In Deep with the FBI Agent (20 page)

“You know why we can't do that, Sam,” Jack said on a protest. “We need to correctly ID him.”

“She can do that from a camera feed,” Sam said.

“This guy could run the second he sees it's not Casey. We need him to be completely off guard.”

Sam shut his mouth because his colleagues were correct.

“I can do this, Sam,” Casey insisted. “Don't go all caveman on me.”

He turned in his chair and met her stare. “I have faith in you, but I'm protesting because I can't live in a world in which I let you get hurt.”

Tears glittered in her eyes, and he felt a lump in his own throat that he didn't have time to swallow before Casey snapped on her big-girl panties, rose, and all the agents stood as well. “When do we do this? I want to catch the bastard.”

C
asey picked at a thread on the unfamiliar couch in the apartment that wasn't hers. It was an FBI-held apartment they were using as a decoy to catch Hacker Matt, as Casey had come to think of him. Under the watchful eye of Sam and his team, she'd called Matt Melles Sunday afternoon to tell him she'd broken up with her boyfriend and wanted to take him up on his offer to go for dinner.

Acting like the brokenhearted girlfriend hadn't been at all tricky. All she had to do was be herself. Seeing Sam had been amazing, especially when he'd told her he couldn't live in a world where she got hurt. She'd nearly leaped across the table at him to kiss him in his place of work, but stopped herself in time.

She decided that once they caught the hacker, and
when
she got her job back, she'd invite Sam for a dinner where they could discuss their relationship like two rational grown-ups. She'd come clean about her mother and confess that she was scared to share the burden. She'd give him a chance to run and make a clean break, but she happily suspected she'd be stuck with Sam Cooper for the long haul, and she couldn't be happier about it.

Casey struck out the first time she called Matt and got his voice mail; there'd been a very long and boring hour while they waited for him to call her back. Finally at seven that night, she'd told them she was going home. She hadn't slept well Friday night, and needed to catch up on her sleep.

At nine Sunday night, she received a text from Matt, confirming dinner plans for Monday evening. She returned the text with her apartment address. Excuse her; her fake apartment address.

Monday morning had ticked by endlessly until finally at noon, she couldn't stand it and called Annie to ask whether Nancy had been seen that day. Why wasn't the woman calling? Didn't she know she was torturing Casey?

“Nancy is home with a stomach virus,” Annie said. “She's not taking calls or responding to emails. I hope it's not contagious. I have plans on Wednesday, and I don't want to cancel 'cause I'm puking.”

“I'm sure you'll be fine,” Casey said. “Maybe it's food poisoning.” She calmed a little bit that Nancy wasn't ignoring her; she was too ill to do any work. It still didn't help the day go any faster toward six o'clock, the appointed hour at which Matt was supposed to pick her up.

Her closet had never been cleaner, and her books were now in alphabetical order by author. She'd gone for a run and showered, and still had two hours, so she decided to head to the FBI apartment earlier than planned and check it out.

When she arrived, it was a hive of activity, with one person putting on decorative touches, including fresh flowers. As if Casey ever bought fresh flowers for herself. Another crew was adjusting cameras so tiny you'd never know they were there if she hadn't seen them being moved around. Sam was somewhere in the melee, but she hadn't seen him yet and didn't want to get in anyone's way. Finally, at around five o'clock, an agent came up to her help tape a recording device to her chest under her blouse. Sam appeared and forcibly maneuvered the other woman out of his way.

“I'll do this,” he announced. He escorted her to the bathroom, where he told her to unbutton her shirt three buttons.

Flushing, and with trembling fingers, she got the job done. Dammit, why was she shaking? It wasn't as if there was something Sam hadn't seen.

But he was all business professional as he got her taped up and back to rights.

“Your hands are cold,” he said, and she realized she'd grabbed his wrists as he worked on her. “No need to be nervous. As we told you, you're only going to open the door to him, back up, and once you're sure it's him, say the words.”

“Hello, Matthew,” Casey said, rehearsing her one and only line.

“Right. And then we'll make the arrest. That's it.”

She nodded, gulping back air, and willing her heart to slow down. Why was Sam being so distant? Didn't he know she needed him?

