Undercovers

By AnitaB

Chapter three: Out of focus

She needed to get her mind on the case. She needed to focus on the job at hand and not on her partner's hand in her hair. Or on the sound of his voice in her ear. "Tease,"

Oh, Bobby would know it when… if… she was teasing him. Her cuffs and his holding his hands to the arms of that office chair. His shirt would be open and those eyes would be staring down at her sitting across his lap. /Damnit, Eames, focus.\\ The trophy wife was still beside them, staring at them like they were dogs on top of a banquet table. Useful, that face was. Turning, Alex made sure that the look on her face was just as socially unacceptable as a Doberman lapping up the Russian caviar. "What can I say, Johnny, I'm a people-pleaser." Trophy wife blanched, but then the look on Bobby's face distracted Eames. He looked like a starving man chained before a feast. "And you know you love a good tease."

/Breathe,\\ Those hands… /Breathe, Eames.\\ Bobby dragged all ten fingers down her bare arms, and she felt every inch of skin under the touch of those hands. His fingers twined through hers as his arms squeezed her tight against his chest. Breathing kept being a lofty goal as Bobby leaned closer and kissed her shoulder. "You have no idea, darling." Those lips kept teasing her, sliding up and down every nerve in her throat. Alex forced all her breath out in a slow, wordless sigh. It was the only way to keep herself from groaning his real name. She couldn't stop the way her body arched to lead him and his talented lips higher. /Bobby…\\

His breath ghosted warm across her cheek and her body pleaded with her, begging for more. Alex could feel her neck turning, could feel his breath on her lips, so close. /Damnit…\\

She could feel something cold and wet splashing down her leg. "Shit," It managed, but only barely, to drag Alex's mind off his lips and let her actually focus on the room around her.

Namely the sex on the beach glass and tipped over on the bar and the shocked, apologetic look on trophy wife's face. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry, ma'am." Bobby's arms opened, hands guiding her away from the growing pool of alcohol under her feet.

/What the …\\ Before Alex could fully react, the woman was assaulting the wet fabric with a fistful of bar napkins. Still babbling. /Great, just great.\\

"Oh, dear, we should get you cleaned up before the stain sets." The woman actually grabbed her wrist to lead her away. Every muscle in her body stiffened and stopped dead. Alex was not about to be dragged off by a 40-something society marm.

Then Bobby… /Damn you, Bobby.\\... nudged her shoulder with his, the 'go ahead' look on his face. She hated that look but it was always right.

And Alex hated that even more, letting herself get led off toward the bathroom to the sound of continued babbling. "A little club soda will bring that right out."

/Someone's really going to pay for this.\\ "I'm sure it will." Eames gritted her teeth and stretched for the right response. /Socialite call girl.\\ "I wouldn't want to lose this dress. It's Johnny's favorite." Schooling her spine to slouch, she fought to keep her voice in the slightly thickened, off the street accent. "Gotta keep my John happy and callin' on me." Nudging the trophy wife's shoulder, Eames grinned suggestively. "A girl's gotta eat."

The discomfort in the woman's face was more enjoyable than was probably healthy. "Of course, all—all women strive to make a man ha—to be a good wife."

/Pathetic, really.\\ Eames wanted, needed to be a partner to … if she married, her husband. She would be his equal and friend. Not his servant.

Bobby would never be happy with a woman who wasn't his match.

/Focus, Eames. Think about something else. Push her buttons.\\ "Wife?" She scoffed, laughing darkly on the way through the bathroom door. Oh sorry. Women's lounge with couches, art on the walls, the works. "With the soccer practice and the minivan and the three kids." Alex turned the laugh sexual and slid a hand down her hip to the mid-thigh slit. "And the same man in bed every night. Please. A husband is the last thing I need."

The idea of Bobby's face on the other pillow every morning… her brain whirled and then stopped. Bobby's arms around her. Not just for one night, but every night. His hands on her skin. His kiss. It would be… impossible. And beautiful.

Dragging her mind reluctantly back to task, Eames watched the shock and disbelief on the wife's face. And there was something else there that she couldn't quite identify. "Johnny, is it? He's quite a catch." Freeing her wrist, the woman turned away, opening a cabinet under the sink. "Tall, strong, handsome."

/Yes, all three.\\ "Yeah, he's quite a good-looking guy. And very… talented if you know what I mean." Swaying like she'd actually finished her drink and several more, Eames walked closer, pretending to check her hair in the mirror. Really, she just didn't want a surprise coming out of that cupboard.

"And best of all he's 'society'. It's an offer only a fool would pass up." A glass bottle cleared the edge of the counter. Club soda. "Most girls would do anything for a chance like that."

She really didn't like where this was headed. But sadly, this direction of thought was exactly what they were looking for. "I ain't like 'most girls'. Society's nice to visit…" Eames paused dramatically, running her fingers over one earring and down along the fabric of the dress to its slit. "And get gifts from. But I go no plans to live here." Under oath, she had no evidence yet. But this woman was setting off every warning alarm in her head. That hand was moving away from the hilt of her knife.

Every muscle in the woman's back tightened and twitched. Her hand disappeared from sight past the edge of the counted. Whatever was coming was coming… now. "Stupid slut. Have a chance at everything and you act like a brainless whore." The trophy wife turned, a… /Damnit,\\ … rather large knife in one hand. "Try to ruin it for all of us. Damn bitch!"

