Agent of Desire (Jessica Booker)

by Charlie Evans

  Dammit!

  “Are you okay?” he says.

  I nod, and let a tear escape my eye. It’s too bad I won’t be able to tell him what I’m doing. But maybe it will work better if he doesn’t know. I lean into his chest and grab my wounded arm.

  Don’t overdo it.

  I nod. “I’m sorry, I’ll be okay. I must be tired.”

  “I did like you said,” he whispers. “I gave them something, but it’s not what they’re looking for. It should keep them busy for a few hours, though.”

  He looks proud. I’m proud of him, but I’m also trying to keep a straight face. I’m sure they’re still looking at the camera feed from his glasses, and I am also sure that they heard him say he sent them on a wild goose chase. Which means they will be back any second to get him.

  “It’s okay,” he says, and runs his hand along my cheek. The warmth I feel from his touch is real. He leans in and kisses me gently on the lips. I want badly to wrap my arms around him and kiss him back, but I have to hold myself in check. They have to believe some part of me has given up.

  “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” he asks. “Once they have what they want.”

  I don’t answer, because I don’t have to. He already knows.

  His arms slide around my back and he holds me close, like he might be able to shield me from what’s coming.

  The door at the end of the hall opens, and footsteps come toward us. I lose myself in one more kiss before they pull him off me and take him away.

  Chapter Twenty One

  I lay on my back on the floor, clutching my arm. The wound has stopped bleeding. I might die from infection if I don’t get to the hospital eventually, but that’s the only way this bullet wound could kill me. The pain is down to a dull ache.

  I don’t want the guard to know that, though. There is only one of them in the hallway, down at the end by the door. I can see him out of the corner of my eye through the fence. He’s looking at me. I roll over toward him. The v-neck shirt I’m wearing already shows cleavage, but I snake my body, curving my back to accentuate my ass and my bust.

  I’m sexy and injured, an easy target.

  This game would never work if he were an agent. He would have figured me out right away. Even if he didn’t it would be a dangerous game, because he might be able to overpower me. I might not be in a lot of pain, but I still don’t have use of my left arm. My bicep is trashed.

  But this guy is one of the ones who came for us at the hotel. He’s just a hired meathead. I saw the way they crashed into the hotel room, guns out. No agent would do anything that stupid. If I’d been armed, they’d all be dead.

  This idiot was definitely my best chance.

  I moan. Sexy, helpless, injured and moaning.

  He wastes no time coming over to the cage. “You need some help in there?” he asks.

  I turn away from him, but not before sobbing a little.

  The key is in the lock. I can hear him fumble with it before it clicks open. The gate squeaks. I don’t turn. His footsteps approach. I can tell he wants to let his guard down. He squats and puts one of his hands on my hip, sliding it back so that he can cup my ass. I don’t turn.

  He pulls me over on my back, looking at my vacant face. He doesn’t even see my legs sweep up behind him. I wrap my feet around his neck and pull him back against the ground, hard and fast. There is a dull thud as his head hits the concrete. I sit up and relieve the pervert’s limp arms of his gun. There is nothing I hate more than a sexual predator.

  I check his pulse. The scumbag will live.

  On my feet, I throw the strap of the gun over my shoulder. It’s an automatic. I prefer handguns. They are much more civilized. Also, they’re easier to fire with one hand. But I’ve used this kind of weapon before. It’ll do in a pinch.

  Taking the door of the cage in my right hand, I slam it closed as hard as I can. The sound reverberates throughout the room as I rush down to the end of the hallway, where I lie flat behind the door and wait.

  Barely a second goes by before a man comes running through the door. I clip him with the butt of my gun under his jaw, knocking his head back. As his feet continue forward, they fly out from under him and he lands on his back, hitting the ground hard, but not hard enough. I have to hit him again, square on the forehead, and then he is down.

  I wait a moment to see if I should be expecting any more company, but no one comes.

  Unfortunately, they brought me in here while I was out cold, which means I have no idea what the rest of the building looks like. I will have to feel my way through it, find Geoffrey, and get out.

