Author's note: Haven't quite got these characters settled in my head yet, but it sure is fun playing around with them.

Agent Chris LaSalle had been reconstructing the movements of Petty Officer Franklin prior to his being witnessed at the scene of that poor barmaid's grisly murder. But the back-tracing had only placed the sailor at his ship, no hints otherwise, no persons of interest or places he'd be more liable to turn to while in trouble. He'd contacted the few more likely to yield results, but there was nothing... and there might be nothing. It was looking more and more likely that Franklin was dead himself. But it was better to stay positive. Without solid evidence, they were assuming he had just done a runner, after either witnessing the crime, or possibly perpetrating it.

Wondering how their almost-brand-new transfer was doing on her end, he took a break from writing up his report, letting his gaze wander to the desk several yards away.

Meredith Brody was staring at him. Well, not exactly staring... more like spacing out in his general direction. It wasn't a completely foreign look to find on her pretty face. Lord, she was an attractive woman, he wasn't too ashamed or politically correct to admit having noticed.

Generally, though, her contemplative reveries didn't seem to last so long. Or have her so fixated on nothing in particular. Her thoughtful looks were usually shortly followed by so much vibrant energy. This looked like something else. Agent Brody must daydream, like any other person. He briefly considered what that might be like.

She was a fascinatin' woman. Just when you thought you'd pegged her as a typical vanilla government agent, bam, you hit a colorful burst of flavor. She was goddamn confetti cake. Unexpectedly fun, like when she gushed over a new food or started listing crossword clues out of the blue in the middle of an entirely unrelated conversation. But this little 'space trip' was out of character, even for her.

"You alright, Brody?" he asked of the woman who was staring off into the wilds of who-the-hell-knew-where. she didn't even blink, let alone respond to his concern. Had she gone mysteriously comatose from some strange brain disease?

"Brody!" This time she jumped like a trout from the water, which was disturbing, since one of the few things he knew for certain about the woman was her solid, unflappable nature. She was cool and collected. At least, on the outside. Inside her pretty, obviously clever head, who could say what went on... it seemed like even she herself could get good and lost in there.

"Where'd you go?"

"What?" She still looked completely startled, her eyes big and adorable, like a little kitten or some other such fluffy baby critter. The flush on her cheeks, however, was nowhere near as innocent as the big, bambi eyes implied. Very interestin'.

"You looked 'bout a million miles away," he said, intently studying her face, her mannerisms that were 'classic evasive'. Even a couple yards away, the pink blush coloring the pale skin of her face and neck was noticeable. He'd definitely caught her thinking about something that embarrassed her.

"Yeah..." Her tone did not contain its normal confidence. Perhaps the wild goose chase they'd been put on was frustrating her. Maybe she was embarrassed of having lost focus. "I just... got tired of wracking my brain for a way to track down PO Franklin."

Yup. she had gone to whatever crazy recesses of her own mind in which she found comfort.

"An' started doin' crosswords in your head again?" He chuckled lightly.

"Yup," she said, giving him a bright smile. She had a beautiful smile. "You caught me."

Chris still didn't understand the woman, but he found her to be the most intriguing person he'd ever encountered, complex and quirky. But not impossible to read. It was obvious in the way the tension left her shoulders, the relief flickering across her face... it hadn't been crosswords that she'd been daydreaming about. The question was whether he should try to call her on it, use it to pry a little bit more of the information she kept locked up tighter than a farmer's daughter on Saturday night.

"Give it to me," he said.

Brody nearly jumped out of her skin again. Gotchya.

"W-what?!"

He grinned broadly, because he now knew precisely what she'd been thinking about, what sort of escape her mind had been creating.

"Maybe I can help you out." Her blush was deepening. Oh, Agent Brody, aren't you just the cutest little, dirty-minded thing? "Give me the clue that's apparently flummoxed you."

They locked eyes momentarily, in which he tried to confirm his read on her by her reaction, and she tried to stare him into submission.

