Her Husband’s Partner

by Jeanie London

The only sane thing to do was arrange for the extra security and show up for tomorrow night’s drop. Agent Asshole would expect him to bring his men. He could simply tell them they were assisting the DEA like they had in that bogus sting. No one would question that. Jason would safeguard himself from another copy of the DVD showing up at his house. Worse yet, Agent Asshole might send the DVD to the media, where everyone in the world would be treated to his downfall. If he stuck with the program, he might even get tossed a bone for good behavior. Agent Asshole had said as much.

  The trouble with this was two-fold. Compliance left an innocent woman at risk and gave Agent Asshole license to continue the blackmail. Jason would like to think eventually this DEA unit from hell would leave the area, but this could go on forever. Or until something went wrong and the situation blew up in his face. Jason wasn’t stupid. Blackmailers would keep blackmailing as long as their victims let them.

  That left him only two choices. He could keep driving and forget this nightmare had ever happened. He could lose himself and start up someplace new, where no one knew him, or what he’d done. Canada, maybe. Or South America. He could give up his life. Callie. His kids. His parents.

  The very thought should have killed him. Giving up all the people he loved, who loved him…he was numb. He’d unloaded all over his confused wife this morning, leaving her worried and scared and without answers. Such a selfish bastard.

  “Own up, take the heat then get on with your life.”

  Tyrese’s words had been replaying in his head. His words. From back when he’d known there was more to life than believing his own press. Honor. Something he’d forgotten along the way.

  Jason could come clean, but he wouldn’t have a life to get on with. His career would be over—even if he managed to avoid jail time. His marriage, too, most likely. How could Callie ever forgive him? How could he forgive himself?

  “Own up, take the heat then get on with your life.”

  Jason hadn’t had any clue the kind of courage it would take to follow that advice when he’d given it to Tyrese. But could he live with himself if something happened to an innocent woman? Could he look himself in the mirror every day, knowing he’d been too much of a coward to do the right thing?

  He saw the exit sign ahead, wondered if he’d take the turnoff ramp toward Poughkeepsie or hit the gas and keep driving.

  RILEY PROWLED THE ROOMS of the house, thoughts racing. She washed her hands and brushed her teeth. She arranged the kids’ stuffed animals on their pillows, marking the spot where those sweet little heads would lay once they returned home from their trip. She emptied the dryer of a load of whites, folded and put them away before finally remembering she really did need to start dinner.

  With a goal to ground her, Riley headed into the kitchen and willed herself to focus. She opened the fridge and took stock of what she had available. Sauce, mozzarella and a chunk of parmesan left over from the pizza. Several pounds of frozen chicken breasts that wouldn’t take long to defrost. Without a great deal of work, she could put together chicken parmesan that should satisfy a hungry man.

  Satisfy a hungry man.

  Those few innocent words conjured up memories that sent another wave of heat flooding through her and started the whole sorry process of obsessing all over again.

  She tossed the chicken onto the counter, where it landed with a solid thunk, and headed toward the coffeepot. No, she didn’t need any caffeine when adrenaline was spiking her anxiety quite nicely, thank you very much, but coffee always made everything better. And with any luck the caffeine would constrict her blood vessels so she could focus for two minutes to make sense of…that.

  She got the coffee brewing then arranged the chicken in the microwave to defrost, willing herself to calm down, to think clearly. She was an adult with some problems that needed resolutions. She couldn’t afford the luxury of freaking out because she’d responded in Scott’s arms, had been taken by surprise by her reaction to him.

  And Scott’s reaction to her. A shiver coursed through her as she remembered the expression on his face. Shocked. Stricken. And as embarrassed as she’d been. That much she hadn’t imagined.

  And aroused?

  Yes. She hadn’t imagined that, either.

  Definitely aroused whether or not he’d wanted to be.

  Pulling a skillet from the cabinet, Riley assembled everything she needed to bread the cutlets. Spear a cutlet. Roll it in flour. Submerge it in egg. Coat it with seasoned bread crumbs. Then place it in the skillet.

  She caught sight of a glossy black head in her periphery and glanced up from her task to see him crossing the yard toward the barn with a boy who was even taller than he was.

  Flour. Egg. Bread crumbs. Skillet.

  She willed the repetitive action to keep her attention and calm her jangled nerves. Once she got a few swigs of coffee in her, she’d be able to think more clearly.

  Scott was an attractive man, a gorgeous man. Riley had always known that. Anyone with eyes would know that. Admittedly, she had to wonder why someone hadn’t scarfed him up long ago. He’d dated some really nice women. Most hadn’t been around long, but there’d been a few who’d hung around so she’d remembered their names from one police function to the next. Jennifer. Stephanie. Who was the one with the exquisite taste in shoes? Dana.

  Mike had always told her not to worry about Scott. He’d said that Scott had some issues to sort through before he could commit to a woman. And then finding one might be a problem because he’d set his sights extraordinarily high.

