Romantic Fiction by B.G. Lashbrooks

CHAPTER ONE

Of all the possible agents he could pair off with for this trip and he got Hellbrook’s little nutcase tech, computers and all. Her hands gripped the seat tight. Her foot tapped out that damned rhythm. Tap, tap, tap and tap. Tap, tap, tap and tap. She’d drive him insane before they even arrived, Sebastian Lorcan thought as the small charter plane took off.

After two months of working out of the same field office with Carrie Sparks, that damned beat was ingrained on Lorcan’s brain.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok. Millions of people fly every day, thousands in small planes. Odds of crashing are not that high. Greater chance of getting struck by lightning in the Midwest. It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.” She held her thin body taut.

“Special Agent Sparks.” He resisted the urge to bite at her. “Do you need something to calm your nerves? Medication maybe?”

“No. No drugs.” Those eyes of her popped open, staring at him with just a touch of fear. As if she believed he truly would drug her. “Drugs make me slow, lock up.”

“Relax, as much as I want to drug you, I don’t think I can.”

“Why do you not like me? Did I do something to you? I don’t remember.” Her brow furrowed, and she looked at him with such comical puzzlement he had to laugh. “We’ve only worked together a little bit.”

He’d have paid to have any other computer tech in the field office, in the entire Bureau, but he had to admit she was the best at what she did. Her voice activated computers were the stuff legends were made out of, and he’d heard she was pretty decent in the field, too.

He didn’t know what possessed Hellbrook to send her out, even with a partner. She needed to be locked away somewhere in a completely dark office, with no outside stimuli and her computers for company. Maybe then she wouldn’t annoy him so much.

Soon the plane was stabilized and she began to breathe again. The tapping evened out, and the volume dimmed.

“You never answered my question, Agent Lorcan, sir.”

Her face was earnest as she leaned forward a bit. He caught a slight whiff of her shampoo, vanilla, as he leaned in her direction to whisper. “I don’t not like you, Agent Sparks. I just don’t know you.”

“Oh. Then why are you so rude? Sir.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was.”

“The first day, when you came with Georgia’s dad. You gave me a dirty look.” Her eyes blinked rapidly as her face moved into a hateful glare. She rolled her eyes, before continuing. “And whenever I talk, you do this.”

She sighed impatiently, and thinned her lips. Crossed her arms over her admittedly nice chest. She mimicked him, her face tight and her sigh impatient. “This is what you usually do.”

“God, what are you? A damned tape recorder?” He was torn between amusement and annoyance. “Record everything I’ve ever done around you?”

“I just wondered.” She shrugged, looked away. “And I just remember things.”

“Like Stephenson pushing you off the cliff?” He winced when her face paled and her body tensed. He hadn’t meant to be so insensitive, Stephenson’s actions had no doubt been highly traumatic for her. He tried to apologize, but she cut him off.

“Didn’t push. He picked up and threw.” Her eyes closed as the tapping increased. “I was in the woods. Josh was lost. Couldn’t find him anywhere. Georgia always said stay with your partner. And in the woods, if you get lost, stay visible. So I stayed visible. He saw me, too. Not Josh, him. He wrapped his right hand around my eyes, squeezed and laughed. Low and mean. Spoke. His left arm wrapped around me. Didn’t like that. I fought, kicked. Bigger than me. As big as you. Blond hair, like Dan’s, not black like yours. I saw blond hair out of the corner of my eye. Green shirt. Smelled good, like Zeke before he goes on dates. Same cologne. Used to like it. It’s his favorite. Don’t want Zeke to know I don’t like it anymore. You wear it, too. I don’t like it.” Her eyes opened then, full of remembered fear and pain.

Lorcan felt like the biggest ass, the worst monster, for bringing it up. “Carrie.”

“His arms were tight; I couldn’t breathe. Kicked back with my left foot, then my right. Tried to grab my gun. But he had both my arms caught. Hard, bruises the next day. He was too big. Picked me up. Too easy. But I fought. I did. I fought. Ana says ‘Always fight. Whenever someone wants to hurt you, you fight as hard as you can.’ I did. And I screamed.”

