Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series)

by Rosa, A.

  In a single, swift movement, the computer is ripped off my lap and placed on the coffee table.

  "You need to stop driving yourself crazy."

  My hazel eyes collide with his calm baby-blues, and I pout. "Jeremy, it's my job."

  He laughs, taking a seat on the couch next to me. "Are you whining right now?"

  I huff, frustrated. "Maybe."

  "You have been staring at that computer since we got back."

  "So?" I sigh. Then, I begin to wonder if we have made any headway elsewhere. "Maybe I should call Derek."

  Jeremy shakes his head, showing off his own pout. I squirm as he leans closer.

  "Jeremy, don't." It's a feeble attempt to halt his movements.

  He gives me his boyish, relaxed grin as he continues to lean in. He takes my earlobe in his teeth, heating my skin with the contact. "You talked to that guy all last night. I'm over it. I don't want you talking to him anymore for now. To be honest, I really want to tell him to fuck off."

  I grin from ear to ear. His jealousy is incredibly amusing. "Jeremy, it's called working."

  "No" He shakes his head like a petulant child. "No more working."

  I haphazardly try to push him away, but it only makes him more persistent. "Jeremy, you cannot distract me with your sexpertise."

  "Why not?" He nips at my neck.

  "Hmmm, will you ever listen to me?"

  He pulls away to look at me, runs his nose down the bridge of my nose, and states sardonically, "Probably not. Besides, I am tired of sharing you, especially with him."

  My eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. I want to say his jealousy is misplaced, but if Jeremy really knew how Derek talked to me, he might not be happy. This is not a topic I would like to tackle right now. Jealousy in any form.

  I decide to play along, swinging my leg over him and giggling. I suggestively straddle him and fondly put my hands on either side of his head to kiss his face. He smiles against my lips. "You have no shame, Jeremy," I breathe.

  "Not with you I don't," he says.

  I growl against his lips, and pull away. "How am I supposed to ever win with you?"

  He tightens his grip playfully around my waist, and I yelp in surprise. "Maybe we'll be in this power struggle forever."

  I rest my hands on his strong biceps. "Please don't say that." I place a chaste kiss on his lips.

  A loud knock reverberates through the apartment. What the ...?

  I tense and look at Jeremy. My senses are on full alert, like a dog that has perked up their ears at the sound of a possible threat.

  "Did you order something?" I ask. I am on edge already.

  Jeremy still maintains his endearing gaze, drunk with infatuation, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. He shrugs and says, "No, I don't think so. My dad could have mailed me something, who knows? He does it often."

  But we just saw your dad, I want to say. Why is he so unconcerned?

  I crawl off him and stand. My eyes don't leave the front door. I can see a human form through the foggy glass. My heart rate is on the rise. Why am I getting so anxious? This doesn't feel right. This is what the unexpected does to me.

  "Relax, babe." Jeremy stands, placing a kiss on my cheek as he playfully slaps my behind. I smirk a little, but I don't budge.

  He walks down the hall, and when he turns his back to me, I lean over the coffee table and grab my gun from my bag. I tuck it into the back of my jeans, but I don't let it go, ready at a moment's notice. And out of Jeremy's sight.

  Jeremy glances at me when he reaches the door, smiling the smile that normally makes me weak at the knees. An aching need to protect the person who makes me so damn happy creeps to the forefront. Why do I feel awful at this moment?

  The door opens, and I see a man holding up a package. He holds it out to Jeremy, waiting for a signature. Maybe it really is the FedEx guy. Maybe I am overreacting.

  I exhale and relax the grip on my gun, but don't release it from my hand on principle.

  As if Jeremy can feel me relax, he glances back again, flashing me those pearly whites. I smile back, and decide that I won't fully relax until that door is shut and locked.

  Then everything happens so fast.

  The box flies past Jeremy's head, and down toward the hall—a diversion. The stranger grabs Jeremy as his back is turned. An arm yanks his tall frame backward. I don't even take the time to look at Jeremy's terror.

