Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) (13 page)

Oh.
I nod, accepting it. "So I guess you're not a waitress?"

She bites her lip
and shakes her head.

"So
, what were you doing when I met you?"

"I was undercover. Trying to observe a suspect."

"Marcus?"

"Yes."
Her tone is eerily calm as she responds.

My blood starts to heat
. "Were you trying to seduce him?"

Her eyes empty of emotion
. "Not exactly. I was trying to get close. Close enough for him to keep me around ... in a casual sense."

I
growl. I don't think I fully accept the explanation.

"And I assume I got in the way?" I'm bitter now.

She looks hurt. "Why would you say that? After this weekend,
this
is where this is going? I am sorry if I gave you that impression. I told you to stay away from me for this exact reason. I told you I was dangerous and that I wasn't good for you. But you kept coming, and I couldn't stay away. This weekend was better than great. I don't date, I don't let people touch me, and I don't let people in. Those are my facts. You don't know who I really am though, and I have to admit I am afraid to tell you."

"Who are you
, then?"

"I am
a fully trained operative who is prepared to kill at a whim for the greater good. It's my job."

The statement speaks volumes. I open my mouth to speak
, but then almost immediately close it, unable to find the words. A sickening thought starts to surface. "Am I a job to you? This whole thing? This weekend? Was everything all to get close to Marcus?"

She gasps at my words and gets out of her chair. She leans close to me, her face swollen with panic as she takes my face in her hands with more confidence th
an I have ever seen her have. Her touch is reassuring, but I am still scared.

"How can you think that? I told you not to think these thoughts. You had the real me. Everything was real. No matter how hard I tried to fight you
, I couldn't stay away. Everything I said was the truth. I have never allowed myself to be me with anyone but you. You are so much more. Don't you feel it too?"

I know it’s hard for her to express herself this way, and I feel guilty. Her eyes dart around my face
, searching for my reaction. I still feel an oncoming panic attack. I close my eyes, replaying her words. Didn't I feel it too? Everything feels so different now. I lean into her touch.

"Jeremy, please tell me you feel the same. Tell me you at least understand."

She is looking for reassurance too, but how can I give it to her when I feel lost? I still can't speak. My chest feels tight. Her proximity, although comforting, is smothering my ability to think.

I open my eyes and pull away from her grasp, standing up to pace the office.

She sighs, and I can sense her anguish as she says, "I've said too much. I'm sorry. We had a good weekend, and maybe that's it. We don't have to continue this if that's easier for you. Actually, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. I'm sorry I kept this from you, but you have to understand I had to."

Do I?

I run my hand through my hair, exasperated with the situation. I thought this weekend was me trying to be normal, but now my life has been turned on its head. I make the mistake of turning to look at her. Her hazel eyes are glistening. I can tell she is doing everything in her power to keep the tears at bay. It is heart wrenching, and my heart aches too. I feel like I can't trust anything from my life for the past week, or maybe even longer. Secret agent? My company? My best friend? Was she manipulating me? How can I tell fact from fiction at this point?

This time I let out a long sigh. I realize I still haven't said a word. I have to deal with one problem at a time. What about my company? What about my father? The business professional in me tells me that I should focus on that before matters of my heart. The thought stings.

God, all I want is to kiss her, but I wonder if her guns would jab me in the ribs.
Guns!
I need to calm down. It hurts me to do it, but I have to.

I stop pacing and turn to face her. I put on my most professional look, and it kills me to treat her as a bit of business, but I need to gather my thoughts. I have many questions. I need to figure me out before I work on us, and right now
, us is too heavy a topic. Sometimes I wish my mom were alive so she could give me advice on this. She would know what to do.

"Alex
..."

She takes in a deep breath, and squares her shoulders
as if preparing for the onslaught. I get the sinking sensation she knows exactly what I am going to say, and it makes me feel even worse because that means that she expected this.

I am a predictable asshole
, but here goes.

"I have to go. I have to think on this. Please tell
Chief Alvarado that I will call him with details. I'm willing to help. I just need to pull myself together."

I am ready to turn around and head
for the door, because I can't bear her eyes boring into mine. It's as if she is dissecting my soul, and I can't take it. I begin my stride toward the door.

"Wait
!"

Her tone is surprisingly stern, and maybe even angry.

"Yes?" I say a little too whiney.

"So that's it? You're not going to call me? This is the big finish
, then?"

Her eyebrows furrow with frustration
, and for the first time, the look in her eyes is deadly. I gulp down air.
What do I say?

I guess I am silent for too long. She gets up, her eyes glittering with angst, and slinks toward me with catlike grace, and
the information she has divulged to me is driven home—this is not a girl I want to fuck with.

