Broken Falcon, page 3
“Sorry! Was I not supposed to turn on the light?” She flipped it off.
He cleared his throat and stepped forward. His arm reached behind her, and she felt his body heat as he invaded her personal space. With another click, the room was bright again.
“N-no. Just s-s-surprised me is all.”
He stepped back, and his gaze scanned her from head to toe.
The look in his hazel eyes… Wow. The intensity of his gaze sent a frisson up her spine.
She just couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad reaction to his nearness. Her instinct—and the heat that fluttered through her—said good, but caution was always the rule.
He was safe, right?
It occurred to her then that neither she nor Tony had told anyone that they were calling Raptor. They hadn’t specifically decided not to call the police. That might have been a dumb move.
Hell, the phone number had come from a business card left by a patron earlier in the day. It could have been fake.
She took a deep, calming breath. The card had been left by the woman who’d been having tea with Isabel Dawson. Dawson was married to the senator who owned Raptor. It was well known they lived in the DC area.
The card was legit.
But what if not everyone at Raptor was safe?
That had certainly been the case once upon a time. If she remembered correctly, the previous owner was still in prison.
“You okay?” Johnston asked, his dark brows furrowing with concern.
She gave a sharp nod. Just because the guy had an intense gaze was no reason to freak out.
The flutter—or chills, whatever—were probably because he was handsome, and it had been ages since she’d been able to go out on a real date. Her side job was too emotionally draining and she couldn’t imagine dating someone who would be supportive. She had bills to pay, and financial security was her first priority, so dating was out.
But it didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy a pretty face, especially when the guy was tall with dark hair, a smattering of freckles, a warm smile, and cheekbones that reminded her of Cillian Murphy. Come to think of it, the shape of his eyes did too. He was a younger Cillian Murphy, and now she wanted to binge-watch Peaky Blinders again.
“I’m just jumpy and feeling a bit foolish. I mean, it looks like we didn’t need to call you at all. We could have left a while ago.”
“Actually, th-that’s n-not true.”
It took her a moment to realize he had a stammer. Given his line of work, it must make things difficult given how others tended to perceive stuttering and an operative’s need to project authority. And she couldn’t help but wonder if his was a case of Child-Onset Fluency Disorder or neurogenic as a result of a brain injury at some point. He would make an interesting subject for her studies if it was the latter.
The other operative, Mirza, entered the room with Tony. Mirza was shorter than Johnston—she estimated he was five-eight or so, given her own height of five-four. He too was handsome, with brown skin and black hair and thick brows. She guessed from his name and coloring he was of Middle Eastern descent.
Like Johnston, he had a wiry build and walked with the confident, commanding gait of a soldier. As long as these guys were legit, they were in good hands.
Johnston gave Mirza a sharp nod, and Mirza addressed her and Tony. “It’s good that you called us. When we drove up, we did see two men jump into a vehicle and drive off. Johnston pursued while I circled the premises to determine if others remained. When the pursuit was unsuccessful, Johnston returned.” He nodded to the taller man with to-die-for cheekbones to pick up the report.
Johnston pulled out a cell phone. “In the alley, I f-f—” He paused and took a deep breath, concentrating before he spoke again. “Found. I found this.” He held up the phone with a photo on the screen. It was the back door of the shop. Spray-painted on the door were the words: JASMINE IS OURS.
“They said something about Jasmine when they pounded on the door,” Eden said.
Johnston spoke with his voice pitched lower, making her wonder if it was a method of controlling the stutter. “We’ve reached out to the operative who was here today with a friend. She believes she knows what the message means and apologizes profusely for unintentionally triggering this harassment tonight.”
“We’d like to ask you both about the men who were here,” Mirza said.
“Should we call the police?” Eden asked.
“We’ve already handled that. We have a working relationship with the Metropolitan Police Department, and they’re content to let us help you fill out a report that includes photos. If there’s a need to follow up, they’ll come by the shop tomorrow, when they aren’t as busy as they are tonight.”
“If it gets us out of here faster,” Tony said, “that’s fine with me. But I didn’t really see anything. I was in the back. Only heard the banging when Eden pointed it out.”
“You saw the men?” Johnston asked Eden.
“I did.” She wanted to go home, and she was with Tony on expediting the process. They could go through the interview now and let these two men submit it, rather than waiting for an hour or two for an officer to show up. “Let’s sit down and get this over with,” she suggested.
Tony led them to the dining area, and she was glad to see he had closed the door blind when he let the operative into the shop.
Mirza sat across from Tony at a two-top table. Johnston chose a booth, and Eden slid into the seat across from him. His compelling eyes were fixed on her face in a not entirely unpleasing way, but the intensity of his gaze continued to make her belly flutter. She was certain now it was in a good way.
It was those cheekbones. The guy was just that good-looking. And there was something puzzling in the depths of his eyes that the future psychotherapist in her noted, but the woman in her wanted to explore.