  My gun arm swings around, and before I can process a thought, I pull the trigger. This is what I am good at: making these right-now decisions. With reflexive, robotic precision, I get the guy right through the shoulder, narrowly missing Jeremy's neck. Bazinga.

  The stranger flies back and falls to his knees, but still reaches out for Jeremy's legs. I sprint toward the door.

  Jeremy jumps back and kicks the stranger hard in the face, knocking him backward, but still conscious. Attaboy.

  I come up to the assassin, and flip my gun in my hand so I'm gripping the barrel. I swing it forward, hitting the man in the temple with the handle of my gun and rendering him unconscious in one swift motion. His face slams against the floor with a satisfying thump. His shoulder wound bleeds onto the dark wood, and half his body still dangles in the hallway.

  My nose itches as the smell of fresh gunpowder settles in the air. I stand, panting and waiting to regain my equilibrium, adrenaline coming down from its peak. I glance at Jeremy, who looks bewildered. I can see the whites of his eyes around his glacier look of fear. I can't bear his fear. I look away.

  This is my life; this is what I know. The truth hits hard.

  I shift my stance to look down the hall. I know Jeremy isn't going to like this reaction, but I don't have any words to exchange right now. I will when I have time to think, but right now, I have to finish this. There is protocol for good reason. I also need to get Jeremy out of here. He isn't safe. They came for him. This was deliberate. My heart palpitates at the thought.

  Tucking my gun back in my waistband, I lean down and grab the stranger's collar, dragging him inside so the neighbors don't see more than they might have already. I can feel Jeremy's stare, probably shocked at my strength. A girl my size isn't supposed to be able to move a two hundred-pound man with such ease.

  Once the body is moved, I kick the door closed behind me, and huff as I wipe the sweat off my brow. My adrenaline still seems to be flowing. When will my heart rate slow? However, I have missed this rush oh-so much.

  I stride past Jeremy, not daring to look at him. I make it to my bag and pull out two things—my cell phone and a pair of handcuffs—and stroll back to the passed out criminal.

  Jeremy has not budged or said a word. He is still gawking at me. I think I can hear him hyperventilating. My big, strong man has no idea what he has gotten into.

  I roughly cuff the unconscious man's arms behind his back. I peek at his wound, and the bleeding is minimal. I mentally congratulate myself on my perfect shot. Always an ace, lucky for Jeremy.

  My arms are beginning to shake, and I have to inhale in order to steady myself. I want to look at Jeremy. Just the sight of him is comforting, but I have to wrap this up. It's imperative on so many levels. I dial a number I know by heart. As I listen to it ring, I search the assassin's pockets for ID, until three rings later there's an answer.

  "This is Agent Turner; we have a ten-twenty-two at the Hunt residence. The individual is unconscious and cuffed. No ID. Male. Caucasian. Short brown hair. Mid-to-late thirties. Suspect has gunshot wound to left shoulder, bleeding minimal. I expect him to be unconscious for at least another thirty minutes. ... I am not sure; I'd say either kidnapping or physical attack, possible hit. I can't tell."

  I reach around to his front pocket and pat him down, pulling a gun out of his waistband. I can't help my eyes from growing wide. I also pull out keys and a cell phone.

  "Hmmm ... individual is armed with a gun, looks to be a Berretta M9." I disassemble the gun and slip the magazine from the handle to see ready bullets. "Gun is fully
loaded. … No, I said no ID, just keys to a ... um ... looks like a truck key, though it looks like it may be a copy of the original, and a cell phone. Maybe we can trace it to the owner. ... Yes. ASAP. I need to get Mr. Hunt to a safe house. ... Ten-four, keep me informed. I'm taking the evidence with me just in case. ... Affirmative ... umm ... Protocol confirmed. Going offline for a full twenty-four."

  I hang up my phone, and stroll into the kitchen to grab a large, airlock plastic bag, placing all the listed evidence inside, including the gun. I return to the living room and stuff everything in my pack. Finally have finished everything I need to do, I swing the pack over my shoulder and focus on my still silent, shell-shocked boyfriend.

