Blue Topaz Eyes Ch. 02

At the end of the scenario, when he carried me to the infirmary, the magnetism was overwhelming. I caught myself starting to nestle into him, and just managed to turn it into a neck stretch. He'd given me his shirt in a gesture of chivalry, so my arm rested on the bare skin and muscle of those shoulders.

We bantered a bit while waiting for the doctor.

The connection just got stronger. Some kind of indisputable chemistry, way more than just lust. If there'd have been a door on the room, I'd have broken the Rules in a big way. A few more minutes and I'd have stopped caring about the door.

The doctor arrived just in time.

After I got my crutches and started off, I looked back and saw him watching me. Part of me wanted to go back give him my real name. Part of me wanted to flee as fast and as far as possible.

I kept his shirt and slept in it. I didn't even wash it for a month. That should have been disgusting.

But it wasn't.

He was far away, far enough for me to allow myself a tiny fantasy or two of a normal life. The dots of our blood mixed on the shirt were a symbol of something that could have been.

Maybe. In a different world.

I ended up washing the shirt in Hot to set the blood. I'd learned the hard way about that.

It'd be two more years before I saw him again.

In those two years, I proved myself over and over.

I wanted to be the best agent ever born – I had the upbringing, the ability and the ambition to pull it off.

And chasing those cases helped keep my own demons down. Those dreams of porcelain blue eyes became fewer and fewer, but never went away, and always woke me with a hard cold hand gripping my heart.

I worked hard. And I had support.

I knew Mike had given me the nod – which carried tremendous weight. I ended up assigned to Headquarters.

I mostly worked organized crime; it's not as sexy as Counter Terrorism, but because of narcotics, the work is endless.

But it wasn't all drugs. I spent six weeks working as a waitress in a San Angelo bar when I helped take down one of the largest cattle rustling rings in history. We cooperated with the Texas Rangers to do it.

They're a great organization. But Cattle Rustling? Texas? Rangers?

Um, well. Yeah, Howdy.

Some smart ass stuck a dime store cowboy hat on my cubicle wall. But I have the real thing, along with a pair of sparkly boots, jeans, a western shirt and a bandana at my apartment. I kept my waitress uniform.

I was nearly killed in a gunfight in Canada.

Over cheese.

And maple syrup.

It's a thing there. Cheese is heavily taxed in Canada, believe it or not, so crime rings smuggle cheese North and unlicensed syrup South across the US border. Four weeks of freezing my ass off, wearing flannel shirts and sleeping in a shitty room above a Canadian pizzeria. It went sideways just before we served warrants and ended in an actual honest-to-God gun battle. With me running alongside of a Royal Canadian Mounted Police Sergeant in a cheese warehouse.

Those are people who take their mozzarella deadly serious.

As for my personal life, I simply didn't have one.

I buried myself in my work. I didn't have a life outside. I couldn't trust anyone not to be corrupted by The Reinhardt's money.

The closest thing I'd had to a relationship was a few drunken gropes with another agent – Cat, short for Catherine - while we were undercover as a Lesbian art dealer couple. I didn't take it seriously at all – an all-female prep school practically guarantees experience in those kinds of relationships, but for Cat, it was life changing.

She'd never considered that her recurrent problems with relationships was because she was actually gay. She left the agency and ended up with a permanent girlfriend. Monica. Who owns a cupcake bakery. Seriously.

And wears way too much tie-dye.

Actually, any tie-dye is way too much. But she carries it to a true extreme.

Still, they seemed more than a little happy together.

Monica tried to freeze me out when she learned of Cat's history with me, but in the end, she realized I wasn't a threat. I didn't do relationships.

I didn't even have any real friends other than Cat and Monica, and I kept them at a bit of a distance.

Still, work was great. I'd shown a knack for planning and execution, courtesy of my upbringing, and it was recognized in by most of the people I worked with.

More than that, I was a fanatic, relentlessly driven.

I was blind to it until I ran into Mike in the hall outside the office.

"Danger Mouse." Only the HRT members used that name anymore, and they tinted it with a little respect.

I gave a small grin "Mike."

"Hear you've been doing the good work. I knew you'd make good. I knew you were one of us."

He paused, looking serious.