  I rush out the door and down a hallway, peering into the next room. It’s lined with empty cages similar to the one I just broke out of. I walk down to the next door, and the room’s the same. I check the other rooms—all empty. There is a stairwell at the end of the hall. It only goes one way: up. I run to it and climb to the next floor. There’s a window, the first I’ve seen. It looks out onto a vacant parking lot. The blacktop is cracked and overgrown with weeds. There are a few more buildings across the lot, old warehouses with broken windows. Then a field, and nothing beyond that.

  I listen for ambient noise. A car, a siren, an airplane overhead, anything. But there is nothing for miles—I can feel that.

  A door in a hallway above me clicks open. “She’s going to make him do it, or die trying,” Sims’s voice says. He walks toward the stairwell. I should take a shot at him. It’s my best chance of escape. I just have to shoot him, and then the threat is gone.

  I slide down the hall into an empty room and aim the barrel of the gun out the door at the stairs. His feet come into view. I have to do it before his head is in view. Once he’s seen me it’s over. I have to take the advantage.

  His knees are in view. I can do this—just wait for his torso.

  His hands come into view, and then his body.

  I slip back into the room. I can’t believe I can’t do this. I’ve trained for this for years. But I’ve never done it before. I’ve never taken a life. Now I hide in the small room shaking, trying to figure out what is wrong with me. I should be able to kill him. He is a threat. He’s the threat.

  His footsteps make it to the bottom of the stairwell and then move toward where he thinks I’m locked up. This can’t be happening—he is going to find out that I’m not there, and I won’t be able to stop him when he comes back. He will be ready for me. I’ve lost my one chance to outmaneuver him.

  Unless…

  I scurry up the stairs to the next floor and pad down the hall as quietly as I can, listening as I go. Muffled voices come from a room halfway down. If I can just get to Geoffrey and get him out before Sims figures out I’m gone.

  I gently turn the handle, and slide the door open a crack. Someone is in there with Geoffrey. Locate and take them out, then get Geoffrey the hell out of there.

  Geoffrey is sitting at a table with a company laptop, his back to me. Of course he’s using one of ours. You can’t get a more secure online connection than that.

  “Jessica,” a calm voice comes from a dark corner of the room.

  Lincoln. What the fuck?

  He leans into an earpiece. “No, I know. She’s up here. I have her.”

  “Lincoln?” I ask.

  He winks at me. “I have a gun pointed at your boyfriend here. You may as well drop the weapon and join us.”

  I hesitate.

  “Jessica, if you want your man to live, do as I say.”

  I look over at Geoffrey, who has turned to face me. Like it or not, he’s become more to me than some picture in a file. Even if he wasn’t my mission, I don’t want anyone to hurt him. He’s mine.

  I take a deep breath, and then do what I haven’t been able to do this whole time—the one thing that might get us out of this mess—shove away my feelings for Geoffrey. “He’s not my man,” I say, taking a step closer. “Besides, you won’t kill him. You need him.”

  “Stop, Jessica,” Lincol
n says.

  “I can’t believe you’re in on this,” I say, taking another step toward him. “You were my handler.”

  He laughs. “Sims was your handler.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a jaded old fuck. You, however, are a young and promising recruit. You should still have your ideals, Lincoln. You joined the company for a reason. It wasn’t this.” I move in closer. The gun is still strapped over my shoulder.

  “Jessica, don’t you know what these are? They’re NATO battle plans. NATO! A relic of the cold war. No one cares about NATO. NATO doesn’t even care about its own plans enough to keep their secrets guarded. They just locked them up in a closet somewhere to collect dust.” Lincoln shrugs. “If someone wants to pay millions for old military plans from an out-of-date treaty organization, I’m willing to take their money.”

  “Is that what Sims told you?” I ask. “That no one cares about these plans? They’re old and useless? That was enough for you to trade your entire life mission. Your whole career.”

  “You don’t get it. I still get to keep the job. Because I’m not going down for this—you are.” Lincoln smiles and looks over at the computer in front of Geoffrey.

  I take another step forward and follow his gaze. It’s my laptop.

  Lincoln sees the recognition in my eyes and smiles. “I admit it’s not fair that any of us should go away for this, but I suppose someone has to. The story we’ll tell the CIA is that you kidnapped Geoffrey and stole the records yourself, selling them to the highest bidder. You’ll be locked up forever. But don’t worry, Jessica, I’ll continue the good fight. Only, with extra pocket cash.”

