Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Washington, D.C.
"You really do like order."
Alex turned.
Claire Brackett grinned from the bed and raised her brows.
"Because I take the time to fold my clothes?"
"Worried about wrinkles?" Claire teased.
"Are you insinuating that I'm old?"
Claire shrugged, letting the comforter slip lower around her waist. "Just older."
Alex kept her eyes locked with the younger woman's.
She enjoyed their time together more than she would admit to anyone. Claire, least of all.
The junior agent was eager. Sometimes she was even too eager. In a strange way, Alex found that endearing. For all of Claire's bravado, and she had plenty, there was something underneath it that Alex recognized, though she couldn't have named it.
Not innocence.
Claire Brackett had known too much pain for innocence.
It was something more unexpected, a kind of hope she refused to acknowledge. A need she kept hidden under sarcasm, skill, and a body that knew how to invite attention without ever really asking for tenderness.
Alex understood that better than she wanted to.
Desire was safer when it could be treated as an appetite to be fed. Sex was easier when it ended at pleasure, when the only expectation was a little breathlessness and maybe a lie about calling tomorrow. But sometimes, if it was honest enough, it asked for something more.
That was the part Alex didn't know what to do with.
Claire made her feel something.
It wasn't love. It wasn't even the beginning of love.
It was the terrifying realization that some part of Alex wanted to be loved. Wanted to let someone close enough to see past the order, the control, the carefully folded clothes, and still stay.
"You're staring," Claire said.
"I'm assessing."
"Mm. Is that what we're calling it?"
Alex folded her shirt and set it on the chair. "What would you call it?"
Claire smiled. "Avoidance."
Alex laughed. "You're very young."
"And you're very predictable."
"Am I?"
"When you don't know what to do with yourself, you create tasks."
"I'm getting dressed."
"You're folding a shirt—a shirt you need to put on, like someone is going to inspect it."
"Someone might."
"Does someone still inspect you, Toles?"
Alex turned back to the chair and reached for her trousers.
"No," she said.
Claire watched her. "Liar."
Alex looked over her shoulder.
Claire was still smiling. There seemed to be less of a challenge in her expression and more curiosity.
That was the danger of being with Claire. It wasn't the flirting or the sex. It wasn't even the way she pushed until Alex pushed back. That part was easy. Familiar. Manageable.
The danger was that Claire undid Alex's carefully folded layers—just a little.
They had been spending time together for nearly two months. Never in view of the agents who passed their cubicles or stood beside them in elevators, though Alex knew enough of their colleagues suspected something. She also knew Claire enjoyed that possibility more than she should have.
Not that it was an affair.
Not really.
Neither of them had ties. No promises. No commitments beyond the Bureau and the thousand invisible obligations that came with it.
They talked little about personal matters.
That suited Alex.
Talking led to feeling, and the only thing she was interested in feeling was a warm body pressed close enough to quiet the rest of the world for a little while.
At least, that had been the arrangement.
Until it had shifted.
Not enough for either of them to name. Enough to make Alex uneasy.
Claire stretched across the bed, all loose confidence and sharp eyes. "You never answer the questions you don't like."
"I answer plenty of questions I don't like."
"At work."
"That counts."
"No, it doesn't."
Alex picked up her watch from the nightstand. "You're awfully interested in my habits tonight."
"I'm awfully bored watching you refold clothes."
"You could get dressed."
"I could."
Alex fastened her watch and waited.
Claire didn't move.
Alex sighed.
Claire laughed.
There it was again—the challenge.
Throw away the need for order. Put aside obligations and expectations. Stop measuring exits. Stop checking corners. Stop pretending control was the same thing as safety.
See if you can keep up.
Alex had kept up.
That had never been the problem.
The problem happened afterward.
A week earlier, after a few breathless hours of challenging each other's tolerance for pleasure, Alex had found herself tracing slow lines along Claire's back while the room settled around them.
She hadn't meant to ask anything real.
The question had simply escaped.
"Why did you come to the Bureau?"
Claire's body had gone still beneath her hand.
"My father," she'd said.
That was all.
Alex should have left it there.
She hadn't.
"What about him?"
"He's an asshole."
"I understand."
Claire had lifted herself onto one elbow and looked at her. "Yours too?"
Alex had almost laughed.
Almost.
"Let's just say I've never pleased him."
Claire had studied her for a long moment, as if deciding whether the answer was evasion or confession.
Maybe it was both.
Then she had smiled—not seductively, not cruelly, not even curiously. Gently.
That had been worse.
And Alex had felt it.
