Undercover Blues

by Undercover Blues (lit)

  "Yo, Angie."

  As Angel descended the stairs from Vendetti’s office building, she turned to see Dino Fontaine, one of Vendetti’s most trusted men, watching her from the sidewalk.

  "Dino. How are you?" She hurried over to greet him.

  Dino put his hand on her elbow. "You wanna lift home?"

  She sighed inwardly, much preferring to take the bus, but an undercover job went far beyond the nine-to-five office work she did for Vendetti. A good undercover agent takes advantage of every opportunity to gain information, she reminded herself. Dino knew a lot of interesting things. "I’d love one, Dino. Thanks."

  He placed his hand on the small of her back as he guided her to his car a half block down. She stopped her spine from stiffening in response. Dino unlocked the door of his black Corvette and helped her inside, then climbed in himself. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Glancing over his left shoulder, he watched for an opening to pull out into traffic. Soon they were on their way, moving along with the current of cars.

  "Angie, I saw you coming out of the FBI office yesterday. What’s up?"

  He spoke evenly, with no implied threat, but her pulse leaped. She forced her breathing to remain steady and reminded herself of her cover story. She always had a cover story when she went into the FBI office — but this was the first time she’d had to use it.

  "The Feds brought me in for routine questioning." She imbued her voice with indignation. "That’s what they call it anyway. I call it harassment."

  His finger flicked on the left signal and he peered intently in his side mirror, ready to change lanes.

  "What was it all about?" His question came out matter-of-fact, but she noticed the tight set of his jaw.

  "I don’t know," she said, her voice sedate. "They asked a lot of questions about Carlos, but nothing specific, you know? I have no idea what they’re on to."

  His jaw relaxed. "I’ll let Carlos know so he can be on guard."

  "Do you think? I don’t know what they know and —" She knew that playing the dumb broad around Dino was her best tactic. Dino was one of those macho guys who thought woman were only good for taking to bed. He acknowledged her basic usefulness for menial work around the office, but didn’t really believe she owned a brain. She hated to fuel his skewed view of women, but it gave her an edge — and she’d take every advantage she could get.

  "Angie, if the Feds suspect something, Carlos needs to be told. He might want to tighten up security on some of his operations, you know?"

  "I guess you’re right."

  Had he seen Frank, too? No, that didn’t make sense. She’d left the office alone and, from the looks of Frank in his wrinkled tuxedo pants and shirt, and the growth of beard on his face, she was certain he’d returned to the sanctity of FBI headquarters immediately after seeing her at the hotel — that’s what she would have done had their positions been reversed — so Dino wouldn’t have seen him enter the building. She stared at the traffic in front of them. Dino would be meeting Frank as her fiancé all too soon and she couldn’t afford to have him recognize Frank as an FBI agent.

  She glanced at Dino’s profile. Thick black brows hovered over amber eyes that could fix on a victim and leave the strongest quaking. His wavy dark hair skimmed his collar and the arrogant set to his jaw added a level of intimidation to his tough-guy attitude.

  His gaze flicked in her direction and he smiled when he caught her staring at him, the flash of even white teeth dazzling. He could turn on a powerful charisma when he sought to win a woman. Angel knew — he’d directed it at her far too many times. When he stalked a female, his eyes could dance with warmth and his beguiling charm could mesmerize his prey. The hot-blooded promise in those depths made a woman long to find out what it would be like to be warmed by his strong hands.

  Whenever Angel felt the draw of those eyes, she reminded herself they were the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

  Dino turned the conversation to small talk, telling her about the latest movie he’d seen, a very popular film with lots of violence that she mentally noted on her not-to-see list. Soon they drove down her quiet street and pulled over to the curb outside her home.

  Angel felt the skin on the back of her neck prickling. Someone was watching her. Scanning the area, she caught a glimpse of Frank leaning against a tree a couple of buildings down, arms crossed. Oh, no. Why was he here?

  "So who’s the guy?" Dino asked.

