Home > With a Twist (Last Call #4)(28)

With a Twist (Last Call #4)(28)
Author: Sawyer Bennett

“Got it. Good work. Do you need anything else from us tomorrow night?”

“Just ping my phone GPS and have a team nearby.”

“You got it,” he says and then after a short hesitation, “Good luck, Wyatt. You’ve done amazing work so far on this. You’re close to bringing it all down, buddy.”

“Andrea too,” I say quickly, and why I’m wasting my time to make sure he knows this is beyond me.

“Pardon?” Mike asks, confused.

“Andrea has done a great job too, so far. She’s a real asset to the FBI.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Mike says genially.

“Alright… I’m out and probably won’t call again unless I learn something new that changes things.”

“Alright, buddy,” Mike says quietly. “See you on the other side.”

We disconnect, and I grab a few cases of beer. I have no clue if we’re low or not, but if Lance is watching, I don’t want to give him any reason to doubt my trip there just now.

When I walk back into the main area, I take immediate notice of Andrea on the stage doing her last dance of the night. I can tell by the look on her face… that sort of faraway, detached look… that she isn’t even present other than in body. In fact, her eyes sweep over me as she looks around and then they keep on going. Not like the other night when our gazes locked and for several tense-filled moments, neither one of us was able to look away.

I wonder what that says about me right now? Is she ashamed of what we did? Is her soul tainted by having to go that far in her undercover work? Has she cut me out of that small part of her she keeps locked up tight so she remains protected?

I don’t like any of the possible answers that come to mind, so I move along and turn my back on Andrea’s erotic dance. Dumping the cases of beer up on the counter, I get a confused look from the bartender so I tell him, “Thought you might be running low.”

Walking behind the bar, I busy myself with stocking the beer in the coolers, an action that is not unknown to me. When we’re packed like we are tonight, I want the bartenders pouring liquor, which in turn loosens up the wallets, so I don’t mind pitching in to do stuff like this.

Plus, it gives me something to do so I’m not tempted to look back up on the stage at Andrea. It’s practically killing me not to, but I don’t want to risk the imminent erection I know I’ll get, and I don’t want to have to be reminded that she’s doing something very selfless to help us crack this case, even if it sullies herself in the process.

Chapter 10

Andrea

When I decided to become an FBI agent at the tender age of eight, I never really thought much about what that really meant. I was following in my dad’s footsteps and because he was dead, I couldn’t ask him practical advice on my career choice. Even at the wise-old age of twenty-seven, after two years with the Bureau, it never would have crossed my mind that I would be on my knees, giving my partner a blow job.

It seems absolutely ludicrous that this could be my life right at this moment, yet, here I am. Blow jobs for the greater good.

A new FBI motto.

A maniacal snicker followed by a snort slips out of me as I dress in a pair of sweat pants, my sports bra, and a loose t-shirt. I imagine Wyatt will be here soon to discuss our game plan for tomorrow night, and I’m nervous as hell because I know I didn’t imagine his reaction as I was licking my lips after a job well done.

He was pissed at me.

As is my habit, I jumped in the shower as soon as I got to my apartment to scrub off the indecency of my job, making sure the heavy makeup swirled down the drain along with the metaphorical slime I was coated in. My shame in baring my body to strangers is lessening, and maybe that’s due solely to the fact that I was willing to do so much more than strip to make sure my cover remained intact.

More shame piles on.

More guilt.

More embarrassment.

More than anything, I wish I were back home… in my little bungalow house in Pittsburgh… snuggled on the couch and watching a marathon of Criminal Minds. That show is a little out there, and isn’t indicative at all of what it’s really like in the BRIU, but it provides me with entertainment that I can relate to somewhat.

I want that very badly right now. I’m homesick, beaten down, and I need some type of familiar comfort.

The knock at the door has me padding softly into my living room. Before I can even detour to the couch for my gun, I hear Wyatt’s gruff voice. “It’s Raze.”

My heart starts a mad thumping, fueled on by anxiety and the need to ease my conscience with him. I open the door to let him in, avoiding eye contact because I’m at an absolute loss as to what to say.

Wyatt walks straight into my kitchen and pulls two Diet Cokes out of my fridge. I follow him in and take the can from his offered hand, popping the top and taking a sip. Wyatt sits down at the table and kicks at the chair opposite of him. “Sit.”

I pull the chair out a little further and take a seat, setting my can on the table. I notice that my soda is ice cold, which means I’m having a good fridge day, and that is one good thing that has happened to me.

I wait for him to lay into me for what I did to him, but he merely says, “I’ve got a tentative plan for how this will go down tomorrow. I want to discuss it with you and then hash it out. You have an excellent mind and while I have a general idea of what we should do, I really want your help in figuring this out.”

   
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