Sworn to Protect Read online

  ANTHONY

  I had two weeks of holiday owed me before coming back to the office, but after one week at home, I was going stir crazy. I put on my FBI suit. I swear all my colleagues shop at the same suit store. It was right around the corner from the Hoover Building, probably designed intentionally to be convenient. I did upgrade my tie collection. The drab black or dark brown was too morbid for me. I had to have some color—socks to match. Making sure my shoes were shined up, I grabbed my computer bag and keys and headed into the office, stepping off the elevator at precisely nine o'clock.

  I went straight to Jeff's office. My boss liked to mix up cubicles to keep people from bringing too many personal items in and decorating their spaces. He believed offices were utilitarian and used sparingly; the real job was on the streets, pounding the pavement and drumming up leads and information. He was old school. I knew some people went out to 'drum up leads' for Jeff, which really meant they sat down at Starbucks and let their fingers do the walking.

  I needed to see where Jeff had me sitting and who I'd be partnered with, now that I was back. I knocked on his open door, realized he was on the phone and tried to duck out, but he pointed to a chair and I sat down while he finished his conversation.

  Unlike the sanitized shuffleboard cubicles, it was like a tchotchke convention threw up in Jeff's office. He crammed every horizontal surface with mementos of places he had traveled—snow globes, glass figurines, paperweights, all boasting of their hometowns. Jeff had a state spoon collection on the wall inside a glass case, just four away from a full set. Stuffed animals hid out in corners, with one used as a greeter to the inbox, and a cup full of promotional pens vied for attention on the edge of his desk. Jeff seemed to have framed and hung all the certifications and commendations he'd received over the years. The impulse to scrunch my nose in disgust was hard to hold back. It reeked of desperation. I felt it every time I came to his office. I was a little sorry for the guy; he was well-liked, generally treated everyone under him fairly; he just wasn't top dog material. He belonged in the trenches with the rest of us. He did excellent work there. My brain resisted profiling the guy; I was scared of what conclusions I'd draw.

  Jeff finally ended his conversation. "Anthony, you're supposed to be at home or a Nat's game. What are you doing here?"

  I shrugged. I hated baseball. "The Nat's are on the road this week and I'm bored at home. Please tell me you have something I can do."

  Jeff thought about it for a minute. "I am going to pair you with David, but he's not due back from his honeymoon until next week. If you really want to work, I only have one thing, it just dropped in our laps, should be light duty."

  I jumped at the opportunity, practically leaping out of my chair, anything to get me out of his office. "Sure, yeah. Whatever it is, it's better than looking at my four walls for another day."

  Jeff chuckled. "I'm not sure you'll agree once you hear about it. I haven't even created a file yet, just got off the phone." Jeff told me a friend had called with a lead on the death of Jonathan Colby, Chief of Staff for Senator Hart. DC Metro listed Colby's death as suspicious and had the case a week with no leads beyond the coroner's report saying Colby died of poisoning.

  "Why aren't you sending this over to Metro? It's their case. Why pick it up?" I was hesitant to get involved, considering Senator Jackson Hart was my uncle. It wasn't common knowledge, but I'd told Jeff years ago on the off chance that a case came up involving the Senator, Jeff would make the decision whether there was a conflict of interest. Clearly, he didn't think there was a conflict here.

  "The information source had a run-in with Metro detectives and it didn't go over well. When she discovered the information, she brought it to her lawyer's attention to decide what to do. It trickled its way to me. "

  "Just so we're clear, I met Jonathan Colby a few times. I didn't know him well, but he did work closely with the Senator, so we crossed paths."

  "Yeah, I don't think that's an issue. We'll be processing the new information to find his killer; you'll be protecting the witness."

  "WHAT!?!"

  I wanted to sit at my computer, review information, weed out the clues, then pound the pavement, and interview subjects. Not sit inside someone else's house watching their four walls. UGH!

  Jeff laughed at my outburst. "See, I told you home might appeal more. Sure, you don't want to forget we had this conversation and come back next week?"

  I glared at him. Four walls were four walls. Home was an empty shell, one that I couldn't fill. I didn't need to think about what I was missing in my life. At least I wouldn't be alone. I could be watching someone else's four walls.

