by Laura Burton
Trent adjusted his bowtie and mustache before exiting the car. Why did the chief suggest he wear a mustache as his disguise? It seemed too cliché . . . and itchy. Nonetheless, here he stood, Van Culpepper, accountant and major donor to the hospital.
He walked around the auditorium and tapped on the back door. His coworker Rich opened it. Down the first hallway in the basement, Rich and Delilah had set up a small control station inside a room marked "For Nursing Mothers." Not ideal, but least suspected for sure.
"Come in. Let's get you wired.” Rich fiddled with a few cords, hiding them meticulously behind Trent's collar. “We're going to put a camera behind your bowtie. Is your date wearing a wire?"
"You have a date?" A hint of accusation rung in Delilah's voice.
Trent let his temper cool before he answered. "Van Culpepper has a date." He shot her an arrogant grin and stroked the caterpillar rubbing his nose.
Delilah raised a brow, then turned back to her surveillance board.
"Yes, Rich. She's going to wear the mic she has." From the corner of his eye, Trent saw Delilah frown. She must’ve realized he meant Angie.
"Excellent. I can tune into that signal if you give me the number."
"Forty-ten."
"Thanks, man. Good luck."
"Same to you guys."
Trent exited the building, altering his earbud as he strolled past the landscaping toward the front steps. He saw Angie making her way toward the building. A bright red dress hung off her shoulders and hugged each of her slim curves on the way down. She looked even better in red than blue. He hadn’t thought that possible. Her hair hung to one side in soft curls that fell across her neckline.
Van Culpepper was one lucky man.
Trent’s lips twitched slightly as she walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away and cocked her head, as if she wasn't sure it was him.
"Madam?" Trent held out his arm for her to take.
"Van Culpepper, I presume."
"One and the same." Trent winked at her, feeling the stickiness of his recently dyed eyebrows. "You look gorgeous, by the way."
"Thank you. And you look rather dapper with your Wild West facial hair."
He led her up the stone steps adorned with wide columns, giving the place an ancient Rome appearance. They walked past the open double doors into a large foyer with marbled flooring and a chandelier larger than this truck.
"It wasn't my idea." Trent glanced over, admiring her profile. His eyes followed her face down to her shoulders and a little lower. Something was out of place. He pulled her into a side hallway.
"Your mic cord."
Angie's eyes followed Trent's to her neckline, where the cord peeked out from her dress. She tried to stuff it inside, but it popped back out. She tried again.
"Mind if I . . .?" He waited for Angie to nod. When she did, he moved behind her and unzipped her dress the slightest bit. He secured the cord to her bra with trembling hands, then zipped the dress in a hurry, pinching his finger in the process.
"Ugh."
"Are you okay?" Angie spun around, her face landing close to his.
He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he held up his index finger between them. "Yeah. Zipped my finger."
Angie smiled and pulled the top of her dress up under her armpits. "I should've known this dress would cause problems."
She had no idea the problems her dress might cause. And not just for Van Culpepper, but for every other man with half-decent vision as well.
Trent held out his arm. "Let's go do some damage."
They entered the main ballroom. More columns, similar to those outside, led to ridiculously high ceilings. The wallpapered walls served as a busy background for dozens of flower arrangements. Trent glanced around at all the prestigious people. His stomach turned sour thinking how the cartel members were lurking around somewhere, using this medical fundraiser as a cover-up for drug pushing.
It didn't take long for Trent to locate his prime suspect. Salvador Senior. He sat close to the head table, dressed like a character from Mad Men. Trent elbowed Angie and nodded his way.
"Is that?"
"Sure is, and her date is the big man in charge." Salvador's date was none other than the Eva Mendes lookalike who had been waiting for Mario at the pink house. It all started to make sense.
Trent found their names at a table in the center of the room and sat. He had a clear view of Salvador and Eva, who was decked out in head-to-toe gold and hanging off his arm like a doll. But he needed to get closer. As luck would have it, the band started to play, and many couples headed for the dance floor, including Salvador.
