a/n: Hey guys! This is my submission for the Lizzington Secret Santa. I was totally pleased with my prompt. Escort service fics leave the door wide open for smut, angst, and plenty of drama! I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope my Secret Santa enjoys it as well. (We totally drew each other's names. How sweet is that?)
I own nothing. Nada. Zip. Zippo. Zippo lighters. I might have wandered off track here….
"Hey! Is Agent Keen in today? I've been knocking for about five minutes and…"
"Yes, she's here."
"Yes, I'm here," Elizabeth Keen whispered to herself as she studied her office door in irritation. "I'm just ignoring you." Shaking all thoughts of her unwelcome visitor out of her head, Liz turned her attention back to the profile she had created on The Good Samaritan. The profile that was obviously very, very wrong.
Months had passed since the first victim turned up, beaten within an inch of his life and barely hanging on. Even with a phone call and something of a head start, help never seemed to arrive on time, and since every victim suffered from different injuries, there was no way to be prepared for what the paramedics would have to deal with once they reached the scene. It was always one big clusterfuck that ended with a dead body and Liz beating her head against the wall.
Sometimes she wondered if she should have finished her teaching degree instead of switching gears her sophomore year and going into psychology.
There were no dead bodies in grade school.
At least… not that she remembered.
"No discernable patterns. None whatsoever. But there has to be…"
"Keen!"
Liz groaned as her door swung open and papers scattered across her desk.
"Ressler! What the hell?"
Donald Ressler moved to let the door slam behind him and bent to help straighten the scattered papers. "You wouldn't answer the door."
"So you pushed in?" Sighing in frustration, Liz pushed Ressler's hands away from her desk and finished straightening up on her own, strategically covering her profile on The Good Samaritan. Ressler had nothing to do with the case and that was the way it needed to stay. He wasn't a bad guy, but he grated on Liz's nerves like no other man she'd ever met.
And she wasn't shy about letting him know it.
"Have a seat," she offered through gritted teeth to an already-seated Ressler.
"Don't mind if I do," he grinned.
"One, two, three, four…"
"Bet you're wondering why I graced you with my presence today?"
"Five, six, seven, eight…"
"Can't say that I am," Liz shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest and grinning inwardly when Ressler blushed.
"I'm here to ask for a favor…"
"The answer is no."
"…on behalf of Harold Cooper."
"Nine, ten… Breathe, Lizzie, breathe."
Liz's arms fell from her chest to hang beside her chair. Assistant Director Harold Cooper wanted something from her. Wanted a favor from her…
Something about that statement didn't seem right.
"Harold Cooper wants a favor from me?"
Ressler nodded. "I told him he was barking up the wrong tree with this one, but he insisted that I at least ask." There was a twinkle in his eye that immediately raised Liz's hackles. What was he up to?
"Why do you assume that he was barking up the wrong tree?" Liz could hear the imperious air in her voice and couldn't bring herself to care. Who was Donald Ressler to tell Cooper anything about her?
Ressler propped his feet on Liz's desk, raising her blood pressure to dangerous new heights. "Well since subtlety doesn't seem to be your thing, I assumed undercover work would be way outside of your jurisdiction."
"Why would Harold Cooper want me to do undercover work?" Liz questioned, not fully able to process the request. "I'm a profiler…"
"We know that. But we needed a specific…look… for this job and as far as what we need, you're it."
Dozens of possibilities ran through Liz's mind, and none of them were good.
"And what kind of 'specific look' do I have?"
"Honestly? You're hot." Raking his eyes over Liz's body, Ressler grinned. "High-end escorts are usually 9s and 10s. I give you a solid 8.5…would be a 10, but I deducted for the attitude."
The insult went straight over Liz's head as she reeled over the implications. They wanted her to work undercover as a prostitute. A prostitute. It was like something out a of a lifetime movie. A BAD lifetime movie. The film played out in her head in black and white, with her as the star.
She sat on a large bed in the middle of a swanky room, grateful for the dim lighting that helped hide her shameful state of undress. Her fingers dug into the comforter as she heard the door open behind her. She was facing the wall, as requested. It scared her more than she cared to admit, fighting against the training that taught her to always face the door…
Heavy footsteps on the carpet let her know that he was walking towards her… a dip in the bed twisted her stomach into knots and made her pulse race. She could feel his warmth behind her, close but not too close. Not touching. Not yet.
"Kneel."
A gruff voice hissed into her ear and she jumped. How had she allowed him to get so close? Now, more than ever, she needed her instincts to be sharp. She had to focus. Allowing herself a little shudder, she kneeled on the bed, spreading her legs slightly, just like the girls had taught her…those poor girls who endured this every day just to make ends meet.
