Sworn to Protect

by A K August

  I sped up just before rounding the corner to the sofa and dipped to claim my seat, my cheers for winning on the tip of my tongue before realizing Anthony was under me, a massive grin on his face. "I win!"

  I scowled and shimmied to get off his lap as his arms pulled me closer.

  "Uh, uh. Not so fast. I get to claim my prize first." Oh, right. The winner gets to make out with the loser. It was the only prize we could agree to. Helped soften the blow as well.

  Anthony's hand found the nape of my neck and drew me down, claiming his victory in a sweet, yielding kiss that fused us. My fears, angst, frustrations abated, replaced by the strength of us. I wasn't alone, and together it would be okay. The kindling that burned in me moments before, threatening to rise in an inferno spinning me out of control, now channeled, shooting heat down my spine and igniting a flame that jumped from me to Anthony. I sensed the moment it hit him, his arms tightening and a groan emitting from his core. All of a sudden, I needed to be closer, needed more, and the kiss went wild as I lifted Anthony's shirt over his head and felt my clothes fall away until we sprawled on the sofa, Anthony deep inside me, bonding our bodies, our hearts. My climax hit, and I screamed out his name, my body jolting in aftershocks as Anthony rammed into me repeatedly until he went rigid and still, buried deep.

  Spent, we curled up on the sofa, Anthony's arms still tightly holding me against him, his heat a constant I've come to rely.

  Was that a good thing? Relying on Anthony? Relying on anybody? I've been alone in my life-quest for so long; I didn't like the idea of needing someone. I didn't know how to share that burden without losing myself. But I didn't like the idea of Anthony not being there either.

  Shit. This wasn't good.

  Anthony's voice cut through my thoughts. "What's wrong?"

  Ugh. I am so far up the shit creek without a paddle I'll never get the smell out of my clothes. Okay, bad analogy, but I'm new at this.

  I struggled to disentangle myself from Anthony so I could sit up, grabbing the first piece of clothing I could find.

  Anthony smiled, watching me, straddling him on the sofa, wearing his t-shirt. The man looked so smug I thought about ways I could wipe that smirk off his face, but I had to focus.

  I took a deep breath and met his eyes. "I'm new at this. I don't know how to do this." My voice sounded as shaky as I felt.

  "Can you define what this is so I can help?" He used air quotes around "this," which had my eyes rolling.

  "Relationships."

  His smile changed, encouraging yet sympathetic, supportive. "They're not rocket science, Katie. The most important thing to do is what we are doing right now."

  "You mean sex?" My turn to smile.

  He chuckled. "Well, great sex helps, of course. But no. More importantly, we need to talk. Tell me what is going on with you, your fears, your goals, and I tell you mine. Together we fight the fears and help each other reach our goals.

  "You asked me about this house. Why it looks like I just moved in? My dad retired about eighteen months ago, and he made a promise to my mom that when he did, they would move to the country, get a small cottage on the water and spend the rest of their days enjoying each other."

  He paused and swallowed. It was a lovely story but seemed like not a happy ending.

  "They sold me the house, very cheap, and moved. Then my mom got sick and died shortly after that. Now he lives alone in the middle of nowhere in the cottage my mom picked out and decorated."

  He'd gotten lost in the story but returned his gaze to me. "I had moved in here but not unpacked when we found out about Mom's illness, so at first, that consumed us. Then when she died, I spent more time with Dad and Aunt Claire than in this house. When I finally tried to resume a normal life, memories of Mom and Dad and I in this house paralyzed me from making changes and moving forward. I thought that would erase her. It's still hard, but I'm ready to do something about it now, and I'm glad you're here and want to help."

  Wow.

  I looked around the room with new eyes, only imagining what memories it held for Anthony. I wanted to harness his memories positively but didn't know how. "All of a sudden, I don't think I'm qualified to help you with that."

