by Rosette Lex
He quietly slipped back into the safe house building through the back alley, heading for the freight elevator which was the only way back up. He had purchased the building for his own use, expecting that he would need privacy now and again just to...be himself...in ways he couldn’t do around his colleagues or even his friends.
Now that his parents were dead, in fact, there was no one in the world that he could truly relax around. It sometimes left him feeling very lonely. But as he made his way back up to the maximum-security level, the sense of isolation gnawed on him more than usual. She was there, she was right up there, she felt it as well, and all he had to do was….
Was what? Screw up the mission, betray Control, betray his country and the people he had come to love as his own. All for what. Sex? The possibility of romance, which would inevitably be spoiled when she learned his background and recoiled from him in fear?
“Get it together,” he told himself in a growling, resentful voice.
When he came back in, he heard the shower running and had to push back another surge of interest. Marina was a strange girl, certainly. If she was a liar she was the sort who believed her own lies enough to sound sincere.
If she genuinely believed she wasn’t lying, then she would have to be insane. Delusional, a victim of conditioning, or even a multiple personality. Whatever the case, it was time for him to figure her out.
He went over to the plain white leather couch in the front room, and sat down, closing his eyes and trying to focus. In the other room, she was naked, lathering up her body and scrubbing down, then rinsing off. He shouldn’t be thinking of this.
He should be thinking of nothing: clearing his mind, narrowing his focus, allowing himself to become empty, relaxed, calm. When she came in they would begin, and he would start to pry the truth from her. Her state of mind, her relationship with Bogdanovic, her responsiveness to manipulation, her openness to her various legal options as a witness. It would work. He would damned well make it work.
Except the water was running and running. He checked his watch. She had been in there for ten minutes so far since he had come in. He tried to keep calm, going back to his focusing exercises. But he kept finding his eyes turning down the hallway to the bathroom door, and the faint threads of steam trickling out around it. Fifteen minutes.
He got up, feeling his heart going heavy in his chest with apprehension. He walked over to the door slowly, half inclined to go back down and continue his meditations lest he get himself in some kind of...trouble. But even though he did his best to control his apprehensions, he leaned over and pressed his ear against the door.
Anguished sobbing reached his ears. He stiffened, feeling her pain stab through his chest like an icicle.
I did this to her. She’s supposed to be mine, we should be curled up in that bed over there in quiet bliss, and instead she’s crying under the shower spray because I made a captive of her for my country. And she’s not even the one we’re after. She’s the girlfriend, and apparently one who had no idea what she was getting into.
But how was that possible? She was supposed to have full awareness of all of Bogdanovic’s major moves. How could she be tremendously knowledgeable but emotionally naive? How could she be tough enough to carry intel on Bogdanovic’s casual murder habits but fragile enough to fall apart the moment she was in any trouble at all?
He pushed the guilt and grief away and knocked on the door. “Miss Dragovic--”
“Go away,” came the faint voice. “I keep t-telling you, that’s not even my name.”
He hesitated. “Miss Dragovic, please, there’s no need for this. You’re not even in any danger. If you decide to turn state’s evidence, we’ll simply relocate you under the witness protection program. Bogdanovic will never know. He won’t be able to reach you--”
“Bogdanovic already fucked up my life, and so did Marina! They’re the ones who faked you out and handed you the wrong person!” Her voice went high and hoarse with strain, and the broke up into sobbing. “And y-you’re too damn stubborn to even check and see if I’m telling the truth. That means that the bad guys win, and I lose. And I’m completely innocent! Great God-damned job you’re doing!”
He sucked air, feeling the impact of her rage and anguish like a slap. Everything in him wanted to shove open the door, get in under the spray and take her in his arms. Not for sex this time but just to comfort her. To beg forgiveness.
I didn’t mean to do this to you, it’s the work, I’m stuck trying to handle this, and the only thing you ever did wrong was to pick the wrong man as your lover and then hang on once you realized he was a monster.
He leaned his back against the bathroom door. “Would it make any difference if I told you that we’re hunting for Bogdanovic right now?” He focused carefully, trying to push past her anguish and gauge her reaction to this piece of news.
What he got back from his analysis was a surge of relief and righteous anger. “Good. And when you find him, and he’s got his god-damned girlfriend with him, maybe you’ll finally get it through your head that I’m not her!”
He hesitated again, and then said quietly, “Maybe this does not matter much to you, but even though I know you’re full of crap and trying to play me, I honestly wish that that could be true. I wish it wasn’t you.”
Her sobbing slowly leveled off, then dried up. “But...you won’t check.”
“I’m having someone check,” he said--and then cursed himself. He wasn’t supposed to be so transparent with an interrogation subject. It gave them a portion of control over the situation, when he was supposed to maintain absolute control himself.
“You...are?” He heard her turning off the tap finally--as a massive wave of relief hit him. It came from her, it was entirely hers, but he floundered in the midst of it, and let out a low gasp before he managed to re-balance himself.
“Y-yes,” he managed. How could she feel relieved at the idea of Bogdanovic being caught if she loves him?