Stoic and deliberate,
she sticks her hand out to shake mine.

I deserve this.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Hunt. I will tell Chief Alvarado to expect your call. Good day."

I shake her hand
, clearly identifying its firm formality, and without a backward glance, she walks out the door.

Just when I thought I could control the situation, she beats me to the punch.

What am I supposed to do now?

Confusion & Conundrums

ALEX TURNER

I have never wanted to kill something and cry at the same time
—that seems like a dangerous combination. I heave a violent breath when Jeremy is out of view.

Derek is leaning against a desk
, talking to someone on our surveillance team, and the moment he sees me barreling out of the office, he stops what he is doing and beelines toward me.

I quicken my pace, thinking I can make it to the elevator to escape him, but sure enough
, he is too quick.

I press the down button and wait in silence as Derek stands in front of me. I do everything in my power not to make eye contact.

"Alex—"

"Please don't. Not right now
." I do not need to hear an
I told you
so
.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I take in a deep breath and hope I am covering up my emotions well enough. I have never felt so at their mercy. "What do you think?" I spit out.

Derek
looks at me as if he doesn't know what to do with me. Even I don't know what to do with me. It is an awful feeling.

"How about a beer? We don't have to talk about it. We don't have to talk about anything, and if you prefer, we can switch to tequila."

I let out a giggle and finally bring my eyes up to meet his. He looks relieved.

"I choose tequila."

"'Attagirl. Come on. I've got woes to drink to too."

He swings his arm around my shoulders and things
return to normal—at least between Derek and me.

Talk about thinking you know someone when you really don't. Kind of like the pot calling the kettle black. The thought makes my stomach plummet.

Who am I kidding? I knew the guy, what, five minutes?

I sigh
.
Oh, tequila sounds good, so, so good.

JEREMY HUNT

The cab pulls up
, and I don't know where I want it to take me. I choose my office. It seems more logical to head there. I can at least keep busy, check my e-mail, order around my assistant, something, anything but think about
her
.

Once I get
there, I move past people without saying hello. Most of them think I am an asshole anyway. I am not in the mood. I take the elevator to the top floor and push past my assistant.

"Rebecca, please hold all my calls
." I pause for a moment, thinking of some improbable possibilities, and an audible sigh escapes me before I continue, "Except if an Alex Turner or"—I pull out the card quickly—"or a George Alvarado calls, thank you." That can't hurt.

Rebecca flings her head up
. Her perfect poof of red hair bounces as she sits, wide-eyed and stunned into silence by my abrupt entry. Her pale pink lips hang half open as if she wants to speak, but as she sees my rushed strides, it seems she knows better.
Smart Girl.

I place the card on her desk without so much as a glance before I rush through the heavy wooden double doors to my office and lock them behind me.

I exhale. I feel like I have been holding my breath for hours. My shoulders slump as I make my way to my desk, exhausted. I fall into my chair and turn to look at the Boston skyline.

What am I doing? I am at work but I don't want to work. I want to call Alex and apologize. For a
moment, I wish that this afternoon had never happened, because then she could meet me at my place. I could pretend to be the strong one again, and she could let me fall asleep in her arms.
I can be such a sissy sometimes. Fuck.

I'm embarrassing myself. I can do better than this. I own my own company. I am the master of my universe, for God's sake. My heart clenches in rebellion
, and I tell it to shut up. I've had enough of it to last me awhile.

What I need to worry about is this company.

I swivel my chair back around and switch on my computer. What I need to do is pick up my office phone and dial a number I rarely call.

Not even two rings in, he picks up. "Hey
, Dad."

"Hello
, Jere, I was wondering when I'd be getting this call." The bastard is always a step ahead of me.

I fake a chuckle and say, "Yea
h, well, we need to talk."

"I know. I am sorry I wasn't the one to tell yo
—"

"Dad,” I cut him off. Now isn't the time. “I'd rather just come talk to you about it in person. This is a good time for me to get out of town for a day or two. We need to discuss what's happening, and I need a distraction."

His tone shifts to concern. "Do you think now is the best time for you to be leaving town?"

He thinks this is about Marcus's escapades.
A biologically engineered disease?
My head spins at the thought.

I get a grip, trying my best to hide my seething anger at my father
. "No, no, Dad. It's a little more than that. I think the security team is pretty much all over it.”
In a manner of speaking.
“I need to leave town to clear my head." I sigh, realizing my heart hurts more than my head at this point. "Ya know?"

