by Laura Burton
“Oh, right. You and your shady side hustle.”
“Hey, we’re not all married to chemical engineers.” Angie loved Raven, but she’d married right out of college and had no clue of the struggle of living alone on their salary.
“Speaking of Doug, his college roommate is moving back next month. He’s here apartment hunting this week, and I told him we’d all go to dinner tomorrow night.”
“We who?”
“Doug, me, you, and Jason, silly.”
Angie looked up and bit her bottom lip. “Why would you say that without asking me first?”
“What’s to ask? He’s handsome, single, and makes bank.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might have plans?”
“Binging on Hart of Dixie isn’t a plan.”
“I have a Hustle drive at six.”
“So you can meet us after you drop off whatever psychopath you’re chauffeuring around.”
Angie wiped her brow, wincing at the stickiness from dried sweat and smoothie remains. She refrained from commenting. As much as she didn’t want to go to dinner with this Jason, perhaps it would help her to not think about Trent every hour. Plus, a free meal was always a bonus.
“Okay, fine. Seven-thirty?”
“Eek!”
Angie held out the phone to muffle Raven’s squeal, then returned it to her ear once it was safe.
“Great. It’s a date. I’ll text you the address.”
“It’s not—”
Raven hung up before Angie could finish her thought.
“A date.”
Trent decided to break up the monotony and go soccer mom for this ride. He climbed into a gray minivan, recently cleaned up for a police auction. The previous owner had converted it into a mobile meth lab. To his surprise, it had a lot of cool features. Vans had come a long way since he was a kid.
Growing up on military bases, his parents usually kept one small car. But once they moved to Alabama, some of his friends’ parents drove vans. None of them came with automatic doors and multiple TV screens like this one, though.
“Trent?”
“Hey, Angie.” Trent caught himself smiling at the sound of her voice. He’d wanted an excuse to go back to her house and spend time with her. Away from all this, without any worry from Mario or the cartel. Maybe one day.
He opened his mouth to say more, but Mario stepped out into the parking lot. No more loud shirt and funny hat. He was back to his signature gray suit with a pocket square and plastered hair. When Mario spoke, he no longer sounded short with Angie, making Trent wonder if he, too, had noticed the black car following them.
Angie drove to the same neighborhood with the pink house from the week before. Trent trailed far enough back to go unnoticed. This time, Mario walked to a small brick house down the block from the pink one. He entered alone, and nobody greeted him.
Once his squatty body disappeared behind the door and Angie started down the drive, Trent followed.
“Hey, can you pull over at the shopping center up here? I need to tell you something.” Well, that came out of nowhere. In a moment of weakness, Trent had debated telling Angie how he felt about her. Yet, he knew better than to get tangled up with an informant, so he’d landed on no . . . that was, until now, apparently.
“Yeah, but just for a minute. I have someplace to be.”
Great. Now he may have to tell her. Unless he could make something else up in a hurry.
A few minutes later, Trent parked his van beside Angie’s car. “I’m in the mom van.”
Angie laughed as she opened her door. Her feet hit the pavement with heels, rather than her usual sandals. And instead of a simple dress, she wore a sapphire-colored dress that fell right above her knees, showing off just enough of her long, lean legs. She stood, and her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, reminding Trent of a stream flowing down the Rockies. Trent gritted his teeth to keep his mouth from falling open.
He got out and walked to her car. “Wow, you look—”
“What did you need to tell me?”
Trent’s mind went fuzzy. “I just wanted to check on you. See if you needed me to follow you home.”
“Actually, I’m meeting someone for dinner. I need to head that way.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you had plans.” Trent held his breath and waited for Angie to elaborate, but she didn’t. “Well, be safe.” His body nudged him to step closer, but his mind reminded him she was headed to meet someone else. He took a small step forward, but she ducked back in her car and waved goodbye.
Trent stood in the parking lot and watched her drive away like an outfielder watching a home run he knew he couldn’t catch. When her car turned down the road and out of sight, he got back in the van.