And then it hit him, the only explanation that made sense. Her devotion didn’t come from love. It came from fear. She was playing innocent victim because in a sense she was. Bogdanovic confided in her for the same reason that she was so terribly loyal. She lived in fear of him.
The man had to be keeping her in line with abuse. Abuse, threats against her loved ones back in Serbia...the nastiest and most pernicious forms of emotional blackmail.
“You’re afraid of him,” he probed gently. “You’re afraid of what he might do if you testify against him.”
“I only met him twice, once at the party,” she insisted, the worry in her voice creeping into his guts. “I don’t know if he was threatening Marina, I wasn’t there.”
She wasn’t lying.
How is that even possible? She’s the same woman as in the photograph. Absolutely the same woman. Granted, it is said that every human has a twin somewhere in the world, but no one in their right mind would buy her story. How could she just happen to be a neighbor of Marina’s that looks just like her? He started worrying more and more that he might be dealing with some form of insanity.
He heard her get out, and various shuffles and rustlings as she got dressed. He didn’t know what to do. Something neutral. Gather more information, win a little trust. “I’m making lunch. Are you hungry?”
She was starving, but had to fight a surge of resentment that felt like a slap. “I guess so,” she finally said grudgingly.
He managed sandwiches while she sat on her couch combing tangles from her long hair. Her hair looked straighter than it had in the photographs, and last night.
The plain shampoo he had stocked the bathroom with didn’t hide the rich smell of her wet hair from his sensitive nostrils. He focused on cutting up turkey breast, tomato and lettuce and piling them onto bread, trying to avoid sneaking peeks at her through the breakfast bar window. She was dressed in the plain black silk track suit
"When did you meet Bogdanovic?" He asked her quietly as he sliced some apples and
pears to go with the sandwiches.
"Marina invited me to dinner about a week ago and there was this guy there. He was huge, not like you are, but like someone turned a sofa on its end, gave it feet, eyes and lots of body hair, and put it in a Hawaiian shirt."
He snickered in spite of himself. She still seemed to be telling the truth, except for a touch of false bravado. "You say that was a week ago?"
"Yes, a week ago."
Still not lying. He pressed on as he tossed some apple cores.
"Do you remember how they acted?" If Marina was dissociating and hiding behind this "Emily" persona, she might report on herself and her lover without even realizing she was doing so.
"They kept talking to each other in Serbian. I thought at first he didn't speak much English and that was why. Then I heard part of one of his phone conversations in perfect English." She finished combing her hair and started braiding it up.
"So they were having conversations in your presence that they didn't want you to understand."
She paused, blinking slowly. "Yes, that...does kind of seem like what they must have been doing, looking back. At the time I thought they were just being rude." Her thoughtful expression crumbled slowly, and she squeezed her eyes shut in pain. "Oh God, they must have planned this switch then! I was so stupid to trust that bitch!"
Her sincere anguish slammed into him, and he dropped the apple in his hand and was halfway across the room before he even thought about it. And even then the tears on her face drew him the rest of the way. Stop it. Stop it. I can't stand your pain.
He had to make it right somehow, even if she was crazy or deluded or the enemy, it didn't matter. He remembered his father's gentle warnings of how it would be when he found and imprinted on his proper mate, and thought how much worse it was than he had expected. And it didn't lessen until he was on the couch and she was gathered gently against his chest.
She unballed slowly, starting to relax against him even as he grew aware of how her closeness affected him again. He felt the warm tingling running through him as he heard his own voice whispering in her ear. "No, no, don't do that, don't hurt yourself like that...."
She pulled back and stared up at him in confusion, the warm haze already rising in her own eyes. "What are you doing...?"
"I..." he murmured, feeling his loins tighten as she tilted her head back with her eyelids at half mast. "...have to do my job, but I can't stand to see you in pain...."
"Let me go." Her voice had no anger in it; it came out a gentle plea.
"I can't until we sort this. I’m sorry. It’s not even up to me." He shouldn't be apologizing to a prisoner. He shouldn't be running his hand up and down her back through the silk. Especially when she moaned gently and slid her arms around him. No. I can't. I can't....
"Then make love to me," she whispered against his lips.
The protocols of interrogation said he should stay in control, always keeping her off balance, always watching for every clue, every hint of emotional shift. But he couldn’t exploit emotions while they battered him around as if they were his own.
What poured out of her right then was fear, loneliness and need, and only his touch made it better. She was caving in to her desires in search of comfort, and distraction, and her decision tempted him toward making the same one.
And even though his training screamed at him not to start anything while he was tapped so deeply into her emotions, his instincts screamed louder. He brought his mouth down on hers, desperation and hunger in the move, tasting what he’d been missing for all these aching years. And realizing fully that he was starved for it.
Her lips clung to his, she pressed her body against him; he heard his own groan low in his throat as he responded helplessly. And he could feel the terror and frustration in her slide away as he ravaged her lips, bursts of joy and pleasure and wonder and confusion pouring out of her now. It gratified him, soothed something deep inside--and yet drove his own need to a desperate peak.
I can't hold out. I'm tired of trying. He would do it, and to Hell with the consequences, because her need was his and his was hers and there was nothing more important in the world.