  His arms tightened on my hips. "Don't you see, Katie? You're the reason I'm ready to move forward. You've brought a light into my heart that hasn't been there in a long time. Before moving into this house, I lived in a studio apartment I wasn't at more than a few months a year. I was always on assignment, mostly not in this region. After my last trip, I was burnt out, couldn't contemplate a nine-to-five existence, wearing the suit again, coming home to an empty house every night. I thought I needed to get back in the field, even though the idea made me ill.

  "I don't want to go undercover anymore. Spending time with you has shown me that I want to live in this house and share my life with someone. I know this will scare you, but I want to see where this goes with you. No time limit." He used air quotes again, but it didn't have the same levity as before.

  He's right; the idea scared the bejesus out of me, but only because it didn't scare me. I liked the idea of spending more time with Anthony. The sex was phenomenal, and he managed to talk me off the ledge, well distract more than talk, but I think I needed the distraction more, and somehow he knew that. It was too much. I felt like he was in my head. I wanted him to be happy and I had the power to do that or equally make him miserable—more likely the latter. How the hell did I get here? I squirmed to get off his lap, but he held firm.

  "Here's where you tell me what you're thinking, Katie. No right, no wrong. Just be honest. If that's not what you want, I understand. I won't like it, but I respect you and what you believe. This won't work if we're not on the same page." Again with the air quotes. It should be funny by now, but I wasn't in the mood. I wanted to cry with how wrong it was.

  "Why can't we just have the great sex?" I almost whined my question and instantly hated myself.

  "Is that what you want? Just sex. No dinners together, no picking out which movie to watch, no conversation."

  When he put it that way, it didn't sound too bad. "We have to eat and can't not talk. I just can't decide my whole life right now. I don't know what that even looks like."

  "I'm not asking you to. I know this is crazy. But I like the time we've had together. All of it, and I want to continue. I'm not asking you to envision us together five years or ten years down the road. I'm asking you to not think about next month or next year, but just be here with me today, tomorrow, possibly next week."

  "Isn't that what we are doing, at least until the killer is caught?"

  He sighed and tightened his hold on me. "I see two paths, Katie. One put you and me together because there's a killer that needs to be caught and we will work together to solve that. The other is the connection we feel beyond what introduced us. I don't see shaking hands with you and never seeing you again once the investigation is over. I want to see where that goes, us. Be in that moment with me, Katie."

  "You make it sound so easy." It couldn't possibly be that simple. "Just be? How does that work?"

  "It's not easy. Easy is hiding what you think because you worry it will upset me or make me sad or holding back on telling me something because you might not like what I say. The hard thing is to listen and be honest in return and respect each other for doing it. Sometimes you agree to disagree."

  "How do you know that works?"

  "I saw my parents and my aunt and uncle do it all my life. And I've seen enough bad relationships to recognize why the good ones last."

  "I don't have that reference. I love my parents, but they never really parented. They were teachers and taught me a lot, but their relationship felt more like colleagues than the love you saw between your parents. I've been making decisions on my own for over fifteen years. I don't know if I can do that."

  He smiled, and his hands started roving up my back, under his shirt. "Just telling me that is good, Katie. We'll take it day by day. In the moment."
<
br />   In this moment, he was again distracting me as his hands circled around to cup my breasts, teasing my nipples into taut buds. "Now, I need to claim my prize."

  "Wait!" I laughed even though I leaned down to accept his puckered lips. "You already claimed the win for musical chairs. What did you win this time?"

  "You." He whispered.

  My breath hitched and I went limp against him as I watched his emerald eyes grow warm and dark, the chemical fire pumping through him, his hands again on my hips, rubbing them against his firm cock.

  I thought about challenging his win, as I considered Anthony a bigger prize than myself. Then I moaned as his fingers did wondrous things and my brain went blank.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ANTHONY

  Katie brought life to my home. Life that had been missing since my parents moved out. Life I never thought it would have again. After I returned from West Virginia, I thought about selling the house. It was too much for a bachelor, especially one who lived for work and wouldn't be home much. Plus, with all the memories, it was hard, remembering Mom in every corner, smelling lavender in the hall closets, kept the moths away she'd say. Seeing the empty built-in shelves in the guest room, waiting to be personalized for her guests with books or art that Mom knew they'd like.

