Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) (14 page)

Problem Solving

ALEX TURNER

My skin
itches, as if it is crawling with some unknown concern. How am I supposed to deal with this when I not only feel heartbroken, but angry at Jeremy's bad response to what is happening?

Don't be such a
bitch; you tore down his world. The question you should be asking yourself is, how is he supposed to deal with his feelings for you?

I grunt at my inner monologue, but cannot help the tension rising in my shoulders. I hate that. That bitch of a subconscious is always right.

I take a stand in front of Jeremy's door, and think about it again. This is not a good idea. Anything that comes in the form of a 2 a.m. chitchat cannot possibly be good.

I gulp down air and adjust my jacket. Standing in this hallway without a peep or person in sight is making me anxious.

Only my guns against my ribs make me feel safe. When it is me, myself, and a weapon, I really have nothing to fear. When I was a troubled teen, I fed off the adrenaline rush of getting into bad situations. Yet, for reasons I still haven't figured out, the federal government plucked me out of my delinquency and gave me a license to cause trouble.

This feels like one of those old moments. I'd rather walk the sketchy streets of Boston luring an unsuspecting guy
into a fight than confront the man beyond this door. How is anyone supposed to deal with my sick, twisted psyche when I have thoughts like that? As if it is my body’s response to my own ridiculousness, the knot in my gut only gets tighter, and I struggle to get a grip.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. I need to make everything clear to Jeremy. No more secrets, no more lies. I cannot let my heart steer this situation.

Stick to the facts, Agent Turner, and do what you need to protect yourself. It's the only way.

I nod my unspoken agreement and knock.

Through the foggy glass, I see the looming shadow of a person coming closer, and with every inch he takes, my heart beats faster.
Just breathe.

The door swings open and memories of the last time I stood here flood my mind. It was a happy,
spontaneous visit, which ended with his lips against mine. This one is not going to go that way; I can sense it.

Jeremy looks amazing as usual. Did today even phase him? He's wearing a worn pair of blue jeans
that hang hypnotically from his hips and a white V-neck T-shirt. He isn't smiling when we make eye contact. I stare into the calm blue sea that is Jeremy's eyes, and I see it. There seems to be a storm brewing behind those depths.
It's my fault, isn't it?

Do I look like a deer in the headlights? Because I feel like a deer in the headlights.

Get a hold of yourself.

I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, and manage a few words
. "Here I am."

You idiot, Turner
. Why don't you just do a little dance and say, “Ta-da”?

I try to manage a smirk, but I fail. His face mirrors the blankness of mine.
What are we doing?

He runs his hand through his messy blond hair
. "Thank you for coming to talk to me." His formal tone hurts. Every word feels like a jab to my well-being.

"No problem," I sputter
. "I am sure you have a lot of questions." I let the silence hang for a moment as I gather a thought. "Jeremy, this doesn't have to be about us. This can just be business. I don't want to make this awkward for you. If you just want to talk about the issue at hand, I am perfectly all right with that."
Liar.

He squints, and I can't tell if he is offended. "So, you'll just come out at two in the morning for any client?" His snarkiness surprises me.

I bite my lip, unsure what the appropriate response is. Do I have permission to smile? Should I be annoyed? What is happening?
I return, with snark, "Well, it's a twenty-four-seven job."

He looks away to hide his smile, and I feel
a glimmer of hope.
Keep cool, Turner.

"Please come inside."

I hate this formality.

I follow him down the hall
and into the kitchen.

"Do you want a cup of coffee or something?" he asks.

I'm still shaking the tequila out of my body, and aching for a cup of joe. "Sure."

He already has a pot made and he pours me a cup.

Has he been drinking coffee all night? Maybe that's why he is up so late. It has nothing to do with me.

He places the mug on the table, and I slip off my leather jacket without thinking, placing it on the chair before sitting. I feel his eyes on me like a weight. I look up and notice his eyes are wide. I don't understand why
. My eyes dart around, trying to figure it out, and then it hits me.

My guns. I am wearing my guns.

"I'm sorry if these make you uncomfortable." I really do feel bad, but I don't regret it. This is who I am, whether he likes it or not.

He actually has the audacity to sneer at me
. "Are those entirely necessary?" He acts as if I am some gypsy peasant and he is a regal king, and I disgusted him with my poor, gypsy ways.

Oh
, fuck no.
My temper boils, and my subconscious whispers,
Calm down, Alex. Calm down.

I slip off my leather holsters,
and then toss them onto the kitchen table with a loud clank to drive the message home. "I would really get used to those if I were you."

"And why is that?"

"Because, whether you like it or not, those things that you turn your nose up at might save your life. I know damn well that I have saved others with them, and they were grateful."

He choke
s up at my words. The tension in his eyes evaporates, and it is replaced with concern and panic. He raises his hands to rub at his temples. The action makes me ache. My body swells with the need to touch him, to hug him, to comfort him. I have never had such a compulsion but I keep still, staring at him. I am not used to apologizing.

"I'm sorry
, Jeremy." He jerks his head upward to make eye contact with me. "This is not how I want this to go."

His steely blue eyes dart over my face and my body. I wish I kn
ew what he is thinking.

"I don't know what to say," he manages.

I shake my head and realize I have to be the strong one. He carried me emotionally all weekend, and now it is my turn to step up to the plate. I want to grab for his hand, but I don't
.