After several miles, he heard muffled voices coming from the transmitter. He stared down at the receiver. Angie was still wearing her mic.
“Did I make you guys wait?” Angie’s voice came in loud and clear.
“No, come on.”
Trent sighed. Another female. He’d worried Angie might be on a date. If she dressed that well for a girls’ night, he could only imagine how she’d look on a date.
“I can’t wait for you to meet Jason. I told him how pretty you are. And that dress looks amazing on you, by the way.”
Darn. So, she was on a date. A blind date. His blood boiled thinking of her out with another man, especially looking like she did. Not that what she wore mattered to him. Even with no makeup and gym clothes soiled by smoothie, she was gorgeous.
Trent knew the mature thing to do would be to turn off the radio and let Angie enjoy her night. But how could he enjoy his night knowing she was on a date? So, he went through a drive-through and ordered dinner to go along with the show.
As Angie ordered salmon with rice, Trent dined on a burger and fries. Having nothing better to do, he mentally noted all the details he learned about this Jason. Currently lived in D.C., chemical engineer, college roommate to Doug, who he concluded was married to Angie’s friend. Too bad he hadn’t wired Angie with a camera as well.
Every time Trent felt guilty about listening, Angie would speak again, causing him to justify his intentions. At last, both women excused themselves to the restroom. Trent frowned when he heard flushing toilets, but was too committed at this point to stop listening.
“So, what do you think about Jason?”
Finally, something worth his wait.
Trent fiddled around with his drink straw, anticipating Angie’s response. Then, he waited on another toilet flush.
“Oh no,” Angie said.
“What?”
“I can’t believe I’m still wearing this.” Angie sounded as panicked as the day Mario wore the Hawaiian shirt.
“Wearing what?”
And that was it. Angie cut him off. Even worse, he had no idea if Angie told her friend what she was wearing and why.
That’s what he got for being nosy . . . and jealous.
Chapter 6
Angie rolled down her window and listened closely. On the way to work, she'd noticed her car sputtering a bit. But sometimes, it did that on a new tank of gas. While the sputtering was nothing new, the sound it now made was. Even worse, right before she started home, she had confirmed a ride with Mario for the next day.
The sound grew louder, but that didn't bother Angie as much as the smoke scent seeping in through her open window. Although she was only a few miles from home, she needed to get off the road. She pulled over in front of a local coffee shop and turned off the engine. When she tried to crank it up again, smoke shot from under the hood. A couple of college-age girls sitting at an outside table fanned their faces. Spoiled brats. Just wait until they'd had their car for ten years. Of course, the good news was she could walk home from here. The bad news was, she would have to.
Angie pulled out her phone and closed her eyes, debating whether to call a tow truck or a mechanic. She needed her car fixed. As soon as possible. However, figuring out the Mario dilemma would relieve the
most stress. Angie scrolled her contacts. Hustle Alert.
"Hello."
Angie sighed, pressing a hand to her chest at the sound of Trent's voice.
"Trent, I hate to call you now, but I have a bit of a problem. My car broke down, and I've already told Mario I could pick him up tomorrow."
"Are you someplace safe?"
"Yeah, I pulled over in front of a coffee shop before it got too bad. Now it won't crank." Angie kicked the front tire and regretted it immediately. Instead of making her feel better, she now had a busted car and a busted toe.
"Stay put. I'll locate your car and come right there."
"Thanks." Angie hung up the phone and reached for her toe. Clenching her foot in pain, she hopped toward the door to the coffee shop. Caffeine always helped.
Half a mocha latté later, Trent pulled up. Of course, Angie didn't know it was him until he got out. The man was forever changing vehicles. This time, he’d chosen a red Corolla.
Trent parked beside her car and hopped out.
"Nice car.” She couldn’t resist. His tall frame looked awkward climbing out of such a short space.
