Love In Line Of Fire

Maya Chen slammed her locker shut, wincing as the metallic clang echoed through the FBI training facility's empty locker room. 

Another brutal day of tactical training, and her muscles screamed in protest. At thirty-two, she was one of the older trainees at Quantico, but she'd be damned if she'd let that stop her from achieving her dream of becoming a special agent.

 "Chen!" a voice barked from the doorway. "The Director wants to see you. Now."  Maya's stomach dropped. Being summoned to Director Harrison's office was rarely good news. She quickly smoothed her dark hair back into its severe bun and straightened her navy training uniform.

 The walk to the administrative wing felt like a march to the gallows. When she entered the director's office, she was surprised to find she wasn't alone. A tall man in an expertly tailored charcoal suit stood by the window, his broad shoulders tensed as he stared out at the Virginia countryside.  

"Agent Chen," Director Harrison said, not bothering to stand from behind his imposing mahogany desk. "Meet Special Agent James Blake. He's heading up our task force on the Cardinal killer."  The man by the window turned, and Maya's breath caught. She'd seen his photo in the bureau newsletters, of course - the FBI's rising star who'd cracked the notorious Gateway Strangler case last year. But photos hadn't captured the intensity of his green eyes or the way his strong jaw clenched as he assessed her.

 "Sir," Maya said, forcing her voice to remain steady, "I'm still a trainee, not an agent."  "That's about to change," Harrison replied. "We're fast-tracking your graduation from the academy. Agent Blake specifically requested you for this operation."  Blake crossed the room in three long strides, his expression unreadable. "Your background in behavioral psychology and your fluency in Mandarin make you uniquely qualified for what we need. The Cardinal killer is escalating, and we have reason to believe his next target will be at the Chinese Embassy's charity gala next week."  

"You want me to go undercover," Maya said. It wasn't a question.  "As my wife," Blake confirmed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "The event is couples only. We'll pose as wealthy donors."  Maya's heart thundered against her ribs. This was everything she'd worked for, a chance to prove herself on a high-profile case. But the way Blake was looking at her, with that mixture of professional assessment and something else she couldn't quite read, made her wonder if she was in over her head. 

 "There's one more thing," Harrison added gravely. "We have intelligence suggesting there may be a leak within the bureau. This operation stays completely off the books. As of this moment, you two are the only agents who know the full scope of what we're planning. You'll need to trust each other absolutely."  Blake's eyes locked with hers, and electricity crackled in the space between them. "Are you in, Chen?"  Maya lifted her chin. "When do we start?"

 A ghost of a smile touched Blake's lips. "How do you feel about dress shopping?"  Two hours later, Maya found herself in an upscale boutique in Georgetown, surrounded by evening gowns that cost more than her annual salary. Blake lounged in a leather armchair outside the dressing room, his jacket discarded and shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms.  "Remember," he called as she struggled with yet another zipper, "we need something that can conceal a thigh holster."  "Because that's every girl's primary concern when shopping for a ball gown," Maya muttered, earning a low chuckle from outside.

 She stepped out in a deep red silk gown with a dangerous sl*t up one leg. Blake's casual demeanor vanished as his eyes traveled slowly from her bare shoulders down to her stiletto-clad feet.

He stood abruptly, closing the distance between them.  "Turn around," he said, his voice rougher than before.  Maya complied, her skin tingling as his fingertips brushed her shoulder blade, ostensibly checking the dress's ability to hide a weapon. "Well?" she managed to ask.  "It's perfect," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "You'll have every man at that gala wanting to dance with you."  She met his eyes in the mirror.

"Including my husband?"  Something dark and possessive flashed across his face. "Especially your husband." He stepped back, his professional mask sliding back into place. "We should practice dancing. Your place or mine?"  Maya's pulse jumped. This was just an assignment, she reminded herself firmly. But as she watched Blake's retreating back, she had a feeling things were about to get dangerously complicated. 

Maya's apartment was exactly what Blake had expected - minimalist, organized, with a few carefully chosen pieces of art featuring Chinese calligraphy. What he hadn't expected was his visceral reaction to seeing her personal space, imagining her curled up on the gray sectional with case files spread around her.

"Coffee?" she offered, padding barefoot into her kitchen. She'd changed into yoga pants and an oversize FBI Academy sweatshirt, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. The transformation from sophisticated undercover operative to casual trainee shouldn't have been appealing, but something about her comfortable in her own space made his chest tight.

"Please," he replied, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over a chair. "Two sugars."

Maya arched an eyebrow. "Sweet tooth, Agent Blake? That ruins your whole brooding image."

