5. Elliot
Elliot
I tell myself I’m checking on her. That it’s smart and necessary even if it is illegal. But the truth is I just want to see what she does when she’s alone. I want to watch everything she does.
My thumb is opening the recordings before I can even pretend this is about the investigation. I’ve tried not to watch her every single night. I officially made it one night, which is a personal record. I click on the one with yesterday’s date.
She’s curled up on the couch in an old sweater that’s too big, legs tucked under her, a sea of candy wrappers scattered across the coffee table like she’s been at this for hours.
Some sappy rom-com is playing. I know this one.
The main guy realizes he fucked up, rains pour down, and he gives a big speech about how he’ll spend forever making it right.
She’s watching it with the cutest pout. No, not cute.
I can’t think of her that way. Even if she really has the prettiest little face.
She shoves another piece of chocolate into her mouth and swallows without really chewing it.
Her eyes are glassy. A tissue box sits beside her, and there are a few discarded pieces around the couch.
Every few minutes, she swipes at her face with the sleeve of the sweater like she’s pissed at herself for crying.
On screen the hero is mid-grovel, soaked and dramatic.
She points with what’s left of her candy bar at the TV.
“What an asshole. Like total honesty can save it.”
Her voice is thick with hurt. She sniffs hard and tosses down the candy wrapper.
The movie hits its big emotional beat. The couple kisses, and a sweet song plays while the credits roll across the screen.
“Fuck you, Julian,” she whispers.
The words are so quiet I almost miss them.
I lean forward in the dark, elbows on my knees, eyes locked on the screen.
She’s crying alone and trying to eat enough candy to make herself sick as if it’ll somehow make her get over him.
Fuck that guy.
The credits start to roll. She doesn’t turn it off. Just sits there with her candy wrappers and her blanket and the wet shine on her cheeks.
I should shut the feed down. Instead, I fast forward so I don’t have to keep watching her cry.
My jaw tightens when I switch to the bedroom feed and watch her shoulders shake under the covers as she cries herself to sleep. I turn off the recording.
She denied crying yesterday too. We were parked outside the station, about to leave for the courthouse, when a song came on the radio.
Taylor’s voice filled the car, and Lee’s storm-gray eyes turned glassy before the first chorus ended. She wiped beneath one eye and claimed there was something in it.
I changed the station before the second chorus.
She’s been like this for weeks.
Agent Ethal Leighlan should never be sad. Even if she did look pretty with tears tracking down her face. I can’t get the look out of my mind. I know I’m so fucked.
When I started this assignment, I knew what she looked like. She’s gorgeous with her little button nose and her pouty fuck-me lips.
Director Fuller shared so much about her before I showed up at her office. I feel like I’ve known her for years instead of a few months.
I even read her mandatory psych reports. I profiled her. I studied her and figured out the type of partner that she would trust.
The plan worked. Within a week of being next to her, I hated acting. By the second week, I couldn't remember which parts of me were real and which parts I'd invented for her.
Despite the fuck ton of allegations and a long list of crimes we believe she was involved in, I can’t help but like her. She’s smart and confident. It makes me think of how much I would love to get her on her knees.
What would it be like to be the only man Lee knelt for?
Which takes me back to why she’s sad. Her breakup with Dr. Julian Jameson.
I’m jealous as hell of him. Or I was. Even I can see a man like that is a catch. I’m grown enough to admit it.
Lee never talked about him other than telling me his name and that they were dating. She never even told me they broke up.
I knew from surveillance she used to walk out of his building freshly fucked, her short blond hair mussed and a cute little content look on her face. Then she stopped going to his place and started crying, so I put it together.
The pencil in my hand snaps clean in half.
If I see him, I’ll knock his teeth out. Whatever he did made a piece of her break, and I can’t stand it.
She’s dirty somehow. Lee’s linked to too many files and too many people who should not be friends with an FBI agent.
But she’s a damn good hacker. Almost as good as me.
Not that she knows that. To her, I’m good with people and solving crimes.
I’ve never let on that I can trail her through the dark web or within the bureau servers.
Honestly, Fuller has no idea what I’m truly capable of. Something in my gut keeps those cards close to my chest. I don’t show him the full extent of my skills—never have. And I don’t plan on starting now.
She walks out of her office. Sad again.