  "What guy?"

  "The guy watching us over by the tree. And what’s the matter with you? You’re all tied up in knots."

  Realizing she’d been wringing her hands together, she dropped them to her lap. She glanced over at Frank then back to Dino.

  "Him? He’s an old friend. I hadn’t seen him since I was a kid, then we ran into each other yesterday. Imagine, after fifteen years."

  "So what’s he doing here now?" Jealousy tinged his words.

  She knew the best way to get away with a lie was to stay as close to the truth as possible.

  "I don’t know."

  "So this guy shows up after fifteen years and now he’s hanging around your place? Are you crazy, Angie? He could be anybody. I heard of these guys who find out about a woman’s background and work their way into her life. He could be after something."

  "Like what? I don’t have any money."

  His intense stare threatened her outward calm. "There are a lot of things he might want."

  "You’re being paranoid. Anyway, it’s not like he’s using some made-up name. And I do remember him."

  "Fifteen years is a long time, Angie. What do you really know about him? Why don’t I check him out for you?"

  "Dino, what’s up with you? Do you have a problem with me having friends?"

  Dino slid his arms around her and pulled her toward him.

  "Friends I don’t mind. But I can tell this guy’s gotten under your skin. And I don’t want any competition."

  Before she could act, his lips captured hers and he turned on a warm persuasion that most women would have found difficult to resist. If they were interested in a fling. Which she wasn’t. Especially not with a cold-blooded killer. She struggled out of his grasp, painfully aware of Frank standing only a few yards away.

  "Dino, please."

  "Your old friend didn’t like that a bit," he murmured, satisfaction lacing his words. He stroked her cheek with one finger then stared outside with a smug smile.

  She followed his gaze and saw the stormy expression on Frank’s face. He glared at them as though he’d like to murder someone. Angel — probably. Dino — definitely.

  "I’ll walk you to the door. In fact," Dino said as he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her toward him, "if you invite me in, he might get the idea I’ll be hanging around for a while and get lost."

  She disengaged herself. Dino constantly tried to push their relationship in a direction she didn't want it to go. Fending him off was becoming a problem. She couldn’t afford to alienate him, but she wasn’t prepared to go to bed with him, even if it would increase her chances of coaxing information from him that might further her case. She was an undercover agent, not a prostitute. Anyway, she would never be able to give herself to someone she didn’t care for — and she could never care for a monster like Dino.

  "Dino, you know I can take care of myself."

  "Yeah, but you know I’d like to take care of you." He ran a finger down her arm. "How ’bout dinner tomorrow night? Just you and me."

  "No, Dino."

  "Come on, Angie. I’ll pick you up about seven. What do you say?"

  "Maybe some other time."

  "You’ve been sayin’ that for months now," he said as he thumped the steering wheel. "Another time never seems to roll around."

  "You know I like you, Dino. It’s just that — I consider you a friend."

  He clenched his fists tightly. "God! Don’t say that. It’s the kiss of death."

  Anger sparked in his eyes but she knew he’d
behave himself. That was one thing about the family. The members knew the rules — and one rule was that the female members were treated with respect.

  She climbed out of his car and, as she bade him good-bye, she noticed the look of resolve on his face. Before the door swung closed, she heard him say, "Angie, I’m not taking no for an answer this time. Seven tomorrow night. Dinner." She started to protest but it was too late. He’d gunned the engine and peeled away, leaving a streak of black rubber on the pavement.

  At least a scam marriage to Frank would have the benefit of cooling Dino’s ardour. She turned around, expecting to confront Frank’s piercing blue eyes, but he was gone.

  * * * *

  Frank didn’t stay around to watch Angel being pawed at by that arrogant thug. He strode down the block, then turned right, heading toward a deli he’d seen on his way here. He needed to talk to Angel, but it could wait. He needed to cool down.

