Occupational Hazards Ch. 02

I wanted to know the reasoning behind those eyes. The story she held. But I knew I shouldn't press her. As I stepped closer and patted my hand on her right shoulder to wish her well and say goodbye, she winced with a hiss.

"Nikki?"

"What?"

"Show me your shoulder."

"It's nothing."

"Bullshit."

She didn't resist when I unzipped her coat a few inches and parted the right side. I gingerly pulled the edge of her sweater collar back. Noticed the black and blue bruise that disappeared under the rest of the material. Probably the reason for the lack of a bra strap.

A spark lit inside of me. "Did he do that because I dropped you off?"

She didn't answer. She didn't need to.

"Fuck, Nikki! I don't know you. But I damn well know abuse when I see it."

She pulled her coat back together, not looking at me.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"I'll put ice on it again tonight."

I scrubbed my hand across my face. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I didn't want to send her back in with the wolf. But I also couldn't kidnap her and put her in a safe house.

"Nikki, did you tell him who I was?"

"Just that you're an old high school friend and offered to give me a ride home because the girls weren't ready yet and I was out of cash. It's the truth."

"But he still hit you." By the fear I saw in her eyes when she glanced at me, I wondered how bad it really was. "Nikki, please—"

"I-I have to go." She looked around. Like she expected someone to be watching her. Hunter maybe? "I'm going to get in trouble for being gone so long."

"You need to get help. If not from me, from the cops."

She scoffed.

"At least let me give you a ride back?"

She shook her head. "Thanks, Ben. It's enough to know that someone cares."

With that, she walked off down the road. And being the idiot I was, I just stood there and watched her go once more.

###

I'd driven straight over from the diner. Apparently so physically seething that Julie hadn't even tried to stop me from barging into the meeting in progress. The door slammed against the wall as I shoved it open, making Director Davenport's guest jump.

"I don't care what you have to do, get her out of that place!"

The director's guest stood and turned to face me with a grimace. "Hoskins! What the hell?"

Lieutenant Johnson. Great. Most of the agents did whatever they could to avoid him. He was a hardnosed man. It wasn't just his looks that reminded me of Jack Nicholson's character in "A Few Good Men." But he was more bark than bite. He didn't faze me. And apparently not Davenport, either, because he remained seated, relaxed in his chair as usual.

"Frank, take a seat." The director shifted his gaze to where I still stood in the doorway. He gestured to an empty chair and waited until I closed the door and sat down myself before he continued. "Ben, you were just in here this morning telling me how you can't be involved. I agreed it was in everyone's best interest to find a new Alpha for this mission. So that's what we're doing. Of all my agents, you know better than to jerk us around and waste our time."

"I'm sorry, Sir. But that was before I ran into Ni—Ms. Talmadge at breakfast. Before I knew Hunter Michaels had beat her up over the weekend. All because I gave her a ride home in the rain! And that's only what I could see at first glance. The guy is a monster."

"I don't disagree. But we have protocols we have to follow."

"As I was getting to before we were so rudely interrupted..." Johnson cleared his throat and took a folder off the edge of Davenport's desk. He opened it to reveal a pile of black-and-white photos and tapped his finger on the top image. "From our intel, Michaels is tame compared to the rest of the other guys. He's our best way in. The girl is collateral damage. It's a risk we have to take."

I brushed my hand back through my hair. "I can't sit idly by knowing she's in jeopardy!"

"You have to let us do our jobs, Ben." Davenport frowned. "I'm sorry your friend is in the middle. But you said it yourself. There's too much at risk if you're—"

"Alpha. On the frontline." I took a deep breath, an idea formulating in the depths of my sleep-deprived brain. I'd rationalized that I couldn't kidnap her, but what if it wasn't me? Aloud, I said, "What if I'm not directly involved? Plausible deniability for the department."

The director leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands and tapping his index fingers against his mouth. "Go on."

"Use me as a distraction. To get her out of harm's way. I'd be working from a civilian standpoint. No knowledge of what the agency is doing. No involvement after she's in my care. I'll use that vacation time you've been wanting me to take. Jet us away somewhere until it's safe to return."

"Are you really listening to this?" Johnson muttered. He shared a long, silent glance with the director, as if conversing by telepathy. When he lowered his gaze with a frown, I knew I'd made a worthy case.