  That instantly recognizable black head caught her attention again. This time, Scott left the barn with two young men, probably Brian’s age or close to it, in tow. The one who was taller than Scott—what was his name again? Eric. And the Hispanic boy, Mateo. She speared a cutlet from the skillet, accidentally spattering oil when she didn’t drain it long enough.

  What idiot had thought shutters would only detract from the view of the farm through all these windows? The idiot standing here with a fork in her hand, catching glimpses of a man she didn’t want to see. Every single time she caught sight of him, those broad, broad shoulders, Riley found her thoughts circling right back around to that.

  True, their relationship had been changing lately, but she’d gone from zero to sixty in his arms. There was no other way to describe it.

  Riley had to get a grip. She wasn’t a sixteen-year-old with moody hormones, and Scott wasn’t someone with whom she had the luxury of losing control. He was involved with her family. He was a friend. She couldn’t damage their relationship over some…she still didn’t have a clue what that had been.

  Flour. Egg. Bread crumbs. Skillet.

  Darn it. What was wrong with her? Was she so emotionally vulnerable that she physically reacted to the first attractive man she felt comfortable with? And here she’d been telling Scott how healthy she was.

  But that didn’t ring true. Not really. No question they’d been growing closer. No question that she liked the man she was getting to know. But she was honestly surprised that part of her hadn’t died along with Mike. Of course the grief counselors and people at the support groups had all said time would eventually help her get back to living. She was young. Her kids were young. They had a future meant to be lived. Riley hadn’t believed them.

  “Riley?”

  She spun around, almost upending the bowl of flour. Scott stood in the doorway of the kitchen, and she’d been so preoccupied with her thoughts she hadn’t heard him come in.

  “Crew took off and I have good news.” He sounded normal.

  “I’m all ears.” She sounded normal, too.

  He leaned against the doorjamb, still not meeting her gaze. “Kevin found a possible answer—he just called to tell me. A local drug rep from one of the companies under investigation has a connection to someone we’ve gotten to know pretty well down at the department the past few years. Someone who’d know to bring along a radio to a cop’s house.”

  “The pharmaceutic
al case?”

  Scott nodded. “It’s weak at best, so don’t get your hopes up. But it’s something. Kevin’s on it.”

  “Thanks, I—”

  “Listen, Riley,” Scott cut her off. “I’m sorry about today. I was totally out of line.”

  “Scott, I—”

  “I don’t know what happened.” He shoved his hand through his hair, upending the thick waves almost comically. “I shouldn’t have invaded your personal space. I…well, I wanted to make you feel better.”

  He was taking the responsibility for what had happened? “But, Scott, you weren’t—”

  “I’m going to put the security on.” He was already turning, ready to bolt. “I really need to shower. Do you mind?”

  Whether she minded or not didn’t seem to be at issue because he was gone before she could reply. Again she stood there staring after him as she heard the rapid beeping of the security panel as he set it, then the door to the kids’ bathroom slamming firmly shut across the house. And some rapid-fire sputtering it took a moment to identify.

  “Oh, no.” She spun toward the skillet to find two cutlets burning.

  She rescued them with a fork, shaking her head. What kind of conversation had that been? Why was Scott assuming the blame? She’d been the one to ignite like a spark to kindling in his arms. Could he have possibly misinterpreted her reaction?

  Replaying the exchange over and over in her head, she finished assembling the meal and put it in the oven to bake. Then she washed the dishes. All she knew was that had been the second stupidest exchange between a man and woman in the history of mankind. Only this time she hadn’t been the one with the stupidity pouring out of her mouth. She hadn’t been able to get a complete sentence out thanks to Mr. Noble Gentleman.

  So what was she supposed to do now? Just accept his apology and pretend nothing had happened? That didn’t even make sense. Normal people discussed situations that needed discussion. But if he wasn’t willing, then maybe she should figure out what was going on with her before addressing the issue with him or trying to.

  He didn’t seem to mind having conversations all by himself. Or assuming all the responsibility for something that had clearly happened between the two of them.

  It was nearly five o’clock when Scott resurfaced. She intended to sit him down at the dinner table and try to revisit the subject, but the sight of him looking so freshly scrubbed from the shower derailed her.

  There it was again. That awareness. Of how shiny and black his hair was with the waves still damp from the shower. How pink his cheeks were where he’d shaved. His jeans were clean. His shirt was fresh and neatly pressed. She could remember exactly how his hard chest would feel beneath that crisp white shirt.

  “Smells good in here.” He met her gaze this time, seemed to have collected himself. Apparently he intended to follow through with his pretend-nothing-ever-happened strategy.

  “Hungry?” she asked. “Or is it too early for you? I’m on kid time myself.”

  “I’m starving, but don’t go to any trouble for me.”

  Hadn’t she said she would cook for him? Hadn’t he even noticed that she’d been cooking for the past hour and a half since the kids had left? “No trouble. The least I can do is feed you—”

  His phone rang. He reached for it with an apologetic expression, and she decided she wasn’t going to catch a break right now. Not to talk with him.

