Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(69)
Chapter Twenty-two
The cab ride to NYFO was longer than I wanted it to be, not because I wanted to get to the office but because it gave me far too much time to think. Thinking only reminded me how completely at sea I was when it came to the direction of my life.
As the car sped down the nearly deserted FDR, I wondered whether our night of passion was a one-time thing. I sighed heavily and allowed my head to loll back on the seat. Allison and I needed to talk about a lot of issues. When—or if—would we ever do that?
I was still attracted to her, true. Recalling her kiss lit a blazing fire in certain parts of my body. And I obviously still had very deep and powerful feelings for her, but I couldn’t just go back to being what we’d once been. Not again. I was older now, if not necessarily wiser. I didn’t want to be someone’s dirty little secret. Not even hers. Not even for a hundred nights like the one we’d just had. My lungs shriveled and my gut clenched at the thought.
Where did that leave us? Should I reach out to her or give her space and let her determine for herself whether she wanted to speak to me? I definitely didn’t want to open myself up for rejection by initiating the discussion, but would the conversation ever happen if I didn’t start it? My indecisiveness was irritating the hell out of me.
I’d originally thought the task of watching the prisoner would drive thoughts of Allison from my mind, but he’d had his head down on the table when I’d arrived. After I determined he was merely sleeping and not dead, I didn’t have much else to occupy myself. So I stared at him through the one-way mirror from the adjacent interviewing room and tried—and failed—not to let myself get too tied up in knots.
By the time the six-to-two guys finally rolled in, I’d nearly worn a path in the linoleum by pacing and about driven myself insane with all my speculating and worrying. I originally hadn’t looked forward to administering the rest of the PT tests that morning, but at least it would distract me from my own overactive imagination, temporarily.
Always prepared, I had a spare suit stashed in my closet at my desk and an extra set of PT clothes in my locker. After the day guys had relieved me, I took the world’s fastest shower, dressed, and headed to the gym.
I barreled through the door as I wiped droplets of water from my cheeks, which had dripped down from my still-wet hair. My untied shoelaces flapped about my ankles as I walked.
“Ryan,” a deep voice called the second I was in the door.
“What?” I turned toward the sound, and my face blazed as I realized who I was talking to.
Matt Levise, one of the office’s three Assistant-Special-Agents-In-Charge—or ASAICs—strode my way, looking all business. He was dressed in his normal attire—dress slacks and a button-down shirt with a tie—so clearly he wasn’t there to join the PT test. He had a sheaf of papers in his hands and a slightly amused twinkle in his eye. Not much to go on.
“Oh, good morning, sir,” I said quickly. Matt—despite how I might address him or refer to him in conversation, I was still having trouble thinking of him as ASAIC Levise—was two levels above me in the NYFO chain of command, which meant only one other person was between him and the SAIC. It was always a good idea to show a certain amount of deference to a man of his pay grade. Well, unless that man was an ass. Then all bets were off.
Matt gave me a stern look. “Sir? Seriously, Ryan. How many times do we have to go over this?”
I shrugged and smiled up at him. “At least once more, as always. Sir.” He made a face at me, which I ignored. Instead, I inclined my head toward the papers in his hand. “Those for me?”
He nodded but didn’t hand them over. He cut a quick glance toward where the guys and girls I’d be testing were milling about and chatting idly and then motioned for me to walk with him out into the hall.
“I’ll be right back, guys,” I called to them. “If you need to hit the head, now’s the time. You have two minutes.”
Once the door snicked shut behind me, and we were alone in the hallway, Matt fixed me with a steadily appraising look. It was difficult for me to determine what he was looking for or what he found. His demeanor was what people expected of a Secret Service agent, and his countenance gave away nothing. For lack of anything better to do, I held my hand out, wordlessly asking for the stack of PT score sheets. After he’d handed them over, I began to flip through them, counting silently in my head. A lot more folks needed to squeeze this in than just the guys in my squad.
After staring at me, Matt spoke, his tone even and measured. “How are you feeling today?”
I glanced at him from underneath my eyebrows without lifting my head. “I’m fine.” Was he asking because I actually looked as exhausted as I felt or because he’d heard I’d been out with the guys the night before. Either was possible, and both were mildly irksome.
“Fine enough to actually take the PT test while you’re administering it?”
I frowned. I hadn’t been expecting that question. I also wasn’t even remotely in the mood. “I already took my test for the quarter.”
“I know you did.” Matt hesitated and glanced away, but it didn’t appear as though his eyes were actually seeing what they were looking at. It did, however, seem as if he was weighing something in his mind. It took a few moments, but eventually he must’ve made a decision. He tapped the top paper in my hands with the tips of two fingers.