After giving me a flirty wink acknowledging she’s seen the growth in my pants, she twists her torso, throws open the back passenger door of the cab we’re sitting in, then graciously slips out. I spot her tease from a mile out. She’s leaving me hanging—again.
Her saunter to her apartment building slows when I roll down the cab window and shout, “Will I ever live it down?!”
“Not any time this century,” she replies, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that she knows me better than anyone. “You don’t kiss a girl like me then run off like I gave you cooties without suffering the consequences.”
“But we share the same cooties now. Doesn’t that mean my penance has been paid?”
That forces her to turn around and face me. With a grin as devilishly wicked as her beautiful face, she replies, “I don’t know? Maybe we should discuss it over a bottle of wine this evening?”
Even though the dip in her tone reveals her hesitation to ask me on a date, her confidence doesn’t falter in the slightest.
“What time? I’m not sure how late I’ll be tonight.”
I wish I were lying. Standard work hours aren’t a thing for FBI agents, much less when one is about to confess to half a decade of sins.
Not turned off by the unease in my tone, Regan suggests, “Come around when you’ve finished.”
“It could be late,” I warn her honestly.
I’m ready to hand in my badge immediately when Regan replies, “That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Right?”
The relief that crosses her face when I nod makes my chest swell.
After a final wave, she enters the door the doorman is holding open for her. I wait until she is whisked away in the elevator of her apartment building before signaling for the taxi driver to go. Before he gets two feet from the curb, the door Regan exited only minutes ago pops back open. A small part of me—mainly my egotistical side—is hoping it is Regan. Unfortunately, my luck appears to have run dry today.
“Theresa, what the hell are you doing here?”
After requesting for the cab driver to circle the block, Theresa swings her narrowed eyes my way. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? It is. . .” Her eyes drop to the expensive timepiece circling her wrist. “. . . 3 AM. I’m all about the early bird catching the worm, but you’re not scheduled until tomorrow morning. And as much as we wish it weren’t the case, Ms. Myers isn’t known for her early morning theatrics. Her after-hours antics, though. . .” The mocking laugh she uses to finalize her sentence raises my hackles.
“That’s not true. The surveillance team hasn’t spotted Regan with anycompanionsthe previous two months.” My teeth grit from my tone dipping at the “companions” part of my statement.
“Hmm. True.” Theresa taps her index finger on her painted lips. She is either starting her day early or hasn’t laid yesterday to rest just yet. “It’s quite comical when you think about it. Just as you started working her case, Ms. Myers’ long list of men tapered off. Anyone would swear she was aware she is under surveillance.”
Even knowing she is goading me doesn’t stop me from retaliating, “There has never been a list. I scoured the reports you gave me with a fine-toothed comb. Other than being photographed having brunch with Isaac, no other male associates have been noted in Regan’s file.”
“Until now,” Theresa adds on, her voice arching as high as her penciled brow.
Tension runs through my veins when she thrusts a manila folder into my hand. I don’t need to open it to know what is inside. The sardonic expression on her face answers all my questions.Smug bitch.
Recognizing I have no intention to hammer the final nail in my coffin, Theresa throws open the confidentially marked document. A knot tightens in my stomach as I scan the photos inside. The dozen or more snapshots don’t just reveal the kiss Regan and I shared in the back of a taxi mere minutes ago; they’re a timeline of our trip to Texas—romp in a grassy field and all.
Our pull and thrust routine of the past forty-eight hours is displayed in vivid detail: the tears she shed in the plane when memories of Luca became too much, our argument near the tree that claimed Luca’s life. Even the leverage her mother’s Jeep gained when we were launched into the air are displayed in graphic detail.
“I must say, I didn’t think you had it in you. When I told you to go in hard, this wasn’t what I was anticipating,” Theresa mocks as her eyes absorb a picture of Regan and me wrestling in the cow dung-stained meadow.
“So. . .” She snaps the folder shut and pries it out of my hand, which is virtually impossible with how hard I am clutching it. “The next question is, where do we go from here?”
I expect her to demand my resignation be on her desk by 9 AM, but she shocks me for the second time in under ten minutes when she says, “You’ve knocked down her wall of trust; now you need to weasel your way into her inner circle.”
My eyes snap to Theresa’s. “What? I wasn’t with Regan to—”
“What are you saying, Alex? Spit it out. We’re all friends here.” Although she is demanding I speak, she continues talking, “Are you saying your actions this weekend weren’t for the good of the agency? That you soiled not only the reputation of the Bureau but the legacy of your family forthat? A romp in a grassy field with a woman way below your league?”
I don’t usually react in anger. Theresa is making me reconsider more than just my position in her team. I’ve also never had the desire to smack a woman before, but once again, Theresa has me considering a new approach.
“Is that what you’re saying, Alex? Surely I’m mistaken. You’re a dedicated agent—a highly sought-after member of my team.” The sneer in her praise ensures I can’t mistake it as sincere. “You don’t break the rules for anyone because you understand what’s at stake. Am I right?”
My lips move, but not a word escapes them. In this very moment, I recognize Theresa’s game plan. She’s not anask questions, hope for a good responseagent. She crash tackles her mark, stunning them with half-assed assumptions in such quick succession, they believe they’re factual. That shit doesn’t work with me. Why? Because it’s the process I usually run with.
