Page 3 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

“Stop that, sir. I’m already on edge. I don’t need your unhinged scare tactics right now.”

He just stares behind his long white whiskers, unbothered. I put up with his terrorism, because he’s a little ball of adorable.

I toe off my heels, drop my purse on the counter, and walk into the dark kitchen. For a second, I consider pouring a drink, but what’s the point? It won’t fix anything. It won’t stop the ache.

The fridge squeaks open, and I stare inside like the answers to all my problems might be hiding behind the orange juice. It’s basically empty just like me.

God, I hate being like this. Being all vulnerable and sad doesn’t mix with revenge.

I slam the fridge shut and open the cabinet instead. There’s a stash of emergency stakeout snacks hidden behind a box of protein bars I keep buying and never eat.

The sour gummies crinkle under my unnecessarily tight grip. I carry the gummies down to my office and wake up my security system, already pulling access to the city cameras along my route home.

Jasper circles my legs, tail flicking.

“What? You can’t be mad at me, too, buddy. You’re my number one guy,” I mutter.

I drop into my desk chair, type in the security override code, and pull up the exterior camera feeds. I rewind the footage. Sure enough, the blue sedan with no plates sits at the curb. I zoom in but can’t see beyond the tinted windows.

My phone vibrates.

Unknown number.

My blood goes cold.

“Agent Leighlan,” I answer.

“Kid, listen to me. I tried my fucking best, but it’s over. They’re coming for you. Light the place up, grab Jasper, and get out. Julian’s waiting down the street.”

“Elliot? What the hell are you talking about?” I demand, already shoving away from the desk and grabbing a spare pair of boots that are by the door.

“Director Fuller knows. We’ve been watching you for the last six months. You need to go. Now.”

I don’t have time to scream at him. Later, though. If there is a later.

Lunging for the underside of my desk, I flip the hidden switch. Heat blooms from the burn drawers built into the far wall.

Jasper growls low like he understands.

On my monitors, drives begin wiping themselves clean, folders vanishing one after another.

I shove a deeply offended Jasper into his carrier, throw my emergency go bag over my shoulder, take one last look around, and bolt for the front door.

The black car is already there.

Julian stands outside the passenger door in his suit, looking like a goddamn fragrance model. I scan the street, expecting agents to jump out at me at any second.

Then I run to him.

I skid to a stop in front of him, breathless, and look up into his ice-blue eyes.

“I don’t think I can trust you to help me,” I say, voice shaking.

His eyebrow lifts, but he opens the door anyway.

“This won’t help with that,” he replies.

He grabs Jasper’s carrier and sets it on the leather seat. Then he cages me against the door with his weight.