Resist: Gavin

  At the bottom are two phone numbers, office and cell. I stare at the message. This Ross Evans guy knows enough not to put anything with regards to the stalker in an email. That tells me I’m not dealing with complete idiots, which is helpful. They’re desperate as well, having already contacted me. May as well get it over with. I pull up my calendar app and dial the number.

  “Evans.”

  “Mr. Evans. This is Mitch Hale.”

  “Mr. Hale. Thank you for your quick response.”

  “Not a problem. When did you want to meet?”

  The man on the other end of the phone sounds anxious. “Whenever you’re free. I’ll change any appointments I need to. This is a priority.”

  I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Big shot Hollywood types don’t rearrange anything for anyone. Ever. They remind me of the bureaucrats I left behind in D.C. No one is more important than them, and they make sure to remind you of it all the time.

  “I’m free tomorrow afternoon. Say, one o’clock?” I’ll have to move a follow up meeting with one of my other clients, but I find myself curious about this case and can’t resist squeezing it in.

  “I’ve got you down. Do you know where my office is?”

  “It’s on the email. I can find it.”

  “Great. Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Yes. Perfect.”

  I hang up, swiveling my chair from side to side. Dead animals, stalkers, celebrities, powerful Hollywood agents who roll over at my say so? This job is becoming more and more intriguing.

  A quick Google search brings up the band’s homepage. I click the page for their individual biographies.

  Four members. All men. I know the victim isn’t Adam Reynolds, so I eliminate him straight away. That leaves Dax Davies, Gavin Walker, and Hawke Evans. Related to Ross Evans, maybe?

  I read each bio thoroughly. There’s not much there. Where they were born, what instrument they play, random stuff about likes and dislikes. One man is large and intimidating looking with short blonde hair. One man is smaller, dark-haired with tattoos on his neck and geek chic specs. The last man has tan skin and sun-kissed blonde hair just long enough in front to brush across his lashes. He’s so beautiful I can hardly believe he’s a rock star and not a movie star.

  I close the browser. There’s no point doing more research until I know which one is the victim. A text alert from my phone has me groaning. Hailey. I’m supposed to have dinner with her tonight. Groaning, I head toward the shower.

  I should be more excited to see her. Considering how many years I was with the FBI. The job didn’t really make it easy to have relationships of any kind. Random hook-ups here and there to let out frustration were it for me for a while, until they stopped all together. I try not to think about why I stopped pursuing dates and my heart clenches painfully.

  Getting regular sex after going so long without should be a good thing, yet gorgeous as she is, I could care less about seeing Hailey. My left eye begins to twitch, a sure sign that I’m stressed out and thinking too much, yet I continue down that road anyway.

  In the shower, I soap up, wondering for the millionth time why I can’t make it work with Hailey. In high school and college, my friends talked about sex and girls like they were the greatest things ever.

  Yeah, I hooked up with a few girls to prove something to myself and yeah, there was a certain amount of curiosity. I got off and everything. I didn’t see sex the way my friends described it. It was okay, felt good and all. It just never held my interest enough to bother pursuing anyone or keeping any of the girls around longer than a week or two.

  I shake my head, not wanting to go down that road again. About what did hold my interest. Instead, I think about the case, wondering which of the three men is the victim of a stalker.

  My mind keeps wandering back to one of the men in particular. Gavin, the gorgeous blonde man with the angular jaw, cheekbones so defined they would make any male model jealous, and full, pink lips. When my dick begins to take interest, I shut down my thoughts and turn off the water.

  Bloody hell.

  Annoyed, I dry off and get ready for my ‘date’ with Hailey. That’s enough to make my hard-on deflate completely. It doesn’t escape me that thinking about Hailey turns me off, while thinking about—I rake my hand through my wet hair. Nope, not even going to go there.

  There goes my damn eye again. Christ. I must be losing my mind.

  Gavin

  Strong arms wrap around my neck, sliding over my chest. My initial reaction is to tense in fear. This stalker has me so on edge, I flinch at anything and everything. When scratchy stubble brushes across my cheek, I realize it’s just last night’s hook up getting cozy.

