With a lump in my throat and trepidation in my voice, I accept my new assignment.

“I have utmost faith in you, Alison,” my director says as my hand reaches for the door handle out of his dark, dusty office.

“Thank you, sir. We’re going to have him evaluated as soon as possible.”

“Alison?” he says as I start out the door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t get too worked up. Take an extra thirty minutes today for lunch. Cool off,” he replies.

“Thank you, sir,” I respond as I clutch my notebook. The walk back to my office seems endless.

This case, Jaxon Covington, assigned specifically to me.

I understand why, but why me? Why did Jaxon take to me?

I lean into the doorway to grab my jacket and purse from my coat rack. I close my office doors and make my way through the halls and out the front, passing so many people staring at me along the way that I’m overwhelmed.

Days ago, I was just a peon around here.

Now, everyone who watched the trial saw Jaxon staring at me several times, and knows I’m assigned to his case.

I even caught someone whisper about me being his next target.

That fucking gets to me.

I unlock my car and slide into the driver’s seat, tossing my purse into the passenger side. I take a deep breath as I start the car.

Alright. Go eat. Get your mind off this for an hour and a half.

I pull out of the parking lot and start making my way to my go-to spot. It’s just a little hole in the wall diner, but I rarely see anyone else from work here, so it’s my favorite place to decompress.

I go in and just order coffee and a bagel.

As the waitress pours my cup of joe, I stare out the window. Watching people is my favorite pastime.

“There you go! Enjoy!” the waitress says cheerfully as she walks away.

I pull the mug close to me, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic. I slurp a bit off the top as I observe countless individuals making their way around town.

The waitress returns with my bagel and a couple of individual servings of cream cheese and butter on the side.

“Thank you,” I say, pulling open a pad of butter.

I grab my knife and generously spread it around the bagel before taking a bite and turning back to the passersby.

I do my best to enjoy my meal and my stress-relieving routine, but I can’t shake the thought of him.

Jaxon Covington is clearly dangerous, and I can’t help but feel like I need to be on my toes at all times working with him.

While I’m unsettled by him, I can’t prevent the aching sensation I feel between my legs whenever I think about him. The intensity of his personality is overwhelming, and his focus on me is stimulating in a way I’ve never felt before in my life.

I find myself asking the same question over and over.

Why me?

Part of me wonders if my appearance plays a factor. After all, people do say redheads are the crazy ones. He probably expected someone more like my director to be conducting his evaluations.

But no.

Instead, he gets a twenty-two year old ginger with pronounced emerald green eyes, a slim frame, and a determination to win in a game between the two of us. He sees me as a challenge as much as I see him as one, but for completely different reasons.

I take another bite of my bagel and decide I’m finished. I’m not even actually hungry.

“Do you need anything else?” the waitress asks as she approaches my table. “Maybe a box of some dessert?”

“No, thank you,” I reply.

“Alright, hun. Thanks for stopping by, and come back and see us!” she says with a smile. I smile back and she turns to check on her other tables.

I place some cash on the table and quickly hop in my car, knowing I’ll feel much more at ease back at work.

I’m safe there. Protected. I can breathe a little easier knowing if anything goes wrong, help is in the same building.

Once I’m back at work, I breathe a quick sigh of relief. I make my way back through the hall and to my office. I turn the knob, flip on the light, and hang up my jacket and purse.

As I turn around to walk to my computer and begin compiling data for Jaxon’s file, I’m stopped in my tracks.

I jump so high I’m surprised I don’t break a ceiling tile.

On my desk is a large teddy bear with a letter-sized envelope addressed with ‘Alison’ resting against its stomach.

What the hell?

I feel the soft, fuzzy teddy bear fur against my knuckles as I lift the letter from its belly.

I turn it over and see that the letter has been sealed with a calligraphy style ‘J’ stamped in wax.

I gently lift the top of the envelope, revealing a tri-fold sheet of stationary.

As I unfold the document and straighten the creases, I begin to read, absolutely puzzled by what this could be.

I grow more uneasy once I realize what I have in my hands.

My darling Alison, a glimmer of light in this shit-stained, sorry excuse for a facility.

I have not taken my mind off you even for one moment since I left. The very thought of you in the same vicinity makes my skin itch like a thousand festering scabs manifesting at once.

I desire to have you under me, Alison. The idea of feeling your skin against my face, smelling the fragrance of your shampoo from your hair, and licking sweat from your body, both cleansing you and claiming you as mine sends a wave of intense longing that I’m unable to shake.

I can see it on your face too; you want me. You know I was getting my cock sucked upon my arrest and you haven’t stopped thinking about what it’d be like to swallow this monster for yourself. You bite your lip as you hear me speak, imagining what better use that mouth could be put to.

Well baby, you’ve got an open invitation, and the pleasure is all mine.

I look forward to our next session, doc.

Xoxo.

My stomach flutters and my cheeks change to a rosy, reddish color as I glance over the letter a second time.

Jaxon Covington, you are one crafty man.

How did he get this in here? There are cameras and guards everywhere. There’s literally no way for him to leave his cell or make it past any of our security.

Which leads me to wonder: who in this office could he possibly have an in with?

I can’t even show this to anybody.

It could put anyone I might show it to at risk, especially with his connection laying low in this office.

A smile creeps across my face as I fold the letter back up and put it back to my desk.

I don’t know how to handle being so struck by him, but I do know I can’t let it affect my analysis.