“Ha ha. Let's see what's wrong with yours."
Trent smiled her way and wasted no time rolling up his sleeves and checking out Angie's car. Angie grinned smugly as she noticed the college girls checking him out. Yep, the hot guy was there to save her. That'd teach them to turn up their noses at her crusty car.
"It looks like your radiator overheated. I'll call my mechanic and see if he can work on it." Trent shut the hood and wiped his hands on his slacks.
"Is that expensive?"
"Don't worry about that right now."
Trent put a hand on her lower back, giving her side a gentle squeeze. The same calming sensation that shot through her veins the day he wiped smoothie from her cheek rose up in her again. When he let go, heat left her body, as if a jolt of lightning had come and gone. Freaking Thor could touch her, and she wouldn't feel that kind of electricity. Angie looked down, hoping he wouldn't notice her blushing. Plus, if she stared too long into his bottomless blue eyes, it might reignite her pointless crush. She stepped back while he called the mechanic, and tried to recover from what had just happened. The touch, not the car.
Angie had spent the last few days convincing herself of all the reasons she should see Doug's friend Jason again. He was smart, successful, handsome . . . and available. Trent was all those things, too, except the last one. And regardless of the effect he had on her, she couldn't date the detective working the case she was an informant on. Why couldn't she have that kind of chemistry with Jason? The guy was a chemical engineer, for crying out loud. This sucked.
"He can get to it tomorrow. I can have it towed to his shop in a bit."
Now she really wanted to kiss him. "How can I ever repay you?"
"Just keep helping me out with the case.” He flashed her another leading-man smile. “It's nothing really. Do you need a ride home?"
Angie shrugged. "I was going to walk, but since you offered."
Trent nodded his head toward the Corolla. "Come on. I'll drive you up while we wait on the tow."
"Do you think I can get it back by tomorrow evening? I mean, my friend Raven could drive me to work, but I need to drive Mario."
"Probably not. You can borrow this. It's set to go in a police auction later on. Nice little ride."
"It is nice. Are you sure they don't mind?"
"Look. As much trouble as we're putting you through, no way."
Trent smiled, and this time, she allowed herself to fall under his trance. She dove into the pools of his crystal eyes like they were her desert oasis after an exhausting journey. Long after he turned his gaze back on the road, she was still thinking of what it would be like to look into his eyes every day, anytime she wanted, and have him stare back into hers.
"Angie, are you okay?"
Angie flinched, then blinked to regain her vision of reality. They were in her carport, Trent standing by her open door. "Oh . . . yeah."
Well, that was embarrassing.
Trent stared up at the board he'd created to map out the cartel's drug dealings in his area. Mario had done a good job of spacing out his locations, which made it more difficult for Trent to pinpoint a pattern. He added a few new pins to signify the last few pickups before taking a step back. He scratched his chin. Something wasn't adding up. He may need to follow Mario outside of his Hustle rides to fill in the blanks.
As he stared at the map, his eyes began to cross, blurring his vision. His office phone rang, waking up his senses. He took a step back toward his desk and lifted the receiver off its base.
"Detective Turner.”
“Trent, it’s Mike. We’ll have that Honda ready by five today.”
Trent looked at the clock and jotted down a few notes. "That will work. See you then."
He pulled out his cell phone to text Angie.
Your car will be ready at five. I can drop it off to you tonight after you drive Mario.
Before leaving her house the night before, Trent had placed the tracker on the Corolla and made sure both the tracker and Angie's microphone had fully charged batteries. He couldn't let a car malfunction stifle any evidence Mario might leak—or keep him from protecting Angie.
At four-thirty, he shut down his computer and headed for the parking lot. He'd made it within feet of his truck when Delilah's curves popped in front of him.
"Hey, Trent. You gone for the day?"
"Yeah. I've got an errand to run before following a suspect."
"Too bad. I was going to see if you wanted to grab a drink." Delilah’s gray eyes twitched at him. Oh, she wanted to grab a lot more than a drink.