"All I ask I that you seriously consider it. You know I don't ask for favors—"

Davenport stood, which was my cue to shut up. "No, you don't. Which is why I haven't thrown you out of here for insubordination. We will discuss it and get back to you with the details for extraction if we can go that route."

###

Just like this morning when I had been nervous about approaching Nikki at her job, I was anxious as the day wore on and I hadn't heard anything from Director Davenport. To make matters worse, every possible situation I imagined, I reasoned that Nikki wouldn't cooperate with us. Not without knowing why she had to go away. Since telling her the truth was out of the question, I was starting to believe my plan really had been the rantings of a lunatic like Johnson had insinuated.

Giving up on trying to be Superman for the moment, I straightened up my place. I hadn't even unpacked yet from my trip. I did some laundry. The few dirty dishes I'd left in the sink since we'd had to leave without warning. And then I dozed off for a bit, hoping to give my brain cells a much-needed break.

But of course, my sleep was restless. My dreams filled with Nikki. As before, I was just shy of tasting her skin...her lips...when I awoke. At least my dick behaved this time.

Once it had grown dark, I knew I needed to get out of my apartment. To go where I knew I could brood properly. Because I was going to lose it if I was left alone much longer.

Though it was a Monday, Twisted Cocktails wasn't lacking for customers. The weekends were for the partiers. The dancers. The lonely hearts seeking out some comfort, even if it was a one-night stand. During the week? That's when the businessmen and women came looking for a drink to unwind and a place to shoot the shit. Bankers. Accountants. Stockbrokers. Insurance agents. Any of the other professionals who filled the glass-walled buildings downtown.

It was an entirely different atmosphere tonight. The lights were turned up. The dance floor was interspersed with high tables and chairs; an area for those who chose not to congregate directly at the bar. Instead of music, the air was filled with chatter. How good or horrible the day had been. Who was screwing over who to get up the ladder of success. Any actual business being discussed happened at the more private tables surrounding the bar.

This wasn't my usual crowd. I tended to be traveling or working during the week. I rather preferred the livelier clientele of a Saturday night. Easier to disappear in. But with my only other option to sit at home, I was willing to compromise.

I knew the man behind the bar by sight, but we didn't share that mental connection I had with the weekend bartenders. I waited while he finished pouring a drink for a lady in a business suit and then placed my order. He exchanged my drink for the number on my tab—which the Council kept balanced. Maybe a rise in my bill would be incentive for the director to brainstorm faster.

A glass of top-shelf bourbon in hand, I headed upstairs. It looked like I was the first one to arrive. Maybe the only one for the evening. Except for Bruce. Bruce was always here.

He was a fulltime bouncer, dedicated to the VIP section, no matter the day or time. He was tall and bald. His regulation black polo was stretched over biceps and abs any bodybuilder would be envious of. It made his dark skin look much lighter. Like milk chocolate, or so the ladies who flirted with him described it.

Normally, he stood guard at the bottom, his hands clasped in front of him unless he was removing the red, velvet rope cordoning off the stairway. He knew by heart who was allowed upstairs. The list rarely changed. So if you weren't on it, he was quick to reroute you back towards the bar or the dance floor. In a few rare cases, he had Glen, the head of security, give you a personal escort outside.

Tonight, Bruce was seated in one of the easy chairs just beyond the railing upstairs. As if observing the less fortunate. Much like I was prone to do.

I had already let myself past the barricade and was halfway up the stairs before he saw me and stood. I gave him a nod. "Bruce."

"Ben." He shook my hand. "Get your days mixed up? You have a long way until Friday."

"You could say that. Needed a distraction."

He chuckled. "Then you should have gone to Mike's."

"Nah." It had been months since I had been to the stripclub on the other side of the square. "The hot girls don't work until Wednesday."

Bruce gave me a toothy grin that looked extra white against his dark face. "Good to know."

"Slow night?"

He leaned over the railing and looked around, as if verifying the facts before answering. "Yeah, kinda nice for a change."

"I was just headed—"

"To your couch," he finished with a chuckle. "Cleaning crew was just in here this morning. Your boy, Patrick? He was back last night. He and one of his girls had a few too many."