He didn't entirely remember rolling over and pinning her under him, or when his hand slid up inside her shirt to cup and knead her warm and ample breast. But she squirmed against him intoxicatingly, confusion giving way to delight as her hands slid up his chest and started unbuttoning his shirt.
He was completely hooked; this feeling, to want and be wanted in return, to finally give in to his need and hers, overwhelmed him and left him shaking. And their kisses stole each other’s breath, and in the time between they gasped for air and whispered to each other.
"Oh God, you feel so good...."
“Do me like you were going to at the party….”
“That was a mistake...I shouldn’t..but...you’re so….”
"Don't stop...I can't stand it...."
"Take your shirt off." His voice had gone hoarse, feverish, full of desperation. And she obliged, pulling the black silk up over her head and spilling her amazing breasts into his palms.
His mind hazed over. What was he doing? He tried to remember what was wrong with nestling over this woman, face buried in her breasts as he rubbed and nuzzled them. He tried to recall why he had thought, even for a moment, that making love to her was a bad idea.
He did his best...and failed after a few moments, busying himself with kissing her smooth, delicate skin. He had never let himself get this far with a woman before, and had to tap even deeper into her emotions and sensations to learn the caresses she enjoyed most.
It wouldn’t do to be a clumsy newcomer at this...but the doubled sensation of his mouth on her and her hands on him drove him into an aching, sweating frenzy.
He heard her sob with pleasure, felt the little jolts of it slam into him as he licked and sucked her painfully erect nipples. Her fingers were busy with his belt buckle, and he reached down to help her, ready to pull the cloth away from his erection and bury it inside of her. He felt her spring him free, felt her fingers on his shaft, and reached to yank her pants down--
Across the room, his open laptop shrilled.
Alan froze, shock mixing with guilt mixing with alarm as he realized he was listening to Control’s emergency signal. It was as effective as a bucket of icy water, and he sat up, hissing a curse.
“W-what is it?” She loosened her grip on him, disappointment written across her face and her mind but a note of worry there as well.
“That’s an emergency communication. Damn it.” His voice was a growl. He pulled himself off of her, frustrated as well as worried, and more than a little disgusted with himself. Something had gone wrong with his team, and here he was tangled up with the woman he was supposed to be interrogating. It was anything but his finest moment.
He crossed the room, yanking his pants back up and fastening them around his hips before grabbing the laptop and walking into the other room. He had to button his shirt before he answered, and felt foolish, knowing he looked rumpled and flushed and couldn’t do anything about it.
"This is Grant, go on."
The screen fuzzed. "This is Coulter, come in...connection's bad...."
"Jim...Jim!" He stared in shock as he caught a glimpse of his second's dusty, bloody face. What the Hell happened?"
"Penthouse was rigged...bomb...two vans of guys pulled up to try and finish the job..." the feed cut out and in again. Coulter panted and coughed. His eyes were bloodshot and bruises were developing around them. One ear was bleeding.
Oh God. I should have been there. His whole body went cold, his chest heaving as his heart tried to pound its way out of it. He knew that he was the one to interrogate the prisoner, just as always; he was the one whose special abilities made it easy to read or crack almost anyone.
But if he had been there...he could have shielded them. Not all of them perhaps, but with his powers….
“How many did we lose?” he asked softly.
“Brown and Hinckley are gone...they took the brunt of the blast. Quan got shot up, he’s touch and go at the hospital...uuuh...Ramirez took one in the shoulder but he’ll be out in a week...Jesus Christ, Alan, the sons of bitches were waiting for us. They knew that we were investigating them, they must have fucking known somehow!”
He felt his breath turn to ice crystals, tearing at his throat. Emily--Marina--had tried to tell him that there was a setup, and even if she was lying about the specifics she sure as Hell had told the truth about Bogdanovic’s knowing they were after him. She might be crazy, under duress, conditioned, but she had tried. And he had barely paid any attention to what she had been trying to tell him.
“All right, I’m calling emergency protocols. Everyone lies low, we regroup, I get the intel I can out of Bogdanovic’s girl and I’ll reach out to you as soon as I can.”
“There’s something else, Alan.” Jim went into another coughing fit, his face creasing with pain. “Bogdanovic has a hacker on the payroll. That may be how he found us out. These communications are supposed to be encrypted, but he may have cracked them. Control is saying don’t use the system at all for at least three days.”
“So we’re scattered and radio silent?”
“That’s the word until Control contacts us again.”
“Damn it.” He clenched his fists. “I can’t believe they actually managed to screw us this badly!”
“Just get that bastard’s location out of her as soon as you can. I want a piece of him myself for what he did to the team.”
“I’ll do just that,” he replied, eyes narrowed and voice lowered to a growl. Sexual frustration, shock and outrage mixed inside of him as Coulter signed off. His team had just taken a massive hit because they weren’t prepared, and they weren’t prepared because he hadn’t gotten them enough of the right intelligence. It’s my fault.
“Alan…?” Emily--Marina--was tapping at the door, her voice filled with worry. “Did something happen?”