Breaking Her Biker - Chapter 1

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WARNING: This work of fiction contains graphic sexual situations, and is therefore recommended for a mature audience of 18+ years of age ONLY!

Chapter 1

FBI unit chief Mitch Nelson walked down the hallway at FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.  He was looking for his 28 year old rising star, Special Agent Meredith Hardin, and she was not in her office.  Or anywhere else he had looked.  The only place left was the firing range.  He took the elevator to one of the lower levels and made his way to the range.  He put on the ear muffs and safety glasses required by the Bureau and walked through the steel doors.

He saw her right away.  She was tough to miss.  He was a happily married man, but Meredith had a certain effect on men, and it was all sexual.  Meredith stood in firing pose with her arms fully extended, and she was firing a steady cadence of rounds.  She was tall, in top physical condition, and her silky black hair was drawn back in a ponytail.  She was wearing her usual uniform—a classic navy blue suit with a white button-down oxford blouse underneath.  Meredith was meticulous in her choice of clothing and her grooming, and level of detail translated to her job, too.  She liked to keep the top two buttons of her blouse undone so her cleavage and a small bit of her bra was always visible.  It was another way to keep men distracted enough for her to try to gain an advantage.  He watched her until she had fired the last round in her gun.  She pulled the ear muffs down around her neck, and he did the same while he was walking up to her.

“Meredith!” he said.  “A word?”

“Hello sir,” she replied.  “Yes, of course.  I was getting my target practice in.”

Meredith turned toward him and smiled.  Her eyes were the color of the sky before dusk—a deep azure—and they were intense—so intense it always made his stomach do a flip when she flashed them and smiled.  And the small scar on her upper lip made her smile mysterious and sexy and cute all rolled into one.  She got it from a rifle butt to the face a few months ago during a raid.  Her teeth were bright white and perfect, and the deep red lipstick she always wore was an alluring blend of professionalism and seduction.

Mitch always believed her ability to use her crippling good looks was what made her such an effective interrogator.  It was to be her calling.  She was a damn good field agent, but the more he worked with her, the more he knew her real calling was interrogation.  He needed her skills, and he needed them today.

“No need to explain, Meredith.  I need a few minutes of your time.  Meet me in my office in ten.  I’ve got an assignment for you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as soon as I can, sir,” she said.  “Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just the three I’s, Meri,” he answered, “Your intellect, your intuition and your interrogation skills.  See you in a few.”

Mitch was the only person she allowed to call her Meri.  Anybody else would have gotten a lecture.  She flipped a switch, and the paper target she’d been focusing her aim on zipped down to her.  There were ragged holes through the paper in the head and heart.  She unclipped the target and folded it up.  She signed and dated it, and she planned to drop it off later to her training coordinator to add to her file.  She cleaned her gun, made sure there were no rounds left in the chamber, holstered it and headed to Mitch’s office.

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