Fight For Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Nine

Luna

Stretched T-shirt,dried blood, and a badass attitude looked good on him. But that’s nothing compared to Harrison Everhart wearing a suit. His tall, broad body wrapped in dark gray is a sight I want to photograph, frame, and stare at forever. He’s the type of man who behaves differently depending on the place and time. For the past five hours, we’ve chatted pleasantly about our families. Nothing too superficial but nothing terribly intimate, either. If I had time to date, he’d be the kind of man I’d choose. Easy to talk to, funny, and a gentleman.

A refreshing change from the guys who I hook up with when I have time to go out with my friends. Which, lately, has been never. Maybe I have time, but I don’t want to waste it by doing the same thing over and over again. Meeting a guy who has few social skills, only talks about himself, and by the end of the date is the only one who is satisfied, isn’t great. I have little friendly toys that do a better job, and I don’t have to listen to nonsense.

This would be a great subject for a sociology class; the interactions between humans, and how they’re so out of touch with one another that dating has become a joke. What happened to love letters? The chase is so much different now than it was back when my parents dated. I should quit the Bureau and go back to school—finish my psychology degree go into anthropology or sociology. I would enjoy doing that more than having to jump through hoops to show that I’m capable of more things than my superiors like to acknowledge. If anything, I can write a book with Mom’s letters and notes.

A manual on how dating should be done.

“Everything okay?” Harrison asks when the service car stops and the driver opens my door. “You’ve been quiet since we left the party.”

Define okay? My skin tingles every time you touch me, the deep timbre of your voice makes me shiver, and dancing in your arms was a bit torturous because everything inside me wanted you to touch more than my bare shoulders and my waist. But yeah, I’m cool.

“Your brother and Hazel never arrived at the party,” I comment, not disclosing that I’d like to find out how my fake future boyfriend kisses. “Gia wasn’t there either.”

“I’m sorry about that. If you want, I can try to find out her whereabouts. My people can hack her phone and track her daily activities.” He smirks and winks. “We can start stalking her.”

“Stalking?” I boom, laughing and covering my mouth when a couple walking close to us turns to glare at me.

“Yeah, that’s the word, and you know what they say, ‘couples that stalk together stay together.’” He grins, his crystal blue eyes shining with the street lamp.

That grin is addictive. I shouldn’t mind pretending to be with him while I’m working. A little fun on the side maybe, or some sexy times. I haven’t had that in a long time. So long that I can only remember what my toys can do for me. But I care. He’s a distraction. Each time he smirks, touches me, or talks with that low-bedroom voice, I want to jump him. It’s not only unprofessional—it’s illogical.

“Anything for the sake of the case, right?” My voice comes out a little throaty, needy.

He clears his throat, looking around and poking the elevator. “We should do this again,” he says, leaning closer to me.

“Technically, we have to do it again.”

“Have I mentioned this is the best case I’ve ever worked on in my entire life?” He leans forward, kissing my cheek. His lips linger close to my ear for one too many seconds, and his musk-wood scent makes my stomach flutter.

“Thank you.” I swallow hard, turning around and stepping into the elevator. “We can discuss our next move tomorrow.”

I poke the elevator button. Looking through the doors that start closing, his gaze locks with mine. His eyes darken and the intensity of that gaze makes me feel vulnerable, bare. I imagine my skin searing with the touch of his big hands. As the doors close, my phone rings. An incoming message. Unknown numbers read across the screen.

Unknown: This was the best first date I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.

The corners of my lips stretch toward the sky when I read his words. Relief washes over me. I had no idea that his opinion mattered to me. I have to agree with him. This might be the best undercover operation I’ve had in my entire career.

Luna: It was great, wasn’t it?

Unknown: I propose that we take full advantage of the situation and spend the next few weeks doing what normal couples do.

Luna: Is that what you do during your undercover missions?

Harrison: This isn’t my mission and I’ve never been partners with a beautiful creature like you. We can mix it up, and find a middle ground where we can enjoy each other while we work. What do you think?

I stare at the phone. This is new territory for me. The undercover operations I’ve taken part in usually include finding female informants. In most cases, I meet the family members of the missing people, run their profiles, and work some insider investigation. This is different from any other case I’ve worked on before because I’m away from home and the operation could take more than only a couple of weeks. Would it be possible to entertain the idea of being with Harrison while I work? It could work. As long as feelings aren’t involved.

Luna: It might work, we’ll have to talk about ground rules.

Harrison: We can make a few of those as we go.

Luna: Then it’s a deal.

Harrison: Good night, Moon.

Luna: Good night, Harry.

