Page 5 of Out of Control

“Don’t be like that. I’m being kind enough not cuffing you right away. Most of the time, if you assault an FBI agent you get the metal bracelet treatment right away.”

FBI? I looked down his body and saw the plain black suit and the hair styled to perfection. Dammit, was he a law enforcement officer? I could be in some serious trouble for fighting him. Unless…

I went over the events in my head again and tried to hide my grin.

“I’m glad you find all this funny, Miss…”

He trailed off, expecting me to finish for him, but I knew my rights and I didn’t need to say anything else that could implicate me. I succeeded in dropping my grin, but kept my lips sealed.

His mouth tightened into a straight line, but he still offered a hand to help me stand. I took it, but only because I was starting to feel nauseated on top of being dizzy. I didn’t need his help, but I was smart enough to know accepting it would make life just a little bit easier.

He took my hand in both of his and heaved me up to a standing position. I looked back up at his face again, suddenly taken aback by how handsome he was. Even after the physical struggle, he looked like he just walked off a movie set as the actor starring as, well, an FBI agent, what with his sleek suit and pristinely styled hair. I could imagine the way he would smile to charm witnesses and put them at ease, making the female lead swoon at the same time. Lucky for me, I was too busy activating fight mode when I first saw him to notice his strong jawline or warm hazel eyes. Why was it always the good-looking ones who were assholes and deserved a solid ass-kicking?

I blinked hard when his features started to blur together. That didn’t help, and neither did his hand on my lower back, guiding me to move forward a few steps. My legs suddenly felt like jello and I jerked against his grip as I stumbled.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Come on. If you keep struggling, I’ll need to put the cuffs on.”

I met his eyes one more time as my world tilted on its axis. At least he had the decency to look panicked when I fell and passed out.

I woke up in the back of an ambulance.

“Don’t get up. I think you smacked your head pretty hard when you fell.”

I jumped, looking around at the men surrounding me, wondering which one spoke. I tried to move my arms up in a defensive position, but one of my wrists was handcuffed to the gurney I was lying on. What the hell was going on?

“The cuffs are mostly so you wouldn’t hurt yourself if you woke up suddenly. Also partly so you wouldn’t hurt any of us if you woke up suddenly.”

It was the man from the airport who was speaking, the FBI agent who got in my way and made me lose Antonio, my target.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were injured from the…incident. I thought I just bled on you too much.”

At least he had the decency to apologize. I glanced at the hand he held up as a reference, a thick white bandage wrapped around his palm to cover the wound on the back of his hand. I reached back with my free hand to the throbbing spot on the back of my head. That’s right. The bullet from Antonio grazed us both. It probably would have hit me dead on if this mystery man hadn’t covered me and pulled me down.

The paramedic sitting in the back with us shined a light in my eyes, and I flinched away. “No obvious signs of internal trauma. Confusion seems to be clearing up quickly.” I glared at him. Why wasn’t he even looking at me? “Oriented to place and time, but positive LOC at the scene. This probably isn’t a concussion. The loss of consciousness might have just been shock from theincident itself. She doesn’t need to head to an emergency room if you need to question her right away,” he said, making it clear that I, the patient, wasn’t the one he was speaking to, but instead the FBI guy. I rolled my eyes. “I’d have her check in with her PCP for accountability, but she should be fine. She’s all yours.”

Great.

I carefully sat up, the handcuffs clanking along the metal bar they were attached to. “I’m free to go home then?”

The paramedic looked uncomfortable. “Your examination is done. I suggest you check in with your primary care provider to be safe, but I don’t think you need to go to the hospital. As far as going home…” He cut his gaze to Mr. FBI Man who still hadn’t exhibited enough manners to introduce himself to me.

He looked like he was used to being in control of every situation. His suit was crisp, seams ironed down his pant legs and everything. Even through our scuffle I didn’t see one hair fall out of place across his forehead and nary a single wrinkle disrupted his clothes. How was that possible? Did he carry a travel iron in his back pocket and steamed out any imperfections while I was unconscious?

“You can’t go home for a while yet,” the FBI guy said bluntly. Did my well-being matter to this douche at all? “You assaulted an FBI agent in front of an airport full of witnesses and obstructed justice when you attacked me and prevented me from apprehending a wanted murderer.”

I raised an eyebrow. I knew Antonio was connected to the Morelli mafia family somehow, but wasn’t aware that he was already hard at work for them.

“Is my purse around anywhere?” I asked, breaking my silence. I didn’t see it on the bed. Mr. FBI lifted it from the floor where it sat near his feet and passed it to me. I rummaged around for a moment until I found my phone. I unlocked the screen and checked the voice recorder app. Yup, it was still recording from my earlier confrontation. “Are there any other false assumptions you’d like to levy at me without a shred of evidence?”

Both men raised their eyebrows.

“There’s plenty of security footage in the airport,” he countered, full of arrogance. “That’s all the clear evidence I need. Now, are you going to make this hard for me or will you come quietly?”

“Coming or going, it’s not in me to keep quiet,” I said with a wink. And if his arrogance was anything to work with, I’d bet that even if it was hard for him, he’d be coming all alone and I’d be anything but quiet as I registered my complaints.

Shit. I shouldn’t think about how good—or lacking—this man was in bed. I dropped my gaze, trying to pull it together. Movie star good looks or no, he had a piss-poor attitude.

I scratched at my head as unobtrusively as possible, loosening a bobby pin so I could begin picking the lock at my wrist. I’d never done it before, but it couldn’t be that hard to learn. I didn’t have any true identification on me—even my phone was registered under a pseudonym—so they’d never be able to find me again if I managed to make an escape.

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