"Off-limits," she said, more to herself than to him. He gave her a puzzled look, forcing her to expound further. "Seven letters."

"Hmm," he said. "I'll have to give that one a little consideration."

And deciding perhaps he had made her uncomfortable for long enough, he pretended to return to his work. After a minute, he heard her chair slide against the floor, and glanced up to see her stretch theatrically.

"I need a break," she announced.

Oh, sweet jesus, he just couldn't help himself. He grinned broadly, asked, "Want some company?"

Her eyes became 'deer caught in the headlights' big. Oh, he'd definitely caught her in abnormal territory, and he was loving the fact that she couldn't quite put up her cool exterior to shut him out. It had a gaping hole and he could see right through it.

"No, thanks," she said after a three-second display of abject terror. And then she hastily began to gather up her things, bending over to place folders, phone, water bottle and tablet in her bag, and unintentionally giving Chris a perfect view of her fine backside.

Now, Christopher LaSalle wasn't the sort of man who held a fetish for any part of the female anatomy. Yes, there were some parts he enjoyed more than others, but he couldn't ever be called a 'boobs' or 'ass' man. He liked a woman on a complete package sort of basis. He wasn't interested in her like a certain cut of meat, although the rump roast currently in his field of vision was grade A.

And he knew he should probably feel ashamed for coveting his yet new partner's lovely derriere, but he didn't. He was just a man, after all. And she was just a woman, who had given him as thorough a once-over upon their first meeting as he'd done her. No, he most definitely had no intention of ceasing to contemplate Brody's round, firm ass as she bent over to gather up her things, or her full, naturally swaying hips as she proceeded to exit the building.

'Child-bearing hips' his mama would've called those enticingly grabbable flanks.

Chris had never understood the lauded appeal in 'Child-bearing hips.' He certainly had never wanted to get a child on any woman. He still wasn't ready for fatherhood... But he supposed it was a prime example of sexual selection. In the not too distant past, wide hips meant woman and baby were more likely to survive the birthing process. And there was something instinctively appealing about a well defined set of curves, like those possessed by his attractive fellow agent.

But even more appealing, in his opinion, was the woman's intriguingly odd personality. He found himself pondering what it would be like to touch her, more-so when her face lit up, proud about discovering a lead, than even when she exchanged her loose blouses for fitted tees to wear beneath her body armor on raids and consequently displayed the goods she normally kept hidden. No, not hidden...that implied shame in her body, which besides obviously being embarrassed over entertaining a dirty fantasy that afternoon, Agent Brody did not seem to suffer from.

But there was one surefire way he could think of finding out just how comfortable she was with her delectable body.

Lord, how he wanted to push through that tightly controlled exterior, revel in the hot mess he knew it contained. Merri Brody was beautiful chaos reined in with an intricately manicured, cool and collected exterior. She slipped every now and then, but he more than a little wanted to get her to let go entirely. Or to surrender the reins to him for a moment or two. He would take her on a ride.

And he was pretty goddamn certain she would sure as hell like it.

Images of taking her in sweaty, carnal bliss flooded his mind, and he didn't bother to fend them off, squash them and bury them, like he shoulda. Instead, he indulged in entertaining them for a moment, just a moment.

Meredith Brody, naked, creamy skin flushed and slick with sweat, thighs parted and gasping his name as he slides deep inside of her... She hooks her leg about his waist, opening herself even further for him as he begins to thrust in and out of her, kissing her slender neck and the supple skin of her breasts, staring into her big, dark, lovely eyes... Until she starts to writhe beneath him and dig her fingernails painfully into his back, forcing him to grab her wrists and pin her hands to the mattress, and pound her even harder...

But that wasn't quite right, was it?

No. Agent Meredith Brody, lovely though she may be, was a control freak. She would not be able to submit, to let Chris lead the dance. At least, not the first time. She would want, no, need to be on top. Later, once she was comfortable with the idea of bumping uglies with her partner, she would doubtless willingly allow him to play the dominant. She was a fair-minded woman, after all.

