BIG, CHISELED-GRANITE faced super-soldier, too much muscle. He really wasn’t my type. Especially not when he was so obviously one of the criminal kind. But, I thought, what the hell. I had been going through something of a dry spell – a spell of several years. Since I signed up with the Bureau, in fact.
Wouldn’t you know it, the thing that had made me want to join up at the start was the impression that a Special Agent had made on me, the first one I’d ever met, in fact. Matt Trayner was investigating a case my father was involved in. He had an easy, confident gleam in his eye, with a spark of mischief and a burning intelligence. And he made me laugh. He was well built and he dripped with effortless charm.
Truth be told, I want to be one of those, was only my second thought. My first was, I want one of those. That one, in particular would do very nicely. And, for a week and a half, every minute of which felt like a crime in the best way, he did. We did. But, like most of my relationships, however wonderful it was with the lights off, it couldn’t survive exposure to daylight.
Still, Matt’s combination of confidence and deadly skill combined with brains and a wicked sense of humor left, let’s say, a deep and lasting impression, and made me determined to become a Special Agent myself. And, honestly, a big part of the attraction was that it would mean working in environments where I was surrounded by male Special Agents.
I loved the training, the study, the law, the combat skills and the marksmanship, and I made fast progress. Since my graduation from Quantico, I had worked closely with a lot of agents, and many of them had those exact qualities that I found so sexy. But, naturally, I was working too closely with them to allow any other kind of a relationship to develop.
It happens in the Bureau, and sometimes it works out. Team members work together, get together and pair up. They marry. Successfully. Not all that often, though. There are too many stresses and risks of a conflict of interest.
Federal Agents are almost all fiercely loyal and ready to die for a colleague. But an older Agent once told me that it’s tougher to be out in the field with someone you’re in a relationship with. Your instinct will always be to protect them. That could mean getting distracted at a crucial moment, and that could endanger the team or the mission.
I always knew that wouldn’t be for me. I didn’t know if I could be with someone all night then work with them all day? It didn’t appeal. It seemed like you would never have anything to talk about outside of work.
Still, a guy from the other side of the fence? One of the bad guys? No. Definitely not. I figured we’d have a drink, maybe some laughs. Possibly spar a little. But that would be all.
He would probably make a move. I would take a pass. Come away feeling good about myself with a little triumph to tuck into my back pocket.
As I made my way to the bar, I wondered if that was my real motive. That I wanted him to put the move on me so I would feel good about being wanted, and then feel superior about turning him down. That gave me a twinge. It wasn’t like me at all.
At nine sharp, the bar was almost empty. Still, when I walked down the steps and opened the door, the sound changed. I’ll never get used to it, that thing that happens every time I walk into a bar, a woman alone. Everything went a notch quieter and a little still, as though paused in anticipation of what I would do.
Peering around the gloom, I saw the half dozen or so dark figures intently not watching me. None of them were him. Fucker. Not that I would have any fear of being able to handle myself, but I was unimpressed by him not bothering to be on time.
Perhaps I’m always a little too uptight about that kind of thing, I don’t know. It annoyed me enough that I was ready to leave. As I turned, the barman called to me. “Ma’am?”
As I stepped up to the bar he put a heavy tumbler down in front of me, swirling with a dark amber spirit.
“I believe this is for you, Ma’am. Horse called ahead,” Horse? What kind of a name was that? “He insisted on a double shot of our best bourbon for you, and asked me to tell you that he apologizes for being delayed, and that he’ll be here in about five minutes.”
I looked up to see the glimmer in the barkeeper’s eyes. I asked him, “How do you know he meant me?”
“He said you would be dead on time and drop-dead gorgeous.” He looked around the room, then back at me. “He definitely meant you.”
There was a dark chuckle behind me. “I don’t know about that, Donny,” a big man in a check shirt lumbered up to the bar, “I’m pretty damn gorgeous, if you get me in the right light.”
There were sounds of chairs scraping as he said, “Donny, let me buy the little lady’s drink.” And to me he said, “I’m here right on time. Come over to my table and let’s get acquainted. Forget about the ass who didn’t make the date.”
He was closer and so damn big he almost had me surrounded. I started to say, “No,” but he reached for the glass and his arms were nearly around me.
The door slammed and the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs made everything stop. His voice drifted down from above. He had a way of talking that his deep voice didn’t sound loud, but it swept the whole room. A a voice that commanded attention.
“I’m buying that drink, friend. Best you don’t put your pawmarks on the glass.” Horse – could that really be what he called himself? Anyway, the easy menace in his voice made the big man at my side pause.
The man turned slowly. “You’re too late, bud. The lady’s spoken for.”