  I feel the barrel of a gun at my back. “Glad you could join us, Jessica.” Sims says from behind me. “I’ll have that gun.”

  He lifts the barrel to the ceiling and pulls the strap over my head. “Now, move over to your boyfriend’s side there. It appears he needs more motivation.”

  I take the empty chair next to Geoffrey. He looks tired, but still resolved. “Don’t do it,” I say under my breath.

  “Yes, Geoffrey, don’t do it,” Sims says. “Because I would really love to hear her scream once more before she dies. She really is a screamer. Wouldn’t you agree, Geoffrey?”

  Holy mother of...

  Deep breaths, Jessica. He is fucking with you again. Don’t let him hold all the cards.

  The game isn’t over until you’re dead.

  “Geoffrey,” I say. “How true is it, what Lincoln said? Are these military plans really that old?”

  “Shut up,” Sims says.

  “Actually, no. They update the information in the boxes quarterly,” Geoffrey says, catching on. “They just updated the information the day before the break-in.”

  “Huh,” I say looking at Lincoln. “So maybe it’s not a bunch of dusty old Cold War tactics.”

  “SHUT UP!” Sims shouts. His gun goes off, shattering a window. Shards of glass rain down on the floor. “Geoffrey, you will access those files now, or I will shoot her.”

  I shake my head. Geoffrey looks me in the eyes, and I see the enormous amount of fear he is forcing back. He places his hands flat on the table and clenches his jaw. “No.”

  The next gunshot is quieter, even though the target is closer. I scream and clutch my leg, cussing at the pain, which I think just might kill me. “Motherfuckingshit!”

  “Do it, or I’ll shoot her other leg,” Sims says.

  I can’t see what’s happening because I’m curled over my leg, in excruciating pain. But I can hear the keys on my computer clicking away fervently for several seconds. “Done. Please don’t hurt her.”

  “That’s all?”

  “It’s all on there, check for yourself,” Geoffrey says.

  Sims pulls Geoffrey out of his seat and checks the computer, making sure that what he needs is there. I force my head up, trying to will away the pain so that I can grasp what is going on. Sims is in the chair next to me, staring at the computer screen. I can barely lift my head, which is why I see his hand holding his gun under the table. It’s pointed at Lincoln.

  Dammit. He doesn’t plan on leaving us alive to take the fall. He plans on killing us all.

  I steel myself, deciding that the pain really doesn’t exist. It can’t—not for what I’m about to do.

  “So now you’re going to shoot Lincoln?” I ask.

  “What?” Lincoln sees what I need him to see—the gun pointed right at him.

  I lunge forward, grabbing Sims’s gun with my injured arm. He falls for the fake, going at me with his free hand. I straighten up and push the heel of my other hand full-force into Sims’s nose. He flies backwards, but pulls me down with him. I have to reach for the gun with my good arm, which means holding myself up with my injured one. Grinding my teeth through the pain, I grab the gun and twist, but he’s ready for that and isn’t going to give up the gun. He pulls me down to him, rolling over so that he’s on top of me.

  There’s a pop, and he smiles as he sits over me. “Game over,” he says.

  I wait to die.

  I wait.

  Sims smiles. There is something scary in his eyes. He slides sideways off me and crumples to the floor beside me. I slip out from underneath him, unable to look away from his vacant stare.

  “Lori,” Geoffrey pulls me away, wrapping his arms around me. “Are you okay?”

  I turn, searching the room. “Where’s Lincoln?”

  “He ran out. He shot Sims and ran.”

  I grab Sims’s gun and try to stand in an attempt to go after Lincoln. That little shit is not going to get away. But my leg won’t work. Then I remember I’ve been shot, twice, and I know I’m in shock. Crap. He will be caught. I’ll catch him myself if I have to. But maybe not just now.

  I look up at the table. My laptop is still here. The secrets are safe. Geoffrey is safe. I collapse back into Geoffrey’s arms and take a deep breath. My arm hurts; my leg screams in pain. But the threat is gone. I can relax. I can cry. Geoffrey holds me closer, comforting me, as I let the tears fall.

