The image of an attractive man with messy black hair and a discomfortingly bright grin flashes inside my head like a red cape being waved at a bull.
“He said he’d protect me from OI.” And Ibelievedhim.Whydid I believe him? “I had no idea he was a FISA agent.”
“Would it have changed things if you had known?” Green asks, putting on a front of genuine interest. She does that sometimes. Just to make me feel special.
“I don’t trust agency people.”
Except I did. I did trust him if only for a moment.
Leo. Ice-blue eyes filled with warmth. A strong jawline, easily broken. A mouth taught to lie, forming promises he believes in.
Leo. A mess of contradictions.
“So, is that why you want to see him?” Green throws her theory in my face like a handful of sand. “Because he misrepresented himself to you?”
“Who said I want to see him?” I scowl at Green, settling back in my seat, refusing to cross my arms and let her know she’s made me uncomfortable.
“Agent Snow has agreed to the assignment of being your partner. Director Snow spoke with him about it this morning.”
My heart picks up speed suddenly at the idea of Leo being offered the position and accepting it. I can’t help but wonder at his reasons. Director Snow made me aware of how reluctant Leo was to leave on his mission without speaking to me, and then there were all those visits to my cell when I first arrived. But I still don’t understand why he seems to care so much.
I admit none of my ponderings to Green.
“Oh? So,hegets a choice, does he? Nice.”
Green seems to find something funny about my response, which is annoying. She scribbles on her notepad again. I’m half convinced she’s just doodling shit to pass the time.
I take the moment to dart another glance around Green’s office. It’s pretty standard issue, decorated in cool tones and simple furniture. The only strange thing is the sheer number of plants she has in here. There are a lot. Like, I’m not exaggerating. It looks like the inside of a haphazard greenhouse.
I keep wanting to ask about it, but something in me doesn’t want to know what Green’s answer would be if I did.
Green gives me a searching look.
“Do you believe you will be capable of working alongside Agent Snow in the long term?”
“We should probably worry about the short term first,” I say, huffing out a sigh. “I’m on probation, remember.”
Green sits back in her seat and recrosses her legs, shifting to sit more comfortably in her chair. She eyes me with open contemplation as if figuring out her next mode of attack.
Unfortunately for her, our time runs out, the clock indicating the end of our session has arrived and not a second too soon.
Green follows my darted gaze to the plastic clock hanging on her wall to the left side of me. Her brows furrow, clearly irritated at having lost track of time.
“That’s it for today, then, Agent Roth.” Green gives me my reprieve with good grace. “You’re expected at War Room fifty-three in ten minutes to meet with your new partner and discuss how things will move forward for both of you.”
I get to my feet with a purposeful slowness. I’ve found FISA agents tend to get a bit jumpy if I move too quickly around them, and their frightened stares and scrambling escapes are quite stupid to witness. There’s only so much restraint I possess. They should know you’re not supposed to run from predators; it only makes them want to give chase all the more.
“Thanks for the daily dose of head fucking, Doc,” I throw over my shoulder, wasting no time in striding to the door and making my great escape from her office.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LEO
Senior Agent Aaron North, much like his son, has a very commanding presence. He has an undeniable air of authority, which is difficult to ignore. I find myself automatically sitting up straighter when we’re in the same room, as well as moderating my tone with respect when I speak to him.
North appears younger than he is. If I didn’t know it to be true, I wouldn’t think it was possible he had a son who is in his mid-twenties. Damon’s parents were young when he was born, but still. With a distinct lack of silver hairs and obvious lines on his face, North could be in his early thirties rather than his late forties. There’s a joke among the junior agents that North is secretly a vampire and therefore immortal.
Sitting across from him now, at a long table in War Room fifty-three, I’m immediately more aware of my messy hair and the fact I’m wearing a half-crumpled uniform. I didn’t do any laundry because I was expecting to have the time off, so I had to grab a uniform from the hamper this morning when Anabelle asked me to come in.