"Care to dance?" Trent smiled at Angie.
"I'm not that good of a dancer." Angie blushed, but he held out his hand anyway.
"Okay. But you'll have to lead." She took his hand and followed him.
He wrapped his other arm around her back and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. "We need to get close to the couple. If he has a phone in his pocket, the chip in my recorder can track him."
Angie nodded gently, her soft skin tickling his mustache. Trent spun Angie and walked forward, allowing them to get closer to Salvador without looking suspicious. They planted themselves a few feet from the couple, and Trent held Angie close to his chest. After the first song, she rested her head against him, and he melted into her, almost forgetting about the job. They danced for several minutes with their backs to Salvador before Rich's voice hummed in Trent's ears. "Good work, I got it."
Trent sighed and continued dancing. He was in no hurry to have Angie off of him. When the song ended, she lifted her head off his shoulder. Her hair brushed against his cheek. When their eyes met, her expression changed from pleasant to panicked. She pulled him outside onto the adjoining balcony.
"What was that about?"
"Salvador looked our way . . . and your mustache is crooked." She reached up and straightened the fuzzy scoundrel, her soft fingertips tickling his upper lip. "There."
She rested her hands on his shoulders. He relaxed at her touch.
"Angie, I really appreciate you helping me with this." He put his hands on her hips, partly to see if she would let him.
She gazed up at him with her doe-like eyes and didn't flinch a muscle. "Well, it's the least I could do."
"It wasn't part of the agreement. Your job is to help with Mario. But . . . I have enjoyed our fake date.”
"Trent, I know you paid for my car repairs."
He sighed. He knew she would find out sooner or later, but he'd hoped it would be later.
"I called Mike's and tried to pay over the phone. They said the bill had been taken care of."
"Mike likes to help people out."
Angie shook her head. “Trent, I know it was you. I intend to pay you back, you know."
"Angie—"
"No. Don't even say it. You don't owe me anything." Angie pointed a red fingernail at him. "I won't let you by on this. Now tell me the cost."
Trent glanced over his shoulder to find Salvador staring at him. What now? He needed a distraction, and walking away would only raise suspicions. Without thinking, Trent grabbed Angie's pointed hand from in front of his face and pressed his lips to hers.
He’d done it now.
The smell of wildflowers whispered around him as he caressed the soft skin of her shoulders. For someone with seasonal allergies, he sure had taken a liking to her floral aroma. Trent could kiss her forever. And he would have, had the most annoying voice in the world not entered his ear.
"Hey, we're tracking Salvador leaving the gala. You guys can call it a night."
Delilah.
Trent sighed and pulled back from Angie, remembering his bowtie camera. Rich and Delilah had probably had a front row seat to Angie's cleavage. He didn't care.
Angie started laughing, and Trent opened his eyes. His mustache had caught in her curls. She untangled her hair and dangled the mustache in front of him.
Trent shook his head and held up a hand. "Keep the
change."
Chapter 8
Angie replayed the kiss with Trent about as many times as she’d replayed the movie 27 Dresses. She’d kissed her detective. So, so wrong. Yet, it felt so right. As if all those tiny electric charges she felt whenever they touched had finally come together and ignited a fire between them.
He'd started it. But she had done nothing to stop it.
Mario said he’d be visiting family in Mexico and wouldn't need a ride for a few more days. Who knew if this was true. All Angie cared about was seeing Trent again. Hearing his voice. Possibly meeting his lips more.
She couldn’t talk to Raven or her cousin Erica or even her mom about Trent, since doing so would infringe on the privacy of the case.
Once, when he’d followed her home, Trent pointed out where he lived. She didn't pay much attention to it at the time, but she remembered the complex. So, when a young couple hired her to drive them home from a friend’s party and “home” happened to be Trent's apartment complex, Angie saw it as fate. Fate had spoken, and it was time to push her insecurities and apprehensions aside.