“Casey,” Sam whispered, and smiled down at her. “You got this, Ms. Cooper.”

She looked up into his face and he caught her cheeks in his palms, pulling her in for a kiss, which she returned with force. Their lips crashed together in a meeting born of violent need for each other after their terrible time apart.

Casey lost all sense of where she was and why. She only knew Sam was kissing her and it felt darn right to be held by him—until there was a knock at the bathroom door and a female voice said, “Uh, we need Ms. Cooper for a sound check. Dave says he's only getting muffled static and some heavy breathing sounds. Is everything set up in there?”

Sam froze with his forehead against hers and a smile on his face. He brushed his lips gently one last time against hers before calling, “We're all good in here.” He turned to her. “Casey, say something in a normal voice. They need to check sound quality.”

“I can't think when you kiss me,” she whispered.

Sam pulled back to open the bathroom door. “I'll see you in one hour. Then we finish what we started. You with me?” He spun and strode out of the bathroom.

Casey took a moment to get her bearings. She glanced in the mirror at her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. She needed her purse to reapply her lipstick, which was probably all over Sam's mouth. Before she took a step out of the bathroom, the female agent handed her the purse.

“Need this?”

She grasped it and unzipped it to find her makeup bag. “Thank you.”

“What shade is that?” the female agent asked, leaning against the counter as if they were girlfriends, sharing beauty tips. “Because it really works with Agent Cooper's coloring.” She laughed and gently squeezed Casey's forearm to share the joke.

“Does everyone know?” Casey whispered.

The agent nodded and leaned forward to check her own hair in the mirror. “Yep. They were making bets on how long it would take you guys in here. That's why I interrupted.”

“Thank you,” Casey said fervently.

“No problem. Now let's get you out of here so you can help take down our man.”

Casey followed her out, only later realizing she didn't know to which man she was referring. Did the other agent want her to take down Matt Melles or Sam?

The next hour flew by and all of a sudden Casey was alone on a sofa, picking a loose thread and waiting for Matt to knock on the door. She was dressed in her typical work clothes, since she'd told Matt he could pick her up at her place after work.

It was 6:05 when the knock came, and her heart raced as quickly as if Matt had shot bullets into the wood door instead of knocking. She swallowed and mouthed her one line silently, praying her voice would come out sounding natural. She was no drama club queen, and was now wishing she'd chosen to take performing arts instead of ceramics in high school. She rose off the couch and called, “Coming.”

She opened the door with a false smile on her face and said, “Hello, Matthew.”

The world exploded into movement and, too late, Casey remembered she was supposed to have opened the door, stepped back at least three feet, and
then
said her line. Her screwup meant that Matt Melles had seen the agents and had instantly grabbed her in a stranglehold and was using her as a shield while three agents, including Sam, pointed weapons in their direction.

Casey couldn't breathe, and it wasn't because of the arm wrapped around her like a seat belt. It was sheer terror coursing through her body. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. She'd promised Sam nothing would happen to her, and now Sam was going to have to watch her get shot. She stole one quick glance at her former lover, expecting to see anger and terror on his face that she was sure was a mirror of her own emotion.

Instead he looked calm, and was saying something to her that she had to strain to hear over the other agents, who were attempting to retake control of the situation by shouting orders at Matt.

“Senior year, Casey,” Sam was saying in a low voice and tapped his foot.

What?
Casey frowned at him and struggled against her captor as Matt started to back up toward the bedroom, taking her along. She knew that she
couldn't
let him take her into a room with a locked door and she had to do something. But what?

Another glance at Sam, who now said, “Flipping Brent.”

And then she remembered and understood Sam's cryptic message.

“What's he saying, Casey?” Matt gave her a shake. “Tell them to shut up, and I promise you won't get hurt.”

Casey refused to say anything because she now knew what to do. Sam's reminder about flipping Brent helped her recall the self-defense workshop Montgomery Prep had offered shortly before graduation. It had been meant to help the senior girls protect themselves when they went off to college, though the three-hour class hadn't turned any of them into ninjas. The best thing to come out of the class had been when Tania, one of the tiniest senior girls, had managed to flip Brent Spence, varsity defenseman, head over ass. “Flipping Brent” had become a senior battle cry for the rest of the year.

