Page 14 of Haunted

“I’m an FBI agent, Henley. Here, let me show you.”

Slowly, so as not to startle her further, I reached into my back pocket and withdrew my wallet, flipping open my billfold to show her my identification. For a split second, I thought I’d gained her trust a little, but then I heard her quick inhale when she realized what I’d said. It was her turn to retreat, though the step she took put her back up against the car.

“Wait. How do you know my name?”

“Easy, Little Bird.” The endearment slipping out as I held my hands up in a placating manner. “I’m the one who found you on the street when your blood sugar was really low. After the paramedics arrived, they wanted to know your name. Your purse was lying next to you so I went through it. I’ve actually been looking for you so I could give you back your license.”

“You have?”

A chill ran through her body, making me realize she was out in the cool air wearing nothing but a long sleeve T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Even though it wasn’t winter, the temperature overnight would drop into the thirties. No way could I allow her to sleep out in the elements when I had a perfectly unused guest room. Besides, now that I’d found her, I wasn’t letting her go without a fight. Unfortunately, there was a huge obstacle in my path. Henley, herself. Convincing her to come inside might prove to be the biggest challenge of my life.

“Absolutely. Listen, it’s getting cold out here.” Patting the bag which was still slung over my shoulder, I continued, “I picked up a monstrous deli sandwich on the way home. I’ll never be able to finish it myself, so why don’t you come upstairs with me to get your license and we can talk while we eat.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, giving me ideas I shouldnotbe having at this stage of the game. My cock twitched behind the zipper of my black cargo pants, rousing from his two year hibernation and fully on board with the direction my mind seemed to be headed.

“Special Agent Keaton Clarke, at your service.”

Those brilliant jeweled eyes locked with mine as indecision marred her expressive face.

“I said it before and I’ll say it as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You’re safe with me, Henley.”

In a voice so quiet I barely heard it, she replied, “I know.”

Henley

I was either incredibly desperate or monumentally stupid, perhaps a bit of both. Mom was likely rolling over in her grave as she watched me stand in a strange man’s apartment—excuse me, penthouse—while he plated two halves of a turkey and cheese club onto paper plates. Except he wasn’t truly a stranger, was he? Agent Clarke had literally saved my life. Did my state of unconsciousness at the time really matter? It still happened and he was still a hero in every sense of the word. A drop-dead gorgeous one at that.

He was well over six feet tall with close-cropped, jet-black hair, soulful dark eyes, and olive-toned skin, whichlooked like he’d spent too many hours basking in the sun. The beard on his face was neatly trimmed around the sharp angles of his chin, giving it almost a five o’clock shadow appearance. And—Lord have mercy on my soul—when his jacket came off, revealing thick, muscular biceps with lines of black ink swirling around them? Well, let’s just say it took me half a second to remember my own name.

Jesus, what was wrong with me?

“Make yourself at home.” His deep voice echoed through the expansive room.

“Thanks.”

Moving cautiously from the foyer, where I’d purposefully remained close to the door, toward what I assumed was the living room, I let my eyes drift around the massive space. It was very pristine…almost clinical in appearance. Light gray walls which looked freshly painted. A black leather sofa with matching love seat and ottoman, neither of which had any signs of wear and tear, sat in the center of the room. Even the plush smoke-colored carpet didn’t appear as if it had ever been walked on. It almost seemed comical to think of his place as a home, especially when there wasn’t a single picture or piece of art hanging on the walls.

“Did you recently move in here?” The question rolled off my tongue before I could stop myself.

“No.”

I was startled at the closeness of his voice.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He handed me a plate and gestured to a dining area I hadn’t noticed off to the left. “I’ve lived here for six years.”

“Wow. I’ve been here five years. I mean obviously not here in your fancy apartment”—I twirled my finger through the air—“but in Huntington. I’m a student at Marshall,correction, Iwasa student at Marshall. Now I waitress at Over Easy aannnd you didn’t need to know any of that so I’ll just shut up now.”

He chuckled, pulling a chair out from underneath the four person table for me to take a seat.

“Do you always ramble when you’re nervous?”

“Sorry. Word vomit is kinda my specialty.” I cringed, ducking my head as I felt my cheeks blaze with embarrassment.

“Don’t apologize.” One finger touched the underside of my jaw, tilting my chin up to meet his stormy gaze. “I want to know everything about you.”

“Why?”

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