And he had no qualms about satisfying whatever requirements she needed met in order to let her hair down... well, shed the buttoned-up exterior and go for a good ride.

He wondered what sort of seat she had... She seemed the type, boarding school and all, for a proper English equestrian approach. Then again she was a Midwesterner, and them folk were cowboys. So maybe she went along with whatever the journey threw at her, accommodating herself to the beast between her legs when necessary, rather than attempting to exercise full control over her mount with a firm hand. Or maybe she enjoyed riding completely bare back, wild and free, equal measures the dominant and submissive partner for the duration of the exhilarating ride.

"Hey."

Speak of the devilish woman herself. Brody had reappeared, looking much more the composed agent she undeniably was. Unfortunately for LaSalle, he'd spent the entire time she'd used cooling down working up his own blood with raunchy fantasies about her sexual proclivities. And so she frowned at him when he not only did not respond in kind with a friendly greeting but failed to get up out of his chair upon her appearance, something she had disproved of vocally her first week there, but he'd persisted in doing. Because his mama had raised him to be a gentleman and damned if he was going to fail her just because his new partner found it an outdated, chauvinistic courtesy.

But not this time. For one rather large, uncomfortable reason amongst a few others, he stayed parked at his desk.

"Hey, Brody," he said, as if nothing were the matter, as if he hadn't been thinking about her naked body straddling his hips."Get your head screwed on straight, did ya?"

"Yes." She gave him a big 'let's get to work because I love my job' smile before sitting down at her desk.

Yup. Back to being Merry Merri, whatever that weirdness earlier was... Now, now he wasn't so sure she'd been thinking quite what he thought she'd been thinking... what he then proceeded to give some serious consideration to himself.

"I've got things basically tied up on my end," he said. "You want some help?"

"If you'd like," she said, staring fixedly at her computer screen and typing fiendishly away. Finally settled down somewhat, Chris risked walking over to her desk to hover over her shoulder (discovering she smelled intoxicatingly of honeysuckle), as she gave herself a vehement pep talk. "I'm going to catch this slippery bastard."

Slippery. Slick. Silky. Wet... Jesus, Brody's goddang word games had sunken into his brain. And worse, the woman herself, the scent of her, the sight of her, her voice... he was having a right awful time staving off the illicit fantasies.

She was his partner for heaven's sake. Out of bounds. Off-limits. He was having illicit fantasies about his off-limits partner.

Wait. That was it.

"Illicit," he said into her ear, making her start, and turn a look of confusion upon him. "Off-Limits. Seven letters. Illicit."

She stared at him. Not quite blankly, but that deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression again. He'd seen her lie extremely well to suspects, but for some reason her emotions were an open book today, to him. And everything about her reaction said 'busted.' But she lied to him anyway.

"Oh, thanks!" she said after a couple beats. "I think that finishes up the game."

She locked eyes with him, daring him to challenge the veracity of her supposed crossword puzzle, or to point out what it was contrived to cover.

All he gave her was a grin.

Then a wicked thought entered his head and he just could not resist the urge to play.

"I've got a fresh 'un for ya," he said, earning him a curious raising of her eyebrows. "'Lures men to their destruction. Five letters."

She pursed her lips and her eyes became momentarily unfocused as she contemplated his clue. And then her face lit up in triumph. God, she was gorgeous in those eureka moments of hers.

"Siren. One of the mythological creatures who lured sailors to their death. Most notably found in Homer's Odyssey."

"Close enough," Chris said, making her frown by implying she hadn't gotten it right. He met her eyes with his facetious gaze and she apparently decided to shake off the tense staring contest, returning her attention to the search running on her computer screen. She was also damned attractive wearing her focused, all-business exterior.

Yup. 'Lures men to their destruction.' Five letters.

B-R-O-D-Y.

END

A/N: And now back to the novel-writing. Stupid, distracting fan fiction….