Page 14 of Dying to Meet You

The impulse to find Eden grabs hold of me.

It was over. The memories of what I did that summer come back full force, like a gut punch.

I don’t regret it. I’d make the same split-second decision again. But there was a change inside me I’m just grasping. Life is so damn fragile. I’ve seen it leave people I love and people I’ve despised. It’s snuffed out so easily.

My career as a special agent with the FBI working on sex trafficking cases is owed wholly to Matt. I knew where I wanted to help, but didn’t have the tools to make it happen. He advised, supported, and at the same time cautioned against it. My mentor. That dynamic became more over time. I started to look at him differently. A dark, dirty part of me I suppressed…dammit, I tried…longed to feel loved by him. Held in his arms. Lusted after by him. When I admitted it to myself those same suicidal feelings from years ago came back.

Ending my life felt easier than giving in.

My identity is so shrouded in what I was forced to do for years. Impulses I had to hurt anyone touching me sexually would appall me. I’ll never let anyone inside me anally again because of all the scarring and pain I dealt with. So, I get rough when I dissociate during the act. Even with Eden…but especially wise-cracking, cocky Blaine.

They think I don’t realize how uncomfortable that side of me makes everyone. Matt still doesn’t believe I need him that way. I see it in his eyes when we’re intimate. The sex with Blaine makes the guilt inside me build. I’m using him. We both know, but it continues to happen.

Then there’s Eden. She’s my soulmate. We can say everything with a look, never uttering a word.

I have this incredible, complicated, priceless life now. That summer seven years ago was the beginning of my life. Everything I endured prior to that was a mere dream. A bad fucking dream.

I won’t lose my family, my chance to live a life I’m proud of with the only people I love like this. Both Caleb and Hutton are like brothers to me.

Losing even one of us…I’d stop trying to hold on during the bad stretches.

I get ribbed by my partner, Rivera, about being hung up on my past. “You’re still working through that? It happened a long time ago.” In therapy, I’ve learned my brain is on constant alert to send a warning, so it doesn’t happen again. That extends to people I care about. I’m never making Jergen Rivera grasp that. For a survivor of abuse the memories make it seem like it was yesterday.

A technician ducks into my open office door. “Guy out front wanting to talk to you, sir.” Our office isn’t easily accessible or easy to find. We’re located in an inconspicuous, secure government building.

“Past the checkpoints?”

“No sir, at reception. He asked for you by name.”

I take my time strolling through checkpoints while looking at my cell phone. No word from home. I’m not expecting any visitors, our division doesn’t deal with the informants, and, due to my status as active undercover, my name shouldn’t be known in general.

Uh, a little disturbing.

We have a camera at the last checkpoint stationed in the reception area. I take a hard look at the screen. Zooming in to look at his face, I do a double take. For fuck’s sake. “Can you call Rivera? Send him to interview room eleven down the hall.”

The confused civilian guard nods before picking up the phone.

Stepping into the reception space with the FBI logo emblazoned on the marble floor, the intern working the desk suddenly tries to look busy. I say firmly, “Follow me.” If the man dressed in jeans, a blue T-shirt, and sneakers thinks I’m being forceful in tone, he doesn’t flinch in the least.

We both sit in the gray-on-gray-toned nondescript closet of a room. No table, just four black faux leather armchairs and a sickly fern in one corner. The room is monitored by guards and is wired for sound and video. It’s one of fifteen like this here. “How can I help you today?”

“You Special Agent Keir Marcus or what?” His accent is strong Long Island New York.

“Before I answer that, how about you tell me who you are?” He’s not taking charge of this meeting.

There’s a loud tap on the door before Jergen lets himself in. He tosses his tie over his shoulder, then smooths his thick black hair back. “Don’t mind me over here. Thought I’d join the party.”

The male doesn’t react other than glancing Rivera’s way. “I’m a paid messenger, man. Can I talk to Agent Marcus or what?”

Interesting. He obviously doesn’t know what I look like.

Rivera’s biggest flex is pretending there is no urgency or issue. He reclines back in his chair, ankles crossed.

I tense up when the man reaches into his back pocket pulling out a thumb drive. He goes on to say, “Just need to pass this off to the guy. To Agent Marcus.”

“I’ll make sure he gets it.” Putting my hand out to him while tilting my head toward the male. I silently implore Rivera to look at where my eyes are trained.

“Can’t do that, boss. Need to make sure it gets to Agent Marcus. I have strict instructions. You understand?”

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