"Probably not the first. Or the last." I raised my glass. "Have Marti keep me topped off?"

"Absolutely. She's downstairs right now. I'll have her check on you in...what?"

I studied the level of bourbon after taking a good taste. "Every thirty?"

"Sounds good, man." He went to sit down again but paused. "Mind if I hang around up here? Let me feel like a celebrity a little longer?"

It was my turn to laugh. "It's your bar. Knock your socks off. Just know, it's not always all it's cracked up to be."

"Yeah, but I'd have the fucking money for therapy."

I shook my head with a grin and settled into the corner of the couch, propping my left leg on top of my right so my ankle balanced on my knee. An alcove wrapped around the little sitting area, blocking some of the steady noise from downstairs. Giving me that feeling I sought where I was alone when I really wasn't.

For awhile, I watched Bruce, his back to me again. The overhead lights made his head shiny. I wondered what I would look like bald. Lots of women seemed to go for that. While I had a pretty permanent tan, I'm sure my scalp would burn in the sun before it caught up with the rest of my skin. Maybe I could just do a close buzz. It would match the scruff I kept on my jaw. All part of that good guy with the bad boy vibe. Then again, I liked having a woman's fingers running through my hair. Gripping on for dear life when we got a little rougher.

With each sip of bourbon, I tossed about memories of the mission where I'd gotten the new look. How I'd infiltrated a motorcycle gang for six weeks in Texas. The best part was riding a Harley. The worst? Knowing Miss Layla was going to have to raise her baby on her own because her boyfriend was heading to prison for arranging the murder of three rival gang members. But both girls were both better off without that kind of father figure around.

I emptied my glass, concluding I needed a change. I could compromise on the hair and just lose the extra length. It wasn't like I had someone to impress.

Marti appeared at the top of the stairs right on time. Said a few words to Bruce. He turned to wave before he descended to join the suits.

"All alone tonight?" Marti gave me a smile as she took my empty lowball glass.

"Appears that way." I studied her black, V-neck blouse that was tucked into a short, black skirt. Neither did anything to hide her assets. And she had plenty to offer. Yet, she still looked professional, unlike some of the younger waitresses. Maybe that was because those girls worked the weekend crowd, and slutty sold alcohol.

I lifted my eyes to hers, appreciating how her red hair was smoothed back into a long, full ponytail. The color was dark. Very nice, but definitely not natural. Though it matched her lips.

For some reason, I pictured her bent over the arm of the couch, her hair wrapped around my hand. Those lips parted to let out her moans. Her skirt up over her ass as I took her from behind.

I shook off the thought and nodded at the new glass she handed me. "Thank you."

She watched me for a moment, her eyes slowly drifting down my body—lingering on my crotch—before she said, "I can come in twenty."

I gulped. What the—

I don't know if it was because she saw surprise on my face, but she said, "Bruce said to check on you every thirty minutes. But I can come back sooner. Everyone's at the bar tonight."

Drinks. Idiot. She meant she'd come back in twenty minutes with a new drink. Not—

Marti leaned down, closer to my ear. "Of course, I can stay, if you prefer. I'm here to serve our special customers."

"Um, no. I'm good. Thanks."

I groaned as she left me. Rearranged my pants a bit. As I leaned my head against the back of the couch and closed my eyes, I wondered if I was just that horny I was reading too much into every word I heard. Especially those of an attractive woman. Although, her look had said she was interested in bringing me more than alcohol. Of that, I was not mistaken.

As I nursed my new drink, the picture of Marti leaning over the couch changed. No longer was the hair in my hand red but black. Those red, pouty lips were soft pink and slightly parted. The eyes watching me over her shoulder weren't sultry but...

I blinked and stared at the black ceiling. I didn't know what I would see in Nikki's eyes if I were fucking her. Surprise? Pleasure? Utter desperation?

I immediately wanted to wipe that word out of my vocabulary when thinking of her. Hunter fucked her. With Nikki, I wouldn't treat her so harshly. I would be gentle. But firm. I would...

No. I promised myself I wouldn't go there again. I had been in too deep before. It had almost cost me my sanity. That was the problem with going undercover. The longer you were in, the more you became that other person. That alternate identity. And when it was time to stop, what you knew before...it no longer seemed normal.

