Federal Agent Under Fire. Julie Lindsey Anne
won’t say anything that you can’t hear.”
Meaning they’d wait until she wasn’t around to talk about the classified details, not that they’d be open with her about everything. She mulled that over. “Okay.” She didn’t love being excluded from any information so closely affecting her, but she had to trust Blake to do his job.
“I ordered burgers, fries and malts.” His brows furrowed. “Do you eat this stuff?”
“Comfort food? Absolutely.”
He unpacked the bag and set her burger and fries in front of her.
One whiff was all her body needed to recall its desperation for sustenance. She unraveled the butcher paper and chomped into her sandwich like a ravenous animal.
Blake watched her intently. “I’m feeling less guilty for that cruller. I suppose running five miles uphill before dawn seven days a week earns you plenty of room for burgers.”
She sucked her straw flat, working a taste of chocolate malt into her mouth. “I’ve got good genes.”
“The running doesn’t hurt,” he added. “You hike, bike, swim and scuba?”
“I leaned to scuba dive in college. I did crazy things then. I even tried parasailing and rock climbing.” She chuckled. “I learned that I prefer to be on the ground.”
He pushed a fry between smiling lips. “I’ve never done any of those things, and I’ve always thought of myself as an outdoorsman. You’re raising the bar.”
“You’ll get used to it,” she teased. “Adventuring is my job.”
“Nature photography, right?”
She wiped her mouth and examined Blake’s odd expression. “You look confused.”
“I assumed you took pictures of wildflowers and butterflies.”
She rolled her eyes and went in for another bite of burger. “I get up close and personal with nature. My photos are used for education. Last summer I photographed an eagle’s nest on the summit. It was amazing.”
Blake dropped his napkin on the table. “The summit? That’s one hell of a dangerous climb.” He furrowed his brows. “You must really love what you do.”
“I do.” She smiled. Another thing they had in common. It was no secret Blake loved his job. The pride practically oozed from him when he wore that badge.
Marissa sat back in her chair, allowing her head to roll and her muscles to relax. Slowly, her eyelids drooped shut. Blake cleared his throat, and she jumped. “What happened?”
He stood over her looking inexplicably sad. “You fell asleep sitting up.”
“Oh.” She checked the corners of her mouth for drool. “Sorry. I should go to bed.” She stretched onto her feet, wincing at the pinch of tender muscles in her shoulders and neck.
Blake matched her move. “May I?” He motioned to the place where her hand rested on her bruised neck.
He waited for her to nod before stepping near.
Marissa braced herself to be touched by another towering man today. “Do they put you through medical training at the FBI?”
His warm fingers touched the tender skin of her throat and chin, tipping her head gently for a better look at the wounds. “A little. I think I got more experience growing up a Garrett.” He snorted quietly. “At least one of us boys were in constant need of a cast or stitches for about ten years. Nearly drove my poor mom to drink.”
Marissa smiled, though he couldn’t see her from his new position at her back. She and Kara had been the same way, though their parents were often right beside them.
He circled back to face her. “These bruises are going to look a lot worse before they look better. I can get some ice in here if you want. That might help with swelling.” He widened his stance until his face was nearly level with hers and shined a light in her eyes.
She swatted it away on instinct. “Where’d you get that.”
“Pocket. Hold still and let me look.”
“I don’t have a concussion. I was attacked hours ago. I’m fine. Cole already checked. Remember?”
“You need to clean these abrasions.”
“I did.”
Blake straightened and cocked a brow. “When?”
“Bathroom. I never leave home without a first aid kit. The cuts are cleaned. They’re already beginning to scab. I’m fine.”
“That’s what you keep saying. Did Cole offer to get a female medic to give you a more thorough evaluation?”
She sighed. “I’m. Fine. What happens to you now? Will someone come to relieve you so you can go home and sleep?”
“I don’t sleep much.” He walked her to the bedroom and made a slow circuit through the room, peeking into the bathroom before returning to the doorway. “I’ll wake you if anything significant happens.”
Marissa dawdled, frightened by the prospect of being alone.
Her phone buzzed with a text.
Blake nodded toward the sound. “Tell your family I said everything’s going to be okay.” He pulled the door shut behind him as he left.
Marissa climbed into the waiting arms of a comfortable queen-size bed and rolled onto her back. She lifted her cell phone into view and swiped the screen to life. She didn’t recognize the number on her new text message, but she opened it anyway.
Panic swelled in her chest and throat as she stared at the image of herself enveloped in Blake’s strong arms. The photograph was clearly taken from outside her bedroom window only hours earlier.
And the message read, Consider this Agent Garrett’s invitation to the wedding.
The chair toppled behind Blake as he lunged toward the freshly closed French doors, the only things standing between him, Marissa and whatever had elicited her bloodcurdling scream. The barrier sucked open before he reached it, whipping suddenly inward to reveal his trembling charge.
“Blake.” She choked on his name, extending her cell phone in his direction.
His gaze darted through the silent room behind her. No signs of an intruder. The window was securely closed. The bathroom door was open. No one was inside.
“Blake,” she pleaded, wiggling the phone. “Take it.”
Slowly, he holstered his sidearm. “You’re alone.”
“Yes.”
His muscles unclenched by a fraction. He dragged his attention from her stricken face to the offering in her white-knuckled grip. He hadn’t left her alone for more than thirty seconds. He’d barely pressed the straw of his chocolate malt to his lips before she’d screamed. The fine hairs along the back of his neck rose to attention as he pried the small pink device from her hand. That scream. His guts twisted at the thought of what it could have meant. What he could’ve found behind the doors.
“It’s him,” she whispered.
The momentary relief he’d felt at the sight of her was quickly replaced by the image on her screen. Revenge boiled in his blood. “This was the text you received?”
She nodded quickly, her attention glued to the phone.
He powered the device off and used his own to dial West’s number. “We’ve got a new problem. Nash has Marissa’s number. He sent a text with a photo. I don’t know if he’s tracked her. I powered the phone