  “Good morning.”

  “Almost afternoon,” I correct, wincing at my callousness. But honestly, what do you say to some guy you don’t know whose name you can’t remember but whose dick you had in your mouth a few hours ago? A guy you wanted to kick out several hours ago but wouldn’t take the not so subtle hints?

  “Hmmm,” he walks around the kitchen table, eyeing me the entire time.

  He is gorgeous, that I can’t deny. Tall, athletic, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He’s exactly my type. Which is the point, I guess, seeing as I picked him up last night at a party and brought him back to my house to fuck into the early hours of this morning.

  “I guess I’ll be going, seeing as you’re about to stroke out from me being here,” he snaps, narrowing his eyes.

  “I have a meeting,” I blurt out. It’s the truth, but it still makes me feel like an asshole.

  “Uh huh. No worries, man. I had a great time.” He slides his feet into his shoes and finds his shirt on the couch, yanking it over his sculpted abs.

  Without another word, he opens the door and is gone. I jump out of my chair and turn the deadbolt behind him. Paranoia has taken hold of me lately, causing me to worry about every little thing. Exhausted from lack of sleep, I let my muscles relax, feeling the tension drain.

  I have got to get my shit together. Checking the clock, I realize I only have thirty minutes until I have to leave for the meeting at Ross’ office. A meeting about a stalker. My stalker. I drag a hand down my face and start getting ready.

  ***

  “Amanda, you look lovely.” I smile at one of the junior agents at Ross’ firm.

  “Thanks Gavin. You’re not too bad yourself.” She winks as she passes by.

  Paul, the bodyguard who picked me up this morning—his name is definitely Paul—shadows me the entire way to Ross’ office. I knock and walk into the room without waiting for a reply.

  “Gavin!” Ross stands up, coming around his desk to give me a hug while slapping my back. He pulls back and I see the flicker of stress on his face before he pastes on a smile. I’ve known him too long not to notice. He looks like shit.

  “Hi, Ross.” A quick glance around the empty office lets me know I’ve arrived before the new security expert. “Where are we meeting?”

  “In here,” Ross says, directing me over to the conference table. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  “I’ll just have some water.” I sit and pull out my phone, more for something to keep my hands occupied than out of necessity. Guitarists tend to have restless fingers. Or maybe it’s just me, who knows?

  Ross pushes a button on his phone. “Donna, can we get water and some coffee please?”

  Less than five minutes later, Ross’ administrative assistant sweeps into the room and deposits a tray with a pitcher of ice water, a carafe of coffee, and all the accompanying items needed to dress it up.

  “This guy that’s coming in—”

  “Is going to take care of this, Gavin.” Ross takes the chair across from me. “He’s good. According to Ellie, he used to track serial killers for the FBI.”

  My mouth falls open. “Seriously? You think my problem is that bad?”

  “No. I think we should have the best, and this guy is the best. The pe
rsonal references by Ellie and her friend back in the U.K. are just the icing on the cake.”

  Before I can ask any more questions, there’s a knock and the door opens a crack. “Mr. Evans, Mr. Hale is here.”

  “Send him in please, Donna.” Ross stands and adjusts his suit, straightening out the cuffs and fixing his expensive tie until it lays just so.

  I rake a hand over my hair, but it’s pointless. I’m lucky I bothered to shower this morning after my company left. I’m sure I look like shit—with the lack of sleep and the constant stress I’m surprised I don’t look worse.

  Good genes, I guess. I frown at the thought of my father.

  I can hear Donna outside. “Go right on in.”

  The door opens and a man enters. No, not just a man. A gorgeous man. Stunning, actually. For the second time in five minutes, my jaw hangs open.

  The man is a study in opposites. His hair, swept back from his face and so dark it’s nearly black, is paired with bright slate grey eyes, a color I’ve never seen before. He looks rugged and dangerous, as if he could kill a man with his bare hands. Yet he’s wearing a tailored and expensive charcoal grey suit that showcases his body to perfection. He’s rough and he’s polished.