When had my dreams become daytime musings? Having sex with Nikki? No, I just wanted to get her away from Hunter. Somewhere safe.

Yes, so you can sleep with her.

I growled and sat up. Took a few more sips of my drink. Checked my phone. There were no missed messages. No missed calls. Damn it, Davenport.

I stayed for another hour then drove home. Crashed on the couch while trying to watch TV. And dreamt of fucking Marti at the club.

###

Tuesday passed in the same fashion. No word from my boss. Nothing to do but lay around and flip through daytime TV. I tried to think of some place I could go to relax properly. A beachy island in the Pacific where girls in bikinis served you drinks all day. But when it all boiled down, it was just another place to brood on the Council's dime.

I groaned, my thoughts switching to Nikki. I wanted to not worry about her. She wasn't my problem. Try as I might, though, I couldn't dehumanize her like that. The severity of her situation couldn't be ignored.

I drove by her house around eleven. Noticed the Charger was gone. As were all of the neighbors' cars that had been parked on the street over the weekend. A strong urge to break into the house came over me. It would be so easy to jimmy the backdoor lock. To take a look around.

My conscious won, though. Told me I had not been given orders to breach the house. Anything I found couldn't be used in the takedown since I was officially off the case. And this mission was too important to fuck up. I had to trust my team to carry on without me.

I spent the evening at the club again. Talking with Bruce and drowning my thoughts in expensive liquor. Marti was off tonight, which I considered may have been a blessing. I might have given into temptation if she'd made a pass again. To make my dream reality.

When Bruce left me to my lonesome, my mind focused on the constant buzz of voices who spoke words I couldn't distinguish. I wondered what it would be like to be one of them. To be oblivious of the world I lived in. Sitting behind a desk all day then going home without a single thought of the monsters out there that they don't tell you about on the evening news.

I didn't want to be in the spotlight. I didn't deserve any accolades. But it would be nice to swap old stories in public without fearing the wrong person would overhear. To let off steam by bitching and moaning about my day at work. Or lack thereof at the moment.

Nature called after my third drink. While there was a bathroom upstairs, I decided to check out the clientele down below. I was waylaid as I headed back to the VIP section. Three guys asked if I wanted to drink with them. They were celebrating a merger at work.

A dozen tequila shots later, the guys left me sitting at the bar. I wandered back to the stairs. But when I only made it up the first two before clutching the handrail to steady myself, Bruce insisted on calling me a cab. I relented without a fight.

I don't know how I made it inside my building. Or upstairs to the right apartment. But as soon as I sat on my bed, I was out. And finally had a night of peace.

###

When I woke, it was late Wednesday morning. My head felt like someone had done a tap dance on it. I licked my lips, grimacing at the salty yet sour taste that hit my tongue. And then I remembered why I'd stopped drinking tequila: I lost all consciousness afterwards. Which hadn't been all that bad last night. It had helped me forget why I was depressed in the first place.

I tried to sit up, but that made me dizzy. So I just rolled over onto my stomach and reached for the nightstand. Felt just the alarm clock. I scooted to the side of the bed and cracked an eyelid, looking down. My phone had fallen to the floor, which seemed really far away for some reason.

The black rectangle stared blankly back at me. Taunting me. I dangled my arm over the mattress. Touched only air.

Right, Ben. You thought that would work?

Yet, I laid that way for a few minutes. Silently willing the phone to jump up to my hand, like Luke using the force. Logic finally settled into my addled brain that I was going to have to put more effort into this. But not too much.

I almost smothered myself in the pillow as my hand strained toward the phone. It took three tries before I was successful. And then I gasped for breath.

Once retrieved, I didn't have the energy to roll back over. I blinked and rubbed at my eyes, trying to focus so I could unlock it. After two failed entries of the code, I wanted to cry. A third attempt required an additional fingerprint scan. Of my right thumb. And I had my left hand free.

I laid the phone on my pillow, groaning as I rotated so I was resting on my left arm. Code entered a third time correctly. Thumb scanned. Success!

But it was all for naught. There were no texts. No missed phone calls.

My eyes squinted at the brightness of the phone, searching each of the app icons again just in case I'd missed the indicator numbers. I cursed Director Davenport. They couldn't put an extraction plan together in two days? Or had Johnson convinced him to scrap my idea?