Knocked Down Read online

  “Didn’t Dennis tell you? I’m doing a tag-along of all off the CCU teams. Got to trim any wheat from the chaff. Figured I’d start with you.”

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” Of course it was. His brother was married to a woman on Team Three. Mal headed up Team Two. Mick’s wife’s sister was on Team One. Any way he looked at it, his brother could be questioned on his integrity over any case.

  “I’ll be bringing another agent with me for these. Hope you don’t mind. She’s not half bad, and her soul function for this case will be to be the objective observer. This is something that will be happening every six months. Comes from higher up than Dennis. I personally think it’s that damned phantom’s way of messing with Dennis again.”

  The Phantom. The moniker had been given privately by Mick to the individual or individuals responsible for under the radar and unexplainable sabotage laid against the PAVAD division’s leader, Ed Dennis. Mick had been trying for months to flush out the saboteur. He’d yet to find more than a hint of The Phantom anywhere.

  His brother was almost making it his personal quest. “You’ll find this guy. Don’t let the obsession take you away from the good in your life. We both know that that can happen quicker than we realize.”

  “I have Paige. She’s well aware of what I’m doing. And god knows that woman can keep me in the here and now. I know what I’m doing, Mal. But the fact remains that I am your shadow for a while. Think you can handle the pressure?”

  “Somehow I think I’ll manage…” Mal grinned when something occurred to him. Something Mick obviously didn’t know. “And someone should have told you…Sebastian’s taking a few weeks off to go to Texas with Carrie’s family. And a few others on his team will be off on leave, as well. Chalmers and two others are working with my team to fill in where I have holes. Guess which two?”

  Mick looked up at him. “Tell me? I’m anxious to know.”

  “Let’s just say I’m making sure to book my own hotel room far from you and your wife for this one.” Mal laughed. “Think you can keep it professional for this one, if the two of you work together?”

  The last case Mick and Paige had worked on together had resulted in their marriage. Mal had to wonder what this one would bring…

  For news about the next releases in this series and other works by

  Calle J. Brookes…

  Sign up for Calle’s newsletter here!

  Also Available from

  And

  Calle J. Brookes

  If you enjoyed Carrie and Sebastian in Knocked Down, and haven’t read all of their story…Check out WANTING, available at all major etailers and soon to be paperback!

  *****

  Carrie Sparks was phenomenal at her job as a special agent with the Complex Crimes Unit of the FBI's PAVAD directorate, despite being on the autistic spectrum. Just because Team Leader Sebastian Lorcan first met her at the lowest point in her career didn't change that fact.

  One thing was very clear though, he didn't like her any more than she liked him. And she was fine with that. Lorcan always watched her, judging every move she made. And Carrie knew she always came up short with him. So if they had a mutual dislike agreement, why was the man at her door late one night?

  Lorcan needed help finding a friend's missing daughter, and with his team out of town on a case, Carrie Sparks was the only resource he had.

  A little girl was missing, one who needed them both...

  Carrie agreed to help him because she saw herself in the young runaway. But while they're searching for Ashleigh, someone else is searching for Carrie...

  Agent Sebastian Lorcan looked around, taking in the interior of the hallway. Red and whiskey accents against a warm cream. Like her. It suited the woman he’d come to see, and surprised the hell out of him. The door opened a portion; red hair and whiskey eyes were just visible in the gap.

  “Agent Lorcan, what are you doing here? I don’t have people from the Bureau at my home. Ever.”

  Her words were low and he strained to hear. Her tone was anything but welcoming and he didn’t blame her. He’d not exactly gone out of his way to be friendly with her over the past few months.

  “I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.” He pushed the door back and stepped into her apartment. She jumped back to avoid touching him. Like she always did. It irritated him every time.

  Her loft apartment was definitely not what he’d expected. He’d always thought she’d eat, sleep, and breathe surrounded by her precious computers—in a small, cramped little hovel only minutes from the Bureau. This place was close to the Bureau, but that was the only thing he’d been right about.

  He’d never pictured her in this luxury apartment with granite countertops, leather furnishings, and expensive accents. This woman had some serious dough, somewhere. Curious. “Nice place.”

  “My place. So why are you here?” She didn’t glare at him, but Sebastian thought it was pretty damned close. She stood between him and the two small steps that led up into the living area off the kitchen.

  “I need your help.”

  “With what? Don’t you have someone on your team who can work a simple computer program? I doubt you’re an agent short.” She blocked him with her body when he would have taken those steps into the living room. Her body was taut, and her hand firm where she rested it against his arm.

  “I can work the damned computer.” He looked down at the woman nearly pressed against him. She smelled wonderful—almost enough to distract him from his purpose. Almost, but he reined himself in.

  He’d always found Special Agent Carrie Sparks distracting.

  “So what? A case?” She bent and lifted the black cat that rubbed against her leg. She cuddled the beast against her chest. It purred. Sebastian couldn’t blame him. He’d want to purr next to that chest, too. His body tightened at that thought, a state he was accustomed to being in whenever around her. “I’m off for the next four days. I’ve built up too much paid time off for this month.”