  And the measurements on the pantry door; she marked my height over the years, but when I was three, I had asked why she and Dad didn't measure their height. She told me that they stopped growing, which made me worry. I saw it on Sesame Street. After things stop growing they die. The flower in the pot died. I couldn't shake the thought. Obsessed with the concept for weeks, I'd wake up every morning and run into my parents' room to shake them awake, convinced that was the day they'd die. Dad sat down to talk and said Mom didn't explain it well. It wasn't that they stopped growing they just grew in other ways; they didn't necessarily get any taller. So I told them we needed to measure their outline so I could see how they grew over the year. Mom did not like the idea at all; I couldn't understand why. But Dad told her it was to reassure their son they weren't wasting away ready to die.

  I found the marker outlines quite funny now. We only did them for a few years before I was old enough to understand. Then we did it on special occasions and always with Mom and Dad holding hands. I saw the outlines from my high school graduation and their 25th and 40th anniversaries and when they both turned 60. I also saw a newer one from less than two years ago. Just Mom, skinnier and slightly shorter than the others, a note with the date next to it:

  I can finally fit into my skinny jeans again!

  Mom, looking at the bright side of her illness. She always did that; saw the good instead of the bad, the glass-half-full kind of person. I hung a full-length calendar over the markings, so I didn't have to see it every time I opened the door. Didn't stop me from knowing it was there.

  But Katie made those memories bearable. With her direction, I went to the paint store and asked to borrow their color wheel, having no idea what that was. I returned with a stack of cardboard sticks held together on a ring.

  We sat down in each room and talked about how I wanted to use the room, what furniture might be in the space, and the kind of light the room would get. I had no idea that a north-facing room needed bolder or brighter colors on the wall because the sun would shine very little, if any, into the space while a south-facing room would get tons of sun so you should use softer tones.

  We peeled through the color wheel with Katie making recommendations that sounded good to me. I was ready to buy a gallon and slap it on the walls, but Katie said no. We had to get a "tester" of three shades and live with it for a couple of days to make sure. Then we had to decide what type of paint to use. I just thought paint was paint, but I now know the difference between flat, eggshell, satin, and semi-gloss. Want to know?

  Finally, we were ready to paint, but only after Katie insisted we lay plastic on the floor, remove the receptacle covers and lighting fixtures, and tape around the windows and ledges. After the first room, she had me cover the door as well, having learned a valuable lesson about accidental paint splatter. I think we got more paint on ourselves than on the wall, but showering it off was even more fun.

  In between our evenings of painting, there were the days of working. The first day back, I went into the FBI office and nervously knocked on Jeff's door. I played my role, returning from holiday rested and ready to go. Jeff did his part too, after a moment of scowling, welcoming me back and introducing me to my partner. Then he asked me if I wanted to get a coffee. As soon as we exited the office he laid into me. "What are you doing here? Where is Ms. Corcoran?"

  "Katie is at my house, staying out of sight. We snuck back into the city over the weekend. No one knows she's here, where she's staying, or that I'm connected. I'm supposed to be back from holiday today; it made sense that I show. Now I can be here to help."

  Jeff was shaking his head. "No. You can't be involved in the investigation, what if someone puts it together?"

  "How? This is a high-profile case; it makes sense you need as many people as you can get on this. I'm back, fresh from holiday. A new pair of eyes would be expected since you don't have any leads."

  "It's too dangerous for her to be in the city. There are cameras everywhere. You should leave."

  "If someone saw us come in, they would've hit the house by now. Katie promised not to leave. She's just as safe there as where we were. Better now, actually. How would it have looked if I didn't come back from holiday as expected? That would send up flags and they would be looking for me. Now there's no reason to suspect I am anything but new to the case."

