Lover Beware

teeth smash together.
    Her knees buckled. Her weight dragged him down, his feet entangled with hers as they hit the ground, rolling. She dug her fingernails into the backs of his hands and swung the butt of her gun as hard as she could into his cheekbone.
    She heard shouting, the blaring of sirens, the banging of running feet on the brick alleyway. The dark suddenly became a collision of red and blue lights, streaks of flashlights, and shadows of uniformed officers surrounding her, all with their weapons aimed at her and the man beneath her.
    “Drop it!” an officer shouted. “Drop the gun!”
    Anna rolled to her back, clutching her throat, which was slick with blood. “FBI,” she cried as she lifted her shield in one trembling hand.
    Then Donovan was suddenly there, backlit by flashlights as he dropped to one knee beside her, his expression concerned.
    “Okay,” she managed, closing her eyes. “I’m okay.”
    She rolled to her side, then rocked to her knees, the gun still in one hand as she looked down into Angel Gonzales’s face.
    Mike gently helped her to stand as the accompanying officers rolled Gonzales to his belly and handcuffed his wrists behind his back.
    Anna dropped onto the steps outside Bobbie Cox’s apartment, her legs bent at the knees and one hand still clutching her gun. Mike sat beside her and they watched as Armstrong dragged Gonzales to his feet and began to recite him his rights.
    Mike looked at her finally, his disapproval apparent. “I’d ask you what the hell you were doing out here alone, but I don’t expect it would make much difference.”
    “We all have our stupid moments, Donovan. Now isn’t the time or place to rub it in my face.”
    “Nice collar. Chalk up another one for the infamous Special Agent Travelli.” He released a relieved sigh. “Damn glad this is over with.”
    Anna slid the gun into the holster, then slowly turned her gaze up to Mike’s. He tossed her a bottle of Purell to wash the blood from her hands and throat.
    Detective Michael Donovan stared at her…saying nothing.
     
    JERRY STOOD AT Anna’s side as the doctor at Charity Emergency finished his delicate task of stitching closed the claw marks on Anna’s neck. There were bruises as well. Her throat had swollen so badly she could hardly swallow. The physician suggested they should keep her overnight to be on the safe side, but Anna refused.
    Silent, slightly drowsy from the painkillers the doctor had provided, Anna left the hospital at Jerry’s side, his arm wrapped protectively around her, his face still white with fear and concern.
    She knew his thoughts. Thank God that he was keeping them to himself…at least for the moment. She was in no need of an argument. Too many thoughts still raging in her brain.
    He did not return her to the St. Louis Hotel, but took her straight to his apartment a few blocks down from the courthouse. Typical bachelor pad. Slightly unkempt; Mardi Gras photographs on the walls; unwashed dishes in the sink.
    He walked her directly into his bedroom, sat her on the bed, and proceeded to remove her gun holster, then her bloodied shirt. She was too damn tired, and hurt too damn bad, to stop him.
    He removed her Nikes then wriggled her tight jeans down her legs, tossed them into a pile of his own unwashed clothes near the bathroom.
    She attempted a smile. “You always were a lousy housekeeper. With your money, you could afford a maid.”
    “I wouldn’t trust my own mother alone in this apartment. I’m not in the habit of allowing strangers into my place to happen upon some kind of information that could blow one of my cases.”
    He returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth, pressed her back on the bed so her head rested on a down pillow. He mopped her face, still streaked by blood, sweat, and tears, and he tried to smile.
    “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an FBI agent cry.”
    “Don’t rub it in, Costos.”
    Jerry gently sat on the bed beside her, his fingers lightly touching the deep, crusting gouges on her neck. “Christ Almighty. He almost killed you.”
    Anna reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his own, and tried to smile. “Please. Let’s not go there. Right now I don’t need to hear how a woman has no place in the agency. I don’t want to hear how you would suffer if I were killed. I do understand how you feel, Jerry. Completely. But like I’ve said to you a thousand times: I’m no different than any other cop. We have a job to do. Every