  And I can’t stop staring.

  “Mr. Hale, thank you so much for coming on such short notice.”

  Ross has circled the table and is shaking the man’s hand.

  “Call me Mitch, please.”

  Jesus, even his voice is hot. Deep and silky, it’s as smooth as fine whiskey.

  “This is Gavin Walker,” Ross introduces me, stepping aside.

  It takes both of them staring at me and an uncomfortably long silence for me to realize I’m still gawking. Embarrassed, I snap my mouth shut.

  “Sorry.” Jumping up from my chair, I extend a hand. “Gavin Walker. Thanks for coming.”

  He clasps his hand around mine, large and hot and coarse, and pumps it firmly. “Mitch Hale, good to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

  He smiles and I have the sudden urge to rub myself all over his beautiful, hard body. Heat spreads up from our joined hands, sending a flush of pleasure over my skin.

  Mitch clears his throat and glances down where I’m still clutching his hand. Shit. I let go, flinching back in humiliation. I jam my hand into the pocket of my jeans, fingering the smooth, heart-shaped stone I keep there.

  “Let’s sit.” Ross directs Mitch to the conference table. “Drink?”

  Mitch holds up a hand. “I’m good.” I catch the slightest twitch in one of Mitch’s intriguing eyes.

  “Okay. Here is the file we have so far.” Ross pushes a folder across the table.

  Mitch opens it, scanning the contents. Waiting for him to read about the stalker that’s been harassing me is humiliating, yet it gives me a chance to study the man further. I should resist staring, but I can’t. He’s too gorgeous to ignore.

  I flick my gaze over to Ross, who is busy returning emails on his laptop. Good. I don’t want Ross to catch me ogling the new guy. When my eyes land back on Mitch, I have to hold in a groan.

  This guy is trying to kill me.

  As he flips through the pages in the file—photos, descriptions, police reports—the end of his very wet, very pink tongue pokes out between his lips. Every once in a while, it sneaks back in so he can pull that lush red bottom lip between his teeth, biting on it in concentration.

  Jesus. As subtly as I can, I shift on the chair to adjust the semi pressing against my pants.

  More contradictions. That tongue, the biting of the lip, both so playful and innocent against the serious image he projects with the suit and the perfectly styled hair and the—I inhale deeply—hint of designer aftershave.

  Suddenly, Mitch closes the folder and sits up, folding his hands on top of it. I jerk away, sitting back in my chair instead of leaning halfway over the table like a besotted teenage girl.

  “This man is not to be taken lightly,” he cautions, his intelligent gaze traveling back and forth between Ross’ and mine.

  Ross closes his laptop, giving Mitch his full attention. “We’re not taking it lightly. Gavin has security with him at all times since the…” Ross glances at me, “the incident in New York.”

  “And before that?” Mitch asks. I stare at the hard line of his jaw then drop my eyes down to the curve of his throat where it disappears into the top of his crisp dress shirt. I pray that he doesn’t see the way my hands shake or the heat prickling my face as lust washes over me.

  “Before that we weren’t documenting anything we received, just throwing them away. They were mostly letters, gifts…” Ross trails off.

  “But no involvement by law enforcement?”

  My eyes bounce back and forth between the two men.

  Ross sighs. “Not until the New York incident.” When Mitch scowls, a look that makes him look even more dangerous and a hell of a lot sexier, Ross elaborates. “Do you know how many crazy fans are out there? Hell, Adam gets over a hundred bizarre gifts and letters a week. That’s just the strange ones. Plus, keeping this out of the media is important to the record label.”

  Mitch nods. “I understand. I’m not judging. I’m just trying to get a feel for what I’ll be dealing with. That includes how long law enforcement has been checking into this guy.”

  “Not long,” I whisper, surprised to hear myself speak. I’m used to being discussed as if I’m not in the room. It comes with the job—decisions made for you without your input.