  Damn. It was going to be a long week.

  We had about an hour until the witness arrived, so I tried to stay busy, catching up on emails, making the rounds and saying hi to colleagues I hadn't seen in a while, hearing about their cases. When I found myself spinning in my office chair, I knew I was in trouble, so I volunteered to get coffee before the meeting.

  Bypassing the vending machines, which were notoriously awful and only used when desperation struck on an all-nighter, I ran across the street to the Starbucks and ordered two lattes from a petite barista covered in tats. I turned away from the cashier to wait for my drinks and jumped back in shock as molten liquid drenched my shirt and pants. "FUCK!" I gritted through the pain as I looked down at the clumsy idiot who just ruined my favorite shoes.

  "Oh. My. God. I'm so sorry." Her voice lilted through the air like a favorite melody from my childhood, dousing the pain in my chest. Her brown eyes caught the sunlight when she looked up at me, flecks of gold and silver sparkling in their depths. Her eyes held mine as my body coiled, the blood rushing south.

  "I'm such a klutz and this week's been horrible, might as well add embarrassing to my list. Oh, God. I'll pay for the dry cleaning, please." Amongst her ramblings, she grabbed a bunch of napkins and tried to sop up the mess, her touch vibrating through me. I breathed deep to try and cool my surging erection.

  She was beautiful when she was flustered. I wondered how she'd look spread out on my bed, her golden hair loose, face flush with desire as I kissed my way down her neck. My body stirred and I realized her diligence was working down. I pushed her away before she noticed the bulge in my pants. "That's enough."

  She stood back and squared her shoulders. "I said I was sorry. What else can I do?" She huffed and tossed the wet napkins in the bin before grabbing what was left of her coffee and stormed out of the shop. I chuckled in frustration. If only I'd let her continue, who knows where it would lead. Probably arrested for indecent exposure and public fornication. A couple more minutes of her hands on my thighs, and I'd have propped her up on the counter and taken her with the barista looking on.

  CHRIST!

  Perhaps I should have stayed home.

  KATIE

  I noticed him while he waited in line at the coffee shop. He was taller than most guys in the room, and boy did he fill out that suit. I could see his broad shoulders and taut deltoids as the cloth moved with him. I bet he had washboard abs. His fitted shirt fell evenly to his waist, no hints of flab anywhere.

  Shit.

  It’s been a while since I’ve had sex and electronic devices could only do so much.

  I could tell he’d recently trimmed his dark hair tight and he’d had a beard until a couple of days ago. I imagined how he’d look with a dark beard, short and well manicured, offset by his deep green eyes and wished he hadn’t shaved it off. I continued to daydream through my half-mast eyes.

  O Holy Potato! He was hot now, but with a beard, I think I would have to pull him into the bathroom and force myself on him. My pussy clenched and yearned. Down girl!

  I sighed when the barista called out my name. My tea is ready. Good. I should get out of here before I do something stupid.

  I swiped the paper cup from the counter and turned to leave the store, slamming my arm into Mr. Hottie, spilling my delicious beverage down his chest.

 
Do you think it’s appropriate to lick it up?

  “FUCK!” I heard him growl and I winced, knowing how it must sting. What did I say about something stupid? Thirty seconds too late, story of my life lately. I started babbling and tried to wipe it up, offered to pay for the cleaning, anything to make it better. But he pushed me away.

  What a jerk!

  I stormed out of the store, thankful he showed his true colors. Saved me from fantasizing about him for the next month. Who am I kidding? He’s still gorgeous enough to envision while I masturbate. I can use the coffee scene as the setup, only in my fantasy he’ll plead with me to make it better, which will require a full-body search, exploring every ripple, every cavity and member of his body. I shivered as a wave of desire rushed over me.