  “I know. This isn’t through the Bureau.”

  She still eyed him warily, suspicion clear. “Then I can’t help you.”

  “May I sit down?” He didn’t wait for her permission, slipping passed her and approaching the couch. He glanced over his shoulder just as annoyance slipped over her face.

  “Sure. Go right ahead. May I get you something to drink; beer, soda, water?”

  It was the first he’d ever heard sarcasm from her. It surprised him; he’d always thought people with Aspergers were incapable of it. “Soda sounds fine. Thank you.”

  She opened the fridge and pulled out two green cans. He settled on her couch; it was as comfortable as it had looked. She plopped his soda on the end table, before perching on the glass and chrome coffee table. The cat hopped up beside her, climbing into her lap. He stretched one paw over the woman’s lap, and looked at Sebastian. His eyes were glowing with what could only be interpreted as possessive claiming of his mistress.

  Sebastian repressed to urge to say anything to the woman—or the cat. “Thank you.”

  “Why are you here?” She repeated her question, and he wondered if it was just her customary speech pattern, or a product of her own annoyance at his intrusion.

  “Seven days ago this little girl ran away from home.” He pulled a small picture out of his pants pocket. She took it from him warily. “Her mother called a friend of mine. Who called me.”

  “And the police have nothing?”

  “She’s fourteen and has had trouble before. Frankly, I don’t think they’re looking that hard.”

  “So why can’t your team help you?” She returned the picture to him, and looked out the window at the St. Louis arch, an odd expression on her face. “Why me?”

  “She wasn’t abducted. Case doesn’t fit the parameters required for my unit. My team is still with the rest of yours in Nashville. And you’ve also been given mandatory leave. I have no one else available. This shouldn’t take long. I want to find her, I need to
find her. I’ve known her since she was six.”

  She bit her lip and looked at him. “I don’t know. What do you need?”

  She was close to capitulating. It was in the way she looked at the photograph in her hand. He leaned forward, but kept his shoulders relaxed. Unthreatening. “Please, Agent Sparks. She’s just a child and woefully unprepared for the world outside on the streets. I need to find her.”

  She sighed and Sebastian knew he had her cooperation. She squared her shoulders and looked at him directly, making eye contact. “I’ll do it.”

  At her words, the tension that had plagued him for the last three hours lessened slightly. He needed her skills, and now he had them. “Thank you.”

  “What do you know so far?” Carrie moved, sitting beside him. Her shoulder brushed his. Sebastian felt that ghosting touch and his whole body went on alert. This enigma did something to him faster than any other woman on the planet, and with any other kind of woman he would have acted on it months ago. But not Carrie Sparks and not just because of her obvious differences. She was not the kind of woman a man like him ever fooled around with. Too many consequences would be involved.

  He knew and would just have to remind himself of that. “First, the computer. Her mom said she spent quite a lot of time online. Blogs, emails, social media.”

  Carrie nodded. “I can start on the internet searches from here. My computers are in here.”

  He followed her to the back wall. Just visible was the outline of a built-in sliding door. It so seamlessly blended into the cedar wall around it that had she not opened it, he would have missed it. One more indication that this place was pretty damned pricey. And that didn’t fit with who he thought she was. Junior agent, living on a beginning federal employee salary—it wasn’t enough to afford a place like this. Where was her money coming from? “How long have you lived here?”

  Chapter 2

  *****

  Carrie watched the man invading her home and couldn’t help but feel the irritation that he always caused. It was so much worse than usual; this was her sanctuary. And he’d invaded. If it hadn’t been for that little girl...

  “Eighteen months.” She flicked the switch to power the lights and the six screens that were housed in the small room. It had once been a bathroom, but she’d repurposed it. Her pair of laptops that she carried with her on cases were her babies, but this room was her heart. Four higher-than-state-of-the-art hard drives were lined up like neat little soldiers under a long table. She’d built the hard drives from spare parts. Two wireless keyboards were configured to operate any drive.

  The room had no windows; she hated glare on her screens when she worked. It seemed smaller and darker than she knew it to be. She attributed that to the man crowding behind her; she could hear his breathing over the steady hum of her machines. The hum usually comforted her as much as Linux’s purrs, but not this time. Not with him in the room. “You need to understand something. No one has ever seen this room. I need your word that you won’t disclose its location.”

  “Why? Do you keep this quiet, I mean?”

  “I’ve had burglaries before. And they’ve stolen important code. This was in Virginia, and I was asleep in the other room. I wasn’t able to stop them, though I tried. Do I have your word?”

  “Of course. I won’t tell a soul.” He nodded, though Carrie suspected he didn’t understand. But the night that her old apartment had been broken into had left an indelible memory, just as strong as the sight of her mother dying in front of her when she was nine. Carrie needed a safe place, especially in her own home. This was it.

  “What is the girl’s name and do you have her email address?”

