Risky Temptation (31 page)

              “Agent Margot?”

              I looked up. Although he was still wearing his helmet and protective eyewear, I could tell it was Agent Truman.

              “You’re injured,” he said, staring at my bloody arm.

              He turned around and shouted, “Agent down! Agent down! Need assistance!”

              I turned to the right where two agents were approaching me, ready to help me. But it wasn’t the agents I saw.

              It was the man I saw in the far distance behind them. He was far enough away in the shadows that nobody had yet spotted him.

              Despite the dark night and the blinding lights of the FBI vans, I could make out the face of the man. And worst of all, I could make out his expression. His expression of complete and utter betrayal and anger.

              Marco Desmond watched me as I was carefully ushered into an FBI car. I felt his eyes on me as the agents carefully loaded me in, bloody arm and all. And I felt his rage follow me as we drove away, leaving my heart in the dust.

Chapter
Twenty One
Halle
Three Days Later

              I kicked a loose piece of cement as I walked down the sidewalk towards my apartment. It had been three days since the raid and it still felt weird to head home. I had become so used to rooming at the Desmond compound that it felt almost alien to have a whole apartment to myself.

              After the botched raid, we had all been driven to a makeshift headquarters where they could separate the chaotic mess. They gathered up the spitting mad Juarez Family into a separate truck and quickly drove off, most likely to speak with international authorities about having the notorious mob in custody.

              I had been taken to a corner of the room where a temporary medical stand had been erected. The bullet had been a flesh wound. Stitches were all that were required.

              The twitchy agent who had botched the job was named Agent Ryan Moralez, I learned. Agent Truman had thrown off his helmet in disgust as soon as he had alighted from the truck at headquarters.

              I watched from my seat on the medical cot as Agent Moralez sheepishly pulled out his earpiece and undid his Kevlar vest which he had worn under his jacket.

              “What the fuck were you thinking there, Moralez?” Agent Truman demanded. Sweat from his hot gear was glistening off his forehead.

              Moralez looked ashamed and confused. “I know I fucked up,” he said.

              Agent Truman made a noise in the back of his throat as if to say, “No shit, Sherlock!”

              Moralez winced at the judgmental sound but he persevered. “But I really was trying my best. I had everything worked out and planned to the minute. But when Desmond changed the date, I—”

              “Then you clearly
didn’t
have everything planned out, did you?” Agent Truman interrupted, annoyed. “Any agent worth his salt would have a contingency plan in his pocket for situations just like this! You didn’t think that someone as paranoid and twitchy as Desmond would do something like a last minute date change? It’s textbook 101!”

              Agent Moralez mouth opened and closed, as if wanting to say something more but just wasn’t able to find the nerve to, not after botching that mission. I watched the young man.

              He was a young agent, under thirty years old. And I could tell he was still quite green. His fingers were laced together in front of him in a deceptively calm position but I could see how white the tips were. He was gripping his hands in his nervousness.

              Moralez was just as sweaty as Truman, if not more. And his eyes kept darting back and forth as if expecting the National Guard to stomp on in to rain judgment on him.

              I couldn’t help but be numbly surprised by this choice of field agent. With the slight loss of blood and the minor amount of shock from being shot, I was feeling very loosely connected with my body. But even in this detached state, I couldn’t help but wonder why the FBI would pick such a green agent for this case. This was a highly sensitive and dangerous case, as I was reminded regularly with my meetings with Agent Truman and Hadfield.

              And yet, in the middle of such a dangerous environment, they felt comfortable sending in not just one green agent but
two?
After all, I wasn’t even trained as a field operative. I was even greener than Moralez.

              “Agent Margot?”

              I looked up saw Agent Hadfield standing above me. He looked tired and worn out but had a slight look of…satisfaction. I stared, confused. This whole raid had been a mess. Months of planning had just been blown up in their faces. I had lost the one man I had wanted to save from this whole situation. Satisfaction was the last thing anyone should be feeling right now.

              “I know you’ve been injured,” he said, nodding towards my bandaged arm. “And we have Moralez and the Juarez Family in custody to deal with. Why don’t you go home and rest and then in a few days, we can call you in to debrief.”

              I was surprised. “You don’t want to debrief me now?” I asked. Wasn’t that standard protocol—to debrief agents as soon as a mission was completed? It made sure that no small details were lost forever to memory.

              Agent Hadfield shook his head. “It’ll take several hours to do and the nurse told me you should get some rest. You’ve lost quite a bit of blood and would be woozy. You might get foggyheaded and recall things incorrectly. It’s better you get some rest,” he said. “We have an agent outside who’s waiting to take you home.”

              Feeling exhausted and somewhat numb, I agreeably followed Agent Hadfield out towards the waiting car. And within a matter of hours, I was at home, tucked into my own bed for the first time in weeks.

              But of course, just because I was in bed, didn’t mean I was able to rest. In fact, I felt more restless than ever. All I could do was keep picturing Marco’s face as I was escorted away.

              The look of such pain and anger slashed at my heart. And in the moonless nights, when I laid in bed, my brain tormented me further by bringing back memories those passionate moments we had shared. It made me relive the sweet touch of his lips against my breasts. My thighs clenched in remembrance of his large cock, filling and stretching me all at once.