I was about to tell him, that I could do my own fucking speaking, thank you very much, but Horse was already inches away from the man’s face.
He had a gleam in his eye and his teeth shone through his grin. He lowered his long eyelashes as he said, “You don’t want this fight, friend.” And showed an open hand as he gestured with a nod, “Move aside.”
The man’s lips pressed together and his eyes flicked from Horse, to the barkeep, and back to me. We all knew he was going to back down and none of us needed to make it tough on him. But we all were keen to watch it play out.
The man was still. Horse let an easy smile dimple his jaw as he cocked his chin a notch. His patched eyelash beat slowly and he said, “You want me to buy you a drink, too?”
The man knew he was getting off light. He slumped and said, “No, you’re good.”
Horse spread his hands and smiled as he watched the man shuffle, round shouldered, back to his table. He turned to me at last. “We’re all good.”
Donny was pouring out another bourbon and he pushed the tumbler to Horse. “Thanks, Donny.” He made it look like he was so at home in the bar that one of the stools would have his name on it, but I was sure he’d just called ahead, got talking to Donny and established himself. He seemed like that kind of a guy.
The kind of man you could drop into practically any situation. He’d take charge and have everyone on his side in the time it took him to walk across the floor. He had a slow walk, or it seemed that way, but he could come up on you surprisingly fast.
He lifted his glass to me. “So, what are we drinking to, a successful afternoon of Agenting Specially?”
“We’ll have trouble getting along if you keep trying to make fun of the Bureau.”
“Okay, I won’t do it any more. I just always wonder how Special the Special Agents are if there aren’t any Ordinary Agents,” he looked at me over the rim of the glass. “That’s all.”
This whole thing was beginning to look like a bad idea. I kept my voice even, “Let’s drink to a fresh start.”
Even if he was going to make jokes about my work, he should have had the sense not to do it in public when I was off duty. I’d changed clothes and pinned up my hair. Now I was wishing I hadn’t.
“Let’s talk about your day instead,” I looked steadily at him, “Much extorting today? Successful intimidation, good shakedowns?”
His boyish grin flashed. Damn he was hot. “Ouch,” he said, “We won’t talk about work then. How ’bout them Yankees?”
I took a sip off my bourbon. It was smoky with a caramel flavor. The kick was held back and smooth. The fire that it carried down my throat made me think about how stimulated I was by Horse’s performance, facing down the barroom bully. Colleagues at work tended to be protective of me, even though they knew I could take care of myself as well as they could, but they wouldn’t step up as quickly or as effectively as Horse did.
“Is your name really ‘Horse’?”
His grin smoldered like the whiskey. “What do you think?”
“I haven’t got a clue. I don’t like guessing games much either.”
His eyebrow went up. He had a look like a schoolboy, challenged but undaunted. Coming back for more. He said, “Well, this is awkward.”
He let it be for a moment, watching to see how uncomfortable it made me. Or how well I covered it. “How about yourself. Do you have a name?”
“Vesper.” I told him. “Vesper Cross.”
“Sounds religious. You a believer, Vesper Cross?” It gave me a strange feeling, hearing my name rolling around on his tongue.
The music from the jukebox was some Brit electro pop from the eighties. A low female voice told us that sweet dreams are made of this. Dark and infectious. Lifting the tumbler again, I hadn’t noticed that I was moving to the beat. Not until I saw Horse’s hips, slightly but unmistakably swivel. Just once but in perfect time with the rhythm that I hadn’t realized I was following. Like it was something we both knew how to do. A thing we had secretly, silently agreed upon. He nodded. I nodded back.
My legs moved. His pelvis tilted. I realized that we were dancing, but like we were describing the dance that we would do. Like we both knew the moves and we were rehearsing them together.
His fingers lifted my palm. Something more than the thrill of a musical beat made my spine tingle. The woman’s low voice sang: Who am I to disagree? He backed into the dark floor of the bar. We still were barely moving. But we were dancing. His grin was like a lick of flame as his eyes swept slowly down my body and back up. His fingers twisted and I spun. Someone in the room said, “Ow!”
He touched my waist and I spun again. He danced, only slightly, but it was for me. At the end he laid a hand on my shoulder and pulled me close. Close enough for me to taste the heat of the bourbon on his breath. To feel the hot strength of his hard body. For a moment we were still like that. Near enough to kiss. Both of us thinking about it. I saw his tongue moisten his lips.
The heat of his body called to mine. His hips to mine in particular.
As he guided me back to the bar, his hand slipped down my back and rested at the bottom of my spine. It felt good there. Like we were something together. Maybe we could have been. If only he would have dropped that maddening little boy grin. I wondered if maybe I should slap it off his face.
The idea had definite appeal.