I smile at her, hoping it will help. It doesn’t.
“Calling it a night?”
“Yes, I can’t read one more report about the departmental funding or I’ll die.”
“Must be hard being the boss.”
The side of her mouth tips up.
“See you tomorrow, Elliot.”
“Later, kid,” I call after her. It pisses her off, but I like her pissed off. I like her in every way. Which my brain helpfully reminds me is fucked-up, considering she is the subject of my investigation.
I watch her ass until the elevator doors close behind her.
Pushing my chair back with a shove, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I have to keep it under control. I need to focus on my case.
So I do that. I force myself to read through what I’ve mirrored from her cell, but it’s not much. She’s really fucking good.
After an hour, I can no longer stand being in this fucking office. I grab my jacket and leave.
My apartment isn’t far from hers.
We both live only a few blocks from the office. Mine is temporary housing. I came from Texas, but she still doesn’t know that about me either. What would she say if she knew who I really was or why I really came here?
Who am I kidding? She wouldn’t say anything, then she would put a bullet through my head.
Outside, I realize how late it is. The night crowd is filling up the sidewalks. People in groups or couples walk around me looking happy. Good for them.
It’s busy, but I’m in no hurry to go to my apartment and watch Lee sleep. No one from the bureau knows about that illegal feed I have sent directly to my phone.
I’m allowed to do surveillance. We don’t have a warrant to put cameras in her apartment. It’s a shitty thing to do, but she’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. It’s hard for me not to watch her all the time.
I stop behind a group of women who have clearly been drinking. At the crosswalk, they turn and giggle at me while we wait for the signal.
“He’s, like, really hot,” one woman says, giving me a wink.
I automatically compare her to Lee. If Lee saw me outside, would she say something to me? Would she flirt with me? She wouldn’t. I know I’m an attractive guy, because I have a mirror. But Ethal Leighlan doesn’t flirt, and she would never smile at someone at a crosswalk.
I give the woman a polite head nod and step around them when it's safe to walk across the street. Something catches my attention in the bar window. Silver-blond is my new favorite color.
She’s sitting at the bar alone.
And I’m happy as hell to have an excuse to be next to her again.
The bell over the pub door rings when I open it. It’s busy, but not overly packed. The stools on either side of her are empty. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I stare at the back of her head.
A man slides onto the stool to her right. His hand settles on her back, and she tries to twist away.
Nope.
I stride up to them.
He notices me first and leans back, but his hand stays on her.
“Fuck right off,” I say.
My gaze rakes over Lee, and I take the stool on her left.
“Do you know him?” the man asks, sizing me up with a glance.
“Oh, yeah. He’s my handsome partner.”
My stomach should not react the way it does when this alleged criminal calls me handsome.
I hook one hand around the base of her barstool and drag her flush beside me. My legs stretch out on either side of her stool so I can bracket her in.
Her knees bump against my thigh. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I try not to stare at the place where we’re touching, but it’s impossible. I’ve wanted this and wanted her for as long as I can remember. If I’m being honest, I wanted her long before she even knew I existed.
The asshole doesn’t move, but his hand drops from her back since I added distance between them.
“Elliot. What are you doing here?”
Her words are slurred, and her eyes are glassy. I hope it isn’t from more crying.
“I wanted to be where you are.”
One more glare and the asshole next to her walks off.
She snorts a laugh. “As if. I’m awful, and you are so full of shit. Which is totally fine. I don’t need anyone else.”
Lee leans a few inches closer, and I can’t help but wrap an arm around her.
With a sigh, she lays her head against my chest. I rest my chin on her head.
She exhales and mumbles something. I think it was something about my pecs. I’m not going to be able to hold her like this for long before she hears my heart beat out of my chest.
“Agent Leighlan, are you drunk?”
Shifting back, I peer down at her.
She smacks my chest, and I pretend like it didn’t sting.
“Not as drunk as I’m gonna be.”
Her hand shoots up like she’s trying to answer a question in a school classroom. Swinging her arm back and forth, she tries to get the bartender's attention.
“Hey, let's get you home.”
I start to stand, but she catches my sleeve and tugs me back down.
“No. Boo. Home is sad.” She turns toward the bartender. “Hey, best bar friend, when you get a chance, can I get some more tequila?”