A VERY BAD IDEA
In Graham's apartment [it was only three or four doors down from hers], she, he, and Dicky had a general meeting. As Graham and Dicky chattered on and on, Pax's mind began to wander. Fifteen or twenty minutes ago, they had been discussing a part of the assignment that involved her directly, her 'boss' at the Chicago Call. His name was innocent enough, Bill Jones [probably fake as everything], but he was a naughty boy. For a moment, she shoved it aside. A couple of days had passed since her 'lunch date' with Donovan. She hadn't said one word about it to anyone, but of course, Graham had somehow found out. He had lectured her for an hour or more about Donovan, and nearly had a brain embolism. She was half tempted to slug him and knock his lights out, but she hesitated. He was in this mindset that he was the boss of her or something. Perhaps he thought she'd allow her heart to rule her. Very soon, she would have to have a long talk with him and let him know that she wasn't a typical female agent. In the field, she had only screwed up once by falling in love with her partner. She couldn't call what she and Donovan had in the jungle anything more than a forced relationship. Was Graham afraid she was going to try to squeeze his package or something? He was a kid, an idiot, and before the assignment was through, she'd have to whip his ass.
Dicky had been staring at Pax for more than fifteen minutes. She hadn't noticed that the conversation died between him and the junior agent. In fact, Graham had excused himself for a drink and hadn't made it back yet. She was obviously distracted. She had freely admitted seeing Donovan twice since her return. He, like Graham, had asked Pax what had happened between her and Donovan. She gave a little more information to Dicky, because she did trust him a little. However, she had only told him that 'something had happened in Miami.' She said no more than that, but he was certain the 'something' had been relatively significant. Once Graham returned from mixing his drink, Dicky was going to make a suggestion as to how the case could become resolved sooner, but deferring to Pax, he wanted to let her in on it. Of course, she was going to explode. He didn't have to wait for it to happen; he simply knew it would.
"Agent Paxton," Dicky called. When she didn't respond, he called out a little louder.
She jumped a little. "Huh?" She turned to focus her eyes on Dicky's face. "What is it?"
"When Agent Graham returns, I'm going to discuss with you the turn this investigation must take to be resolved in a timely matter. We can't stay at the paper very long without Jones getting wise to us. Before I take this to Graham, I wanted to introduce it to you. I'm taking this to Donovan and his team, to ask for help, but we're going to do it in a relatively creative way," he began.
Pax's face had begun to turn the color of a canned beet. "We cannot involve Frank Donovan, I won't have it. Didn't the two of you spend about an hour and a half admonishing me for having contact with him? And now you're suggesting we work with him? No, Dicky, I won't do it. If you insist on this, I'm out right here and now. I can't work with him, won't do it, no way."
"You don't understand, Paxton. I'm not making a direct request. What I want you to do is go to Jones and suggest a roving story following a specialized justice department team. A paper is all about circulation, and if you suggest this, Jones will bite. Hell, he might even jump up and down. It'll give him an opportunity to continue his deeds while watching the team. He'll be none the wiser and neither will Donovan. I can work out the details with the DOJ and you can deal with Jones. I know that the agents have to be anonymous and all that, but you can follow them around, giving us enough time to get organized, and then we can take the mission to Donovan. We can basically get their help without raising that much suspicion. They won't like it by any means, but at least it can buy us some time until the team is completely involved."
God. He wanted to put her with Donovan. Did he know what the hell he was doing? Then there was the ridiculous plan that Dicky had to ease into the team and get their assistance. Oh gosh. The top of Donovan's head would fly right off. However, it would also put her closer to Donovan on a regular basis. Part of her liked that idea, but another did not. He was right that day at lunch. She was scared as hell. This is going to drive me crazy, I just know it. The moment Donovan finds out what I've done, he'll really and truly murder me. I might as well buy a burial plot and a tombstone. Of course, Graham would love the idea. He loved whatever Dicky suggested. He was young, gung ho, and stupid. She couldn't argue with Dicky. Whatever he wanted, he typically got. He and the DOJ were relatively arm-in-arm, and Donovan wouldn't assist the CIA without tons of pleading and begging. She couldn't blame him. She took a deep breath and called out to Graham to bring her some vodka. She'd need it.