"Let's take this slow
, then. This doesn't have to be about us. Remember? What do you want to know? Ask me anything you want. How about I tell you that Mar—"

"Have you ever killed anyone?"
He cuts me off sharply.

The statement throws me for a loop. I clench my jaw, and my eyes go wide. I am unsure if I heard him correctly
. "What did you say?"

He sits up straight, as if he is about to barter a deal, but his look is pained. "You said I can ask anything I want, and I want to know that first. If you aren't a waitress, if you are some agent or whatever, have you ever killed anyone?"

I am not ready for this. I decide to take a sip of my coffee first, watching Jeremy's eyes watch me. I gulp down the delicious fix and say as crisply as possible, "Yes, I have."

"So that's your job? Killing people?"

I shake my head, dumbfounded by his assumption. "Not always. I'm not a professional killer, Jeremy. That is not what I do, but sometimes the situation calls for a little more action and I am prepared to do what is necessary. My job is to protect this country, our freedom, and the lives of civilians. If that means I have to kill someone, like a terrorist or a hit man, I will do it without hesitation." His brows twitch as he absorbs my words, and his tensing features give me a hint that it is a reluctant sense of understanding. "Jeremy, I'm sorry if this is overwhelming you."

"
It's a little surreal, that's all." It's as if he is talking to himself. "And to think I wanted to protect you."
Oh, Jeremy.

"Y-you do protect me, if that makes any sense
," I stutter.

He lets out a mock laugh
. "That is absurd of you to say." He gestures toward my guns.

"You don't get it
, Jeremy!" My frustration with him brims and spills over into anger. "And that's fine. It is fine that you don't get it. We should talk about something else. Don't you want to talk about how you are supposed to help with this case? Aren't you even curious about what we are going to ask of you?"

He shakes his head
, and his stoic gaze locks onto mine. My discipline slips, and my mouth sinks into a panicked frown.

"No
," he barks.

"No? No what, Jeremy?"

"I want to talk about you. Tell me how I could possibly protect you? How am I supposed to think I can help or support someone whose job it is to keep me safe? Why me?"

His words sound insane. How can he have no idea that he is my breath of fresh air? I ramble like wildfire
. "Why you? I should be asking you, why me? Do you have any idea how hard it is to be me? Doing the job I do? I have spent most of my life building walls to protect myself, and you have managed to fracture the very foundation they were built on—and that is terrifying to me! Don't you get it? Do you see now? I don't have friends. The only people who know me are Derek, my partner, and my boss, Chief Alvarado. Even in this short period of time you saw the little girl that I have been hiding." Embarrassment over my confession floods me.
Little girl? I did not just say that.
I cover my mouth to stop any more careless words.

His stark expression makes me feel like I’ve said too much.
He doesn't want me, and why should I make myself vulnerable to him now?

I get up from my seat to regain some composure
, and turn around to grab my jacket. "Jeremy, I am sorry. I really need to go. I don't think we should be talking about this. There are more important things we should be talking about."

"Stop it!"
he shouts.

I
face him. He is standing now too, tenser than I have ever seen him.

"Why are you doing this?
All weekend, when you had to lie to me, you wanted to bail on every personal topic. Now everything is out in the open, which you said is what you wanted, you still want to run out on me?"

I bite my lip. I want to be mad
. "I am not running!"

"Hell yes
, you are! You'd think I would be the one running in the opposite direction. This is me trying to fix this, and you are making it damn difficult, Alex!"

"What do you want from me? I'm trying as hard as I can. This is all new for me
," I shout.

"Don't you realize I am taking this moment by moment too?
You
drive
me
crazy!"

I stomp my foot and point my finger at him, fuming with anger
. "
You
are driving
me
crazy!"

Before I realize what is happening
, Jeremy rushes me, slamming me against the wall. He grabs my face, presses his hips against mine, and ravages my mouth with his. His rushing lips tell me he is as lost and angry as I am, but that the one thing we do know is that we can't help but want each other.

His lips command me,
and I open mine, tangling his tongue with my tongue. Because I never go down without a fight, I try to push him away. He growls into my mouth, and everything below my waist clenches in response. He lets go of my face, grabs for my fighting arms, and pins them above my head, allowing his body free range against mine. His touch triggers a groan.

He owns me, body and soul. I revel in his ability to control me, and the fact I am even allowing it.

Using only one hand to keep mine above my head, he drags his other hand down my body, taking no prisoners as he caresses my breasts. Then, he moves down to my waist and takes a firm grasp of my behind, pulling me harder into him and forcing me to feel his growing erection against my hip. He slides his hand along my thigh, lifting it up around his waist, and I, fun struggle aside, relax in his grasp. As my shoulders calm, he lets go of my arms, and grabs for my other thigh. Both my legs wrap around his waist as he takes hold of me, pinning me against the wall.

Is this all I needed? Is this all I wanted?

He pulls away from my lips, and without a word, drags his stubbly cheek across my jaw, calling my whole body to attention before taking my ear between his teeth. I close my eyes, wrap my arms around his neck, and sigh in appreciation. It is scary how good he is at this. No more words. No more questions. No more explanations.

O
ur bodies heat as I twist my fingers in his hair, forcing his lips back to mine. We are all rushing breaths and tight grips.
Rough. I like it rough.