Occupational Hazards

This is my first attempt to write a story entirely from a male POV, so please be kind. I'm only human...and female. While the first chapter doesn't get down and dirty like most of my series, I hope you will still enjoy it. More to come!

Regards,

SSW

*****

Days like this, I wish I had a job where I could sit in a cubicle and clock out at five.

I adjusted my coat collar against the bitter wind that blew my already unkempt hair even more across my face. I'd had to grow it out for a previous mission, and I'd gotten lots of compliments on the longer style. But maybe that was because it had become trendy due to a specific rebel biker on a popular show about zombies. There were still times though, like today, that I found myself wanting to brush it out of my eyes...or cut it all off.

"Alpha, report in," Director Davenport's deep voice said in my ear piece.

Keeping my own voice low, I answered, "Target just entered the coffee shop." When the light changed to the white walking man, I crossed the street.

"ETA on engagement?"

"Less than thirty seconds."

"Beta and Gamma, stand ready."

Twenty seconds later, I was reaching for the door's handle. There were thankfully few people in the café at this late hour of the morning. Ahead, only one person stood in line at the counter. A man in a leather jacket. His six feet seemed taller in person than in the black-and-white photo we'd been given. But it would not matter. Even the strongest of men could fall.

As I closed the gap between us, everything changed. My eyes seemed more focused. My ears tuned out all sounds. And my body moved forward as if I were walking through a pool of water.

I could almost feel the blood rushing faster through my veins, though. The adrenaline increasing. Just as it did at the peak of every mission.

My fingers withdrew from my right-hand pocket, the syringe gripped skillfully between them. I flicked off the safety cap with my gloved thumb. Barely heard the tap-tap-tap as the plastic bounced on the tile floor. Gamma would retrieve it when they doctored any video footage. All while Beta disposed of the body.

The first time I had done this, I had paused. It was only for a few seconds, but it was enough to allow the target to move away ever so-slightly. And it had resulted in an elbow to my chin that left me dizzy and with a sore back as I'd tumbled into a row of shelves in a grocery store. Not to mention a bruised ego that was deflated even more by the lecture I'd received from my superiors afterwards.

Today, there was no hesitation. There would be no bruising. No regrets.

I put on my best grin. Gave my neck a slight twitch to rearrange my hair. Show time.

"Davis! I thought I recognized you from outside."

The man turned with a white-capped drink in hand, his forehead creasing, his jaw clenching. His eyes jerked slightly to the side then locked on mine. As if his first instinct was to look around, but he told himself not to show that he was paranoid.

I held his gaze, imagining the wheels turning in his head as he tried to place my voice. My face.

Finally, he said, "I'm sorry—"

I patted my left hand on his shoulder. "My apologies. Similar features. Same name. Wrong man. Sorry to have bothered you."

His face relaxed, and a slight smile emerged. "No worries, mate. Happens to the best of us."

I thrust my other hand towards his thigh as he talked. Felt the slight resistance as the needle punctured his pants and then his skin. As my thumb plunged the poison in. Then the weapon retreated to the confines of my pocket again. All in the space of three seconds.

The target raised his cup and started to take a sip. Suddenly, he lowered it again. He made no sound, but as his eyes refocused on mine, I knew that he realized what had happened. What I'd done.

"Have a good day." I patted his shoulder with my now-empty right hand and winked at the blonde-haired girl with a green smock. I gave her a tilt of my slightly-scruffy chin. Caught a glimpse of her widening grin before I turned and walked out.

I was back across the street again before I heard in my ear, "Affirmative. Target is down."

###

"Ben, you've been on detail for the past forty-eight hours. You just took a red-eye in from New Mexico. Grant can start the intel. Take a break and catch up in a few days."

I forced myself not to growl at Director Davenport. After almost twenty years in the division, my superiors still didn't think I could handle back-to-back missions. Then again, I was encroaching on forty. "Thank you for your concern, Sir, but I'm fine. Like you said, it's strictly observational for now."

The director studied me for a moment and then nodded from across his desk. "Right. This one is local, so you won't need to travel. Keep your distance, though. Report in regularly. You know the drill."

"Understood, Sir."