It wasn't love, but there was affection.
It was a tiny pull toward something she had no intention of naming.
Now Claire was watching her with the same expression, and Alex felt the old instinct to retreat rise.
Leave before anything could ask to be understood.
"You're doing it again," Claire said.
Alex frowned. "Doing what?"
"Disappearing while you're standing three feet away."
Alex shrugged. "It's a useful skill."
"It is," Claire said. "Until someone notices."
Alex turned fully. "Is that what you do, Claire? Notice things?"
"I notice you."
The room seemed to narrow.
Alex wished, absurdly, that Claire had said it with flirtation. With that bright, reckless edge she used so well. Alex knew what to do with that version of Claire.
This Claire made life more difficult. This one sounded like someone who cared what Alex thought, who cared that Alex might leave.
Alex reached for her jacket. "You should be careful with that."
"With what?"
"Noticing me."
Claire's expression changed slightly. "Why?"
"Because you might think you understand something about me."
"And that would be terrible?" Claire asked.
"I don't know. It would probably be inaccurate."
Claire sat up, the comforter gathered loosely against her. "You know, for someone who likes order, you make a mess of simple things."
"There is nothing simple about this."
Claire smiled. "This?"
Alex said nothing.
"Relax," Claire said. "I'm not asking you to marry me. Or fold my shirts."
"Good."
Alex laughed despite herself.
Claire's eyes warmed at the sound. "There she is."
"Who?"
"You," she said. "Whoever that is when you forget to play the role of Agent Toles for five seconds."
Alex slipped into her jacket. "Agent Toles pays the bills."
"Does she?"
"Most days."
"And the other days?"
Alex met her gaze.
Claire waited.
Alex should have walked away. Picked up her keys, said something to end the conversation, and left Claire Brackett in the bed.
She didn't.
"The other days, she folds her clothes."
Claire laughed.
Alex smiled before she could stop herself.
Claire climbed out of bed and crossed the room, taking her time, unconcerned with vulnerability in a way Alex envied and distrusted. She stopped in front of Alex and reached for the collar of her jacket, smoothing it with exaggerated care.
"There," Claire said. "Order restored."
Alex looked down at her hands.
"See?" Claire said. "I can be useful."
"You're not as useful as you think."
Claire's smile flickered. "Liar."
Alex caught her wrist before she could step back.
For a moment, neither moved.
There were a hundred things Alex could have said. A hundred ways to turn the moment into something easier. Something physical or sarcastic. Any deflection that could protect them both.
Instead, she held Claire's wrist. Her skin tingled at the quick pulse beneath her fingers.
Alex searched Claire's eyes. "You know, you don't need to prove anything to me."
Claire stared at her.
Alex's breath caught, and she released her grip on Claire's wrist.
Claire looked away. "Do you ever take your own advice?"
"Only when it's good," Alex said.
Claire laughed once.
Alex reached for her shoes.
"Where are you going?" Claire asked.
"Home."
"Mm. To fold more clothes?"
"Probably."
Claire leaned against the dresser. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
Alex paused at the door.
Tomorrow, there would be briefings, reports, and the usual friction that came with working in a bureaucracy.
"Chances are good," Alex said. "Unless you forget where the office is."
Claire's smile returned.
"Well, just in case—try not to miss me," Claire said.
Alex opened the door. "Try not to make that difficult."
Claire laughed as Alex stepped into the hallway.
The sound followed her for several steps. Alex told herself it meant nothing.
It worked. At least it did for the moment. Alex didn't lie. Not unless the lie was to herself.
That was part of keeping order. And order was what she needed now.
Washington, D.C.
Thursday, December 19th
"Claire," Alex said, "you didn't need to come here."
"Yeah, I did."
"You could have come down with El and the kids next week."
Claire stared at Alex as if she'd grown another head.
"If you're taking JD to look at the warehouse, I'm going with you," she said.
"If things go to plan, you'll be helping."
"Helping with what? Kapralov?"
Alex shrugged.
"Alex?"
"You'll see."
Claire grumbled and followed Alex down the hall toward the Oval Office.
"Uh... Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"JD's office is the other way."
"We're not going to JD's office."
"Uh... I thought we were meeting her here."
"We are. In the Oval. With Candace."
Claire groaned.
Alex laughed harder. She stopped just shy of the turn they needed to make.
"Claire, what is it with you and Candace?"
"There's nothing with me and Candace, Alex."
"Is there some reason you don't trust the president?"
"What? No."
"Okay. You've known Candace for years now."
Claire shrugged.