  ***

  “Ashleigh Cavanaugh.” He repeated the email address he’d been given. The room surprised him, but not as much as his anger at her need for it. She would have been extremely young when living and training in Virginia, only twenty-three or twenty-four. Vulnerable. The idea of a young Carrie sleeping in her bed and some strange, faceless man breaking into her home aroused all his protective instincts and he forced them back down. She brought out the caveman in him so easily. Did she realize that?

  “I’ll track her internet paths. Since she’s over thirteen, she can open her own social media accounts. If I can find her communications, you can profile her posts to see if we can get a read on what’s going on.” She spoke with confidence, not repeating herself even once. It surprised him; she always took the background with her team. She was part of the Complex Crimes Unit of the FBI, and her team was a team of Bureau superstars. Sebastian’s team was the number three team—the other two teams were older—with the CCU. In the two months Sebastian had been assigned to St. Louis, he’d had plenty of opportunity to observe Carrie and her team.

  She was the least experienced, and in Sebastian’s estimation, the most vulnerable. She’d proven that the first time he’d met her, having been the victim of an attack by a former colleague that left her battered and in a leg cast.

  He still didn’t understand why Hellbrook, her team leader, didn’t keep her confined to the police stations they visited. It was where she belonged, safe behind her computer screens. And that’s where her strengths were. Carrie was phenomenal with computers, but she had certification by Quantico to be in the field, having gone through the Academy with honors. He’d checked her file the first week he’d been in St. Louis. He’d been curious about her from the moment he’d first seen her.

  Hellbrook required every member of his teams to be investigative agents, as well as any specialist position they may be qualified for. The CCU had former police investigators, two psychologists, a media specialist, the top pathologist in the nation, and a former ATF agent. Plus Carrie, with her computer skills.

  She continued speaking. “In my experience, these kids always leave hints, or trails. They very rarely keep it entirely to themselves.”

  “Your experience?” How much experience could this beautiful neophyte agent possibly have?

  “Yes, in my experience...Ten years ago, I was one of them…”

  Coming June 29, 2015

  The Next

  PAVAD: FBI Romantic Suspense

  Novel…

  Ghosting

  Strings. Life was strings. Almost like pushpins on a bulletin board with yarn connecting the dots. Everything was connected. Everything.

  She’d always thought of life that way. Thought of science that way. It had been one of the few ways she’d consoled herself as a child when her mother would turn violent. When she’d think of the loving father who’d supposedly been dead since she wasn’t yet a teenager. When she’d think of the two sisters who she’d loved since the moments they were born.

  Since her best friend had married the father she’d found when she was a full-grown woman. Since that best friend had given birth to her two youngest siblings almost six months earlier.

  Everything and everyone was connected. Working forensics for the best federal agency in the country was just another string that made up her life.

  Josh was a string, too. That was why she found herself opening the door to the house where she knew she’d find him. It wasn’t where he lived—but he owned it, along with four other property foreclosures that he was in the middle of rehabbing in his spare time. She’d tried two other properties first—one reason it was so late.

  She had to be at work in seven hours. So did he.

  That was one of the things that brought her to one of the up-and-coming St. Louis neighborhoods so late at night. The case he’d just finished had been one of those that everyone knew was a nightmare. One that would stay with you for years to come—if you ever escaped it.

  And Josh had been the one to hold the twelve year old boy as the child had died. Had held him, talked with him, and from what she’d been told by her father in confidence a few hours earlier, had tried to reassure the kid that life on the other side would be better than the one the boy was leaving behind. Because they’d all known the boy, son of th
e perpetrator, would not live through the day. And he hadn’t.

  And Josh had been the one to step up and stay with the little boy who’d had no one.

  She found him in what would one day be a dining room, yanking up the hardwood and ripping each individual nail free with his hammer. His hair, longer than she’d expected from a Mr. Conservative like Josh, was uncombed and shaggy around his face. His glasses were missing, though she knew he really only used them for reading, and sweat trickled down his forehead. He’d yanked his shirt off and wore only a thin tank undershirt.

  He definitely didn’t look all bookish and intellectual without his shirt, muscles flexing as he yanked and ripped. She’d noticed that before whenever she caught him doing something so physical. He didn’t have a football player build, but he wasn’t rail skinny either. And he was strong, extremely so.

  He’d worked his way through college and post-grad doing construction. As smart as he was—he had two PhD’s compared to her one—and he’d still had to pay part of his way with manual labor.

  As she looked at him, she couldn’t help but think how it had definitely paid off. Josh was damned hot, and she wasn’t too blind to see that.

  But he was also one of her best friends and she hated to see him hurting. “Josh?”

  It took her a few tries, but he eventually looked at her. It was then that she realized some of what she’d thought was sweat on his cheeks wasn’t.

  Something about seeing a strong man weeping had her gut clenching and her own eyes watering. He wiped the tears, sweat, dust, all off it off his face with the waistband of his shirt, exposing a very well-defined set of abs. “Kelly Danielle, what the fuck are you doing down here this late? Are you trying to get mugged, or worse?”