"Do me a favor at least, will you? Go home and sleep? Start the research first thing in the morning."

I nodded and took the sealed folder he handed to me.

"You've continually proven to the Council that promoting you to Alpha was not a hasty decision."

"Thank you, Sir." I rose, shaking his proffered hand.

"Don't let us down now, Ben. " His grip tightened for a moment. "Don't let me down."

###

The heavy base and repetitive, electronic-sounding rhythm of the music helped distract my thoughts. Yet it wasn't enough to completely block them out. Nothing ever was. Not when you lost an agent.

Tom Davis. I hadn't known him personally, but I knew of him. He'd gone rogue five years ago. A real-life Jason Bourne. But exactly the opposite. We were the good guys, and he'd caused a lot of damage trying to blame others for his own negligent actions that had killed his partner and a few other good agents on a mission that should have had no hiccups. He blamed the Council for bad intel, and many others had suffered in his attempt to prove he was right. All efforts to rationalize with him had failed. Therefore, the Council had decided to take him out of commission. Permanently.

There had been sightings all over the East Coast for awhile before the blood trail went dry for several months. Then a week ago, one of the Council members was on vacation with his family out west and had recognized Davis in a coffee shop of all places. He'd followed Davis back to an abandoned house, but Davis was gone by the time my team had arrived. Although we couldn't tell where he was squatting, our intel had shown that Davis frequented the same coffee bar. So our plan went into action.

We knew his wife had divorced him after his breakdown. Thankfully, there were no kids in the picture. And all records pointed to the fact that the rest of his family was long-ago estranged. Yet it didn't stop me from wondering if they would miss him. If they would question his death. I was an assassin, but I wasn't heartless.

I swallowed the rest of my bourbon and stood, leaning momentarily on the railing of the VIP section that looked down on the rest of the club. The Council took care of their agents. Ensured they were comfortable. Happy. Including paying for expensive loft apartments. Providing whatever wheels an agent desired. Tickets to any sporting event or concert. Trips to anywhere at anytime.

Or in my case, permanent access to exclusive seating in one of the city's most popular clubs. I enjoyed the semblance of privacy when I was brooding, which I preferred to do in public. There was something about being enveloped by the noise and people while still feeling like I was alone.

I had also taken advantage of the loft and car. I wasn't stupid. Maybe there would be a trip in the near future, too, if I let myself take a real break.

Below, flashing lights shot in beams across the walls and ceiling. Casting the other patrons in streaks of red, blue, green, and yellow before they faded to black once more. For a Friday night, the place was only at three-quarters capacity. Less than usual.

I checked my watch as a yellow light bounced my way. Ten o'clock. It was still early.

"Ben! Can you get me another?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Patrick, one of the four agents on Beta Team. He was seated between two ladies on one of the couches barely visible in the alcove lit only by dimmed sconces. It was where we knew to find him every weekend if not on a mission, albeit not always with the same set of ladies.

He shook his empty lowball at me. The girl on his left giggled and leaned in to kiss him. He turned into her arms and dropped the glass on couch. It rolled then fell to the floor, saved by a fur rug.

I shook my head and started down the stairs to the main level.

The room grew brighter the further I descended, the lower sections lit by small overhead globes instead of sconces. Yet there were still large crevices cloaked in shadows, illuminated only briefly by the colorful lights. Most of the patrons were seated at the bar tonight with a few in a queue to place their orders. Which left little room to squeeze in to request a refill for myself. I could have had the waitress upstairs fill it for me when she made her rounds, but I needed to stretch my legs.

While I waited, I engaged in people watching. It was second nature to me in my line of profession. Yet in this club, it was the same old shit, different day run of the mill crowd.

There was always the group of women who oohed and ahhed as they watched the VIP section from their spots at the front-end of the bar, hoping they would be noticed by some celebrity or rich guy as they passed. Maybe even dreaming that they may get a one-night stand if they flashed enough tit or ass.

The opposite end of the bar was where the men who drank imported beers stood behind their seated, female partners. They usually gathered in groups of two or three. The men talked to each other about sports. And the women gossiped about their friends who couldn't make it out...or didn't really fit in.

