2. Chapter 2

two

Athena

I knew it would be a good time to try to make a break for it while he was distracted with Antonio’s phone, but I just didn’t have it in me.

I must have smacked my head on the ground when that idiot knocked me over, because I was starting to feel dizzy. Odds were I’d never make it out through all the security anyway, so I didn’t bother trying. I leaned against the pillar, waiting for this mysterious man who came out of nowhere and messed up my plan to figure out what he wanted to do.

I looked around wildly, but Antonio was long gone. There went my lead.

I was pissed that I couldn’t fight off one measly man after all the time I spent training, but I knew from years of experience that head hits were hard to recover from. I gingerly leaned my head back against the pillar, wincing when I made contact. That didn’t feel like your standard issue bruise .

I reached back to feel what was going on there, surprised when my fingertips felt wet. Was I bleeding? I kept prodding, the pain increasing tenfold when I felt the cut—the shock and adrenaline must have been slowing. Did I split my head open on the stupid concrete floor because of this interfering jerk?

I glanced up at him, doing a double take when I saw his hand was bleeding as well, the same hand that pulled me out of the way when Antonio shot at me. That looked like a bullet graze.

Did Antonio actually shoot me in the fucking head? How bad was it? Did this man save me from worse than a flesh wound?

The interfering jerk of a man in question looked up from Antonio’s phone, seeing me staring at him.

He noticed my uneasiness, but mistook it for a willingness—and ability—to bolt.

“Don’t move,” he warned, dangling his handcuffs again. “I’ll secure you if I need to.”

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t going anywhere. If I was injured I needed to get it treated. I wasn’t a moron.

“Don’t be like that. I’m being kind enough not cuffing you right away. Most of the time, if you assault an FBI agent you get the metal bracelet treatment right away.”

FBI? I looked down his body and saw the plain black suit and the hair styled to perfection. Dammit, was he a law enforcement officer? I could be in some serious trouble for fighting him. Unless…

I went over the events in my head again and tried to hide my grin.

“I’m glad you find all this funny, Miss… ”

He trailed off, expecting me to finish for him, but I knew my rights and I didn’t need to say anything else that could implicate me. I succeeded in dropping my grin, but kept my lips sealed.

His mouth tightened into a straight line, but he still offered a hand to help me stand. I took it, but only because I was starting to feel nauseated on top of being dizzy. I didn’t need his help, but I was smart enough to know accepting it would make life just a little bit easier.

He took my hand in both of his and heaved me up to a standing position. I looked back up at his face again, suddenly taken aback by how handsome he was. Even after the physical struggle, he looked like he just walked off a movie set as the actor starring as, well, an FBI agent, what with his sleek suit and pristinely styled hair. I could imagine the way he would smile to charm witnesses and put them at ease, making the female lead swoon at the same time. Lucky for me, I was too busy activating fight mode when I first saw him to notice his strong jawline or warm hazel eyes. Why was it always the good-looking ones who were assholes and deserved a solid ass-kicking?

I blinked hard when his features started to blur together. That didn’t help, and neither did his hand on my lower back, guiding me to move forward a few steps. My legs suddenly felt like jello and I jerked against his grip as I stumbled.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Come on. If you keep struggling, I’ll need to put the cuffs on.”

I met his eyes one more time as my world tilted on its axis. At least he had the decency to look panicked when I fell and passed out.

I woke up in the back of an ambulance.

“Don’t get up. I think you smacked your head pretty hard when you fell.”

I jumped, looking around at the men surrounding me, wondering which one spoke. I tried to move my arms up in a defensive position, but one of my wrists was handcuffed to the gurney I was lying on. What the hell was going on?

“The cuffs are mostly so you wouldn’t hurt yourself if you woke up suddenly. Also partly so you wouldn’t hurt any of us if you woke up suddenly.”

It was the man from the airport who was speaking, the FBI agent who got in my way and made me lose Antonio, my target.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were injured from the…incident. I thought I just bled on you too much.”

At least he had the decency to apologize. I glanced at the hand he held up as a reference, a thick white bandage wrapped around his palm to cover the wound on the back of his hand. I reached back with my free hand to the throbbing spot on the back of my head. That’s right. The bullet from Antonio grazed us both. It probably would have hit me dead on if this mystery man hadn’t covered me and pulled me down.

The paramedic sitting in the back with us shined a light in my eyes, and I flinched away. “No obvious signs of internal trauma. Confusion seems to be clearing up quickly.” I glared at him. Why wasn’t he even looking at me? “Oriented to place and time, but positive LOC at the scene. This probably isn’t a concussion. The loss of consciousness might have just been shock from the incident itself. She doesn’t need to head to an emergency room if you need to question her right away,” he said, making it clear that I, the patient, wasn’t the one he was speaking to, but instead the FBI guy. I rolled my eyes. “I’d have her check in with her PCP for accountability, but she should be fine. She’s all yours.”

Great.