She breathed deeply. “I yelled for Josh. I wanted Josh to help me. Josh didn’t, couldn’t, he’d hurt Josh, too; then he, the monster, Stephenson threw me. Then one, two, counts. I hit, hit hard. So I went away. Went away for a while. Then George was there. Opened my eyes. See, he threw. He threw me off the cliff, sir.”

“I’m sorry, Carrie.” He wrapped one hand around hers. She jerked away, rubbed her palm on her jeans. He made a mental note to not touch her again. Not if it bothered her that badly. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“I know what they say.” She said suddenly. “You’ve said it, too.”

“Said what?”

“He said it, too.” She leaned closer to him. Less than six inches separated their faces then as she whispered. “Hellbrook’s little nutcase. That’s what they call me. That’s what you call me. Just like him, I heard you. ‘I don’t want to take Hellbrook’s little nutcase to Washington, sir.’ That’s what you said in the assistant director’s office. I heard you. I did. ‘Hellbrook’s little nutcase. They won’t even miss you, little bitch.’ That’s what he said. I’ve heard you. Twice now. Just like him—same job, same hair cut. Same cologne. Same. But you’re wrong, both wrong. I am not a nutcase. Not.”

“Carrie.” He raised his hands, to do what he didn’t know. He dropped then when she leaned farther back in her chair. When she pulled as far away from him as she could.

“SA Sparks, sir. That’s my name. Only my team, my friends, they can call me Carrie.” She shook her head. “Only those who like me, care about me. They call you names, too, you know? Hard Ass Lorcan and Cold Bastard are a few. But I never have. I don’t think it’s right, so I don’t do it. Not right, and I deserve the same consideration.”

She spent the rest of the flight in silence, having withdrawn an MP3 player from her pocket. Tuned him out like she had several times on their previous case.

Something else that irritated him. This time he didn’t protest. Her hand echoed the beat he could hear coming through the small earbuds. Always that tap, tap, tap and tap.

He sat back in his seat across the small cabin from her and he watched her. Made no pretense of doing otherwise. She never opened her eyes or acknowledged him in any other way. With those headphones on it was as if he—and the pilot, and the plane—didn’t exist. She was somewhere inside her head.

He watched her, watched as she tapped her foot against the chair, one hand twisting a lock of red hair around her finger. He wondered what it would feel like to touch it, silk or fire?

Her skin was smooth, clear, and looked incredibly soft. She didn’t wear make-up—but then again, she didn’t need any. If she had worn it, she’d be a very stunning woman. He had to give her that. She was beautiful, he wasn’t blind to that. Her body was lean, though she curved just right.

Yes, she was a very beautiful woman. If one looked past the annoying habits. Which he had a hard time doing.

“Agent Sparks?” He waved a hand near her face, not wanting to touch her—or scare her—but needing her attention. Her whiskey eyes jerked open and she pulled the buds from her ears. He winced at the level of volume blasting through the tiny speakers.

“Sir?” Her body tensed, her narrow shoulders straightening. Her eyes never left his face.

That annoyed him. Whenever he was near her, she watched him like he was a threat. Like she was afraid of him. He’d never hurt her, surely she knew that?

“We’ll be landing soon. You might want to secure your belongings.” He looked at her computers, which were both open and mumbling words to themselves as they defragmented their hard drives. He watched as she ran her hand over the screen of the nearest one almost lovingly before closing it and securing it and its companion. Then she settled into her seat, wrapped her hands around the armrests and squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok. Millions of people fly every day, thousands in small planes. Odds of crashing are not that high. Greater chance of getting struck by lightning in the Midwest. It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.”

Still annoyed the hell out of him.

CHAPTER TWO

If he didn’t like her, that was fine. She didn’t like him either. That was Carrie’s main thought about Lorcan as the heavy sounds of AC/DC ran through her ears. No biggie, he was nothing to her. One day, just twenty-four hours total, and she’d be back in her comfortable loft apartment. No more Sebastian Lorcan staring at her like she was a bug. Or a freak.

The plane landed and Carrie took a deep breath. Landings were always hard, hadn’t she learned that in South Dakota two months ago? She’d been stupid to get caught out in the woods like that. Just one more thing for people to hold over her head. And the sanctimonious ass across from her was one of those people.

