by Rosa, A.
Her dark eyes soften. "You can talk to me, Marcus."
I can't help but roll my eyes. "I don't think so, Adessa."
"Yes." She is crisp and demanding. As usual.
"Yes, what? You wouldn't understand."
"You look out of sorts. Maybe I can try to understand. I know I make you uneasy unless it's between the sheets, but at least give me the benefit of the doubt."
I clench my jaw. "Why should I do that?"
With her body almost flush against mine, she reaches for my shoulders. She kneads them gently while pushing them down into a more relaxed position. "I like it when you're mad, but keep yourself in check. You put a hit out on your best friend. I might be all you've got."
Her serpentine smile is back, and I get defensive. "How do you know that Jeremy was my best friend?"
"I know a lot more about you than you think. I'd like to think that we can be friends."
I sigh, realizing her hands feel good on me. I just don't think I can trust her, but she is right. Who else do I have? And what do I have to lose?
She sees me mulling it over, and her eyes sparkle. "Let's go get dinner, and you can tell me what's on your mind. And if you don't want to, then I am sure I can find something to talk about."
Her hint of sarcasm catches my attention. I notice she is smiling at me, and I reflexively smile back. Satisfied with the outcome, she grabs my hands, and pulls me out the front door.
What am I going to do?
JEREMY HUNT
Alex demanded I leave the room when she started to get ready for tonight. She told me that a girl needs her time, and when I told her I didn't realize she had these girly moments, she instantly shooed me out and locked me out of my bedroom. Of course, not without giving me a quick kiss before closing the door. I don't think she likes those girly comments.
I can't stop smiling as I walk into my living room. I drape my black blazer over the armrest of the couch, and place my bowtie on top. These formal events always make me feel off. I've never been a fan of dressing like a penguin.
Maybe a drink will ease my nerves. I must admit that I am on edge for better reasons than a silly bowtie. As if on cue, there is a knock on my door.
My whole body tenses. The last time there was a knock at my door, someone tried to kill me. I take a deep breath, aching for that drink.
However, I know who is beyond this door, and I peer at my watch. It's 6:55 p.m. The bastard is punctual at least.
I don't know much about this guy, other than he used to date my girl, and that is reason enough to hate him. What's his name? Derek? Even his name annoys me. Maybe I am also on the fence about him since Alex tells me he is her best friend. I don't want to compete with a man like this, and I don't think I should have to.
Let's see what I am up against. I vaguely remember him from the first time I found out about all of this craziness, and all I can remember is that he got uncomfortably close to Alex.
I take a few steps farther, and get distracted by my surprisingly clean, cherrywood floors. Only a day ago, I watched a man's gunshot wound bleed onto that floor, and now I would never be able to tell. I wonder who had the honor of cleaning up that mess. Am I supposed to pretend it never happened? I can't help but think I will forever look at that part of my floor, and remember each frantic moment on the attempt to take my life.
I shudder before I turn to face the door. Now is not the time to let myself be caught up in those moments.
I square my shoulders, and open the door.
The smug smirk of a man greets me. His brown hair is slicked back, and his eyes shine green. His five o'clock shadow has a stylish element to it. He's tall, though I am still taller. His broad shoulders add intimidation to his demeanor. One hand is tucked nonchalantly into his dress pants pocket, and the other holds a stainless steel briefcase, softening the look. He's wearing a tuxedo like mine, except his bowtie sits below his square jaw.
We both size each other up. He speaks before I do. "Evening, Hunt."
It's a brash greeting with no real introduction whatsoever. I mean, I don't really know the man, do I? Other than what Alex has told me. He seems to know me.
Even though I know his name, I decide to act as if he is no one of consequence. "And you are?"
Derek looks annoyed at my obvious disregard for his identity. He sets his mouth in a hard line. "Agent Derek Matthews." He grins. "I am sure Alex has mentioned me." I hear the hint of sarcasm, obviously intended to make me jealous.
I clench my jaw and decide now is not the time to throw down. Well, not until I have a little more reason to, beyond a greeting.