How could they stand it?
A searing heat engulfed her as kneeled down behind her, pulling her back into his chest and settling clothed thighs against her naked ones. It didn't feel right that he was fully clothed and she was exposed, shivering in a white cotton bra and panties.
That was also his request.
She didn't want to think about why.
Hands started to explore and she tensed, earning a painful squeeze of her thigh. Forcing herself to relax, she tried to ignore his nimble fingers and focus on something she could use. What was he wearing? She pressed herself closer to him and closed her eyes. Cold metal dug into her back and she panicked before realizing that it was only a belt buckle. She wiggled slightly and felt buttons brush against her skin…buttons attached to silky fabric, a stark contrast from the cotton of his dress shirt.
He was wearing a vest.
She filed that away for later, intent on moving on to her next task.
She had to get him to talk.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words escaped her lips… apparently she wasn't supposed to engage him in conversation, and she was reminded when his hands left her sides and grasped the insides of her thighs, rubbing his thumbs slowly over where she hadn't been touched in so long…
She moaned.
She fucking moaned.
Apparently it was the right thing to do, no matter how embarrassing.
"I knew you'd come around," the man chuckled, skimming his hands over the planes of her stomach. "They always do."
She tried to convince herself that she wasn't 'coming around'. It didn't work.
"You're new."
It wasn't a question.
"What in the world would make a woman of your age and your beauty turn to this life? I refuse to believe that some man hasn't at least tried to snatch you up."
His thumb circled her belly button and she faltered. Cover story. She needed to remember her cover story.
"Someone did." She grinned under the cover of darkness, pleased with the meek timbre of her voice. "He also let me down. He left me with no money, nowhere to live, and nothing to fall back on. I dropped out of college to support him while he finished law school. I should have known better."
"Oh my," the man purred, allowing his hands to travel up and cup her breasts. "What a sad story." He squeezed her breasts firmly then ran one hand up to her collarbone before grazing his fingers over her throat. "But I know an even sadder one." The hand caressing her throat suddenly gripped it tightly, drawing a gasp. "How about an undercover FBI agent that gets in way over her head and ends up on the wrong side of a knife? How about that?"
Fuck.
Panicking, she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he just squeezed tighter, effectively cutting off her air supply.
"Did you think I wouldn't know? Did the FBI honestly think they could slide a rookie agent in under my nose and I wouldn't smell the bullshit?"
She tried to shake her head, to deny everything, but his grip was too tight. He wasn't going to give her the chance to get out of this…
"You know I don't know if I should be amused that you tried to get one over on me or pissed that you thought you'd actually get away with it." He secured an arm around her waist and dragged her back effortlessly across the bed, as if her legs weren't flailing and her torso wasn't twisting in agony. "I think I'm going to go with pissed."
Tears pricked her eyes as she felt him dig in his pocket.
"I want you to take back a message to your superiors, Sweetheart," he growled, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Nice try."
There was a sharp pressure across her throat and the black and white scene was suddenly flooded with red.
All she saw was blood.
All there was was blood…
"KEEN!"
"Yes?!" Liz snapped to reality to the sound of Ressler's voice. "I'm listening."
Ressler looked doubtful. "What I said was, are you in or out?"
"Out. Out. Out. Oh my God. Out."
"In."
Once again, Liz's mouth took over before her brain could even try to stop it.
Ressler smiled and Liz felt sick to her stomach. "Excellent. Now let me fill you in a little on the details. Of course there will be an official brief later with Cooper, but I thought I ought to give you a bit of a head's up."
"How sweet." Injecting sarcasm to cover the panic, Liz tried her best to look like she wasn't terrified.
"I know. Anyway, for the past year, Agent Cooper has been running a secret taskforce…"
"Give me a break. Everyone knows about the secret taskforce. What they don't know is what it's all about, and I'm surprised you've managed to keep it under your hat for this long."
The look on Ressler's face was truly camera worthy. It made Liz feel slightly better about her situation. She was probably worried over nothing anyway. One of the escorts probably has some tie to some obscure arms dealer and Liz would be tasked with getting information. No problem.
"Wild imagination, Lizzie. Reign it in."
"Well I was going to give you the option to back out, but screw that." Ressler stood up from his chair and put his hand on the door knob. "Our task force has been given the sole mission of tracking down one man and taking as many of his cronies as we can down with him."
Liz raised a brow, unimpressed. "And who might that be?"
"Raymond Reddington."