She needed to earn enough money for a car and tuition so she could leave behind her second career and date again. Get laid again. For real.
She glanced at her watch. Maybe she should pull a late shift tonight after all. The way Johnston looked at her made her hot, and she could use that energy.
He pulled out his phone. “Th-this.” He paused and closed his eyes, and her heart twisted as he flushed red. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice to the whispery tone he’d used earlier. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ve got the forms all here.”
“Thank you for doing this. I mean, it’s not like we’re Raptor clients.”
“It’s our responsibility to follow up in situations like this. We’re deeply sorry for the fear and inconvenience this has caused you.” He glanced at his phone. “Now, to get started, I need your name, date of birth, and address.”
“Eden O’Keeffe.” She spelled out her last name for him. The double Es and Fs could be tricky.
After typing it in, he set the phone down and offered his hand. “It’s a little late for this, but it’s nice to meet you, Eden. I’m Chase.”
She smiled and took his hand, surprised that he went for the formal greeting, but liking the sweetness of it. Her gaze landed on his left hand on the tabletop.
No ring.
Not that that meant anything, but it was a positive sign at least.
But surely someone as handsome as he was, in his super-sexy line of work, had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. She knew better than to make assumptions.
She again reminded herself she couldn’t date right now. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
He released her hand with a soft squeeze. “I’m just sorry it was necessary.” His words made her wonder if he had anything to do with Jasmine and the men at the door.
He returned his attention to the phone. “I need your contact information. Address, phone.” He glanced around the room. “Place of employment.”
“Actually, I don’t work here—or, I mean, this was my first shift at this store. I work at the one in Fairfax. I filled in for an employee who was sick tonight.” The woman was a friend—well, acquaintance, really—who’d suggested Eden apply for a job at Vivace Coffee, so Eden hadn’t balked at helping her out even though it meant working her midday shift at her regular shop and then catching the Metro to fill in here.
Penny was the only person in Eden’s orbit who knew about her other job, because they’d met when they were both working for the same employer, before Eden struck out on her own.
Eden frowned at Chase’s phone as she considered how to answer his questions. She was always careful about giving out her address, and nice though he might be, she didn’t know him. “Let’s use my work address for my contact information.” She rattled off the details, including the store phone number, and he entered the information without questioning her reasons.
With the basics filled in, she did her best to describe the men she’d seen outside, but there wasn’t much to tell.
“You said one of them wore a sling?”
She nodded. It had been the only detail that stood out in the darkness.
Tony and Mirza had wrapped up at that point—Tony had seen far less than she had—and they listened as Eden gave her account, scant though it was.
She wished she’d seen more, but she’d been too eager to get in the back, away from the glass door, and hadn’t been about to pause and take notes.
“I think this about covers it,” Chase said in his whispery voice. “We’ll escort you to your cars and call it a night.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s the Metro for me.”
His gaze met hers, his brows furrowed. “This late? Alone?”
She shrugged. It wasn’t like she had a choice. “If you walk me into the station, I’ll be fine.”
“Where are you headed?” Tony asked. “Maybe I could give you a ride.”
She didn’t know Tony any better than she knew Chase, but at least he worked for the same company and could be held accountable if something happened. “Fairfax,” she said, avoiding being any more specific than that.
“Damn. I’m Takoma Park. Other direction.”
“I can give you a ride,” Chase said. “Our compound is just outside Fairfax.”
She hesitated. A ride would be nice this time of night. But she didn’t know this man.
Was she being paranoid?
Probably.
But still, paranoia won out. “Can I text your driver’s license to a friend of mine?”
He smiled. Gah. His smile. It was a beautiful thing. “Of course.”
He pulled out his license, and she snapped a photo, this time noting the address, which had to be the Raptor compound. Did he live there?
She texted the photo to Kelly, a fellow grad student and close friend, telling her she was getting a ride home from the coffee shop from him.
Kelly’s response was immediate: You go, girl! He’s hot.
She laughed. If only this were a hookup. But no such luck. Plus she’d never take a hookup to her place. No way.
“Okay then, let’s go.”
They left the shop through the back alley, with the two operatives scanning the alley first to confirm no one had returned. Tony set the alarm and locked the door, then went with Mirza to his car parked in a lot a block away, while Eden walked beside Chase to a large black SUV parked at the curb by the alley.
“Do all private security folks drive black cars?” she asked.
“Pretty much. It’s boring, but it makes clients feel secure.”
He unlocked her door with a remote. She noticed no lights flashed or sound went off, and when he opened the passenger door for her, the dome light didn’t turn on. Stealthy.
She’d never thought much about private security, but living in the DC area, she was aware it was a big business, with all the politicians who didn’t necessarily qualify for Secret Service protection but who might be targeted for various reasons. Especially as doxing became more common and conspiracy nuts were ready to believe lizard people were trafficking children in the basements of pizza shops that didn’t have basements.
Add to that all the VIPs who came to town to testify before congress. They always had a big entourage, probably to convince the world they really were a big deal.