  Six Months Later

  After several months of recovery, I find myself back in Paris and take a cab straight from Charles DeGaulle Airport to Geoffrey’s flat.

  “Lori,” Geoffrey says as he opens the door. He leans down, kissing me on both cheeks, making me smile. How French. He slips an arm around my waist. “Or do I call you Jessica?” His voice deepens.

  He makes my name sound so sensual. I look up at him. He’s fresh and well rested. His brown eyes are bright, and his face is smooth shaven. I touch his cheek with my hand. “You can call me anything you want,” I say. “Did you get contacts?”

  He laughs. “I got laser surgery. I don’t trust glasses anymore.”

  “I thought they made you look sexy.”

  He lets go of me and turns into his apartment. “Wait there—I may still have an old pair hiding in a drawer somewhere.”

  I follow him in. “Kidding. You look even hotter without them.”

  “Really?” He turns back to me, eyebrows raised. His eyes flow over my body. I’m wearing the same tight black dress I wore the first night we met. He looks like he would like to relive that night just as much as I would. “How’s your arm?” he asks.

  “Fine. All healed. I have a little scar.”

  He takes my arm delicately in his hand, like he’s afraid he might hurt me. The last time he saw me, at the hospital before they sent me home, I was still healing. Still hurt.

  He brushes my faint scar with his thumb, then kisses it gently. “How’s your leg?” he asks.

  “Healed just as well,” I say. He looks down at the skirt of my dress. The scar is hidden underneath.

  Geoffrey kneels in front of me, his mouth tantalizingly close to my sex, which clenches at his subtle gaze. He takes the hem of my dress and slowly moves it up until he can see the scar on my bare leg. He slides a hand up the inside of my thigh while brushing the scar gently with his other hand. I was proud of my battle wounds before, but I didn’t realize
how sexy they were until now. His hand reaches around to the back of my thigh and he bends in, kissing the entry scar, then moves his hands, parting my legs so that he can kiss the inside of my thigh.

  My breath catches. He looks up at me, his eyes warming every inch of me. I don’t think I can stay on my feet if he remains down there, but he leans in closer, pushing my skirt up higher. His kisses travel north, to within inches of where I yearn to be touched. He lifts his head up, nuzzling his nose into my dress, just above my pubic bone. His hot breath warms me. I reach down and put my hands on his head, running my fingers through his thick, dark hair.

  He kisses me through my dress, right on my pubic bone, and then slightly lower. Even through two layers of cloth, my clit is aching for his touch. He runs his hand along the inside of my thigh, getting close to my panties. I gasp and grab the wall next to me for support.

  He sees me stumble and stands, pulling me to him. He kisses my forehead, my nose, my cheeks. His hot breath trails along my jaw until he finally finds my mouth with his. The kiss is slow at first, his tongue dancing lazily around mine, and I kiss him back. He slides his hands up the sides of my body, barely brushing my breasts with his thumbs. My body sings, as his hands ride back down my torso and cup my backside. He lifts me, hoisting my skirt up and wrapping my legs around his waist.

  He presses his hardness into me as I unbutton his shirt, getting lost once more in his hot, wet kisses that intensify as we somehow make it to the bedroom. He lays me down on the bed, but instead of joining me, he stands up and removes his pants and boxers. He walks around the bed, totally naked now. His biceps are bulging, his abs rock hard—and so is his… ohmygod. It’s even bigger than I remember.

  I lick my lips.

  Opening a drawer on the bedside table, he removes a box of condoms. He retrieves one and sets it on the table. His gaze slides over to me, and then back to the box. With a sly smile, he takes out a second condom and sets it beside the first. I just watch him, not sure what to do. I want him to rip off my dress. As much as I love it, it’s creating a barrier between my body and his. I arch my back and plead with my eyes until he lies down next to me, gliding his fingers slowly over my body. I can’t tell which turns me on more—his hand brushing over my Yes Dress, or the fact that he’s completely nude as he does it. He lays a hand on one of my breasts, squeezing it, teasing the nipple. I writhe under his touch, amazed at how little he has to do to make me beg.