"Already got one." Trent raised his hand, showing off a bottle of water. Delilah frowned and strutted in the other direction. Trent beamed at his sarcastic defense.
Six months ago, he would've offered to meet her later and would've watched every bounce of her hips as she sauntered. Now, he knew her to have little more than sex appeal to draw a guy's attention. At twenty-nine, he had no time to waste on flings. If he had learned anything, it was that life was short and every day mattered.
All the more reason to find a total package, not a pretty box full of packing peanuts.
It didn't take long to get to the mechanic's shop. Angie's Honda was waiting on him. Trent transferred the surveillance equipment to her car before locking his truck to pick up later, then bent his long frame into the driver’s seat.
Wildflowers tickled his nostrils. Even with all the smoke and mechanics, Angie's sweet fragrance seeped through. He closed his eyes and imagined smelling her long brown hair. He wanted to get close to her just once when it didn’t involve frisking her for drugs or wiring her for intel.
Chapter 7
Angie traded Trent the loaner car’s keys for her own. Their fingertips brushed only for a second, but that was long enough for Angie to catch another spark. This was no freak magnetic pulse created from switching metal keys. This was all Trent.
Angie found herself thinking about him more and more. Each time he came to mind, she tried to think of what she didn't like about him. If she could focus on his imperfections (so few and far between), then maybe she could convince herself that she didn't care about him. That it was nothing more than his handsome looks coupled with her loneliness.
She squinted her gaze, focusing on the slight scar across his right eyebrow. He had a few crow's feet around his eye lines as well. Once she made it to his eyes, though, her emotions turned triple back handsprings and landed in those indigo pools. So much for focusing on his faults.
"Thanks again. Do you need a ride back to your truck?" Angie batted her eyelids to keep from swimming in those pools too long.
"No. I'm going to take this car back to the station and have a coworker drop me off on his way home."
Of course. If she did that, he would have to pick the Corolla up later. Trent's masculine manifestation really messed with her common sense.
"Got it."
Trent smiled down at her, sending a rush of energy through her limbs.
"I'll trade out the tracker before I leave."
"Okay." Angie sucked in as Trent walked past her in the tiny area between their cars, trying to keep him from brushing against her. If she couldn't stop thinking about him, the least she could do was keep from touching him.
"What's the name of the place you took my car?"
"Mike's Motors."
Angie nodded. She had assumed she would be able to go with Trent to pick up the car and pay then. Maybe they would take her card over the phone.
"Did Mario act strange when you mentioned the new car?"
Angie shook her head. "Well, I told him about it in a message, so he knew to look for a red Corolla."
Trent bent over and fumbled around inside the Corolla. Angie blinked, trying not to stare. When he stood, she turned her head to hide the fact she'd stared at his backside the whole time.
He brushed past her on his way to the Honda. A few moments later, he'd reinstalled the tracker under the floorboard. Trent stood again and stretched his shoulders, putting his muscles on full display. Angie dropped her gaze to keep from gawking.
"I wouldn't question Mario too much. I plan on following him alone, too. We need to establish a pattern in all of his stops."
"Well, I've taken him to the pink house twice now."
"I noticed that. Did anyone meet him at the door this time?"
Angie leaned against the hood of her car. "No. He went in quickly. The door was unlocked, like someone was expecting him."
Trent twisted his mouth. "There's a gala for the hospital this weekend. Some of the evidence I've gathered leads me to believe the cartel has used the hospital charity as a cover-up for money laundering. I plan on going undercover. How would you like to be my date?"
"I'd love to be your date." Angie shook her head violently, embarrassed that she sounded like a fan girl receiving an autograph. "I mean, I'd love to if it will help the case, of course."
"Great, I'll text you the details." Trent grazed his hand over her arm as he crossed over her car to the Corolla. She swallowed hard as he drove away, trying to ignore how the slightest contact with him made her weak in the knees.