  I saw Annie waiting at the Hoover building entrance, and I filled her in on Mr. Hottie while we went through security. Mere minutes after being escorted to an empty room, two men entered and sat down. The first wore a suit, what looked like your standard-issue FBI dark, cut to allow a holstered gun under the arm without bulging, although he didn’t look like he’d been out chasing the bad guys in a while. More like he had a desk job. The second guy had dark slacks with a fitted gray UnderAmour t-shirt under his suit coat instead of the standard button-down white oxford. The shirt clearly outlined his six-pack, and I had a feeling I’d recognize him when I saw his face. Sure enough, Mr. Hottie.

  I nudged Annie under the table in our coded messaging system from grade school.

  Hot guy one o’clock. Mr. Hottie.

  I could tell when she figured it out, her eyes shot from Desk Boy to Mr. Hottie, then to me.

  Way to be discreet, Annie.

  Annie turned in her seat, returning her eyes to her notes and shifting into what I now called her lawyer mode. She is so cool, and she’s my best friend. I couldn’t be prouder of her.

  Okay, Katie. Focus.

  This is not about a shining moment for Annie. This is about getting yourself out of this mess so you can go back to your normal life.

  Annie introduced us, handing her card to the two men in the room, and receiving their cards back. I itched to put a name to Mr. Hottie but resisted looking at the cards. He was a jerk and it would be best if I never had to see him again after today. I would hand over the footage and be on my way.

  I needed to stay focused; Annie was talking, “Ms. Corcoran has evidence related to the murder of Mr. Colby and wishes to hand it over to the FBI. We can watch it here and she is available today to answer any questions you may have.” That was my cue to slide the thumb drive over to the men. Desk Boy picked it up, inserted it into his computer, then double-clicked on the icon when it appeared on his screen. The video file loaded onto the monitor in the room, and we all shifted to watch it play out.

  Annie narrated the beginning. “Mr. Colby just concluded an interview with Ms. Corcoran. They are wrapping up and Ms. Corcoran is leaving the room.” She stopped speaking, and I turned my head slightly, wanting to see the reaction of the men in the room. I’d already seen the video I didn’t need to see it again.

  Damn, Mr. Hottie was even more delicious when he got all intense and focused. I imagined that focus as he investigated my body, and I squirmed in my chair, trying to clamp my thighs down on the heat pulsing between them. Now that’s one FBI agent I’d like to put me in handcuffs. As soon as I saw both Desk Boy and Mr. Hottie sit up in their chairs, I knew they saw the murder of Jonathan Colby.

  “Questions, gentlemen?”

  They looked at each other, then me. Desk Boy took the lead. “Why didn’t you give this to DC Metro when they questioned you?”

  “I didn’t know I had it.” Keep the answers short and simple I kept reminding myself.

  “When did you discover you had caught the murder on tape?”

  “This morning.”

  “Why didn’t you look at the tape sooner?” Mr. Hottie decided to jump in.

  Screw short answers, I was still pissed at him for being such a jerk. “You mean, why didn’t I rush home to view the tape of the guy I just interviewed, who I tried desperately to save with CPR only to find out he died anyway? That tape? Would you want to watch that if it was you who failed to save him? Jeez. You have it now, find the killer. I’m outta here.” I stood up and started to leave, Annie following right behind me.

  “Wait, Ms. Corcoran. You can’t go.”

  I turned to Desk Boy, “why not?”

  “You could be in danger. Until we apprehend this guy, you need to go into protective custody.”

  I looked at Annie, who shrugged. “No. Uh-uh. Thanks, but no thanks. He doesn’t even know this exists, so why would I be in danger? I’m going home.”

  I grabbed Annie’s hand and pulled her out of the room and out of the building. Once on the street, she dug in her heels.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  I paused and looked up to the sky, letting the heat melt away the morning’s angst. Feeling better, I thought about Annie’s question. Will I be okay? There’s a lot I need to process, starting with the death of Jonathan Colby and a killer who may or may not know I have him on tape, ending with Mr. Hottie requiring me to wring out my underwear, lest I drip all over my car.

  “Annie, I’m more worried about getting over how I wasn’t able to save Jonathan than I am about his killer coming after me. What would he gain by doing that?”

  She looked deep into my eyes. “Okay, but until he is caught, I want to hear from you every morning when you first wake and every night before you go to sleep. Got me?”