"Keep it up, Mouse. Somebody has to slay the monsters."

One of us. One. Of. Us.

That hit like a sledgehammer.

Mike wasn't just an agent. He was head of HRT. A Paladin, a Knight in Shining Armor, a True Believer, in every possible sense of the word.

That's what he meant.

And I realized he was right. I'd stopped doing the job for myself, or for its own sake. My ambition was still irrepressible, but there was more now.

I really Believed. For the first time in my life, I'd been following a dream of a better world.

So life went on at full tilt.

Until one day when I was in the weight room working out, and an older white haired woman started jogging on the treadmill next to mine. I didn't really look at her. Somebody's secretary from her demeanor. Still, she ran well.

"So I hear you're the golden girl around here. Maybe the next Hawthorne, I hear."

Maria Hawthorne was the Executive Assistant Director. I'd heard her name thrown around. The EAD was a legend. The toughest bitch on the planet. Supposedly congressmen stepped lightly around her. And it wasn't all political – early in her career she'd take down drug rings and white slavers relentlessly. I don't know if it was true, but rumor had it she'd personally killed 8 men.

I shrugged, "Maybe, but if it means I end up trapped in an office? That's not for me."

We chatted on for a few minutes, harmless pleasantries for the most part. And I forgot all about it by the time I ended the day.

I was right. She was somebody's secretary. Maria Hawthorne's.

A week later as I entered the EAD's outer office I knew I'd been set up when I saw the secretary. She just smiled and nodded me on in. I'd been summoned with little ceremony, just a yellow memo that appeared on my desk.

Tall, thin, with dark brown hair in an almost severe style, the EAD was standing to the side of her desk when I came in.

She extended a hand.

"Nice to meet the next Me. Or so I hear."

I prepared to graciously talk my way of that, but she cut me off with a smile.

"Let's take a walk, Emma."

She led me out the door and down out of the building.

Within a minute or two, she had us outside and headed south in the general direction of the Smithsonian.

We walked silently for a minute until we were out of area.

"Mike recommended you."

"For what?"

"This problem I have. I bounce problems off of him sometimes. He's good at giving me perspective. "

I picked up the vibe that her relationship with Mike was a little more than work related. I'd checked on her when I go the summons and learned she was unmarried. And I knew Mike was a confirmed bachelor.

I let that pass. And she continued. "We have a case. The team that was working on it brought it up to me this morning. It's a perfect Bureau plan, looks great on paper. And I hate it. The Romanian network we're tracking has dodged this kind of stuff before. It's a different leverage point in the network, but we've come up empty on these guys too many times for it to be coincidence. These are really bad people moving really nasty weapons, and if we don't get it rounded up, there are going to be a lot of dead innocent people."

A vision of blue porcelain eyes flickered in my mind.

"So what's my end of it?"

"I want to use non-Bureau assets. These guys may have some Russian FSB contacts, or maybe they understand us too well and can predict us. Or..."

She stopped.

"Or?"

"Or we've sprung a leak. There's a lot of money in this game. Even the FBI isn't perfect."

Silence hung in the air as I put it together.

She spelled it out. "You can't be bought. I know about your parents. You could walk out of here any day and have more money than the rest of us put together. I'm sure they'd take you back."

Still about the money.

But she continued. "That wouldn't be enough alone. Mike says you're the agent for this. Willing to do what it takes. Whatever it takes. And you've worked with a lot of external agencies and they thought highly of you. Not everyone works and plays well with others."

We paused for a minute as we came up on one of ubiquitous food carts that surround the Smithsonian mall.

She called for a couple gyros. I told the guy I wanted to see them made in front of us.

Maria raised an eyebrow.

"I worked a gyro cart in New York for three weeks on surveillance. They keep a bunch of readymade ones behind the counter to save time. Could be hours old. Even a day or two."

We found a bench and sat, eating.

"I'm pulling the team off at the Bureau, I'll tell them General Counsel has advised to attack the other end of the network. The only Bureau personnel in the know will be you, me, Mike and my aid. I called in a favor with the Director, I'm going to use an Army activity. CUMULOUS GREEN."

That didn't ring a bell and I said so.