I cordially extend my hand to him. "Jeremy Hunt, nice to meet you, Agent Matthews."
His grip on my hand as he shakes it is much tighter than it needs to be, and I can't help but flash him a glare. He glares right back, and I pull away. I don't want to deal with this guy. I don't want to like him, and I've decided I never will.
"Come on inside. Alex is still getting ready."
Derek chuckles. "Yeah, be prepared to wait a while."
As we enter my living room, he places the briefcase on the dining room table. I eye him, and worry that he knows Alex better than I do. "She doesn't seem like the type."
Derek chooses not to make eye contact, and instead examines my apartment as he speaks. "They never do. It's the pretty ones. You never know what to expect. She is tough like a guy, but she is definitely a giant girl." He snickers as if recalling an inside joke, which bothers the shit out of me. I don't like him calling her pretty. Quit being an adolescent, Hunt!
"So, Agent Matthews, how long have you been friends with Alex?"
He places both his hands in his pockets, finally letting his intense jade eyes lock with mine as if he just formed a plan. "Friends?" Is he hinting that they had a dating history? He continues, "I've known her a long time. Since she was eighteen. We trained together at the academy, and I guess the rest is history." His eyes heat with a challenge.
His smug smile is eating me alive, and I decide I need that drink now. "Would you like a drink?" I remember my manners.
"Whatcha got, Hunt? Flashy guy like you must have some good stuff?"
He's being too chummy for my liking. It's insulting and in no way genuine. I want to roll my eyes, but decide to shrug it off. "Scotch? I've got Balvenie 21 Portwood."
"Sounds fancy. I'll take a large one. I might need it for tonight."
"Drinking on the job, Agent Matthews?" I pour him a double.
He takes it with a grin. "In my line of work, it's always better to start off with a drink. Gets the juices flowing, and offers a little liquid courage."
I smile at the comment, but still watch him as if he were a threat. We take a sip, not taking our eyes off each other until we hear rustling from down the hall.
I exhale, feeling the warmth run down my throat. I shoot my eyes toward the sound, hoping that Alex will stumble out, easing this awkward conversation. Nothing happens. Must have been her getting ready.
"Hey, Hunt." Derek's tone is sharp, capturing my attention. I turn to him as he finishes another sip of his scotch. The look in his eyes is serious.
"What, Matthews?"
"You hurt her, I kill you."
My eyebrows furrow. "Excuse me?"
"I said, you hurt her and I will personally have the honor of ending you. And if you haven't figured it out yet, our type of people are kind of professionals at it."
He nonchalantly takes another sip. I want to snatch the glass of my favorite, most expensive scotch out of his hand, but I manage to resist. "So, you are threatening me?"
"Well, for being such a big shot, I thought you might be quicker."
I am not going to be intimidated by someone who has no power over me. I have already had my life threatened once this week, and I think I'm getting used to it. "I would watch yourself if I were you, Matthews."
"No, Hunt, I would watch your back. That girl has been through too much for you to destroy her world on a whim."
What does he mean by that? What has she been through?
"Destroy on a whim? I would never. Who do you think you are talking to? I am not going to hurt her. It's the last thing I want to do."
"Well, your file says differently. Do you think Alex doesn't know who you really are under that penguin suit? Don't you get why she avoided you in the first place? We've all read your file. We know how many girls you've fucked, who you associate with, and the crowds and places you frequent. Your file isn't at all that impressive in the relationship department. And I am warning you, because I don't want to have this conversation again, you hurt her, and I end you."
I want to punch this guy square in the jaw, but settle on a more stealthy approach.
I finish off my scotch, and place it on the kitchen table. "Funny, Matthews, it almost sounds like you're a little on edge. Didn't you and Alex date? Oh, that's right; I think she mentioned you guys didn't work out. Shame. If Alex has read my file and is continuing to see me, then it still looks like I win. It's funny, isn't it? I think Alex is a big girl, and she can personally end me if she wants to. She obviously knows who she wants."
