Page 25 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

“Dr. Julian Jameson.”

“Julian is my nephew,” my uncle says. “A skilled surgeon. I wouldn’t bring anyone less than the best, Agent Leighlan.”

She nods, studying me. I can’t stop studying her right back. The blue satin shirt tucked into her black skirt rises and falls with each quick breath, hinting at the curve of her bra. Her waist is tiny, hips full and inviting. Those black pumps aren’t overly tall, but they do dangerous things to my pulse. Sexy librarian fantasies with her as the star are my new obsession.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I manage.

“Lee. Everyone calls me Lee.” She flashes a tight smile. “Okay, we can debrief later. Love you, Cal. Glad you didn’t die. Bye.”

She spins on her heel and storms out the same way she came in.

I stare after her until Keeper clears his throat loudly enough to drag my attention back to the bullet still lodged in his arm. I drag my chair closer and return to his wound. This would be easier in a proper operating room instead of a warehouse full of armed criminals, but this is part of the gig.

“Want me to get her number for you, Doc?” Keeper asks.

I clamp the bullet and extract it with perhaps less gentleness than medically necessary.

He winces. “Damn, Doc, I was joking. You looked like you were only seconds from throwing her over your shoulder and running out the door with her. Which would be insane, by the way.”

Whatever business these men are in clearly sharpened their instincts. Keeper is right. I’m obsessed. I’ll do whatever I can to make her mine.

It took me less than a week to realize wanting Lee and successfully approaching Lee are two very different problems.

I might be stalking her. I am officially stalking her. I pressured my uncle to give me her name. The full one: Ethal Abigail Leighlan. She didn’t strike me as an Ethal. No one calls her that anyway. They call her Lee.

And I’ve been following her, so I can “run into her,” and ask her for a date. Something tells me she would turn me down flat if I called and asked her over the phone.

Like clockwork, she emerges out of the building and gets into her car at the end of the day.

I tail her from a careful distance, never close enough for her to spot me in the rearview. I spent hours researching how to follow someone discreetly. Staying two or three cars behind to blend in with traffic should keep her from noticing me. Or at least those were the search results.

It’s really alarming what you can find on the internet. Lucky for her I’m not actually insane. Just… persistent. Though I’m sure that’s exactly what every unhinged person tells themselves.

She pulls into a coffee shop. The lot isn’t crowded, so I park farther from the entrance and kill the engine. So far, so good. I followed every instruction perfectly.

I turn off the car then step outside, shutting the door behind me with a soft click.

Cold metal touches the back of my head.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Ettie.” I start trying to figure out how to respond so that she doesn’t think I’m a complete loser or shoot me in the head.

“Who are you?”

“Julian Jameson. We met when I was with my uncle. At the warehouse.”

She leans in. Her hair swings forward, brushing my shoulder. She doesn’t pull the gun back even an inch. Her gaze travels over me, assessing, and I have to fight the ridiculous urge to smile at how cute she is.

“Oh, hey.”

She takes a step back and lowers her gun.

I turn slowly. “Hey.”

“Well, it was great seeing you, Jay. Sorry about this.” She waves her gun in a little jazz hand motion.

“It’s Julian.”