Chapter 9
“He fucking killed the course.” Tank smirked and handed the clipboard to Jemma.
Templeton “Tank” Coyle IV was the person she trusted most on the Proteus Team. Her right-hand man, he did whatever was needed to lead the dozens of staff supporting their operations.
“I’ll admit, after reading his file, I wasn’t sure he could handle the physicality of our ops,” Tank continued, excitement painted across his face. “You know, he spends more time practicing medicine than on the streets fighting thugs. He more than proved me wrong.”
Jemma had her reasons for believing Rocco might stumble during the assessment, namely his calm, pie-in-the-sky, empathetic views on how the key to winning the war on drugs was compassion and rehabilitation. A noble perspective she disagreed with wholeheartedly.
But if Tank was this impressed with Rocco, things didn’t bode well for her … at all.
Swiping the sweat beading along her hairline, Jemma glanced down the street at the men hastily packing the equipment withimpressive efficiency under Tank’s watch. None of them had come through unscathed, their tactical gear splattered with blue paint, evidence of Rocco’s skills and prowess.
The assessment had begun before dawn. Rocco had been given a backpack, a cell phone, and two guns loaded with paintball pellets. He’d been blindfolded and deserted deep in the heart of the El Yunque National Forest with simple instructions: using the items provided, decipher the intel from the cell phone, obtain the asset, and make it to the safe house without getting caught or taking fatal damage. He would be evaluated on whether he completed the mission and how much damage he suffered to do it. Many agents finished the course but were covered almost from head to toe in red paint, indicating they would not have arrived alive if the assessment had been real. Only the best could complete it without taking too many paintball hits.
Jemma scanned the results.
A flutter of excitement raced along her skin.
Damn.
Tank was right.
“No agent has ever made it through the forest untouched. Our guys never saw him. Check out that time,” Tank continued. “The guy is a fucking stud.”
“And absolutely the guy we need to infiltrate El Sombro,” Lenny Small said, joining Jemma and Tank near the wooden fence on the side of the safe house. Lenny was the brainiac of their team, involved in complex strategy and contingency planning.
“He was top decile in the aptitude tests as well. Turns out Cedric wasn’t wrong about him.”
Jemma motioned for the results of Rocco’s tests, which he’d been given after the exhausting physical assessment.
That was two votes for Rocco.
“We still need to wait for Fallon to perform the psychassessment,” Jemma reminded the two men, who seemed eager to hand over the assignment to Rocco immediately. Dr. Fallon Abrams headed up the psychological evaluations for Proteus. She assessed the potential UC’s mental state and the likelihood of success under the grueling pressures of living a lie for months, if not years, on end.
“I don’t usually say this, but I don’t give a fuck what’s in his psych report. Whatever it is, Lenny and I can work around it. This is our guy, Jemma,” Tank said, then pointed to the rest of the Proteus team. “You ask any of those guys out there. Every single one of them will agree with me.”
Jemma pushed her sunglasses onto her head and glared at the two men. “Dozens of agents have come to us with great results and instincts for this work. His numbers are impressive but not out of the range that we’ve seen many times before. But that doesn’t mean Rocco can withstand the psychological pressure to go undercover long-term.”
Lenny said, “With all due respect, Jemma, the guy has been undercover his entire career with the DEA. He has the experience and has proven he can do this.”
“He grew up on this island. Was raised in that neighborhood. All he’s done is be himself, a doctor healing the community in his clinic. He only has to keep one secret from the gang members he treats daily. This is his home. He’s comfortable here,” Jemma said, a twinge of guilt piercing her, not sure why she was coming down so hard on Rocco.
She’d be thrilled that an agent had performed this well any other time. But any other time, she wouldn’t find herself insatiably attracted to the agent, unable to resist being near him.
Why in the hell did she stay up all night talking to him? It was wrong, but she didn’t do a damn thing to stop herself from indulging. Raw, sexual tension had radiated between them all nightas they segued between topics, finding themselves on opposite sides and engaging in riveting debates. She’d been titillated by the competing physical attraction for him brewing inside her and the pull of the intellectual stimulation of their conversations. She wasn’t sure which turned her on more.
The hours had passed like seconds, neither of them realizing how long they’d been out, walking the empty streets of Old San Juan, until the sun peeked from the horizon.
Rocco had stopped in the middle of the blue cobblestoned street and stared at the sunrise. “Have we been out all night?”
Jemma laughed, then pushed him forward. “Obviously.”
“Do we have to say goodbye now?” Rocco asked, his smoldering eyes dancing as he looked at her.
She’d hesitated. Every part of her wanted to say no, then drag him back to her hotel and spend the day indulging with him in the most carnal way. But better sense had prevailed. “Yes, we do.”
“Will I see you on Monday?”