  He swung into the restaurant and plunked down in a booth by the window. A waitress named Jennifer greeted him. After ordering a coffee, he stared out the window at the flow of people passing by.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. Last night it had all seemed so clear. He had to find a way to get close to Angel. They’d never be able to convince people they were lovers with the current level of hostility sparking between them. And he had to get her to relax and open up so he could draw out her secrets.

  The waitress brought his coffee. He added sugar and stirred, watching the black liquid swirl around as he tried to put everything in perspective.

  If Angel was the informant, he’d prove it and send her to jail. Hell, he’d love to see her behind bars. Unfortunately, this damned attraction raging between them kept throwing him off balance. Anytime she got close, he thought of her in his arms, the sweet velvet of her lips under his, triggering a heated desire. For the Angel he’d met in Hawaii. He scowled. But that woman didn’t exist. She’d only been playing a part.

  He rolled the spoon between his fingers. What if she wasn’t the informant? Damn, that was even worse. He’d fallen in love with her once before. She still haunted his dreams.

  Hell, if he did get to know her, and found she was a loyal agent… Then he would have a serious problem. She put her job above all else. Her betrayal had proven that. Would she sacrifice him to her career again?

  He knew the risks, but he had a job to do. Somehow, he’d have to draw her close, while keeping his own heart at a distance. Could he do that?

  The jealousy he’d felt watching that guy kissing her gnawed at his gut. And every time he got close to her, he could hardly control his body’s response. On top of that, he had to fight the urge to comfort her whenever he glimpsed that potent vulnerability in her eyes. This damned protectiveness would be his undoing.

  He’d have to keep it under control. No way would he allow her to drag him down again. This time he knew where her loyalties lay — with herself.

  So, once he finished this coffee, he’d march over to her house and charm her all to hell. He’d be smooth. So smooth she’d think he’d fallen for her again. If she believed that, her guard would come crashing down.

  Last time, she’d been the one in control, because she’d known the hidden agenda. Now, their roles were reversed. And he’d make sure it stayed that way.

  * * * *

  Angel fixed a quick dinner of pasta and sauce then took a long, hot bath to ease her tense muscles. Afterwards, as she combed her unruly curls into submission, she stopped long enough to stare at herself in the mirror. Thoughts of Frank and glorious memories of the time they’d spent together on Hawaii filled her waking hours. In her dreams, Frank held her as he had in those never-forgotten days.

  She should have refused to go out with him right from the start. Then she would never have known the bliss of being wrapped in his arms, his lips coaxing hidden desires to life. She would not have dreamed of him for four long years, longing for him to find her, to take her in his arms and tell her he forgave her for hurting him. She wouldn’t feel the excruciating pain of seeing hatred in his eyes — directed at her.

  For a long time, she’d thought she was incapable of feeling anything. She’d erected enough barriers around herself to cushion any emotional trigger from piercing the surface of her soul. It was the only way she could survive dealing with heartless criminals day after day while keeping her sanity.

  She’d worried about the numbness that had claimed her, the feeling of drifting through each day. Never feeling happiness or sadness. Never knowing true companionship. Every feeling drifting through an invisible buffer, reaching her as a neutral flow of nothingness.

  Now she longed to return to that state.

  The doorbell rang, pulling Angel out of her reverie. Shedding her towel, she raced into her bedroom and pulled on some comfortable clothes. She and her neighbour, Dawn, were going to a movie together. If it was Dawn at the door, she’d wait. If it was someone else, Angel didn’t care. She didn’t cater to uninvited guests.

  On the third persistent ring, she swung open the door. "Dawn, you’re early and…." She stopped when she saw Frank standing on her doorstep.

  "Is Don your boyfriend?" Frank asked, eyes narrowed, watching her reaction.

  "That’s none of your business." She folded her arms across her chest. "What do you want?"

  "To talk to you."

  "No," she said and started to push the door closed.

  He pushed back, but Angel, strong and determined, pressed it almost closed before Frank gave a sudden thrust, sending her sprawling back against the wall.

  "Angel!" Frank raced in and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to her feet.