She hated people like him, really hated them. Their attitudes of judgment and superiority something she’d seen every day since that first at Quantico. Two years, seven weeks, and two days ago. Yes, Lorcan was just another in a long line of you’re different, so you don’t belong here agents. Carrie had been called everything from freak to the more common label of nutcase, and even the affirmative action agent. It hurt, but a lifetime of name calling and the trials of the foster care system had accomplished one thing for her—she’d developed a thick skin.

Instead of Georgia leaving the Investigative Support unit two months ago, this creature had joined. He’d stormed in and kicked out half his agents. Not that they’d been good agents. But she knew the truth—if she’d been in the his unit instead of the Complex Crimes, she’d have been the first agent gone.

And she knew she’d done nothing to him. Still, twenty-four hours and she’d be home with her computers, and her cat. Linux probably missed her already. The man waiting to deplane beside her reminded her of that cat. Linux had black hair, too. With just a tiny touch of white under his chin. Lorcan had a tiny bit of gray hair just over his ears. Five strands on one side, six on the other, she’d counted when he wasn’t looking. The eyes were the same, too. Bright green and tilted. Intense. His body was lean, and she knew it was toned, too. Just like Linux. He’d held her once, just for a moment, and she’d felt all that feline strength and power beneath her hands.

It had been raining when they’d deplaned while on the first case he’d worked jointly with Complex Crimes. She’d been afraid of the slick steps. She’d been on crutches. Dan had lifted her out and Lorcan had been waiting at the bottom of the steps. He’d had no choice but to help get her off the plane. He hadn’t wanted to. She’d seen it in his cat eyes. So she’d stayed quiet, when all she’d wanted to do was scream no! She didn’t liked to be touched, except by Hell, Georgia, Dan, Josh, Zeke, or K.D., and now Dr. Jules. Them only.

More, he was primitive like the big black cat. Elemental, primal, is what Georgia had said about him. He felt, so he reacted. Just like Linux had when he’d scratched her arm. Or bit her palm. Reacted. Reactions hurt.

He was too big. Just like Stephenson. He’d thrown her off a cliff, and she couldn’t help but wonder what Lorcan would do to her if he got half the chance. She knew he didn’t like her. She also knew she didn’t like him.

She tapped her hand against her laptop, mindlessly repeating her beats. It calmed her, reassured her. So she always tapped. She didn’t miss the impatient look he sent her way.

He hated that. But she didn’t care, why should she care what Sebastian Lorcan thought? Other than the fact that he was a superior agent, of course. She had to remember that. And not let him get to her the way he had on the plane.

Her breath caught as she remembered how he’d upset her. Talking about Stephenson always upset her. Always. And Lorcan always made her on edge. Made her regress to a point she hadn’t functioned at in years. And it embarrassed her. She’d thought she’d had better control of things than that. She’d not freaked out like this in months—even years.

She knew why, too. She’d met him a day after she’d gotten out of the hospital from Stephenson’s attack. A day when she’d been feeling low, had needed rebooted. And she’d associated the rude way he’d treated her with Stephenson’s attack. They’d both looked at her with the same expression in their eyes. Derision.

So she’d developed a conditioned response, a negatively reinforced reaction, to SSAIC Sebastian Lorcan. She understood all about positive and negative associations and psychological triggers—how could she not when working with Hell and Georgia? The two based every decision and discovery off psychological factors. So no big deal. She’d lived with worse. Was still living with worse.

“You ready?” He asked.

Carrie nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak around him. He always got that pained look in those eyes when she’d repeat things, and she repeated things more when she was nervous or upset. He upset her. Made her feel self-conscious.

She knew she had social difficulties—did he think she was blind to the looks he’d given her, the looks others had given her? Deaf to the snide remarks made often in her presence? She was far from stupid, far from it. Her mind just worked a little differently than the majority of people. Her operating system was different—but it still operated, allowed for the same functions, didn’t it?