She shook her head. "It shouldn't. They don't work US domestic targets. Posse Comitatus. But I can get some of them loaned to us as assets under our control for counter terrorism. As technical assets only."

I was doubtful and said so. "A bunch of soldiers stomping around is probably worse than risking an internal leak."

"These aren't regular soldiers. The work cover assignments worldwide, mostly in the CT arena. They are some of the best. They have to be, where they operate, they are the bad guys. We're almost always one call away from the cavalry. If the cavalry comes where they operate, it's a really bad moment. Really capable, but they aren't police, Federal or otherwise. Last time we used one, the op went bad and the CUMULOUS asset picked up the SA's gun and killed three drug runners without trying to take them into custody. General Counsel went crazy over that. They aren't necessarily happy to be working with us again, and I had to get the Director to throw some weight around."

Well, that sounded great. Odds were high they'd resent the hell out of me.

"So are you in?"

Turning down this kind of offer would pretty much be a career ender. I finished my gyro and looked around.

"I'm in."

CUMULOUS GREEN was a small converted brick warehouse off the beaten path near Georgetown, with underground parking. The sign said "Calliope LTD" and looked harmless enough. But the parking attendant was the human version of a Doberman Pinscher – a study in alertness and restrained aggression. And so were the four internal guards we had to pass.

A secretary checked our identification, called to ensure we were expected and buzzed us in. One of the security guards walked in with us.

I don't know what I was expecting, but it pretty much looked like a standard office, not much different than mine. If anything, it was a hair more run down.

The people were different.

If the FBI was full of jocks and cheerleaders, this place was a haven for the kids who hung out at the far end of the parking lot. Smoking.

They were dressed nice enough – standard off-the-rack DC government suits. A bit more individualistic than would be normal at the Bureau. What really caught my attention was an edgy wariness as they tracked us coming in. Every single one of them watched us, even if not obviously. I got the impression that law enforcement officers of any flavor weren't their favorite people.

We were escorted to an office with a conference table where a hard looking woman in a severe suit greeted us.

After Maria introduced all of us, she just responded with "You can call me Donna."

Maria seemed to expect that though, and explained what we needed, and to my surprise, her suspicions of a potential compromise, "somewhere in the Justice Department".

Donna gestured to her secretary to "call Eric", who turned out to be a short, heavyset guy. He asked me to go with him to see what the technical support I needed.

Three flights down, in the basement was Christmas. We passed a weight room, a firing range and arrived at a room that looked like Radio Shack had gone very, very bad.

We had to step over cables, boxes, half assembled computers to get to a set of shelves at the back.

Every cutting edge surveillance device invented, and some I'd never heard of. A lot of the stuff was not intended to be used within US borders at all. Ever.

I was practically skipping back up the stairs.

And found myself in the middle of an obviously tense moment.

Staring at a familiar face.

A rush of feeling poured in, like some kind of school-girl crush. Somehow, a smart-ass module seemed to turn on in me and I found myself starting a series of wisecracks. He joined in immediately with a knowing look and a half smile.

"Donna" seemed to be perfectly okay with the banter, Maria looked expectant, and her aide just looked lost.

I decided I'd better sort out the confusion, and explained how we'd met, although I left out a detail or two.

And I decidedly did not mention that my heart felt like it was exploding.

The smart, logical portion of my brain was screaming "RUN" at the top its' voice, but the rest of me had a very different opinion. When he agreed to work with me – that, had apparently been very much in doubt – I felt relief and fear in near-equal measures.

I asked Maria's aide for my folder of notes, sat down at the end of the table and we began going over plans. By the time I looked up, Maria, Donna and the aide had disappeared into another room.

We were very professional, going over infiltration plans, set up, target prioritization. He was absolutely thrilled that I had an emergency extraction plan that might actually work. The hardest part would be the initial set up, and he worked on a personnel roster for that. It may sound a little insane, but legally, he'd be the only 'loaned' asset. His people could bring equipment in, set it up. But they couldn't turn it on or test it. Yet they could stand next to an FBI agent and tell them how to do that In real time. So I'd have to tell Maria to bring in two more agents to do that.