She pulled up to the front of the building and let the couple out. They tipped her two wadded-up dollar bills, reminding her of Mario's generosity and the lucrative nature of drug dealing. Angie thanked them anyway. At least this would almost cover a meal in the cafeteria.
They walked toward their building, and Angie pulled around to the back of the complex. She remembered Trent saying he lived in Apartment 205. Sure enough, his truck was parked near the stairwell.
Angie parked in the space next to his truck and turned off her engine. After quivering to pull her keys out of the ignition, Angie opened the door before she changed her mind. She jumped out and headed for the stairwell, combing her fingers through her hair. In a way, she liked that Trent had seen her with no makeup and smoothie crust on her face. It made all the times he'd seen her in tired teacher mode not so scary.
When she reached the door, Angie held up a fist to knock, then let her hand drop. What would she say? “I just wanted to stop by and see how you were.” No, that sounded like something her mom might say to a lonely widow or a sick friend. Plus, Angie didn't have a casserole in tow to warm the welcome.
Angie winced and balled her hands. She knocked. Her feet wanted to flee, but almost immediately, the door opened. She swallowed her breath—and her pride—at the sight of Delilah, barefoot and in sweats.
“Delilah?”
This woman even made sweatpants look sexy. Angie had two dresses that made her look curvy, both of which came with bra cups and a hefty price tag. How did she do it?
“Oh hi, Angie. What are you doing here?”
“Uh, I . . .” Angie wanted to ask Delilah the same question, but the shock of finding her looking so at home in Trent’s apartment fizzled her brain.
“Oh, great work on the cartel case, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Angie mustered a smile, though it felt like she needed a shot of Botox to do so.
“We finally have tabs on the big guy now. And I know you're glad you won't have to ride that drug runner around anymore.” Delilah swayed in front of the door, twisting her hair between her manicured fingers.
“What do you mean?” Angie licked her lips to keep her mouth from drying out.
“Oh, don't worry. You'll still get your reward money. That’s why you did it all, right?”
“Yeah.” Angie blinked back tears. That was why she'd agreed to all this. Yet, somewhere along the way, she'd looked forward to driving Mario because it meant she could spend time with Trent. It had been worth putting her life on the line just to hear his voice.
“All right. Good talking to you. I'll tell Trent you stopped by.”
Delilah slammed the door, causing Angie to shudder.
She stood there for a few seconds, staring at the door, as if doing so would make Trent open it. Maybe she'd gone to the wrong apartment? Nope. Delilah was at his place, looking all comfortable while still her sultry self. Angie backed up toward the stairwell and grabbed the railings with both hands. She drifted down the steps, unsure of how she’d made it to the bottom without her legs buckling when she got there. She looked back once more before going to her car.
In the shelter of her car, Angie let the tears flow. How could she have been so stupid? So what if he’d kissed her? For all she knew, that kiss had been initiated by Van Culpepper, not Trent. A guy like Trent could have anyone he wanted. Even Delilah. Especially Delilah. She knew by the way Delilah acted around him.
Angie's stomach burned, and her heart beat high in her throat until it felt like she couldn't breathe. She rolled down her windows, letting the cool night breeze dry her face. What would she say next time he called her about the case? Or would he call her again? And should she still drive Mario?
A million questions flooded her mind, giving her a headache as big as the first day of school. Regardless of what Angie decided to do, she had to keep her distance from Trent. No matter what.
Trent leaned back in his chair, staring out his office window. With an unexciting view of the parking lot, he found it mind numbing for whenever something bothered him. That made five calls in the past few hours Angie hadn't answered. He hadn't heard from her in almost a week, and she hadn't responded to his texts. Had he come on too strong kissing her?
But she’d given him all the green lights, hadn’t pulled away, and then smiled as he walked her hand-in-hand to her car.