* * *
It took a couple of days for Dicky to work things out on his end, and when he gave the all clear, Pax approached Bill Jones as he sat in his office huffing and puffing over deadlines. Jones didn't like her and she wasn't very fond of him either. Oddly enough, he reminded her of Lou Grant in the Mary Tyler-Moore show. It was a horrid stereotype, but one so very true. However, he wasn't quite as disheveled as the TV version. He spent a few moments ignoring her before he finally gave her his 'what do you want' look. Taking a deep breath, Pax opened her mouth and made her pitch. It took approximately ten seconds for him to jump on the story. Of course he'd go for it, and of course he'd send Pax and an assistant of her choosing. Her assistant was [of course] David Graham.
That evening, she went back to her apartment. Dicky was supposed to be in communication with the DOJ who was supposed to call Donovan right after. When that task was accomplished, it would only be a matter of time before she and Graham waltzed right up in the nest as if they belonged there. She could almost see the look on Donovan's face when his higher-ups called to give him the news. Jesus. She wouldn't be there to witness that for a million bucks. Then when he saw her…Jesus again. However, the moment he laid his eyes on David Graham…oh shit. Poor guy, he was too young to die. Then again, the façade of being attached to Graham would probably keep Donovan away for at least a while, and more than likely would keep him away for good once he discovered the truth. The truth would not leave her lips; she'd leave it to Dicky. It was time for the upper brass to take some of the heat.
Sighing deeply, she moved into the bathroom and gazed at the bathtub. She wasn't one for taking baths, but tonight was a good night for it. She ran a tub full of water, stripped down, and climbed inside. The warm water enveloped her immediately. She wished she had a radio in here to block her thoughts. When she was alone, her mind drifted to Donovan. No other man had ever possessed her so thoroughly. No other man had ever pissed her off so badly. Ugh. Her hand drifted up to her face and for the first time in her life, she ran her finger over her lips, the lips that he had kissed so brutally, so passionately just a few days ago. If she had been thinking clearly, she could have shoved him back quite easily. But she wasn't. Donovan had that effect on her. Damn him. Once he sucked a woman in, he didn't like letting go. She had known that about him, and she should have avoided an involvement. How could I when he wouldn't let me? He wouldn't. He wouldn't let her do anything other than admit she loved him. She shook her head. She didn't want to face Frank Donovan, didn't want to lie to him more, and didn't want to see the look of betrayal in his eyes once he discovered the truth. She had hurt him enough. It was time to break the chain and move on. Will he let me? Will he truly let me?
* * *
Donovan listened to the voice on the other end of the line. If one had walked in on him at that exact moment, he/she would have seen looks of disbelief and anger on his face and in his eyes. What the hell was the DOJ thinking? His boss wanted to send in reporters from the damn paper to follow his team around? How the hell could that be accomplished? How could they have people in and out of the office, following them around, introducing them to danger, just to please a ratings hungry paper and a publicity seeking governmental department. What the hell were they thinking? He had argued against it until he was blue in the face. The only reason he went along with it was because his boss reminded him that the team was in slow mode right now and could handle it. However, Donovan got his way by stating that if a priority case came in, the reporters would have to go. After the phone call, he stood and began pacing crazily about the office. Reporters. They wanted to go into the field; they were willing to sign injury disclaimers, but could he honestly send a civilian to his/her death? Did he have it in him?
