Sugar? Why did that not irritate her like it would normally? “Good, so we’re agreed. You’ll be leaving.” She pointed toward the hallway. “Thanks for the save. Maybe I’ll see you around in another nine or so months? Or better yet, never.” Maybe she was being sarcastic now, too. Or just plain mean.
“Considering you were undressing me with your eyes back in the kitchen, I assume you don’t think that I actually believe you mean that, now do ya?”
She could feel the flustery blush racing over her body. Nerve endings on fire. This was new. “I was attacked tonight. My boss is MIA. My life might be in danger.” She reminded herself the missing sources weren’t public knowledge yet, so she kept her mouth closed. “I have a lot going on. I panic-clean. I don’t have panic-sex.”
“Well, maybe that should be a thing.” A.J.’s dark lashes fluttered a few times. Men shouldn’t be blessed with lashes like those, damn it. “Wait . . . your life may be in danger?” he asked, just realizing what else she’d said.
“I’m FBI. Clearly, you’re familiar with my division since you were outside my boss’s house, so you know my job can be dangerous,” she said, attempting to dodge any more questions on the matter.
“Anastasia.”
“Ana, remember?”
“Ana.” The sound of him saying her name, deep and gravelly, unveiled a strange feeling in her chest. It was probably due to the fear she’d been resisting giving in to, though.
Surely the agents at the FBI would turn on her once she left town, once she went off-the-grid. The backup plan was a hard pill to swallow. It would most likely make her appear guilty given what was going on, but there was no other way. The FBI could find the missing sources . . . she had another mission.
“Do you have any idea who the guy at the house was?” he asked, his voice softer this time.
“Colored contacts. Deepened his voice when talking. Mask and gloves. All black clothes.” Didn’t feel like he wanted to hurt me.
“And why’d you break in?” He’d folded his arms so only half of his tattoo on the inside of his arm was visible. He wore a military-looking watch with a thick, black band next to it, and she was unable to remove her eyes from it for some reason.
“I didn’t break in. I had a key.”
“Then why worry about the cameras?”
“I can’t tell you anything, especially without knowing what you were doing there.” Her eyes zipped back to his face. “It’s complicated,” she added, feeling a bit guilty since the man had helped her out of a major jam. “But maybe it’s time we go separate ways since we’re both closed books.”
“How can I leave you after someone attacked you tonight?”
“It was a wrong-place, wrong-time situation. No one sought me out.” Only you, apparently.
“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” A.J. stepped closer, and she walked backward into the coffee table.
“Were you hired to spy on FBI agents? Are you being paid to follow me?” It was the only thing that made sense. Someone in the upper echelon of the FBI must have thought there was a leak and didn’t want to spook anyone on Ana’s team, so they outsourced for help. Winters hadn’t believed in their innocence earlier as he’d claimed.
But the Bureau wouldn’t outsource this to a civilian company. No, it had to be someone within the government with high-level security clearance. And that meant her theories about A.J. were correct. Scott & Scott Securities was a front for a covert team of operatives.
“Why would a man like me be hired to follow an FBI agent?”
She reached for his ball cap once again and removed it, hoping he didn’t seize her wrist this time and feel the increase of her pulse, but she needed to see his entire face to read him better. “Because you and I both know what you really do.”
He leaned in, the smell of mint on his breath—when did he pop a mint in his mouth?—and his eyes drilled straight into her. “And what is that?”
She lifted her chin and moved in closer, putting them almost nose to nose. “You’re an Avenger, remember?”
Chapter Ten
After the playful, seductive way Ana had made the vigilante Avenger jab, A.J.’s heart exploded in his chest. His entire body was more alive than when in the middle of a gunfight with a bunch of Talibani terrorists.
The gorgeous redhead, with eyes capable of seducing him to the most dangerous of waters, had him wrapped tight around her finger without even trying.
No woman, including his only real relationship outside of high school, had ever had him tongue-tied before. And was it sad that he’d just turned thirty-eight and hadn’t been in something real in over a decade?
Ana began straightening the pillows on her living room couch, then moved on to the stack of magazines on the coffee table, clearly anxious to hear news from A.J.’s team.
Panic-cleaning?
With his back to the column in the room, he eyed her as she bent over to retrieve the TV remote that had fallen on the floor, and he became mesmerized by the woman’s ass in those black jeans. She had to do Pilates. Yoga, maybe. Something that tightened and lifted her butt to perfection.
Her top came untucked, and when she stood upright and faced him, she began fidgeting with the material. The woman was a bit high-strung, but . . . damn.
Headstrong, guarded, and stubborn one minute—playful, sexy, and witty the next. He couldn’t always get a read on her, but he was pretty sure Ana was confused by her behavior when around him.
While sitting in his SUV an hour ago, watching Ana slip around to Porter’s backyard, his hand had remained frozen and hovering over his cell phone to alert Harper to what Ana was doing, but he hadn’t been able to rat her out. Not without knowing more. He wanted answers from the source herself as to why she’d go into her boss’s house dressed like a burglar.
He hadn’t expected the gunshot shortly after she’d gone inside.
And when A.J. had rushed through the unlocked back door, the masked man had caught him off guard and barreled straight for him, arm outstretched, a firearm in his hand.
He didn’t want to shoot the man first and ask questions later since he was on U.S. soil and rules of engagement were a bit stricter. But damn, he’d swear ever since his fall Saturday, the random dizzy spells, the ones that felt like his head was filled with air, had him off-kilter.
A.J. hadn’t shared this with Harper or the others yet. He couldn’t bring himself to admit he may not be in tip-top shape to operate or that he may actually need to get his head examined. There was a real chance he’d been wrong to brush this off like he had so many times in the past. But usually, he felt better a few days after hitting his head. He’d been thrown quite a few times from IED blasts, so he had some experience dealing with losing consciousness. Never hallucinating ghosts, though. That was new. Or someone getting the drop on him to knock him in the side of the head.
And tonight, when that fucker had hit him in the head with the gun, he could’ve sworn Marcus was there. He could feel him looking over. He didn’t have time to process the weird sensation since he’d had to let Ana know he was there moments later.