Since the ball usually stayed in her court, her calls revolving around Mario’s scheduled rides, he'd waited for her to contact him. But after five days of nothing but crickets, his mind had transitioned from daydreaming about seeing her again to worrying for her safety.
Trent had sworn years ago to protect everyone he could from the destruction of drugs. At first, he’d been protective of Angie due to her innocence. Over time, he’d come to care deeply about her. Losing her now would be more than he could bear.
Trent chewed on the end of his pen. There was one way he could check on her, but he’d cross a multitude of boundaries in doing so. He thumped the pen on his desk, sending red ink all over his white shirt. Crap. He’d bitten through the ink tube. Trent looked down at his shirt in frustration just in time to hear a knock on his office door.
“Come in.” He grabbed his water bottle and doused his shirt, hoping to get to the ink before it dried.
Rich walked in and scrunched his brows. “Uh . . . get shot there, buddy?”
“No, this stupid . . .” Trent sighed and chunked the pen in the trashcan beside his desk.
“I have someone here who wants to talk with you.”
Trent raised his eyes to Rich. “Now's good.” He leaned forward, avoiding the blood-colored smudges on his chest.
Rich opened the door the rest of the way, revealing Mario.
Trent's jaw dropped. He'd hoped for Angie. Not that seeing Mario was bad, but he was a far cry from Angie, with her angelic face and pouty, pink lips . . . those sweet lips that had locked around his like freshly clicked handcuffs . . .
“Trent, you okay?”
“Yeah.” He nodded toward two chairs facing his desk. “Have a seat.” Trent wiped his face. He needed to forget about Angie, at least for now.
Mario took a seat. Rich sat beside him.
“Mario wants to bargain with us in return for testifying against Salvador.”
Trent raised a brow. This was getting interesting. “Why do you want to go against Salvador?”
“He threaten my family in Mexico. I need him locked up to keep them safe.”
Trent nodded. Mario wiped his brow and squirmed at the edge of his seat, his eyes a mixture of fear and desperation.
“We're glad you came to us. I've been tracking Salvador for a week now, and we can really use you to back up our evidence.”
Mario nodded. “Si.”
Trent clasped his hands together and bit the inside of his cheek. He had so much to ask Mario, but he couldn’t continue until he knew Angie wa
s safe.
“Mario, do you still use the Hustle app to distribute for Salvador?”
“Si.”
Trent squeezed his hands tighter, wondering what danger he might've put Angie through without him. All because he’d selfishly wanted to kiss her, scaring her off.
“Do you know the name of your driver?”
“Si. Mister Jim.”
Trent glanced at Rich, who looked equally confused.
“How long has Mr. Jim driven you?”
“Four days. I used a nice woman before, but she quit.”
Trent stood up so fast, his head rushed as if he'd downed a milkshake in ten seconds flat.
“Are you sure you're okay?” Rich gave Trent a skeptical look, while Mario stared at the watered-down red ink on his shirt.
“I will be. Please, Mario, continue.” Trent stood by the window to hide his uneasiness. As soon as he could hear the rest of Mario's story and put him in a safe place, he'd turn to his last resort.
Stalking Angie.
Chapter 9
Angie wrinkled her nose as she scraped off the frost crystals that had formed over her half-pint of cookies and cream. She’d eaten so much the past week that even her running shorts felt snug. Apparently, she hadn’t bothered to secure the ice cream lid last night before putting the carton back in the freezer.
As she used a fork to surgically remove the frozen residue from her new favorite meal, she heard the front door open. Angie reached under the oven for her frying pan, then heard Raven’s voice.
“Don’t go Pioneer Woman on me. This is an intervention.”
“What?” Angie blew a strand of greasy hair out of her view. Her breath smelled about as good as her hair.
“You’re a mess, and don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Raven squared her small body between the counter and oven, a hand on each end, leaving no room for Angie to escape. In a panic, Angie reached out and tickled her under the arms. Raven screamed, pressing her arms into her chest.