He went to window and began looking out at the skyline. The Chicago Call. It was Pax's paper. He had asked who was being sent, but the upper brass had no idea. What if it were? If Pax came through the door, he would immediately think there was something more going on, and he'd probably be right. Yet, she had sworn off the life and was a totally different person. A bit of her old self came out when he saw her last, but she was deprogrammed. Either that, or she had brushed up on her acting skills. He had just gotten to the point where he trusted Pax, and he didn't want to lose that. Why would she go back? She hadn't been in active duty since leaving the safe house. He didn't trust her. It hurt thinking it, but he didn't. For a moment, he thought about the crazy idea. One by one, he began counting out the few weird happenings as of late. First, he had found Pax at a local paper working as a reporter. Secondly, he had been informed by the DOJ infrastructure that reporters from the same paper were coming in to wreak havoc. Third, Pax had been acting more psycho than usual. It was too damn convenient, too damn much of a coincidence to dismiss it. Of course, Pax would come in. He didn't doubt it for a nanosecond. Stepping away from the window, he made a conscious decision. He knew where she lived, and he would find her apartment.
Graham and Pax were in her apartment going over the game plan for about the billionth time. They would come in as partners, of course, and do whatever they needed to do to 'follow' the team. Pax had tried to tell Graham that Donovan wouldn't exactly buy her coming in as a coincidence. It would prove difficult for her to keep her mouth shut for long. Donovan was a fricking good interrogation expert, and if he wanted information, he could damn well get it. However, her stupid ass partner was convinced that Donovan wouldn't know anything. Little buddy, you know nothing about Donovan. Once you meet him, you'll see. She hated the idea, thought of it as very bad, but no one was listening to her, and she was the damn senior agent. Fuck this shit. She turned to Graham and announced that she needed some alcoholic refreshment if she intended to get through the rest of the night. She had been gone maybe five minutes when the doorbell rang.
Graham stood and trotted over to the door. "Don't worry, J.E., I got it," he called back to her. He swung the door open and faced a very angry Frank Donovan. He didn't doubt that if Donovan had had his gun drawn, David Graham's mother would be arranging his funeral. "Mr. Donovan," he said.
From the kitchen, Pax heard 'Mr. Donovan' very clearly. Oh shit. He fucking found me and now he saw Graham in my fucking apartment. If I don't get out there in thirty seconds flat, Graham's blood will be shed on the floor, and I ain't losing my security deposit. She ran out of the kitchen and to the door. She glanced at Graham and sighed. "Go, David, I can handle this," she said. Could she? She had never seen him so angry. Well, maybe she had, but it wasn't a scorned lover's kind of anger. She couldn't believe how jealous he was. She had no intention of allowing him inside with Graham, and she took hold of his arm to shove him aside. "I need a couple of minutes."
Before Graham moved to go back in, he nodded. "I'll go on down to my place. We'll pick this up later," he said. "Call me."
Nononono, I don't want you to let him inside here. I wanted you to stay. I wanted to talk to him in the hall. If he comes in here, we're going to be in bed in ten seconds flat. Come back you fucker; come back. Of course, the yellow bastard didn't hang around. He took off, leaving her with a seething smoky-eyed Frank Donovan. "I would ask how you found me, but that would be a fairly stupid question, wouldn't it?" He said nothing; he stared at her, demanding information that she could not give him. "What do you want," she asked.
"I'm sorry I interrupted your…evening. Do you mind if I come in? I don't want to talk to you out here," he said.
She sighed angrily and stepped out of the doorway, knowing instantly that it was a very bad idea [whoa…a theme here]. She looked down and noticed that he was clenching and unclenching his fists. Had he been preparing to deck Graham? What was his deal? Why was he so jealous? Because he loves you, you idiot. She watched as he made himself comfortable on her couch. There was no way she wanted to sit beside him, not unless she wanted to end up riding him like a stallion. Instead, she walked over to a chair a bit away from where he sat and lowered herself into it. He leaned forward and crossed his hands in front of him again. He had yet to take his eyes off her face. He was so pissed off; she could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. It appeared as if he walked in on his wife having an affair with the milkman. She started chewing on her nails again and grimaced against the harsh taste of fingernail polish.
"I'm not here to talk about your newfound love life," he spat bitterly. "I received a call from the Justice Department and they're allowing a reporting team to follow us for a few days. This team is coming from your paper. Is it you and your…boy-toy?"
Pax felt the first tinges of anger entering her. At first, she had felt nothing but guilt and horror, but he had really hit low. "Boy-toy? You say shit like that and you tell me that you're not here to talk about my love life? Goddamn, Frank, grow up," she cried.