  I need him. My adrenaline has exhausted me, and I can feel myself crumbling. I've never had so much at stake before. I inhale sharply and make my way to Jeremy, who is still leaning against the wall. He looks so damn beautiful terrified. His blond hair is matted messily to his head with newly formed sweat, in that sexy, tousled way. His parted lips are distracting on this Greek god, and I can tell he is still panting from what has happened.

  I wonder if he is shocked by the brutality of the situation or by me in general. He will want to run from me now, won't he? I know it. This must all be crazy and overwhelming. It is even for me, but I chose this life. I live for this. As scattered as I am, I enjoy this. Calling it just an adrenaline rush doesn't do it justice, because it is much more to me.

  I glance at my cell phone and realize only fifteen minutes have passed. Is that how long it took me?

  Jeremy's unsure eyes lock with mine as I approach him, and for some reason, I want to cry. I never cry. I could have lost him.

  I see this concerned look flit over his face. Even though my intention was to be the one to embrace him, he does it first. His hands come up to my face, and I lean into his touch, closing my eyes. Why can't I speak?

  His lips press to mine, and like a cure, his kiss eases my nerves and his touch confirms he is still alive, but not safe. I open my eyes, and break our kissing. I stroke his face, and then tug at his earlobe endearingly which triggers my most favorite smile.

  "Are you OK?" he whispers. His eyes tell me he is still scared, even though his voice exudes his usual calm persona. How can he be so strong right now?

  I run my fingers through his hair. "I should be asking you that. I need to get you out of here. You are not yet safe. Are you all right? I am sorry, Jeremy, so, so sorry. Please tell me you are OK."

  "Yes. I'm fine. You're fine. We are fine," he confirms. He kisses me, and his anxiety channels through my lips. A carnal need takes over, and my abdomen clenches as his tongue invades my mouth, twisting around mine. His body is seeking release, but not here, not now.

  I pull away. "Jeremy, I need you." I mean it. I need him in so many ways. He makes me human.

  "And I need you; I'd be dead without you."

  His statement rings painfully true. I still want to cry, and my brain is having a hard time fathoming the reasons why. I'm just trying to keep my body from shaking.

  He rubs his thumb under my eye, wiping the lingering tear away. "No, no, don't cry, baby. Everything is fine," he whispers as he places kisses on my reddening cheeks.

  I absorb his touch for a moment, and then force myself to say, "Jeremy, we need to move."

  He releases my face and nods. I grab his hand, and we leave the condo, no questions asked.

  As we rush down the hall, I realize the gun is digging into my back, but I don't care. I don't want to let go of his hand. I keep running my thumb rhythmically over his knuckles as we wait for the elevator, and my eyes are shooting every direction for anything. A second attack? Second assassin? Who knows?

  The elevator doors open, and we step inside. I lean over to press the G button. Once the doors shut and the danger seems paused, he leans down and nuzzles my hair, taking in my scent. "I'm all right, babe. I really am fine."

  How does he know that I am still internally panicking? His words are soothing to my ears. "You're not OK until I get you somewhere safe, Jeremy."

  "I think, at this point, as long as I am with you, I'm safe." He runs his nose against my ear. How can he be so damn calm?

  I turn to face him, and kiss him on the lips. "You make me feel safe."

  "Oh, I will try to keep you as safe as I possibly can, but just like in everything else, you have to one-up me."

  For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I grin. I lean into his face, and realize how much I adore this man. "Looks like I'll have to teach you how to use a gun now, huh?" As I press my lips into his, he hums in sarcastic understanding and enjoyment.

  "Unfortunately, you might be right."

  The door beeps open, and I am yanked back to reality. This time a smile plays on both our lips as we briskly walk into the underground garage. I'm on full alert, eyes darting to all the exits, scanning for people or a waiting car. It's clear and too quiet for my liking. Our pace is quick, and we make it to my car.

  "Get in," I snap.

  I unlock the doors to my sleek black Shelby GT 500, and notice Jeremy eyeing it with wide-eyed appreciation. For obvious reasons, he doesn't dare ask to drive, even though I know he is tempted and taking mental notes for later. It makes me smug; girls can like muscle cars too.

