Page 20 of The Angel and the Agent

Then he pulled a gun out of the man’s waistband, along with several wallets from his pockets and a wicked looking knife. He palmed the gun, chuckling. “What is this piece of garbage? Did you steal your grandma’s gun to rob people?”

The man’s tone changed. He began hurling a few nasty epithets at them until Ethan wrenched his arm tighter, ending the tirade by making the man squeal in pain.

“Are you going to run away like the scared piece of human waste you are, or do I have to break your arm?” Ethan asked, giving the arm another twist.

“I’ll go, I’ll go,” the man cried. Ethan released him. Sniveling, he took a step back and rubbed his arm. “Can I have my stuff back?”

“I’m going to give all these wallets to the police so they can go back to their rightful owners. Do you want your gun back?” Ethan asked.

The man nodded.

“Absolutely,” Ethan replied before hurling the gun over the cliff and into the Potomac. “Go and get it. You want some help?” He took a step toward the man who ran off whimpering, disappearing into the inky blackness.

“Um…” Amelia said. It was the first thing she’d uttered since the ordeal began. Ethan seemed to come back to himself and remember she was there.

“So…sorry about that.” He scratched behind his ear, seeming to have no idea what to say next.

“Um, that was…” Amelia began again, but she also seemed unable to continue.

“Disturbing?” he guessed. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Yes, disturbing. That’s the word I was searching for. I find you deeply, incredibly disturbing right now. Icky. Yuck.”

He laughed and held out his hand to her so they could resume the walk to his bike. “I didn’t even hear that guy. How did you know he was coming, and how did you know he was going to try and rob us?”

“Years of training. You get a sense about people and their intentions,” he said. “Sort of a sixth sense when it comes to danger.”

“I don’t know how you function like that. All I could think was that my mom would not approve of his language.”

“It was blue,” Ethan agreed.

“The bluest. It might have veered into violet,” Amelia said. They reached his bike. “Hey, Ethan.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for that, thank you for protecting me.”

“You’re a life worth protecting, Amelia. Makes my job a lot easier.” He lifted her onto his motorcycle and re-tied her dress. Amelia watching him with a quiet sort of intensity, hoping the moonless night hid most of what she was thinking.

The drive to her apartment seemed shockingly short, and then they were standing in front of her apartment door, trying to find the best way to say goodbye.

“Traditionally, I think I’m supposed to get a birthday kiss,” he said.

“I’m seeing someone,” she reminded him.

“Birthday tradition, Amelia. I don’t even want to know what might happen if that gets broken,” he said. Slowly, he reached for her, settling his hands on her hips. She pressed her palms to his chest, stood on her toes, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.

“A cheek kiss, really?” he said.

She was still in his arms, tantalizingly close to his face. Her thumb smoothed over his bottom lip. “Kisses with you are likepotato chips. You tell yourself you’re only going to have one little one, and then it’s the next day and you’ve eaten the entire bag. Goodnight and happy birthday, Ethan Becket.”

“Goodnight, Amelia Melly,” he said. Reluctantly, he opened his arms and let her go. She back stepped out of his embrace until she bumped the door. After one final smile, she turned and went inside. When he was certain she was safe, he turned and made his way downstairs. He’d have to call Ridge and let him know he was right. It was, hands down, the best birthday of his life.

Chapter 8

The alarm beeped. Amelia smacked it, sending it skittering off the edge of her bed and onto the floor.Note to self, should have bought a nightstand instead of that last pair of shoes.It was the third day that week she’d woken up feeling blah and irritable. The last few months had been a grand, exciting adventure. First she graduated college, then she landed a dream job and moved cross country. After securing her first, grownup apartment, she met Piedmont and began dating him.Lows always follow highs.She could hear her mother’s warning ringing in her ears and tried to let it soothe her. Of course she was feeling blah; no one could live on adrenaline forever. But for a naturally upbeat optimist, these occasional bouts with the blues almost made her feel panicked. What if she never recovered? What if she slipped into a depression that lasted forever?

I will be bubbly again,she vowed as she dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. It wasn’t a hair wash day, and for that she was thankful. She wasn’t in the mood for a blowout, a frightening indicator of her mood. Usually she loved doing her hair and makeup, almost as much as she loved doing otherpeople’s. It was why she became a stylist, after all—because a fun hobby spiraled into a career. But today she didn’t want to spend forty minutes laboriously drying and styling her hair. She still did full makeup because clients at the salon might change their minds and run away if their stylist rolled up looking like she’d just fallen out of bed and put on the closest pair of pants. And, as always, applying makeup had a fortifying effect on her. It wasn’t even the way it looked so much as the soothing, familiar routine.

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