She climbed up into the high seat. Her five-four frame made it more difficult than she’d like. She was on the shorter side, but this SUV made her feel downright tiny.
Chase slid into the driver’s seat, and they were on their way, silence settling between them.
She wanted to pepper him with questions, but usually that was an invitation for the guy to ask her similar questions, and she didn’t want to tell him anything about her life. One could never be too careful in her line of work.
It was a shame, though, because he was so easy on the eyes, and someday, when she could date again without guilt, he might be a fun hookup.
She was willing to bet anything he sported impressive muscles on that lean, wiry body. It had been so long since she’d touched a man. Since she’d been touched. What would it be like to strip him down and run her hands over his smooth skin?
She jolted, realizing how far her brain had gone on that path in just a few minutes.
He was a virtual stranger.
And she hadn’t had a sexual fantasy like this since she started her sideline. She was too busy spinning fantasies for others to concentrate on her own.
Now here she was, in a car with a beautiful stranger, and she was turned on. Intensely so.
A wild, rash part of her wanted to proposition him. Ask if he wanted to go to a hotel and get naked with her. Would he be shocked? Angry?
Would he say yes?
Was he regularly propositioned by damsels in distress?
Given his looks, she’d guess he probably was. But he also might have a significant other. And he probably didn’t like being objectified any more than women did. He might be offended, and rightfully so.
She kept her wild thought to herself. But she smiled. She’d take this energy home and would log in and do a shift after all. It could be fun.
Chapter Three
Chase didn’t know how he’d managed to contain his reaction when he recognized Desiree. It had taken a moment—she looked different without the wig, makeup, colored contacts, and fake eyelashes—but he’d never mistake those full, beautiful lips even without the bold lipstick. And he’d always known she had dark hair, because, well, her eyebrows were dark, and she didn’t always shave everywhere.
Now he had her in the passenger seat beside him, a companionable silence having settled between them as he drove her home, not quite able to believe this was really happening.
What did it mean that Desiree—or rather, Eden—was working at the coffee shop tonight? Was it a coincidence?
That would be a rather massive coincidence, and yet it was hard to see how it could be anything else.
Eight months ago, she’d worked for CamDames—the legitimate, legal front side—and he’d found her online as he researched the business. But within two months of finding her, she quit and started her own private site, a one-woman camgirl operation. Chase, along with several other regulars, had followed her when she left CamDames.
Subscribing to her new site had forced him to acknowledge that he hadn’t continued visiting her online room because he was searching for information on the company she worked for. Truth was, he’d passed that point within the first few weeks and had continued visiting because she made him feel good. More than that…she made him feel. Period.
She’d been the first person to stir his physical desire since Parks put the chip in his head and used infrasound frequencies to inhibit and trigger pleasure. To erase his memories. To force him to commit crimes against his friends. His employers.
Parks had used his body as a weapon, and she’d used his body for her personal entertainment.
He hadn’t remembered any of it until the chip was removed, and slowly, over the last year, more and more memories surfaced. But with each new recollection, he became more certain key interactions with Parks remained buried. What he did remember was traumatic.
When she used him, he’d ejaculated. But he’d never given his consent. One weekend a month for over two years, he’d been raped by his psychotherapist.
In the months that followed the emerging memories of being sexually exploited, it wasn’t surprising that he felt no sexual desire. He’d been certain he’d never feel any such thing again.
Then he’d met Desiree. She was safe. Online. She couldn’t touch him. He couldn’t touch her. She made him want to explore desire again, and…she’d given him hope that someday he could feel again. Want again.
Because he sure as hell wanted her.
But she was also a woman on a screen. No woman in the flesh stirred his desire, and he’d made a point of going out to meet women and test his reactions.
Nothing. Not once.
It was like the damn chip was still implanted.
Until tonight. Tonight, he’d seen Desiree in the flesh, and even though she wasn’t doing any of the things to turn him on that he’d enjoyed online, he’d felt an instant surge of attraction. Lust.
Desire.
He could have cried right then and there for the shock of the feeling, but crying was also an ability he’d lost with the chip, so maybe not.
Now he was driving her home, and she had no idea who was at the wheel, that he knew her secret.
She was inches away from him. He could smell her. Reach out and touch her—although he wouldn’t, as that would certainly, and rightfully, freak her out. But also…for the first time ever, she could see him. But she didn’t know who she was looking at.
She had blockers on her site that rejected IP addresses within the Maryland/Virginia/DC area, which likely made her feel safe that she wouldn’t be recognized, but Chase had always used a virtual private network that pinged from Alaska, and that was what his online alias had always claimed as his location.
She had no reason to suspect him, and he needed to keep it that way.
While he was in Portland, he’d made the decision to give up Desiree. He hadn’t visited her site while living with Josh and his family, and it had seemed like the right timing to quit cold turkey. He should return to trying to meet women in person, or maybe even try a dating app and see where it went.
