Page 20 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

After an hour, I can no longer stand being in this fucking office. I grab my jacket and leave.

My apartment isn’t far from hers.

We both live only a few blocks from the office. Mine is temporary housing. I came from Texas, but she still doesn’t know that about me either. What would she say if she knew who I really was or why I really came here?

Who am I kidding? She wouldn’t say anything, then she would put a bullet through my head.

Outside, I realize how late it is. The night crowd is filling up the sidewalks. People in groups or couples walk around me looking happy. Good for them.

It’s busy, but I’m in no hurry to go to my apartment and watch Lee sleep. No one from the bureau knows about that illegal feed I have sent directly to my phone.

I’m allowed to do surveillance. We don’t have a warrant to put cameras in her apartment. It’s a shitty thing to do, but she’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. It’s hard for me not to watch her all the time.

I stop behind a group of women who have clearly been drinking. At the crosswalk, they turn and giggle at me while we wait for the signal.

“He’s, like, really hot,” one woman says, giving me a wink.

I automatically compare her to Lee. If Lee saw me outside, would she say something to me? Would she flirt with me? She wouldn’t. I know I’m an attractive guy, because I have a mirror. But Ethal Leighlan doesn’t flirt, and she would never smile at someone at a crosswalk.

I give the woman a polite head nod and step around them when it's safe to walk across the street. Something catches my attention in the bar window. Silver-blond is my new favorite color.

She’s sitting at the bar alone.

And I’m happy as hell to have an excuse to be next to her again.

The bell over the pub door rings when I open it. It’s busy, but not overly packed. The stools on either side of her are empty. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I stare at the back of her head.

A man slides onto the stool to her right. His hand settles on her back, and she tries to twist away.

Nope.

I stride up to them.

He notices me first and leans back, but his hand stays on her.

“Fuck right off,” I say.

My gaze rakes over Lee, and I take the stool on her left.

“Do you know him?” the man asks, sizing me up with a glance.

“Oh, yeah. He’s my handsome partner.”

My stomach should not react the way it does when this alleged criminal calls me handsome.

I hook one hand around the base of her barstool and drag her flush beside me. My legs stretch out on either side of her stool so I can bracket her in.

Her knees bump against my thigh. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I try not to stare at the place where we’re touching, but it’s impossible. I’ve wanted this and wanted her for as long as I can remember. If I’m being honest, I wanted her long before she even knew I existed.

The asshole doesn’t move, but his hand drops from her back since I added distance between them.

“Elliot. What are you doing here?”

Her words are slurred, and her eyes are glassy. I hope it isn’t from more crying.

“I wanted to be where you are.”

One more glare and the asshole next to her walks off.