  Two sets of eyes focus on me and I feel my cheeks blaze hot. That intense grey stare has me squirming, and this time it’s not from embarrassment. Another rush of heat ripples down my spine. I run my hands through my hair to catch the beads of sweat that have popped up on my temples.

  Mitch opens his mouth to say something then snaps it shut. He blinks a few times before speaking. “Tell me how this began, Gavin. What you’ve noticed personally.”

  “Shit, how long do you have?” I scoff.

  The corner of Mitch’s mouth quirks up. “I have time.” He puts two fingers into the collar of his shirt and tugs gently.

  The subtle motion brings images of Mitch tearing off his clothes, sending another wave of sizzling need through me. Nodding, I take a sip of water to cool down the desire inspired by Mitch’s proximity.

  Ross’ cell phone rings, startling me. I fumble with the glass, nearly spilling it.

  “Damn. Sorry.”

  This time, Mitch smiles. My eyes fixate on that mouth as his lips part to reveal two rows of perfect teeth.

  “I have to take this,” Ross confesses. He glances over. “You okay to do this without me?”

  No. I’m not okay. You’re going to leave me in a room with one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen while I’m a nervous, blundering wreck.

  That’s what I’m thinking. What I say isn’t even close.

  “Yeah. I’m good.”

  Ross stares at Mitch. “I’ll be back to discuss the specifics of your contract.”

  “No problem,” Mitch agrees. Leaning back in his chair, he crosses one ankle over his knee.

  Holy—

  Now he’s given me a direct view of his crotch, hugged tight by those tailored grey slacks. There’s a lot to look at. Jesus. If what I’m seeing isn’t an illusion, he is hung. I don’t realize that I’m staring right at Mitch’s dick until his leg drops and he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

  “It’s okay to be nervous.”

  Blinking, I look up to see those deep gunmetal eyes waiting patiently for me to respond.

  “Ummmm, I’m not nervous.”

  I am, but not for the reasons you think.

  Mitch puts his large hands back up on the table, his eye twitching again. “Do you mind if I get a drink?” He gestures towards the tray Donna set out.

  “Not at all.”

  “So,” he continues as he removes his jacket, hangs it over his chair, and circles the table. “Tell me about the letters.”

  M
itch picks up a mug, turning his back to me to prepare his coffee. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his perfect, round ass showcased by the tight grey fabric that clings to every curve.

  “Gavin?”

  I can’t do this here with him. Alone. With that ass, those eyes, and the scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing. My brain won’t function properly while bombarded from all sides by filthy sexual fantasies starring Mitch.

  “I-I forgot. I have somewhere to be.”

  Jumping up, I catch a surprised expression on Mitch’s face right before I bolt out the door.

  Mitch

  The door slams shut and I stomp up the stairs from the garage to the first floor of my townhouse. I head straight for the kitchen, grab a beer, and down half of it in a few long gulps. Flipping the cap in my hand over and over, I contemplate Gavin’s odd behavior.

  The last twenty-four hours are among the strangest I’ve ever experienced. Seeing as I used to sit in the same room as some of the worst human beings on earth, I’d say that’s pretty remarkable.

  I finish off the beer and toss it into the bin where it rattles against the other recyclables.

  Last night with Hailey was a fucking fiasco. Then today’s meeting with Gavin Walker somehow turned disastrous, ending abruptly when the musician tore out of the place like his ass was on fire.

  The collar of my shirt feels choking and restrictive. I yank at it in vain and decide to change. Six years of wearing a suit every day as a Fed and it only took a week in regular clothes for it to feel stifling to put one back on.

  A week and one very disturbing incident that spurred me to quit the bureau.

  After pulling on sweats and my favorite T-shirt that says, “I’m Undercover” in bright yellow script, I boot up the computers to get some work done.

  While the systems kick on, I pick up a pen and chew on the end, my mind wandering to last night’s humiliating failure with Hailey.

  “What’s wrong, Mitch? You haven’t been, you know, functional lately.”

  I roll over and face the wall, tired of listening to her bitch at me.

  “Jesus, Hailey. I’m just exhausted, all right?”