Then there were the clique of ladies with more makeup on their faces than clothes on their bodies who hung out near the dance floor. Sipping their fruity mixed drinks. Doing their little group dance that consisted of nothing more than bouncing from one hip to the other while their eyes scanned the room for conquests.

And if one was an observant regular like I was, you saw a pattern where it was not only the same type of people who migrated to each spot, it was the same people week after week. As if this club were their second home. Their personal hunting ground.

Tonight, two couples I hadn't seen before necked at tables at the rear of the room. One man had his hand up his girl's top. He looked old enough to be her father. And in this day and age, he very well could be. Her eyes closed as she smiled. I could imagine her giggling. Some high-pitched sound that probably made him cringe. When her lips opened fully in a gasp, though, I figured he forgave her for her faults. The wide O of her mouth indicated she probably gave good head. Lucky bastard.

An entourage of five suited men filing behind me brought my attention back to my vicinity. A B-list celebrity headed toward the same section I had just departed. We'd had a brief encounter a few months prior where I'd filled in on his staff. Both the celebrity and a couple of bodyguards nodded my way. I returned the gesture, glad to be remembered. Some days, I considered it safer to be on babysitter duty than tracking down bad guys.

The bartender caught my eye, and I handed over my glass. He returned it full a moment later. As I sipped the smooth liquid, I partly wondered if it were a bad thing he knew what I drank without asking. Maybe I spent too much time here myself.

I shook off the thought and ascended to the VIP section again. After a brief check that Patrick was still alive—he was getting mouth-to-mouth from the other girl now—I leaned against the railing to spy on the less fortunate again.

With each sip of my drink, I told myself I should be at home in bed. I had work to do tomorrow. I hadn't slept in two days. But I knew I wouldn't have been able to get any rest even if I had listened to reason. I would have lain in bed with a million thoughts racing through my mind. So I continued to procrastinate with the aid of good malt liquor and ear-splitting music.

After several minutes, I caught sight of a woman at the edge of the dancefloor. Mostly, she blended into the shadows in her dark pants and top. She was unmoving, her arms crossed with a drink propped in one hand that never raised to her lips. Her straight hair was shoulder-length and appeared to be dark brown or black. She was dressed conservatively, not revealing much skin at all except on her lower arms.

A red light highlighted her, then she was back to black. One by one, the colors lit her up. Still, she stood like a statue.

There was nothing special about her at all, so I don't know what drew me toward her. From this distance, she was just another female among dozens. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed out of place. Lost.

She was definitely with a small group of women, but they seemed to ignore her. I knew I was right when they abandoned the dance area. It took her a moment to realize they had gone, and then she followed.

I knew where they had flocked to from my vantage point, but there was no way for her to see over the mass of heads. Yet she didn't look around, trying to find them. Instead, she made a beeline to the back of the club, as if knowing where her friends would be. Right next to where the necking couples continued their racy PDA, oblivious to the newcomers.

She stopped when she hit the thickest part of the crowd at the bottom of the VIP stairs. Waited almost patiently until a path cleared, not bothering to ask to pass through. Apparently in no hurry to reach her destination.

I found myself crossing the balcony. She glanced up. For a moment, I thought she was watching me as well. But then I remembered the B-list celebrity's entourage was on the other side of the dividing curtain where I had stopped. Was she another wannabe groupie?

Eventually, she returned her gaze to her path, which led to her companions. They chatted amongst themselves, ignoring her and the fact that there was no place for her to sit with them. She probably would have continued standing there without saying a word if the young girl with the possible daddy-complex hadn't brought her one of their empty chairs before returning to her partner's lap.

I had never seen a clearer example of the proverbial fifth-wheel.

I watched her twirl her straw in her drink. Take minimal sips, as if she was obligated to at least appear to like the cocktail. Her friends continued to make no effort to include her. Yet she just sat there.

When she finally did stand, she headed towards where I knew the restrooms were. I immediately moved as well. I was slow but methodical. Trying not to draw attention to myself while trying not to lose sight of her.

It wasn't until I realized the sounds of the club had dulled that it occurred to me I was automatically treating her like a target. At least an observational one, though I had no orders to do so. I knew not what I would do if she discovered me following her. Yet, I was willing to take that risk.