I putmy iPod on the speaker, turn on the music, and soft jazz fills the air. I want to set a light atmosphere. Dad has been trying to get in touch with me, but I’ve been ignoring him. Now that everything's set to rights, I prop my phone up and call him.

“Luna bear, I’m glad you decided to call your old man.”

“Hello, Papá,” I greet Dad.

“How are you doing?”

“Great, this city is interesting. I can’t believe you moved back to Alexandria after…” I pause, we don’t speak much about her, but I wish he could tell me more about her. He doesn’t talk about his years living with her in New York. That life disappeared once she died. It’s maybe too early or too soon to bring her up but I’ve been thinking so much about her that I ask, “Do you still miss her?”

There’s a sigh on the other side. The pause is long. I wish he would talk about Mom a lot more than the usual, she loved you. She was the love of my life. Or my favorite when he’s drunk, I wished I could’ve saved her.

“Is that why you accepted the assignment?” His voice is severe.

“They wanted to move me to Quantico, Dad,” I answer with a different reason.

“Quantico isn’t bad, you’d be working next to me.” The tone is lighter, the worry still tangled with his words.

I slip down my dress, walk to the dresser, and search for a T-shirt to sleep in. Mom’s blue journal is under my 1986 Journey World Tour shirt. That was one of her favorite bands. I like them but not as much as the ones she has on her tapes under Spanish rock.

“Papá, do I look like her at all?”

“Her?”

“Mom,” I whisper. Unlike me, my mother had porcelain skin and blond hair. She was Caucasian. Her family came from old money, and for her birthday she traveled to other countries. I’ve never gone out of the country, or on vacations. “I look nothing like her.”

“You have her eyes, her smile, and her fearless, compassionate, and sweet personality.” Dad’s voice sounds lost. “I miss her every day.”

“I wish I had spent more time with her,” I tell him, searching for some comfort through her words. “Can you tell me about Mom?”

“Luna, why are you in New York?”

And we are done discussing Mom.

“I’m working, Dad,” I remind him. “Children shouldn’t be taken away from their families. But when they are, someone has to find a way to bring them back home—alive.”

“That won’t bring your mother or your sister back, Luna. It puts you in danger.”

And that’s exactly why he wants me behind a desk. He doesn’t want to lose me. The flash of pain tightens my heart like a fist. Squeezing it tight. I know nothing will bring them back. But if there can be one less broken family thanks to me, I’ll keep doing it.

“One life exchanged for another is not a fair price to pay,” I repeat some of the words he’s said throughout the years. I hear him scoff on the other side of the line. He tries not to react. He’s good at hiding his feelings.

During the eighties, he led several missions as a Navy SEAL. He has worked on cases of national security while in the Bureau that have saved millions of lives and put him in danger.

Dad’s a hero, but he couldn’t save his own family.

“Luna, don’t talk that way,” he pleads. My heart hurts as the pain in his voice squeezes it tight. “I wish I could send you to your room, lock you away for the next hundred years. Do you have any idea what would happen to me if I lost you or your brothers? I wish you had been doctors, teachers, cooks—any other professional career that wouldn’t put you in harm’s way.”

Mom was a teacher, she still died young.

I don’t say it out loud; all it would do is hurt us both.

“I’m safe, Papá,” I say the words he wants to hear even if neither of us believe them.

No one is safe from death. It’s the only thing in this world that doesn’t discriminate.

He lets out a big sigh. “New York isn’t a safe place, I’ll make a few calls. Have a good night, mi chiquita linda.”

I can’t believe he still calls me his little beauty. I’m thirty-one, not three. The men in my family have a hard time remembering my age, but their sweetness makes me feel loved. Still, I can’t help but wonder what kind of calls he’s going to make. Is he going to ask my superiors to pull me out of my post?

My fingers twist and yank the t-shirt. I’m trying not to show how annoyed I am. “Night, Papá.”

I set the phone on the nightstand. Before doing what I like to do every night, I go to the wine cellar Hazel showed me yesterday and pour myself a glass of wine. When I arrive in the room, I sit on the small chair next to the window and open the journal to a random page. Tonight, I have to hear her words.

He’s here. I saw Cristobal walking along Central Park with a woman holding a little boy. He has a family. My heart beat fast when I recognized him, but slowed down when I heard the kid call him Papa. His mother was right, I wasn’t meant to be with him. We’re different. My parents warned me—he was never in love with me.

If only I could stop loving him. I surrendered my heart to him. My body and soul belong to him. Even when I’ve let other men touch me, I’m his.

I console myself looking at Sammie. Having her is the best thing that’s happened to me. I can’t regret breaking up with him. That’d mean not having my little girl. She’s the only one who matters.