I carefully sat up, the handcuffs clanking along the metal bar they were attached to. “I’m free to go home then?”

The paramedic looked uncomfortable. “Your examination is done. I suggest you check in with your primary care provider to be safe, but I don’t think you need to go to the hospital. As far as going home…” He cut his gaze to Mr. FBI Man who still hadn’t exhibited enough manners to introduce himself to me.

He looked like he was used to being in control of every situation. His suit was crisp, seams ironed down his pant legs and everything. Even through our scuffle I didn’t see one hair fall out of place across his forehead and nary a single wrinkle disrupted his clothes. How was that possible? Did he carry a travel iron in his back pocket and steamed out any imperfections while I was unconscious?

“You can’t go home for a while yet,” the FBI guy said bluntly. Did my well-being matter to this douche at all? “You assaulted an FBI agent in front of an airport full of witnesses and obstructed justice when you attacked me and prevented me from apprehending a wanted murderer.”

I raised an eyebrow. I knew Antonio was connected to the Morelli mafia family somehow, but wasn’t aware that he was already hard at work for them .

“Is my purse around anywhere?” I asked, breaking my silence. I didn’t see it on the bed. Mr. FBI lifted it from the floor where it sat near his feet and passed it to me. I rummaged around for a moment until I found my phone. I unlocked the screen and checked the voice recorder app. Yup, it was still recording from my earlier confrontation. “Are there any other false assumptions you’d like to levy at me without a shred of evidence?”

Both men raised their eyebrows.

“There’s plenty of security footage in the airport,” he countered, full of arrogance. “That’s all the clear evidence I need. Now, are you going to make this hard for me or will you come quietly?”

“Coming or going, it’s not in me to keep quiet,” I said with a wink. And if his arrogance was anything to work with, I’d bet that even if it was hard for him, he’d be coming all alone and I’d be anything but quiet as I registered my complaints.

Shit. I shouldn’t think about how good—or lacking—this man was in bed. I dropped my gaze, trying to pull it together. Movie star good looks or no, he had a piss-poor attitude.

I scratched at my head as unobtrusively as possible, loosening a bobby pin so I could begin picking the lock at my wrist. I’d never done it before, but it couldn’t be that hard to learn. I didn’t have any true identification on me—even my phone was registered under a pseudonym—so they’d never be able to find me again if I managed to make an escape.

“Oh, you’re coming, alright. It’ll be beyond your control,” Mr. FBI said, arrogant about everything, it seemed .

“I know my rights,” I said again, bringing the conversation to focus. “You touched me, assaulted me and my person first without ever identifying yourself as law enforcement.”

His jaw dropped, but he was quick to close his mouth back up again, his lips forming a thin line that wasn’t nearly as attractive as his lips at rest.

“Then two TSA agents touched me—again, without my consent—attacking me from behind, also without identifying themselves, and I defended myself. I have been entirely reactionary to others’ assaults on my person and did not instigate one moment of violence today. I defended my body when I felt threatened by unknown persons. That’s what the security tapes will show.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. Now he was starting to get it.

“And now you have me detained against my will, a victim of violence and your carelessness, and you still have not identified yourself, shown a badge, or even attempted to Mirandize me. So no. I will not be going with you because I have done nothing wrong and you have no evidence to hold against me, even if you were to try to make up more phony charges to hold me just because your pride is wounded.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, clearly pissed off.

“You’ve handcuffed me and want to hold me against my will. Who the hell are you?” I countered.

His eye twitched, but otherwise he held the annoyance in well enough. Whoever he was, he was used to putting on a professional front. “Special Agent Lucas Blake with the Organized Crime department of the FBI. Now tell me your name. ”

“Am I under arrest? Am I being officially questioned in relation to a specific crime, real or suspected? I don’t believe so because I’ve done nothing wrong and you wouldn’t want your mistake to be on record. So I don’t believe I need to answer that question.”

Now it was that strong jaw that was twitching as he tried to hold in his anger.

“Maybe if you ask nicely and uncuff me, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Maybe.”

That professional demeanor slipped for a second as he rolled his eyes, that same hazel gaze rolling right back over to see if I noticed. Of course I did. We were staring at each other. But then he surprised me by taking responsibility again.

“You’re right. I never identified myself in the heat of the moment. I’m sorry.” Then he took out a little key ring and unlocked the cuffs. I rubbed the newly freed wrist. The metal wasn’t too tight or painful, but it was hardly comfortable. I slowly stood up, making sure I kept my balance. Agent Blake held a hand out to me as he hopped down from the open ambulance door, and I took it to help ease my jump down.

“Now what’s your name?” he asked, holding eye contact with me just a touch longer than necessary. I broke first, looking away as I secured my purse on my shoulder.

“My mother always told me not to give my name to strangers. Especially not to assholes who thought they were entitled to it.” And I added a saucy hair flip and wink, swinging my hips as I walked away. Let him be angry. Let him stare.

I had a mission to complete. I wouldn’t let him get in my way.