I rounded the bar on the celebrity-ogling side. A sudden swell of clientele moved en masse to the dance floor, delaying my approach. By the time I'd reached the dead-end hallway to the restrooms, I'd lost her. Maybe I had misjudged and she had not come this way. Maybe she had finally given up on her group and escaped on the other side of the bar.

I waited for several minutes. When no one came out of either restroom, I turned in defeat. Then I heard the squeak of door hinges behind me. A sweet, feminine voice. Meek. Barely audible against the thumping music.

"Please, sir, can I get by?"

The words she said were so simple. Expected, since I was in her way. But how she said them—it stirred something long-ago buried inside me. And it left me momentarily immobile.

"Sir?"

I finally pressed my back against the wall. She moved past me, her head down, just as I inhaled a shallow breath to try to slow down my heartbeat. The unforgettable smell of jasmine filled my nose. Another memory from a time I'd suppressed.

"My apologies, ma'am." Did my voice just crack?

"Thank you." Her head lifted for a moment. Then her eyes widened. "Ben? Ben Hoskins?"

"Yes?" I blinked, finally getting a good look at my unintended target.

She gave me the brightest smile then. Her rosy lips reminded me of an archer's bow, the gentle curves revealing a hint of white teeth as they parted. Such a drastic change from the sad, frustrated frown I'd seen from afar tonight. It changed her whole demeanor.

In her brown eyes, there was so much vitality. So much depth. They echoed the pleasantly surprised expression of her mouth.

The overhead light revealed a pink tint to her cheeks. It appeared natural. Or had I caused that?

I wondered if she'd been berating herself in the bathroom, her head in her hands. Because up-close, her hair now had that sexy, just-fucked look. Some women spent hours trying to duplicate it and failed miserably. On her?

My fingers twitched at my side, wanting to run through her brown tresses. But I was unsure if it was to smooth them out or mess them up even more. Instead of slowing down, my heart raced even faster. And dammit, my pants were suddenly tighter.

The full coverage her clothing provided was more alluring than any of the half-naked ladies in the club. It hinted at what was beneath the fabric, but it also left so much unknown. She was beautiful. Her body language, though, gave off the impression she did not think so.

I noticed that she was worrying her bottom lip, as if she were nervous...or waiting for something. Had she asked me a question? Then I heard the softest sigh despite the volume of the music. It nudged another memory. What the hell?

She tilted her head to the right. "Nikki Talmadge? McHenry West?"

My mind raced, trying to think while being distracted by her deliciously swollen lip. The name sounded slightly familiar. But it had been a long time. Twenty years filled with a lot of data on missions and whatnot that had pushed out trivial things like the names of my two-hundred-odd high school classmates. Yet there was something about her.

And then, as if someone had flipped on a switch, I recalled a young, mousy girl whom everyone had called a bookworm. A follower of those that she did hang around with. Blending into the woodwork without even trying. Not that dissimilar from the woman I'd observed tonight. Yet she stood out to me.

"Nevermind." Her expression darkened, and she went to step around me once more.

My hand swung out and latched onto her forearm.

She gasped, though she didn't try to pull away.

Still, I relaxed my grip. Her skin was warm. Soft. It made my fingers tingle. "I'm sorry."

She looked back at me, but only as high as my chest. "It's quite alright. No one ever remembers me."

I couldn't tell if I'd heard those last words correctly as she had mumbled them. I released her, but not without acknowledging the pang in my chest. Good Lord, what was wrong with me?

She let out a whimper and moved through the narrow space I'd created.

That pang deepened. Although inadvertent, I'd hurt her. I wasn't usually such an idiot when it came to women. Or callous. Especially, after seeing how her friends had treated her.

As I stepped out of the hall myself, I saw her talking to said friends. They just waved their hands and turned back to their conversation. She stood there for a moment, her hands fisting at her sides. Then they relaxed, and she merged with the crowd once more.

I battled with going after her. Yet like that first mission I'd gone on, I hesitated. I saw her break away near the dance floor, then she was gone into the shadows. I could almost feel her elbow to my chin. Knocking me backwards, out of her way.