              And then of course, the memory of his face from that night became all the more unbearable.

              I wanted to find him. I wanted to rush to him and explain. I wanted to tell him that I had joined the FBI to follow in the footsteps of one of the bravest men I knew, my father. I had joined to help people and to do good. And so I had accepted this mission in hopes that I was doing right by those who could be hurt and victimized by people like the Desmonds.

              But I hadn’t expected to meet someone like Marco. He was sexy and powerful and incredibly smart. But I knew he was also in pain and tortured, mostly caused by his own father. Most men would crack under such horrific pressures. Either they would’ve taken their own life to escape the madness or they would’ve succumbed to the darkness that Roy Desmond exuded, forsaking all evidence of ever having had a heart.

              But I knew Marco had done neither. From the way he had held me to the way he had spoken about his brother, I knew Marco Desmond had a heart. And it was a big one. It was fractured and scarred but it had a terribly large capacity to love and protect.

              And that heart was exactly what I had fallen in love with.

              That is what made me fall in love with Marco Desmond.

              But I knew there was no way to explain any of it. In his eyes, it was a complete betrayal of trust. And I couldn’t fault him for that. How else
could
he see it?

              I pulled out my keys and opened the front door of my building. I sighed. It was likely I would never see Marco Desmond again. And the pain I felt from that realization was indescribable. But there was no way to get in contact with him again without putting him danger.              

              After the debacle of a raid, I could only imagine how crazy Roy Desmond was right now.

              I punched the button for the elevator. As I rode up to my floor in heavy silence, I wondered if the FBI would plan another operation on the Desmonds. Sure they had caught the Juarez Family but the Desmond Family had been the number one target, after all. And they had gotten away. If they were planning another operation….

              I pulled out my keys again and opened the door to my apartment. After all, how many people were as familiar with the Desmond Family as I was? I could be an invaluable asset. Maybe I could be a part of the next operation. And then when the moment was right, I could slip away and try to—

              “Oh my god!” I gasped, as I flicked on the lights.

              Sitting calmly on the living room windowsill was Marco Desmond.

              Dressed in all black with a dark leather jacket, he looked lethal. His square jaw was stubbled and taut. His dark eyes were narrowed as they pinned me to the spot.

              It was really him. It was Marco.

              And it hurt so good to see him.

              My heart pounded like a hummingbird’s both from surprise and the ache to see him. I stared at him, completely wide eyed and stunned.

              We exchanged glances as we seemed to both be figuring out what to say next.              

              “Wha…What are you doing here?” I started.
I missed you,
my heart cried out. But the words couldn’t come past my lips.

              Marco gave me a steely look that made my heart cringe. It looked as if any affection he had felt for me had been melted away. I hoped it wasn’t true but looking into the cool darkness of his eyes, it was hard to believe otherwise.

              This shouldn’t have been surprising to me. I should’ve known someone from the Desmond Family could find me. After all, I was the only one who had not escaped with the Desmonds during the raid. It was odd that given the ambiguousness of the aftermath I wasn’t offered the witness protection program.

              But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I would’ve declined the offer had they given me the chance. It was silly and stupid and reckless but I wanted to be traceable. I wanted to leave that door open. In case Marco ever wanted to walk through it.

              And now he had.

              But it was very clear by his expression, he had not found me to confess any kind of loving words. I felt a trickle of sweat slide down my back as I watched him uncross his arms and rise, his tall figure looming against the backdrop of my small apartment.

              “You’re FBI then,” he said. It was a statement but I heard the implicit question within.

              “Yes,” I answered, my throat dry. God, I wanted to explain to him how crazy and convoluted everything had become! How I had never meant for any of this to end the way it did. How I still wanted him in my life. But again, none of those words were able to make it past my lips.

              He stared at me, as if seeing a new me. It hurt for me to think he was recalibrating what he had thought of me. I must look deceptive and fiendish to him now.

              “You didn’t seem like an FBI agent,” he said, watching me.

              I gave a little shake of my head. “My normal department is accounting fraud. I was never trained as a field operative.”

              Marco raised his brows. “And they thought it would be a good idea to send an untrained agent to the Desmond compound?” he asked, clearly thinking the Bureau to be completely out of their mind.

              I couldn’t say I disagreed. “They thought I would be less conspicuous since I didn’t ‘seem’ like a classic agent,” I said. I winced internally thinking about how the only reason I had gotten the job was because of my figure and blonde hair.

              A tense silence fell between us.

              “Have you been debriefed?” he asked, his voice hollow and cold.

              I shook my head, my hands aching to touch him. “Not yet,” I said.

              He looked mildly surprised and then his expression turned suspicious. It was unusual for an agent not to have been debriefed by now. He thought I was lying.

              “They wanted me to get some rest first,” I explained, unconsciously touching my injured arm. The bandages were still wrapped around my arm but it was all hidden under my sweater.

              I saw his jaw tighten when I touched my arm.

              Shaking his head, as if to clear it, he asked, “How truthful do you plan to be during your debriefing?”