Casey tried to recall how Tania had done it, and before Matt could pull her back another inch, she slammed her stiletto heel into the top of his foot. It went right through the thin leather of his shoe, drawing blood.

“You bitch,” Matt howled, but loosened his grip on her long enough for her to twist, wiggle, and leap out of his arms into Sam, who wrapped his body around hers and got her the hell out of there. She didn't see what happened to Matt next, and she was grateful to Sam for protecting her from having to witness what sounded like ugly violence.

Out in the hallway, she clung to Sam, whose grip on her was a warm vise. He was crooning something to her and it took a moment to realize he was repeating, “You're okay, you're okay. I got you.”

She realized tears were streaming down her face and he was comforting her, which she soaked up as if she were a dried-out sponge and he were the ocean. Through her tears she glanced up at his face and saw that his words were also for himself. He was reassuring himself that she was okay.

“I'm okay,” she whispered to him. “I'm okay, Sam. Look at me.”

He stopped his words long enough to stare down at her with a wide-eyed terror she hoped never to see again on somebody she loved.

For it was suddenly very clear to her that she loved Sam. When Matt had grabbed her, her first thought had been
oh, shit
, but within the next breath had been terror that she'd lose Sam in a permanent way. The adage that you see your life flash before your eyes wasn't exactly true, but what was true was that she'd had a moment of crystalline clarity that told her the future wasn't very valuable without Sam in her life.

“Casey,” Sam whispered back, with his arms tightening around her. “Never again. Please say you want to get back together, because I have to kiss you right now.”

In answer, she rose and planted her lips on his, not coming up for air for long moments. Everything melted away except her need to stay close to Sam, who obviously felt the same way, because he kept hold of her hand as he returned to his job, sat her on the couch, and did the eight bazillion things they had to do to process the arrest.

She kept blinking sleepily as she watched him work, wondering why she was exhausted. She hadn't done much of anything today, but then Sam glanced away from some paperwork and came over to her on the couch.

“The adrenaline's wearing off,” he said. “I'm almost done here. Can you wait five more minutes?”

She thought she might have nodded, or maybe her head simply fell forward, because the next thing she knew she was being carried into the elevator of her own apartment building by Sam.

“Huh?” She blinked in the glare of the harsh light as they exited the elevator and he carried her down the narrow hallway to her apartment.

“I can walk,” she said, struggling a little to get out of his arms. How was he able to lift her?

“I know, but you don't have to.” He approached her front door and frowned. “On second thought…” He carefully lowered her to a standing position and pulled her keys out of his pocket. He must've gone through her stuff after she passed out.

“Did I faint?”

“No, but you had a shock and it was your body's instinctive reaction to recuperate. You'll probably be tired tomorrow too, but, luckily, you'll have company in bed.”

“Will I?” She hadn't meant to sound coy. Sam in her bed was what she wanted most in the world, but twenty-eight years of ingrained flirtatious behavior didn't ebb away overnight.

He paused with the front door open and his hand on the knob. “Yes. No games, Casey.”

“No games,” she promised. “Take me to bed.”

“Done.”

He was as good as his word, only he took her literally. He undressed her, threw an old T-shirt over her head, and tucked her under the covers; then he slid in beside her after removing his own clothes.

“No sex?” she asked, but she was already half asleep.

“Yes sex,” Sam whispered into her ear, several hours later when the sun was infiltrating the cracks beside her window shade, sending streamers of light over the comforter on the bed. Her eyes blinked open to find Sam's body pressed against hers, his thigh holding down her legs.

She was flat on her back, and one of his hands held her arm above her head against her pillow. His lips danced delicately along her earlobe then moved lower to her jawline.

She tried to turn to kiss him, but he held her steadily immobile. Every nerve ending in her body went on alert and became hypersensitive to his touch.

He started slowly. A kiss here, a lick there. One callused palm grazed her forearm, then curved over her breast. “Oh,” she gasped when his hot, wet mouth bit down gently over the cotton covering her distended nipple.

“More.”