His jaw clenches as he sizes me up again. Sore subject, Matthews?
He takes a deep breath as if accepting defeat. "That past is between Alex and me, Hunt." He looks almost remorseful, but hides it quickly. "Testosterone aside, don't hurt her."
"I told you, I don't plan on it." I notice his drink is finished too. To offer some sort of truce, I say, "Care for another drink?"
"I think I am going to need it." His eyes heat in anger again as they collide with mine. I think we have just agreed to be amiable enemies.
Works for me. Just don't touch my girl.
ALEX TURNER
I take a deep breath and wonder how long it's taken me to get ready. I've enjoyed the quiet time in Jeremy's lavish bathroom. I've showered, shaved my legs, and lotioned my body in preparation for this bizarre night on the town. I just needed to clear my head.
Little does Jeremy know that I have had to attend many events like this all over the world, cavorting with different types of people. Some dangerous, some politically powerful, and some downright dirty men.
This means my closet is not shy of costumes for an event like this. I say costume, because my true motives are a far cry from social gain.
Maybe someday Jeremy and I can go to one of these functions with nothing hiding beneath the surface. I could be his pretty accessory to high-end events, and for once, I could relax and focus on my smile rather than manipulation.
I look up at my reflection in the mirror and sigh. I look tired and worn-down after the past day's events. I rub some concealer over my skin to give it a fresh glow. I've never been a fan of dressing up, but secretly, I love makeup. I brush some onyx eye shadow over my lid, and top it off with a jade green. To finish the smoky eye look, I put on a thick layer of defining eyeliner. After applying the last touches of mascara and blush, I feel finished.
Oh, pretty dirt.
I examine my hair one more time. My long black locks have miraculously curled the way I wanted, and they cascade in loose curls over my shoulders. I want to be pretty for Jeremy. He deserves pretty.
I lock eyes with myself in the mirror, and I start my usual pep talk between me, myself, and I.
You can do this. Even though you feel like you have more riding on this than other cases, stick to what you know. You are a professional. Slip into that event, bat those lashes, and smile. This event should be a cakewalk. Dazzle them, Alex, like you always do. Be aware that more attention will be on you than normal with a high profile date like Jeremy Hunt on your arm. Move swiftly and stealthily, like a breeze moving through the crowd, and find Marcus. Find a way to get him to confide in you. Keep an eye on Jeremy; he needs to stay safe. Prep him, but don't forget to be a good date as well. You have to live up to his reputation. Keep everything in perspective. Be a good agent, and at least try to be a good girlfriend, whatever that means.
I adjust my long, black, sweetheart dress, pulling the edge up over my cleavage. Let's try to be decent and classy, Agent Turner.
Of course, subconscious.
I slip my feet into my black Jimmy Choo pumps, and then run my hand under the long slit of my dress to my thigh, adjusting the pistol attached to the inner portion. Running my fingers over the cool metal reassures me, and I can't hold back my smile.
I'm ready as I'll ever be.
I want Jeremy by my side right now. I'm a bit nervous about tonight, and I'm eager for him to put his arms around me. It's a confidence boost I'm not used to, especially in relation to work, but I'll take it.
I take another breath, and make my way to the living room.
As I walk down the hall, a gasp escapes Jeremy's lips. I can't help but grin, giddy at the wonderful sight of Jeremy.
He looks handsome in the perfectly tailored suit that shows off his lean, muscular physique and broad back. As always (and little does he know), I find his beauty distracting. I stop mid-step, drinking him in. He is so good looking that he takes my breath away.
Jeremy puts down his glass, the glint in his eye making me blush as he strides toward me. "You look stunning, Miss Turner."
I grin as his hand comes up to cradle my jaw. "So do you," I whisper for him alone to hear, feeling cherished as his eyes devour me. He leans in, pressing his lips to mine as if he can't resist.
"Excuse me? I hate to interrupt." Of course, Derek is here already, and he sounds absolutely pissed off.
I am an idiot. How could I forget he was standing there?