  We entered the coffee shop, Jeff still scowling but thinking. By the time we exited with our lattes, he'd made his decision. "Okay. We'll proceed. You left me with no choice since anything else would call attention to you and her. But I don't like that we didn't discuss this ahead of time."

  "You would've said no."

  Jeff looked at me pointedly. "And I would've been right. I would've come up with a reason to explain your absence."

  "Yes, protecting the witness, keeping her out of harm's way, is the priority. I think I'm still doing that. Any story you came up with could be checked – it still would've been questioned. This way, no questions."

  I paused and looked at my boss. I wanted him to agree with me; otherwise, he may still want to punish me by keeping me away from the case.

  "Good point. We'll play it your way, for now. But no more surprises. You have any other brilliant ideas; we talk about them first."

  I nodded, and we switched the conversation to the Nat’s as we entered the Hoover Building. "They're doing good. Four wins in a row. Playing a home series next week against Chicago. Should be good."

  I let Jeff run on about baseball. Frankly, I hated the sport, not much happens. I only like it when I want to nap on the weekend in the middle of the day. It's the perfect noise-canceling device—that or golf.

  I got up to speed on the case, which wasn't difficult since Jeff had sent me the file while we'd been at the farm and not much progress had been made. I skimmed the new interviews from Senator Hart's staff, but not with the Senator. When I asked why, the agent-in-charge said he hadn't been in town, which was strange because I knew Aunt Claire came to town to be with him when his bill went for a vote on the floor.

  I wrestled with that tidbit over dinner and couldn't shake it. Unless something happened, my aunt and uncle were in town, and Uncle Jackson should be more than happy to speak to the FBI about the murder, anything to find the killer. I decided to call Claire, thank her for opening the farm to Katie and me for our trip.

  Katie listened in on the conversation, even though there wasn't much information Claire could provide. Yes, she and the Senator were in town. They'd gone to dinner at the French Ambassador's home on Tuesday, and she had tea with a few of the Senator's wives, where the real work gets done, she joked. The Senator's office was a flurry of activity as they tried to rustle up the few remaining votes they
needed for his bill.

  I told her when we got back to DC we would come over for dinner and left it at that.

  Katie got on her computer as soon as I hung up and poked her head up a minute later. "There are social media sightings of both the Senator and Claire just as she said. And if the office is as busy as Claire says, I bet the Senator's working the phones. Wouldn't be hard to pin him down for an interview. He'd hardly be able to say no since it was his chief of staff who was killed, he couldn't risk bad press leading up to the vote."

  She was right, of course. But I had to be careful not to push the FBI team too much, knowing that someone could be working against them. What worried me was Jeff. It was one thing for the team to get the run-around and not follow up on an interview, but Jeff should be staying on top of their work and thereby know the Senator hadn't been interviewed. Either he wasn't worried because he knew the Senator couldn't help the investigation or wasn't pushing for the interview because he was concerned the Senator might reveal something that could break the case open.

  "I'm torn." I was sitting on the floor of the master bedroom, all the furniture pulled away from the walls and draped in plastic as Katie pried open a paint can and began to stir the thick slate blue liquid, making sure the color was even before pouring into trays to put on the wall.

  "You don't like the color?"

  I laughed. "No, I love the color. I think Uncle Jackson may know something, and I have a way to figure out what that is, but it could be dangerous for you, and I don't want to put you in danger."

  I picked up a roller and started on a wall as Katie sat back on her heels, watching me. "Okay, tell me your plan and how it is dangerous for me."

  "Aunt Claire wants us to come to dinner. I can't go without you, one it will raise questions to Claire we don't need her asking, and two, I don't want to go without you." I saw Katie smile in my peripheral vision.

  "But if I go out, I may get spotted on a camera or seen by someone." She completed my thought, which had me releasing the breath I held. I was concerned she'd want to race over there and interrogate my uncle, both from frustration at solving the murder and because she was a journalist and this would be a big coup for her.