  I hugged her and smiled. “You’re a great friend.”

  “Yeah, just don’t make me write your eulogy.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KATIE

  I went home and threw the covers over my head, literally. What a mess. A dead Chief of Staff, murder caught on tape, and a sexy Hottie with a stick up his butt. There's a joke in there somewhere, dumb and inappropriate sure, but my life as a joke? Maybe I should change careers, go into standup. I certainly have the material. A dead COS, a murderer, and a sexy Hottie all walk into a bar…..

  UGH!

  I got up and tried to be productive, but I needed to get some fresh air. At the grocery store, I realized I forgot my list and went through the aisles, trying to remember what I needed. I wonder if Mr. Hottie is a wine and cheese or beer and pizza guy? I pictured him lounging on my sofa, his ankle propped up by his knee, one arm draped along the back cushions, a cold beer in his hands, the sweat from the bottle slowly dripping down the side as he lifts it to his lips, a drop trickling from the bottle bouncing off his chin and running down his neck. I have to rush over and lick it off before it disappears under the collar of his shirt.

  I shivered. Definitely a beer and pizza guy. Moving on.

  I threw miscellaneous items in the cart and steered my way to the checkout lane, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment as cookie-baking-grandmotherly checkout lady scanned the assortment of items I'd picked up.

  Every last one of these would be fun to play with Mr. Hottie.

  I hope I have enough to actually make a meal and not just snacks that require a six-foot, broad-shouldered, green-eyed Hottie to be standing in my kitchen because there's no way I'm going back to that store anytime soon.

  Luckily I did have enough supplies to make spaghetti and meat sauce. However, my blood sugar was dropping, so I quickly consumed a banana to level me out and hid the rest of my sexual aids in the cabinet and fridge, my face flushing again, as I set about preparing dinner. I had to chuckle as I lowered the pasta into boiling water, envisioning the scene from Lady and the Tramp at the Italian restaurant getting all cozy over a bowl of pasta. Even my dinner is laced with wanton desire.

  I set a timer on the pasta and went to put on comfy clothes so I could stretch out on the sofa, gorge on my romantic meal for two, and watch Pride and Prejudice for the hundredth time. I tossed my meeting-appropriate garb in the laundry basket, including my drenched underwear and slipped on a maxi dr
ess, letting the soft fabric float over my skin, a little air whispering around my bare skin under the loose-fitting clothing. I padded back to the kitchen as the timer went off, pulling my hair into a messy bun as I walked. I killed the heat on the stove and reached for a potholder when something flashed in my peripheral vision. My head instinctively turned. I screamed as I backed into the room and away from the masked intruder. My hands sought out a weapon or something I could use for protection, grabbing the cutting board primed with my salad fixings just as my intruder loomed down on me with a knife. The knife slammed into the board instead of me, but I lost my grip, and the board clattered to the floor. I'd left my knife by the board and now held that in my hand, the pointed end keeping my intruder at a distance. I tried to calm my breathing and stay present.

  Self-defense courses teach that the number one way to lose a battle was to panic. Panic led to freezing. Freezing meant I couldn't react when the attacker chose to strike. I had to stay aware, stay alive, and take my opening when he made a mistake. I just hope he'd make one soon, as I was cornered, and though I brandished this blade like I was a trained knife thrower in the circus, I felt more like the clown, looking all svelte and poised, waiting for my moment to make the crowd laugh at my stupidity.

  The attacker lunged. I ducked to the side, trying to run past, but his arm jutted out and slammed into my ribcage, knocking the wind from me. I fell to the floor. It was hard to breathe, but adrenaline kicked in and I strained to see where his knife was, knowing I needed to keep that away or the fight would be over. The glint of the blade reflected in the light as I swung the cutting board, ramming it into his arm, knocking the weapon free. This was my moment. If I could get out of the kitchen, maybe I could get away. I scrambled across the floor, crawling on my knees, kicking and screaming. I felt him grab and pull on an ankle as I slid across the floor, my leverage gone. He climbed on top of me, pinning me to the floor, his breathing labored. I struggled and frantically searched for anything I could use to help as fear welled up in me. I was going to die.