I step out of Jeremy's grasp, and see his jaw clench in disapproval.
I size Derek up, and make contact with his angry emerald gaze. "Derek, what are you doing dressed like that?" I point at his dress shirt, blazer, and bowtie.
He grins, but without dropping his heated, angry glare. "Guess who's joining the party for a little extra reconnaissance?" The bastard has the audacity to wink.
I set my mouth in a hard line. "You would."
"Hmm." His eyes lazily drag up my body. "You look good, Turner, as always."
Derek has seen me like this dozens of times. I peek at Jeremy, who seems to be containing himself, but looks to be seething under his cool demeanor. I didn't anticipate this.
Derek seems to be enjoying the mood shift—mainly in Jeremy—and he smirks. "Turner, I have to update you with some intel. We got some news on the hit on your boyfriend."
Jeremy flinches, and I suspect it is to hold something back, as if trying to remain composed.
"What's that?" I am too interested in the whys and the whats to have time to deal with Jeremy's teetering temper, no matter how impeccable he looks.
"Oh, you're going to like this."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It's Going to be OK
ALEX TURNER
"Tell me."
Derek's eyes dart over to Jeremy. "I think we should talk about this in private. It isn't his deal."
This time Jeremy cannot restrain himself. "You're not serious? The guy tried killing me. If that isn't my deal, then I don't know what is."
Derek rolls his eyes before locking them with mine, pleading with me to tell Jeremy to leave the room. I'm torn. I used to know how to solve problems immediately. Now I have hit a gray area. I tap my heel a few times, deciding what to do. The result is a huff of frustration. I don't have time for this.
"I am not picking sides here, but Jeremy can hear what you have to say. It's fine. If he is in on this, then I can't imagine you saying anything that he shouldn't hear."
Derek's face shifts into a frown as if he has a bad taste in his mouth. "Fine, but he isn't going to like what I have to say."
"Just spit it out, Matthews!"
"The attacker's name is Ricardo Silva—"
"That sounds Portuguese, Brazilian? Or Spanish? I thought the terrorist groups we were dealing with were—"
"I am not finished yet, Turner. Slow your roll. The man is really of no conseq
uence anymore. Besides, he is dead."
My eyes go wide. "Dead?"
"Wait for it. We got him back to headquarters where he woke up about forty-five minutes after pick up, and he let us question him for about an hour. Very cryptic, and spoke little to no English. Too bad you weren't there. All he could blurt out was Portuguese gibberish, so we had Luis from Unit 13 come in and translate. Long story short, it was a professional hit. The guy has a rap sheet that would dazzle even you. He's been linked to hits around the globe. Remember that hit on the oil tycoon, Mosa Farhadi? That was him. How and why he was in the U.S., I don't know. I don't think this hit was the reason. Word on the street was that he was lying low. Interpol has had him flagged for about eight months, and I don't know how he managed to get here. The only thing we were able to squeeze out of him after offering lenience was that he was paid five grand to do the hit. Doesn't seem like the amount of cash this guy is used to, but who knows, maybe someone called in a favor. Regardless, after that, things started getting weird. I think he realized he was a dead man anyway for not finishing it. Then everything went to hell. He started babbling some religious bullshit that we couldn't make out between his confessions. He kept begging for forgiveness and all that. Just when we thought he was about to tell us who he's working for—he dies. Turns out he had a cyanide capsule hidden in a back molar. He bit down on that sucker and was a goner before we could get anything else."
I stare at Derek. "Did you say five thousand dollars for the hit?"
Derek grins. "Bingo."
My eyes go wide, and there is an unspoken understanding between us. "That's why he transferred the money? And Luc?"
"Well, it's hard to say. He seems to be a link, so he might have hooked it up for him."
"Shit." I chew on my bottom lip, processing this new information.
"Shit is right. You have a lot to deal with tonight. I would not trust that bastard for anything. And get this, the asshole even called Jeremy's P.A. to see if he made it into the office on Friday. What a fucking idiot."