It didn’t make her any less of an agent, and it sure as hell didn’t make her a nutcase. She’d heard him call her that, less than two weeks ago. And again this morning. He needed to learn that you had to be careful what you said in those offices. Sound carried horribly. Had to shut the doors if you wanted privacy. Weren’t Hell and Georgia always shutting his door when they wanted to be alone?

He’d laughed at her. She’d hid in the closet in Hell’s office and cried after that.

She’d wanted to cry again when Hell had called her into his office this morning to tell her she’d be loaned to Lorcan for a few days. Hell had known how she felt about the former-Chicagoan. But he’d not been able to get her out of it. Carrie knew he’d tried. Hell always tried to protect her and she appreciated it. But Hell was not a god, and there was only so much he could do. And she’d told him that. So there she was.

It was raining in Washington and her hair was soaked by the time they’d entered the building. Heavy ringlets formed, making her feel all tangled and frizzed. Carrie hated the rain, hated being out in it. Didn’t like the feel of it on her skin, in her hair, soaking her clothing.

And of course, the building they entered was air-conditioned. Cold, too cold. Carrie began to shiver uncontrollably. Air conditioning bugged her, she had two window units in her apartment for the dead heat of summer, but that was it. The rest of the time, Carrie preferred warmth on her body.

“SSAIC Lorcan, sir.” A man with brown eyes said, approaching them from the left. “Your vehicle is waiting.”

His hand reached out for Carrie’s bags. She pulled back. “I carry them.”

“Of course.” His eyes lingered on her breasts as they pushed against the silk camisole Georgia had helped her pick out at the store. Georgia had made Carrie shop, told her she needed a few agent suits to wear around the CCU. Said if you want to be the part, you needed to dress the part. She liked the feel of the silk against her skin. And she looked nice, like Georgia and K.D. did. Professional.

“Unit Chief Collins is waiting for you, sir. She’s arranged the five interviews. Two today and three tomorrow. Your flight back to St. Louis leaves from here at two tomorrow afternoon. I trust that’s satisfactory?” The agent turned toward Lorcan though he kept his eyes trained on Carrie.

Agent Lorcan assented, and they followed the man to a dark SUV parked just outside the private airport’s doors. Carrie opened the rear passenger door and climbed in, wanting out of the rain as fast as she could get.

#

Lorcan hadn’t missed the calculating look in the younger man’s eyes as they’d passed over her face and body. Hadn’t missed the appreciation. Hadn’t missed the way she’d pulled back slightly. The way she jumped into the back of the vehicle.

No one spoke as the agent drove them to the FBI building. Lorcan wasn’t expected to speak to the younger agent, protocol demanded he controlled the conversation, so if he wanted silence, the ride was silent. Lorcan didn’t think the computer genius minded. He glanced over his shoulder at her, not missing the way her hand clutched the leather computer bag to her chest.

He knew she used it as a shield. Still, why’d she wear that blouse if she didn’t like the looks it garnered her? And it did make her look very nice. The amber silk highlighted her creamy skin and made her whiskey eyes glow. And the brown of the jacket and pants offset the fiery red of her hair very well.

He was first out of the vehicle and he grabbed his bag quickly. Carrie swung her bag over one shoulder, while that damned computer bag rested over her front.

He didn’t miss the way she walked on his other side. Put him between her and the younger male agent. Didn’t miss the way she eyed them both warily from the back corner of the elevator. Saw the way the fingers of her left hand quietly tapped that tap, tap, tap and tap. The tempo was slower than it had been on the plane, but not by much. He wasn’t dumb to what that signified. He’d worked with her enough to understand how the tempo echoed her emotional state.

She was nervous, and trying her very best to hide it. Doing a good job of it, if he hadn’t been watching her closely he would have missed the signs. Her face was impartial, her body was still. It was just the speed of that tapping that told him something was bothering her. The distance she’d kept between herself and the two men told Lorcan its own story.

Lorcan hated that she felt threatened by him. Especially after that incident in the plane. He felt like a great beast, kicking small children, and pulling puppy tails, and frightening autistic computer geniuses.

His mother had raised him better than that. Raised him to be accepting and compassionate, yet when faced with someone like Agent Sparks he’d acted immediately like an ass.

He owed her an apology. A big one. And that didn’t sit well with him.

Lorcan never apologized for anything.