head. I make the mistake of turning to look at her. Her hazel eyes are glistening. I can tell she is doing everything in her power to keep the tears at bay. It is heart wrenching, and my heart aches too. I feel like I can't trust anything from my life for the past week, or maybe even longer. Secret agent? My company? My best friend? Was she manipulating me? How can I tell fact from fiction at this point?
This time I let out a long sigh. I realize I still haven't said a word. I have to deal with one problem at a time. What about my company? What about my father? The business professional in me tells me that I should focus on that before matters of my heart. The thought stings.
God, all I want is to kiss her, but I wonder if her guns would jab me in the ribs. Guns! I need to calm down. It hurts me to do it, but I have to.
I stop pacing and turn to face her. I put on my most professional look, and it kills me to treat her as a bit of business, but I need to gather my thoughts. I have many questions. I need to figure me out before I work on us, and right now, us is too heavy a topic. Sometimes I wish my mom were alive so she could give me advice on this. She would know what to do.
"Alex ..."
She takes in a deep breath, and squares her shoulders as if preparing for the onslaught. I get the sinking sensation she knows exactly what I am going to say, and it makes me feel even worse because that means that she expected this.
I am a predictable asshole, but here goes.
"I have to go. I have to think on this. Please tell Chief Alvarado that I will call him with details. I'm willing to help. I just need to pull myself together."
I am ready to turn around and head for the door, because I can't bear her eyes boring into mine. It's as if she is dissecting my soul, and I can't take it. I begin my stride toward the door.
"Wait!"
Her tone is surprisingly stern, and maybe even angry.
"Yes?" I say a little too whiney.
"So that's it? You're not going to call me? This is the big finish, then?"
Her eyebrows furrow with frustration, and for the first time, the look in her eyes is deadly. I gulp down air. What do I say?
I guess I am silent for too long. She gets up, her eyes glittering with angst, and slinks toward me with catlike grace, and the information she has divulged to me is driven home—this is not a girl I want to fuck with.
Stoic and deliberate, she sticks her hand out to shake mine.
I deserve this.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Hunt. I will tell Chief Alvarado to expect your call. Good day."
I shake her hand, clearly identifying its firm formality, and without a backward glance, she walks out the door.
Just when I thought I could control the situation, she beats me to the punch.
What am I supposed to do now?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Confusion & Conundrums
ALEX TURNER
I have never wanted to kill something and cry at the same time—that seems like a dangerous combination. I heave a violent breath when Jeremy is out of view.
Derek is leaning against a desk, talking to someone on our surveillance team, and the moment he sees me barreling out of the office, he stops what he is doing and beelines toward me.
I quicken my pace, thinking I can make it to the elevator to escape him, but sure enough, he is too quick.
I press the down button and wait in silence as Derek stands in front of me. I do everything in my power not to make eye contact.
"Alex—"
"Please don't. Not right now." I do not need to hear an I told you so.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I take in a deep breath and hope I am covering up my emotions well enough. I have never felt so at their mercy. "What do you think?" I spit out.
Derek looks at me as if he doesn't know what to do with me. Even I don't know what to do with me. It is an awful feeling.
"How about a beer? We don't have to talk about it. We don't have to talk about anything, and if you prefer, we can switch to tequila."
I let out a giggle and finally bring my eyes up to meet his. He looks relieved.
"I choose tequila."
"'Attagirl. Come on. I've got woes to drink to too."
He swings his arm around my shoulders and things return to normal—at least between Derek and me.
Talk about thinking you know someone when you really don't. Kind of like the pot calling the kettle black. The thought makes my stomach plummet.
Who am I kidding? I knew the guy, what, five minutes?
I sigh. Oh, tequila sounds good, so, so good.
JEREMY HUNT
The cab pulls up, and I don't know where I want it to take me. I choose my office. It seems more logical to head there. I can at least keep busy, check my e-mail, order around my assistant, something, anything but think about her.
Once I get there, I move past people without saying hello. Most of them think I am an asshole anyway. I am not in the mood. I take the elevator to the top floor and push past my assistant.
"Rebecca, please hold all my calls." I pause for a moment, thinking of some improbable possibilities, and an audible sigh escapes me before I continue, "Except if an Alex Turner or"—I pull out the card quickly—"or a George Alvarado calls, thank you." That can't hurt.
Rebecca flings her head up. Her perfect poof of red hair bounces as she sits, wide-eyed and stunned into silence by my abrupt entry. Her pale pink lips hang half open as if she wants to speak, but as she sees my rushed strides, it seems she knows better. Smart Girl.
I place the card on her desk without so much as a glance before I rush through the heavy wooden double doors to my office and lock them behind me.
I exhale. I feel like I have been holding my breath for hours. My shoulders slump as I make my way to my desk, exhausted. I fall into my chair and turn to look at the Boston skyline.
What am I doing? I am at work but I don't want to work. I want to call Alex and apologize. For a moment, I wish that this afternoon had never happened, because then she could meet me at my place. I could pretend to be the strong one again, and she could let me fall asleep in her arms. I can be such a sissy som
etimes. Fuck.
I'm embarrassing myself. I can do better than this. I own my own company. I am the master of my universe, for God's sake. My heart clenches in rebellion, and I tell it to shut up. I've had enough of it to last me awhile.
What I need to worry about is this company.
I swivel my chair back around and switch on my computer. What I need to do is pick up my office phone and dial a number I rarely call.
Not even two rings in, he picks up. "Hey, Dad."
"Hello, Jere, I was wondering when I'd be getting this call." The bastard is always a step ahead of me.
I fake a chuckle and say, "Yeah, well, we need to talk."
"I know. I am sorry I wasn't the one to tell yo—"
"Dad,” I cut him off. Now isn't the time. “I'd rather just come talk to you about it in person. This is a good time for me to get out of town for a day or two. We need to discuss what's happening, and I need a distraction."
His tone shifts to concern. "Do you think now is the best time for you to be leaving town?"
He thinks this is about Marcus's escapades. A biologically engineered disease? My head spins at the thought.
I get a grip, trying my best to hide my seething anger at my father. "No, no, Dad. It's a little more than that. I think the security team is pretty much all over it.” In a manner of speaking. “I need to leave town to clear my head." I sigh, realizing my heart hurts more than my head at this point. "Ya know?"
I let the silence hang in the air, letting my words sink in, and I think he suspects I might actually need him. In all honesty, he is giving himself too much credit, but I go along with it. I know I should berate him with questions of the hows and the whys, but I wonder who might be better to ask: my father or Alex. Regardless, I’ll save those questions for when I see him.
"Of course, son, come on out. The desert can get lonely."
"Thanks, Dad, I'll be out there probably tomorrow afternoon." The sooner I get out of here, the better.