  She pulled herself from his grasp — and the tingling awareness that shot through her.

  "Go away, Frank."

  "Angel…"

  He reached for her again but she backed away. Fear lanced through her. Fear of the feelings he elicited in her. Feelings she didn’t want to experience. Feelings she couldn’t cope with.

  "Don’t touch me." Her voice was strained, on the edge of breaking.

  Frank watched alarm flicker across Angel’s delicate features. He had to put her at ease. Standing here towering over her wasn’t going to help, so he went over to the couch and sat down. He could hear her tiny sigh of relief. He watched as she took a couple of steps toward the small sitting area.

  Did she have a date with this Don guy? His gaze skimmed her outfit: snug fitting jeans and a clingy red sweater. They must be going somewhere casual. That meant they’d been dating for a while. On a first or second date, she’d dress up and try to impress. Was it a serious relationship? His gaze lingered on the sweater and the way it outlined her breasts. It was a great colour for her. He suppressed a grin as he remembered the crimson bikini she’d worn the first time he’d seen her — and how she had left part of it on the beach. A flare of desire sizzled through him at the memory of her trotting back to her cabin with nothing but a towel covering her luscious breasts, especially knowing she’d been totally unaware of the fact. At any moment, she might have lowered that towel and—

  "Frank, I’ve got someone coming over. Would you please leave?" Angel demanded.

  At her words, he glanced up to her face, but the heaving of her chest drew his focus back to her sweater. It showed off her full breasts in a way that could drive a man wild. Jealousy seared through him at the thought of her wearing it for another man. He ripped his gaze away.

  Christ, jealousy! What kind of fool am I anyway? It’s not like Angel and I have any kind of future together.

  "I’m going to stay until I’ve said my piece, so why don’t you sit down?" he said, indicating the armchair nearest him with his open hand.

  She stared at him for a moment, assessing. Finally, she stepped over to the chair and sank into it.

  "About the incident in Hal’s office. I’m sorry for what happened. I shouldn’t have manhandled you the way I did."

  "You won’t get any argument from me."

  He rake
d his hand through his hair. "You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?" He looked at her face and she averted her eyes. She wanted him to go. It was clear in the way she sat, the way her arms were folded across her chest, her legs pinched together from thigh to ankle.

  She caught him staring at her and leaped to her feet to pace.

  He ambled forward and put his hands on her upper arms, stilling her when she would have fled. Staring her straight in the eye, he steadied himself for the lie he needed to tell. To gain her trust. "Angel, now that I know you’re an undercover agent, I understand why you turned me over to Cavaglione."

  "Do you really? Does that mean you can accept what I did and forgive me? Just like that?"

  Forgive her? Was she crazy? But that’s what he wanted her to believe. What he had to make her believe. She stared at him, expectant and skeptical. He had to play this carefully — with just enough honesty so she’d believe the lies. "No, not just like that. I’ve hated you for a long time."

  Her eyelids flickered in a barely perceptible flinch. She started to move away, but he tightened his grip on her shoulders.

  "Frank, I don’t want to go through this again. I know how you feel — and why. I —"

  "I believed you’d say anything — do anything…" This part of the act was easy. He simply drew on the real anger that flowed through him. He shook her slightly. "Oh, God, Angel, you know what I thought you were."

  "Frank, please." Her clipped words hinted at tightly held anguish. Was the glistening brightness in her eyes a trick of the light, or tears barely held back?

  He knew she was a good actress but…her distress seemed so real. Emotion welled up in him — things he didn’t want to feel, like sympathy and protectiveness — but instead of allowing it to affect him, he directed it into his voice to make his words more convincing.

  He shook his head, squeezing her shoulders slightly. "But now I know I was wrong. I just don’t know what to do about it."

  He didn’t like the sorrow that had rooted itself in the tiny lines of her face. Suddenly, the feel of her beneath his fingers unnerved him. He ran his hand down one of her arms and she shivered, staring up at him.