For the first two days, I just watched him. The first thing I noticed was his height. He towered over everyone around him. Rather tall myself, that was something I always noticed. When he stopped for coffee, which was several times a day, he was easy to spot, regardless of the crowd around him. His dark hair was a stark contrast to his pale skin, and as I studied him, I couldn’t help but notice his striking features. Blue eyes that shone dramatically in the sun, and muscles that filled out his t-shirt, indicating his commitment to being in shape. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his chiseled jawline, that seemed to clench often. While he was stunningly attractive, he appeared to be tired, which wasn’t particularly shocking, just notable.

On the third day, as I sat in my car watching him get his coffee, I decided it was time to get closer. Besides, I needed some coffee as well. My intent was to approach him on the fourth day, identify myself, and get my report. Thus far, I hadn’t seen anything unusual. He appeared to just be a nice-looking man going about his day to day activities. I hadn’t seen him engage with anyone other than store clerks. He gave polite nods wherever he went, and didn’t even check his phone that often. There were no meetups with anyone seemingly nefarious. In fact, he didn’t seem to be doing much of anything at all.

I approached the front door, but before I entered, he exited, nearly knocking me over. As I moved to get out of his way, he grabbed my wrist quickly and dragged me about fifteen feet with him, around the corner of the building, and shoved me against the brick wall in the alley.

“Who are you? Why are you following me?” he growled at me, still holding my wrist tightly.

Shocked, my mouth fell open. I’d never been caught staking someone out before. I wriggled my wrist out of his grasp and shoved him forcefully in the sternum, prepared to fight him if I had to, even if he was almost a foot taller than me. “I’m FBI.”

“What the fuck is the FBI doing here? I’m in the middle of an investigation. You’re going to get my cover blown,” he snarled at me in a hushed tone, clearly angry with my presence, though I couldn’t say I was surprised. Nobody wanted their investigation compromised, and they definitely didn’t want agents from other agencies weaseling in on their cases.

“I’m not here to take over your case, calm down,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Then what are you doing here? I can’t be seen talking to you.” He was growing impatient, and frankly, that wasn’t my problem. I had a job to do too.

“From the looks of it, nobody is watching you, Davidson. I’ve been sent to check in on your investigation, since it’s looking pretty stale.” I lifted a hand, waving it at the air. “I’ve been following you for days, and you haven’t done anything except drink a bunch of coffee.” I was being smug, but I needed to assert myself in this situation. He wasn’t the only federal agent standing in that alley. He wasn’t in charge of anything, and needed to know it.

“They’re always watching…” He paused. “What’s your name?”

“Portia. Portia Jennings.”

“Like the car?” He asked with a smirk.

“Really? Says the guy named after a motorcycle?” I snapped back.

“Touche.” He let out a slight chuckle. “Look, we can’t talk here. If you’re seen with me, it could ruin everything, and I’m not about to let the last six months be a fucking waste.”

“That’s fine. Where do you want to meet?” I asked. I was amenable to moving this discussion somewhere other than an alley.

“Oh we’re not meeting up later. Come with me.” He reached to grab my hand, when I pulled it away dramatically, scrunching my eyebrows at him. “What?” He looked at me, shocked that I didn’t let him snatch my hand again.

“You get to manhandle me once, pal. I’m a fucking federal agent too. Don’t fucking grab me again, or I’ll break your goddamn hand, and you can explain that to your superiors.” His eyes widened, and he took a step back from me, putting his hands up in surrender. I may have been being a little aggressive, but I didn’t appreciate being grabbed at.

“Fair enough, Portia. Please, if you will come with me, we can go to my place and talk there. It’s a few blocks away, if you’re up for a walk?” He gestured toward the street. “I’m sure you know the way?” he said sarcastically, not awaiting my reply.

He was already on my nerves. Some agents were too cocky for their own good. I know that you have to have a certain degree of narcissism to take on this kind of a job, but he was a little too macho alpha for me, and it was becoming increasingly annoying. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” I stepped past him and we began walking east, toward his fake apartment.

We’d walked in silence for almost two blocks when he finally spoke. “Maybe you could loosen up a little, so you look a bit less like a stuffy cop?”

Dramatically, I spun my head toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I look like a cop?” I was not only offended, I was a little concerned that I hadn’t been playing my part as well as I should have. Something about this guy threw me off a little.

His lips widened into a grin. “Well, maybe not a cop. But you sure do look uptight. Not like someone who’d be out with the likes of a bad guy like me, that’s for sure.” He gestured at his scruffy face, and casual clothes. I’d dressed in jeans and a tank top that covered my gun, with a light sweater over it. I was perfectly casual.

“How do I look uptight? Because I’m wearing clothes that are clean?” I rolled my eyes. He was trying to get under my skin.

“Ouch. I’ll have you know my clothes are perfectly clean. I’m just saying, you look like you work at a bank or something. Very proper.” He chuckled again. He was clearly trying to ruffle my feathers, and as much as I didn’t want it to, it was working. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the FBI though,” he leaned in to whisper, as we turned toward a shitty-looking brownstone style apartment building.

He’d become downright infuriating at that point, and part of me wanted to punch his smug face. His ruggedly handsome, scruffy, smug face.