He was professional, respectful and absolutely distracting. Apparently he'd been down at the shore on leave when he was called in and didn't have time to do more that spray on a little cologne on the drive. So he smelled of cologne and that hot-skin beach smell. And he had the most disconcerting habit of looking me directly in the eyes.

Like I said, distracting.

By the time we finished, we'd managed to tell each other very little about ourselves, although somehow I'd managed to communicate that I was not in any relationship.

And learned that neither was he.

That didn't help my internal dialogue at all.

Move in day to the Romanian neighborhood was an eye-opener. The CUMULOUS GREEN team was about as convincing as humanly possible. One couple erupted from their car arguing loudly and convincingly about his behavior at a party the weekend before. He'd been drunk and obnoxious the whole time. It was obviously a long running and bitter dispute between; married couple, trying, just barely, to keep it together.

And it was complete and utter crap. They hadn't even been teamed up as a "couple" until three days before.

The equipment was set up easily, classic newlywed furniture was brought in, with classic newlywed jokes, loudly thrown around.

And when "my" guy went to get pizza, he came back with pizza and beer for everyone – and drugstore flowers for me.

It doesn't sound like much, and yes, it made sense as part of the cover. But it was literally the first time anyone had bought me flowers. And it must have shown on my face.

One of the female CA assets looked me holding the flowers and stage-whispered "Oooh, looks like someone's getting some tonight!"

Oh yes.

His eyes flashed in the dim light as he struggled with me as my weight pinned him to the top of the mattress. What modesty he had was only preserved by the light blue lace towel wrapped around his waist. That modesty wasn't going to survive long – as soon as I could trap both his wrists in one hand, I planned to rip the towel off of him. It was, honestly, proving to be difficult – he was very solid and he wasn't wasting time. But he was having a lot of trouble getting a grip on me.

I'd made pretty good progress on my initial attack, catching him off guard in the darkness of the bedroom, dimly lit by a tiny orange LED nightlight. I'd yanked the shaving kit from his hand – no point in taking a risk - while tackling him onto the bed. I pinning him down, straddling his body with my legs. He couldn't get a grip to throw me off, because I'd taken the precaution of stripping down and coating myself with lotion.

We locked eyes for an instant – just a fraction of a second – and at that moment, I saw a slight smile on his lips. I could feel him grow hard against me between my legs.

Then everything went right.

The assignment went very well – Maria's faith in CG was entirely justified.

And the two of us worked well together. Very, very, well. I couldn't keep my hands off of him, and he was just as bad.

At first I thought it was lust, but soon it was clear we had more than that. We shared our secrets – those that we could. I told him about my life and how I'd escaped becoming The Reinhardt. His life had been classic small town America, with, as he put it, a hard right turn at Albuquerque that ended with him a team leader in CUMULOUS GREEN.

In many ways, he was a version of Mike – he was a Believer. He'd get little praise and no recognition for his efforts, but he might leave the world a cleaner space than when he arrived in it. At least that was his hope.

I never did tell him about the corrosive power of The Reinhardt money and how it ruined everything it touch.

That toxic fortune was the reason I couldn't just stay with him.

Sooner or later, The Reinhardt's money would begin to move in and he would be spoiled and destroyed by it.

I couldn't bear that thought.

I admitted to myself that I was truly in love with him. There was no way I could watch the inevitable rot come for him.

I let him think it was about my ambition and drive. I blamed the work. I tried to get him to blame me.

I was clingy and needy, and even though he knew it was my choice, he was there for me. I felt like my soul was disintegrating.

Then it got worse.

I missed my period.

And in the tradition of women and girls from the beginning of time, I prayed. I hoped. I held my breath.

And it still didn't come.

Working at the women's health clinic meant I had access to pregnancy kits at work.

Plus sign.

I'd been raised in the cold logic of The Reinhardt; I'd simply 'take care of it'.

Simple. Have a doctor remove a tiny mass of meaningless cells.

Sure.

That was the answer.

Remove the "me plus him" that I'd never planned on or even thought about.

I'd never have a kid. Hell, the first time I actually babysat was right here on this assignment.

Even if we were really married, who would want a bunch of messy little brats running around?

Like the ones he was so good with. The ones I'd had to snuggle with on the couch to get to sleep.

The nightmare came that night for the first time since this assignment had begun.