His bitter laugh returned. "More and more of your true self is drifting out, I see. It seems the deprogramming may need some…reprogramming? Anyway, I don't want to rehash this any longer. As I said, I have another intention. Tell me, Jonella, is it you and the BT?"
Pax clenched her teeth together so hard that her jaw would ache later. She couldn't sit back and let that slide again. Who did he think he was? Her father? She didn't care how he felt about her or she him, but she wouldn't tolerate such ire coming from him. What right did he have to act this way? How many months did he string her along with his princess? Fighting a battle and losing, she stood up and stormed toward him. It seemed as if he anticipated this and he backed away to ready for whatever attack she had in mind. "You bastard asshole. My relationship with the BT is none of your fucking business. I have nothing to do with the assignment you're talking about. What makes you think that I want to come within five feet of you again? You're the one who keeps following me. I'm tired of it." She reached out, probably intent on putting her hand on top of his head to shove him back, but he caught her wrist before she had the chance.
"I'd advise you not to touch me like that unless you want me to take you down," he said. "I don't believe you, Jaeleah. I'm sure that when the reporters walk in, one of them will be you."
She wrenched her wrist out of his hand. "Get out."
He stood and faced her. "I'd rather come in."
Before she knew it, his mouth had staked claim on hers. At first, the kiss began brutally as it had done a few days previously. However, as soon as she began to relax and accept it, it quickly softened and deepened. Oh. The taste of him, the feel of his demanding lips against hers. Jesus. She had never thought she'd miss something so much. His hands moved no further than her waist, but hers roamed all over him. As soon as they traveled to the front of his shirt, she was intent on ripping him out of it. She had gotten her hands on it and was just about to tear and shred it, but his hands traveled upward and grabbed her wrists. He pushed her away. Both of them were breathing heavily, but there was a look of confusion on Pax's face. What?
"I suppose there are a few buttons that I can push." He released her wrists and walked toward the door. Before he let himself out, he glanced at her. "See you later. Say hello to your BT."
When the door closed behind him, she went to the couch and buried her face into one of the small pillows that decorated each arm. She screamed into the pillow, screamed and cursed and cursed and screamed. She had to get it out. If she didn't, she'd wind up in the psych ward. She walked over to the phone and hit a few buttons. "If you want to finish this meeting," she bit out over the phone, "then get your ass over here."
* * *
Donovan entered his apartment about an hour later. He wanted nothing more than to have a glass of brandy and then go to bed. He could act as smug as he wanted [and often did], but it took a bit of strength to do what he did tonight. He couldn't explain the emotions rushing through him as he laid his eyes on David Graham. The phone rang, shattering the silence in the room, and he swooped it up before glancing at the caller id.
"Donovan," he barked, momentarily forgetting he was at home.
"Whoa," came a familiar voice.
He exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, Remy. Haven't had the best of days," he said.
"Thought you might want to keep the baby next weekend. I'm going out of town until late Sunday night, and thought I'd ask you before going to my sister," she said.
"Sure," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Where was the fucking aspirin? "I'd love it."
"Good. Could you pick her up next Friday morning?"
"Will do."
"Frank, are you okay?"
He carried the phone with him into the kitchen. He needed painkillers and had to find them quickly. "I have a headache and I can't find the damn aspirin. Sorry. It's work related." Sure it is. "Next Friday morning around nine?"
"Fine."
"Great. Gotta go," he said as he spied the aspirin.
Before she could say another word, he hung up. Jesus. He was treating everyone like shit tonight. He went for the aspirin and dry swallowed about four of them. If his brain didn't explode by morning, it would be a miracle. Damn it. It would have been so easy to give in to her, to take her to bed, and make love to her until dawn. However, there was no way he would kowtow to her. It was exactly what she expected him to do. If she wanted a new life, a new man, let her have it. It was completely out of his hands. If she waltzed into the nest [and he was sure she would], they'd have plenty of time to play.
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To be continued…