"Asshole," Brock growled after him as the former Agent swaggered away in stony, secretive silence.
Jenna came up off the sofa in an anxious hop when a hard rap sounded on the door to her quarters. It was early in the morning, just a little after six A.M. according to the clock on the stereo system playing softly across the living room. Not that she'd slept in the handful of hours since she'd spoken with Lucan and Gideon.
And not that she would be able to sleep in the time remaining between now and the important meeting she would be having later that day with the FBI field agent in New York.
Special Agent Phillip Cho had been pleasant enough on the phone when she'd called to speak to him, and she should be grateful that he was available and open to meeting with her about his investigation into TerraGlobal. This was hardly the first time she'd had an audience with the federal end of law enforcement, so she wasn't sure where her jittery nerves were coming from. Of course, she'd never had so much riding on a simple information-gathering meeting before.
She wanted to get this one right, and couldn't help feeling the weight of the world--both hers and the Order's--sitting on her shoulders. She hadn't been a cop for so long, and now she had to put on a command performance in just a few short hours. So, maybe it was only reasonable that she'd feel a bit on edge about the whole thing.
The knock at the door came again, sharper now, more demanding.
"Just a second."
She clicked the mute button on the stereo remote, silencing an old Bessie Smith jazz CD that had been queued in the deck when she turned the unit on a while ago to help kill time. She crossed the room and opened the door.
Brock waited in the corridor outside, taking her completely by surprise. He must have just come in recently from his patrol of the city.
Dressed head to toe in black combat gear, his fitted crewneck T-shirt clung to his broad chest and shoulders, short sleeves straining around the thick width of his biceps.
She couldn't keep her gaze from wandering the length of him, down past his tight abs, accentuated by the crisp tuck of his shirt into the belted waistband of his black fatigues, which were loose fitting, yet not so much that they masked the trim cut of his h*ps or the powerful bulk of his thighs. It was far too effortless to recall how well she knew that body. Far too troubling to realize just how much she craved him, even after she'd promised herself she wouldn't travel down that road with him again.
It wasn't until she dragged her gaze back up to his handsome but tense face that she realized he was upset. As in pissed off something fierce.
She frowned up into his stormy gaze. "What's going on?"
"Why don't you tell me." He took a step forward, his big body like a moving wall, forcing her to back into the room ahead of him. "I just heard about your inquiry into TerraGlobal with the goddamned FBI. What the hell were you thinking, Jenna?"
"I was thinking that maybe the Order could use my help," she replied, her own anger spiking at his confrontational tone. "I thought I would tap some of my law enforcement connections to shed some light onto TerraGlobal, since the rest of you had hit a dead end."
"Dragos is TerraGlobal," he hissed, still advancing on her, towering over her. His dark brown eyes crackled with tiny flecks of amber light. "Do you have any damn idea how risky it was for you to do that?"
"I didn't risk anything," she said, getting defensive now. Her hackles were rising with every one of his strides that physically edged her farther into the room. She stopped retreating and dug in her heels. "I was totally discreet, and the person I asked to help me is a trusted friend. Do you honestly think I would knowingly put the Order or its missions in jeopardy?"
"The Order?" He scoffed. "I'm talking about you, Jenna. This isn't your battle. You need to steer clear, before you get hurt."
"Excuse me, but I think I can handle myself. I am a cop, remember?"
"Used to be," he sternly reminded her, pinning her with a hard look.
"And you never went up against anything like Dragos in your line of duty."
"I'm not going up against him now, either," she argued. "All we're talking about is a harmless office meeting with a government field agent.
I've been involved in these kinds of territorial pissing contests a hundred times. The Feds are worried that a local yokel Statie might know more than they do about one of their cases. They want to know what I know, and vice versa. It's not a big deal."
Shouldn't be a big deal, she thought to herself. But those jangly nerves were still clamoring and Brock didn't exactly look convinced, either.
"It could be bigger than you expect, Jenna. We can't be sure of anything when it comes to Dragos and his interests. I don't think you should go." His face was very serious. "I'm going to talk to Lucan. I think it's too dangerous for him to let you do this."
"I don't remember asking what you thought," she said, trying not to let his grim expression and sober tone of voice sway her. He was worried--
deeply worried, about her--and part of her responded to that worry with an awareness she wanted to ignore. "I don't remember putting you in charge of what I do or don't do, either. I make my own decisions. You and the Order may think you can keep me on some kind of a leash--or under a damned microscope so long as it suits you--but don't confuse compliance with control. I'm the only one in control of me."
When she couldn't hold his thunderous gaze any longer, she turned away from him and went back over to the sofa, busying herself with picking up the collection of books she'd been thumbing through in her restlessness of the past few hours.