I let the silence hang in the air, letting my words sink in, and I think he suspect
s I might actually need him. In all honesty, he is giving himself too much credit, but I go along with it. I know I should berate him with questions of the hows and the whys, but I wonder who might be better to ask: my father or Alex. Regardless, I’ll save those questions for when I see him.

"Of course
, son, come on out. The desert can get lonely."

"Thanks
, Dad, I'll be out there probably tomorrow afternoon." The sooner I get out of here, the better.

"Sounds great. I can't wait to see you. And
, son?"

"Yea
h, Dad?"

"I'm really sorry I didn't keep you in the loop with this one. I just didn't—"

"Don't worry about it for now. See you soon. Bye."

As I hang up,
I realize that maybe if he had kept me in the loop, I could have saved myself from a whole lot of heartache. I might have been able to hit it off with Agent Turner
in a more honest way. Or we may have never crossed paths like we did. Both scenarios are unsettling. What a debacle.

I press
the speakerphone. "Rebecca?"

A disembodied voice echoes from the speaker
. "Yes, Mr. Hunt?"

"Please clear my schedule until Friday. I will be out of town in Arizona."

"What about the budget forecasting meeting tomorrow, sir?"

"Reschedule it for when I get back
. I want those numbers. And please make sure they include the amount of money in the Malaria project."

"Project 351, sir? Marcus Gibbs's budget?"

Fucking right I want those numbers. "Yes, exactly. Thank you."

"Will you be visiting Mr. Hunt
Sr., sir?"

Her words almost offend me, verging on intrusive
, but I choose to answer. "Yes."

"Would you like me to gather a gift basket or card of some sort?"

"Thank you, Rebecca, but that won't be necessary.” I feel guilty over my previous assumption, and I am proud of my assistant's initiative. “I will be reachable by e-mail while I am gone, but I would like to avoid phone calls if possible."

"No problem, sir. Have a good vacation. I will try to schedule the plane for tomorrow morning."

I almost want to correct her. This is going to be anything but a vacation. "Thank you, Rebecca"

What a fucking conundrum.

ALEX TURNER

I stumble into my apartment. It feels empty—more than empty, hollow. I wish I had a dog or a cat; hell, even a hamster would suffice right now. I just want something to snuggle.

See, secret agents have soft sides
... more like sad sides.

My stomach clenches as I go through another wave of nausea. Too much tequila. I wouldn't say I am wasted
, but I definitely drank enough for a buzz, and all on Derek's dime. That's the least he could do.

I manage a weak smile in my lonely apartment as I drag my body to the living room.
The tequila's easy-going euphoria drifts from me as all the unsettling thoughts I have been avoiding seep back into my brain.

I shake my head
. I don't want to deal with these feelings right now. Derek was supportive during our tequila stupor. We told jokes, recounted good times working different assignments together, and talked about our brushes with death and saving each other's asses repeatedly. Derek and I did what we do best; we ignored our problems.
He kept his promise too; he didn't once ask about Jeremy.

Even the thought of him makes my knees weak
, and anguish overwhelms me. Why did Jeremy react the way he did? Why couldn't he rise to the occasion? Who am I kidding? A part of me worries that this is exactly how I am supposed to end up. How do I fix this?

It's not really up to you, now is it?
my subconscious chimes in.

Sadness floods me again. I can't make it to my bed, and collapse onto my couch instead.

Maybe he reacted the right way. He is a smart man who knows what is important. He has his family and his career to put first. Who am I to say how important I am in the grand scheme of Jeremy's life?

I stretch out and lay my arm over my eyes. I worry that they will water and I won't have that. I draw a deep, exasperated breath.
That feels a little better. The secret agent in me decides to make an appearance, and she whispers,
you don't need him anyway.

I don't need him, but I want him.

Stick to what you know, Turner. You solve your problems with a fight and a gun. This emotional crap is not your style.

My life
is nothing but unfortunate truths and that happens to be one of them. Love? Relationships? They are as foreign to me as quantum physics. How could I think I could get away with normality? My life has been, and will always be my job, which is the real love of my life. It's the truth. An agent's life is his or her job, end of story.

That last thought is oddly comforting. I close my eyes and focus on my heart rate, and the lingering silence of me,
myself, and I. I will be OK. Whether he wants me or not.

My cell phone
beeps, startling me. I look at the time before answering.

It's
one thirty in the morning! Who the hell could this be?
Maybe it's Derek with another drunken story to tell.

I slip my phone out and realize it's a text. I almost drop the phone onto the floor.

It's from Jeremy.

My heart
launches into my throat.

Are you awake? Can we talk please?

Oh, you have to be kidding me.