"I contain multitudes," he said dryly, earning a genuine laugh that made him want to hear more.

While she made their coffee, Blake pulled out his phone and queued up a classical waltz. "The gala would feature traditional ballroom dancing. How rusty are you?"

"Depends." Maya handed him a steaming mug. "Does dancing with my sister in our living room when we were kids count?"

"Not exactly." Blake set down his coffee and held out his hand. "Shall we?"

Maya hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her hand in his. Blake pulled her close, positioning one hand at her waist while clasping her other hand in proper form.

"Back straight," he instructed, his voice low. "Follow my lead."

They began moving to the music, Maya's initial stiffness gradually melting away as she found the rhythm. Blake was hyperaware of every point of contact between them - her small hand in his, the warmth of her waist under his palm, the whisper of her breath against his neck.

"You're a natural," he murmured as she executed a perfect turn.

"Or maybe you're just a good teacher," she countered, looking up at him through dark lashes.

Blake's step faltered. This close? he could see flecks of gold in her brown eyes, count each individual eyelash. The music swelled, and he instinctively drew her closer.

"Maya," he started, not sure what he was going to say.

A sharp knock at the door made them spring apart. Blake had his weapon drawn before he consciously registered, reaching for it.

Maya moved to the door, checking the peephole before relaxing. "It's Harrison's courier."

The young agent on the other side delivered a thick manila envelope and disappeared without a word. Maya tore it open, spreading surveillance photos across her coffee table.

"The Cardinal's previous victims," Blake explained, switching seamlessly back into agent mode. "All prominent Chinese-American business leaders. Each killed with a single shot from long range, followed by his signature - a cardinal feather left on the body."

Maya studied the photos intently. "The killers are too clean for this to be politically motivated. It's personal for him." She looked up at Blake. "You think he's a former military officer?"

"Former special forces, most likely. The shot angles suggest advanced training." Blake ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "But we've got nothing solid. No DNA, no witnesses, not even a partial print."

"Until now." Maya held up a glossy photo of an elegant Chinese woman. "Who's this?"

"Victoria Liu. Tech mogul, philanthropist, and according to our intel, the Cardinal's next target. She's hosting the embassy gala."

Maya's analytical mind was clearly working overtime. "The other victims were all killed in private locations. Why would he change his MO to attack such a public target?"

"That's what we need to figure out." Blake found himself moving closer to her again, drawn into her orbit. "The gala's in five days. We need to learn everything about each other's covers before then. Married couples know the little things - habits, preferences, inside jokes."

"So we're doing homework?" Maya's lips curved in a teasing smile.

"Something like that." Blake settled onto her couch, closer than strictly necessary. "Tell me, Mrs. Blake, how did we meet?"

Maya sat beside him, tucking her legs underneath her. "Hmm. Not anything too cliché. Maybe... I spilled coffee on you at that little café in Georgetown?"

"And I was furious until I looked up and saw you," Blake continued, surprising himself with how easily the fiction flowed. "You were wearing a blue dress."

"Navy," Maya corrected, falling into the game. "And you insisted on buying me another coffee to replace the one I'd spilled."

"You tried to say no."

"But you were very persistent." Their eyes met, and for a moment, the line between cover story and reality blurred dangerously.

Blake's phone buzzed, shattering the moment. A text from Harrison: *Another body found. Cardinal's escalating. Get ready.*

Maya read the message over his shoulder, her expression hardening into determination. "We should go over the security layouts again."

"Yeah," Blake agreed, but neither of them moved. The waltz music still played softly in the background, and he could still feel the phantom pressure of her hand in his.

Five days to prepare. Five days to catch a killer. Five days to fight whatever this thing was building between them before it compromised everything.

Blake had never failed a mission before. But he'd never had quite so much to lose.

The Chinese Embassy blazed with light, its marble façade transformed into something magical by thousands of twinkling lanterns. Maya stood before her bathroom mirror, fingers trembling slightly as she fastened a diamond pendant around her neck - on loan from the FBI's extensive collection of props for undercover operations.

"You can do this," she whispered to her reflection. The woman who stared back barely resembled the dedicated trainee who'd spent countless hours at the shooting range. Her hair fell in elegant waves, her makeup subtle but glamorous, the red silk gown hugging every curve.

A knock at her door made her jump. Blake didn't wait for an answer before entering, and Maya's breath caught at the sight of him in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. His eyes darkened as he took her in.

"You look..." he started, then cleared his throat. "The car's waiting."

"James," she said softly, using his first name deliberately. They'd agreed to start using their covers ea