/A little help here, Bobby…\\

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He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be leaning in to feel her breath on his lips. Bobby should absolutely not be leaning in to kiss Alexandra Eames. It was a bad idea on a psychotic level.

But he couldn't stop and the way she was turning towards him meant Alex probably wasn't going to stop him. /Damnit, Alex…\\

"Shit,"

He felt the word almost against his lips before he heard it. But his mind could only focus on the increasing distance between their lips. /Alex…\\

Eventually, Bobby noticed the tipped glass on the bar and the alcohol dripping down Alex's leg. Then his brain derailed, flashing him a shockingly detailed image of his lips chasing each one of those droplets back up her leg, inch by inch of soft skin. The way her fingers might hold him closer, the way she might taste against his tongue. /Alex…\\

The sudden tension in the body currently taking all the focus of his thoughts barely managed to bring Bobby back to this room, to the here and now. And Alex doing a marvelous impression of an immovable object. /Like trying to budge a stone wall.\\

The look on her face made him smile, /Poor Alex.\\ But it was the pictures in his head that made him nudge her with his shoulder. If she was still in arm's length or if he touch her again… something would happen. And whatever it was, neither one of them could pretend it was for their cover. It would change everything or cost him everything. Her.

Alex's eyes told him he was crazy, but that was old news. Her muscles forcibly relaxed enough to follow the trophy wife down the hall.

And Bobby could breathe again. Could uncurl his hands and know what they would do couldn't lead to Alex leaving him. Those hands flattened on the bar as Bobby leaned against it. "Whiskey shot. Make it a double."

He had to get it under control or… or something very real would happen when Alex got back. And something inside Bobby would break irreparably if Alex pushed him away with fear in her eyes. Or if she left him. Downing half the drink in one swallow, he leaned against the bar.

"Hot little number you got there."

In the time it took Bobby to focus, the speaker had dried another shot glass and laid the towel over his shoulder. Bartenders. Why had the help staff at these functions not occurred to him before? He could've smacked himself.

Invisible was something they were good at. And all three victims seemed caught at surprise. "Yeah, she is, isn't she? Worth every penny."

A weird smile crossed the other man's lips, a kind that Bobby had seen before. Informants and suspects smiled that way when they knew a cop was lying. When they made surveillance. "I'm sure she is. You wanna keep her worth all those… pennies" That smile again. "Best keep a closer eye on her. Women at these things." Shaking his head resignedly, he picked up another glass. "Go nuts. Weird fucking sense of honor if you ask me." A wry smile this time. "But nobody does."

Then he was gone, taking an order at the far end of the bar. Leaving Bobby with a half empty drink and a growing sense of danger. But not from the bartender. He knew a warning when he heard one and it hadn't been a threat. /Alex,\\

Case be damned, he had to find Alex and … /And let her slap me for being overprotective…\\

Bobby left his half-empty glass at the bar, heading down the hallway toward the ladies room. His brain was already arguing with him. /Alex is a strong woman, she wouldn't appreciate a rescue attempt.\\ And he of all people knew he was no knight in shining armor. Bobby should just go back to the bar and wa-

"Bobby!"

And go hunt down the person who'd harmed a hair on his Alex's head. The door of the women's lounge banging against the wall was the first sign he had that he'd traveled the distance at a full sprint. And that he'd already pulled his gun.

And then his heart stopped. /Oh, please, no!\\ Alex. His Alex, slumped against the far wall with blood in a thick line across her throat. "God, Alex!" Another twelve feet disappeared without his conscious knowledge and his hands reached for her helplessly. /Be okay, baby, please, be okay for me.\\ "Alex?" Fingers trembled against her cheek as his other hand touch the blood at her throat. /No cut?\\ "Alex, honey, look at me. Where are you hurt?"

"Bobby, she cut me." A small motion of her shoulder led his eyes reluctantly away from her face. He could finally see the long but definitely non-fatal wound in her lower arm. And her hand already putting pressure on the cut. "The bitch cut me and ran for the back door. Go cuff her ass and get back my knife."

/My little firebrand…\\ Pressing his handkerchief against her bleeding arm, Bobby found himself smiling with relief. His Alex was going to be fine. His heart was finally beating again, racing to make up for it. And he was losing his mind. "Alex," Helplessly, Bobby leaned forward and caught her lips with his. He just had to know, to feel she was okay and her skin under his hands wasn't anywhere near enough contact.

Even more surprising to his addled brain was that Alex was kissing him back, leaning closer and touching a hand to his jaw. /Alex,\\ She was kissing him and it was so far over the line he'd sworn he'd never cross.

The line that could scar Alex away. /I can't lose her, even for this.\\ He pulled back weakly, watching her eyes open, needing to read them. Praying he hadn't just cost himself the woman he… needed so badly.

"Bobby," Her eyes found his and tried to comfort him while still searching his face. And touching him.

She might forgive him for one short, simple kiss in the heat of danger, but if he stayed here… it wouldn't be just one or simple. He had to let her out of his arms while he still could. Bobby dropped his eyes and shrugged out of his jacket. "Stay here, Eames." The fabric settled around her shoulders an instant before his spare gun was pressed into her hand. "I'll go get your knife back."

Forcing his hands off her, Bobby turned to leave the room, still not able to read her face. /I'm sorry, Alex…\\

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