An agent is wired to follow commands, think impulsively, and get their man no matter what the cost. This is different. Regan isn’t a man. She also isn’t my target. I joined this team to take down Isaac Holt. Only now am I realizing he won’t be the only one thrown under the bus when I snag my man. He’ll take Regan down right along with him.
I can’t stop the carnage. But I may be able to lessen the impact.
Chapter Eleven
A satin material brushes my forearm as a floral scent invades my senses. It is subtle yet captivating, conjuring up memories, both bitter and sweet. I take a step back before raising my eyes. Two months haven’t diminished the effect she has on my body.
Regan is standing mere inches in front of me. Her reach for the elevator dashboard is the cause of her arm skimming mine. Her eyes are focused low, on nothing but the phone in her hand. She’s ramped up her sexpot look today. Her sultry curves are barely concealed by her low-dipping dress and showcased by her sky-high heels.
Inconspicuously, I slant my head to the left before dropping my eyes to the screen of her phone. Unsurprisingly, she is returning a text message from Isaac. Although this is the first time I’ve seen her in person for months, I’m familiar with her daily routine.
Theresa didn’t appreciate my request to transfer back to the original operation investigating Isaac, but with her superiors unhappy with the case’s progress, her team dwindled from three dozen men to six, so she didn’t have much choice.
The head of our department is growing restless. For some stupid reason, he believes Isaac doesn’t have anything to answer for. With that in mind, he told Theresa last month she had six weeks to uncover incriminating evidence on Isaac or our investigation will be closed without prosecution.
The promise I made to Dane five years ago ensures I’ll never let that happen. I worked my fingers to the bone scrolling through every shred of intel we’ve gathered on Isaac the past twelve months. Other than the occasional dabble in an underground fight ring, his business appears legit.
Unwilling to give up without a fight, I sought assistance to persuade our head of department against shutting down Isaac’s case. It is both fortunate and unfortunate my grandfather’s connections in the Bureau are solid. Fortunate—as it awarded us another three months to build a case on Isaac. Unfortunate—as it means my run in with Regan this time occurs with a date on my arm.
Josie, granddaughter of much-loved and revered Assistant Director Reginald Donavon, is beautiful, well-mannered, and highly educated. She's just missing the spitfire stubbornness Regan has in abundance. She doesn't ignite a spark inside me. She is demure. . . centered. . .meh.
Her well-to-do upbringing is even more noticeable when Regan murmurs, “Would you like me to forward you a copy of my message, Alex, or are you happy to continue reading it over my shoulder?”
Josie startles so much, the elevator car rattles in the aftermath of her balk. She’s threatened by the snark in Regan’s tone. The whiskey in my veins has me on the opposite side of the spectrum.Challenge accepted, Ms. Myers.
"Depends. Are you sending anything risqué? Or just updating your Instagram followers on what you ate for dinner?" The flirtatiousness of my reply adds a heated edge to my words. I'm practically daring her to send me sexy pics.
Josie must have heard my statement as I had intended as her loud gasp nearly drowns out Regan’s reply, “A lady never kisses and tells.”
The sassiness in her tone curves my lips. I wish I could see her face. I’m certain it is as ravishing as the dangerous drop of her fits-like-a-glove dress.
I wait for the fine hairs on Regan’s nape to finish bristling before replying, “I guess you’re safe from prosecution then, aren’t you, Ms. Myers?”
I mentally fist pump when my witty comment forces Regan to spin around. Any chances of me leaving this elevator alive are lost when my eyes drink in the front of her dress. It is even more risqué than the back. The dangerous spill of her cleavage has me longing to dress her in the hospital gown she donned two months ago.
Even then, it will only drop her sex appeal from a twenty out of ten to a nineteen. She's got the siren sexpot look down pat. Fuckable red lips, a skin-tight black dress, and heeled boots that would only look better digging into my ass cheeks.
Fuck—throw me in jail with the most dangerous convicts I've arrested thus far in my career, as I guarantee that would result in fewer injuries than I’ll walk away with tonight. I’m not strong enough for this. No man is. I barely held it together when I switched her pricy garments for a dowdy hospital gown.
The emergency nurse assisting Regan was adamant she couldn’t evaluate Regan’s condition in the clothes she was wearing, so I either removed them or she would hack them with the jaws of life scissors she was clutching. I’m not overly familiar with fashion, but I knew Regan values the shimmery shirts and skin-tight skirts she owns, so I had no choice. I had to undress her.
I acted like the professional I am. Even the near swallow of my tongue when I discovered she was braless didn’t jeopardize my gentleman act. My hands and eyes stayed forever locked on the safety zones. I didn’t even sneak a peek of her breasts when they flattened against my pecs so I could tie the back of her gown. I was the perfect gentleman—even with my thoughts as sullied as a pervert with a criminal record a mile long.
I thought sprinting down a valley with my best mate on my back and the scope of a sniper on my head would be my hardest day. It had nothing on that afternoon in the hospital. When forced between life and death, you must always choose life. That day I didn’t.
I’ve been miserable ever since.
After soaking in my new Vans, casual jeans, white tee, and blazer jacket, Regan returns her eyes to mine. Tension fires in the air. She is as appreciative of my casual look as I am of her sophisticated one.
"Are you saying I'm not a lady,Mr. Rogers?” She drawls out my name in a long, seductive purr, amplifying both the temperature in the cabin and Josie’s unease.
Josie is so concerned I’m seconds from being slapped, she takes a step back, removing herself from the firing line. She should be concerned, but her worry is focused on the wrong person. Regan doesn’t have me in her sights. She’s going after Josie.
Little Miss Seduction doesn’t like competition. That’s why her lipstick has been freshly applied and her hair recently brushed. She didn’t breeze into my elevator on a whim. She staged her ruse as adeptly as I did our first elevator foray.
I shouldn’t be thrilled by the concept, but I am.
“You sent the bottle of wine to our table.” I’m not asking a question. I am stating a fact.