  I toss my bag in the back as we slip inside. I pull the gun from my jeans, and place it in the center console before starting the engine. I can see him wearily eyeing the weapon. Don't make me remind you that that thing just saved your life.

  We drive in silence until we are out of the confines of the garage and on the road, the loud rumbling engine the only soundtrack to our scattered thoughts. As the sun peeks through the tall buildings, I finally exhale. How long had I been holding my breath?

  My eyes keep darting to my rearview mirror, checking for any following vehicles. Boston's hustle and bustle makes it difficult to identify a follower amid the cluster of vehicles. Jeremy places his hand on my knee and squeezes, causing goose bumps to rise all over my body.

  "Where are we going?" he asks.

  "Safe house. My house."

  "Your house?" he asks, confused. "I've never been to your place."

  I smirk. "Because as agents, we aren't supposed to reveal our personal residences. You never asked, so I never told. It stands as a backup safe house. It's equipped with security and some special equipment."

  He nods as if it all makes sense, but I can tell from the look on his face that he is still overwhelmed, possibly still confused. "How long will we be there?"

  I zoom around a corner. "At least twenty-four hours. It's protocol. Just in case there's danger, or someone within the system. We go offline for a full day to prevent being followed. We can call if we run into trouble, but other than that, it's silence. The agency will call with orders once we are in the clear."

  "Oh."

  I know it's a lot to take in, Jeremy. I place my hand over his, and he entwines his fingers around mine as we continue to drive.

  "What about that guy? Is someone going to go get him?" He's curious, and he has every right to be, but I don't know how to approach this.

  "Yes." My tone is more clipped than I intend. "A team will go and collect him, and clean up the situation."

  "He isn't dead?"

  He thinks he saw me kill someone. The thought puts a lump in my throat.

  "No. Just passed out. We need him for questioning."

  There's a pause as he thinks for a moment, and then he asks, "Could you have killed him if you wanted to?" His tone is adorable, like a kid asking about an R-rated film.

  I don't look at him. "Yes."

  "But you chose not to?"

  "Yes."

  "Hmm."

  What are you thinking, Jeremy? I'm a killing machine; I've told you this. We've been lovey-dovey for days, but this is who I am. If I wanted to put the bullet in his head instead of his shoulder I would have.

  "You are so calm. It shocks me. Actually, it scares me." I keep my eyes on the road
.

  "Alex, what are you scared of? I'm calm because I'm thankful. I'm thankful to be alive. I am thankful for you. I am only calm because I have you. The least I can do is be there for you right now. You've already done so much for me. This is all I have."

  I smile. "Jeremy, you are so much more."

  "But right now, this is all I have. From what I can tell, you need me as much as I need you. Just breathe for me, babe."

  How can someone I barely know say all the right things? How does he know I've ached to hear those words so many times?

  We pull into a parking lot and climb out of the car. I grab his hand and pull him toward a five-story building. Sitting on the bay, overlooking the shipping docks, are other looming buildings ranging in height, but most look abandoned. This building, more of a warehouse, has an old, classic vibe. It's a storage facility for a local furniture store—unmarked and inconspicuous.

  We approach a large, metal door that seems misplaced amid the red brick. I flip open a discreet looking brick panel to reveal a keypad. I type in my eight-digit code, and the door pings, giving us the clear. We walk into a narrow hallway with sterile, white walls that contrast the dark, dirty brick outside, and climb the five flights of stairs in silence. I let go of his hand when we reach another stainless steel door, and run my hands along the edge of the doorframe, looking for another hidden panel. I find it, revealing a shiny blue screen rather than a keypad. I press my index finger against it, and hold for fifteen seconds. The blue pad turns green, silently confirming my identity, and the door clicks open.

  I pull Jeremy inside, locking the door behind me. A different buzzing sound confirms that the security system is in full effect. I let out a long sigh, and for the first time, let everything in my body relax. I drop my bag on the floor and pull Jeremy against me. I grab his face, kissing him hard. He returns my kiss with equal fervor. I need him. I'm starving for his touch.