  Scott was frowning, so she asked, “Kevin again?”

  He shook his head, sending a damp wave curling over his forehead. “I don’t recognize the number.” Flipping open the phone, he said, “Emerson.”

  He went utterly still while listening to his end of the conversation, and Riley, too, went on red alert. She knew the look, knew this call involved something he was invested in. His mouth compressed into a tight line, his jaw clenched as he responded in monosyllables. She noticed his knuckles grow steadily whiter as his grip tightened on the phone.

  “I’ll get him there,” Scott said. “Chick’s. Forty minutes?”

  Chick’s in the Valley was a tavern that had been around a lot longer than Riley had, a total hole in the wall that had become a Pleasant Valley institution.

  Scott ended the call and for a moment was silent, as if he still hadn’t transitioned from the call back to reality. He finally met her gaze. “I’ve got to leave for a little while. There will be a unit parked outside until I get back. Just a precaution. I won’t be long.”

  “Is everything all right? I assume that call didn’t have anything to do with me or you wouldn’t be leaving.”

  His dark gaze bored into her with such intensity that Riley’s pulse kicked up a notch. “I’ll know more soon, but I’ve got to make some calls myself.”

  Then he left the room, leaving her staring after him again. What was this man’s problem?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  JASON FOUND A PARKING SPOT beside the back door that led upstairs to the apartments above the tavern. He still wasn’t sure if he’d made a mistake by agreeing to this meet at the height of Friday-night rush-hour traffic. He’d thought about waiting until after dark, but decided it would be easier to hide his movements in the traffic rather than try to slip away from home at night.

  He wasn’t worried about Callie. She was used to the demands of his job and wouldn’t think anything strange, but he didn’t trust Agent Asshole not to have put a tail on him. For precisely that reason, he’d asked Tyrese for another favor—borrowing the man’s motorcycle, a favor much more to Tyrese’s liking. That’s why he’d jumped on board the “reform Jason” train with more than prayers. But Jason appreciated the prayers. He needed a miracle.

  Once inside the back entrance, he pulled off the helmet.

  Jason made his way down the narrow hall, finally pushing through swinging doors to the bar. Chick was behind it, where he’d been for the past forty years, maybe longer.

  “Bud.” He slapped down a ten, waited until he had the icy longneck in his hand before saying, “I’m meeting—”

  “Private room.” Chick cocked his balding head toward the swinging doors. “They’re waiting for you.”

  Jason tipped his bottle in salute, then took a deep drink as he went to meet his fate.

  Scott and Chief Levering were both inside the small dining room. The chief was sitting, nursing his own beer, while Scott prowled the perimeter. Jason closed the door.

  “Chief.” Chief Levering saluted Jason in a greeting that was a joke between them ever since Jason had left the PPD to lead Hazard Creek’s department.

  “Chief.” Jason made his way to the table and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “What do you have?” Scott asked.

  The moment of truth.

  Jason set down the beer. He cocked his hip against the table and folded his arms across his chest. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he felt the silence stretch, knowing the time had come to commit to the decision he’d made.

  To do the right thing.

  “I stepped in a pile of shit and need your help getting out.”

  To Jason’s surprise that admission didn’t get as tangled up with his pride as he’d expected. His voice sounded almost normal as he detailed the situation from the setup in Atlantic City to his appointment on the Narcotics Commission to Agent Asshole blackmailing him to provide law enforcement protection at various drug drops into the area.

  When he finished, there was more of that silence.

  “Shit, Jason?” Chief Levering shook his head, looking disgusted. “You’re not kidding. What the hell do you think we can do for you?”

  “Help me bring this asshole down,” Jason said simply, all the humiliation, all the tension, all the goddamn months of sick pressure lessening with every word. “I’ll give you everything you need and then some to set this guy up. I’ve got details on three-quarters of a million in drugs coming in. I want to go in with your best men undercover and bring every one of these hoods down.”

&n
bsp; “You’ll be going down with them,” Scott said, scowling.

  It took effort to get the words out. “I know, man. I screwed up. But I don’t want the media wiping the floors with my family. If you help me bring these assholes down, I’ll have something to offer the D.A. We can keep this reasonably quiet.”

  Chief Levering’s gaze narrowed. “You know the way this works, Jason. You’re well-known around here. Do you think swinging a deal is even possible? What else do you have?”

  Jason wasn’t going to dwell on where basking in the local limelight had gotten him or the irony that all he wanted now was to disappear into a hole. “Enough to blow open something that’s going to solve problems you didn’t even know you had.”

  “You mentioned Riley on the phone,” Scott said.

  Jason nodded. He took a step away from the table, that feeling of relief getting lost somewhere beneath the sober admission he needed to make.

  “I’m responsible.” He met Chief Levering’s gaze. “I sent someone to break into her house and car. I needed to find—”

  He’d been too busy battling down guilt and pride as he faced his old boss to notice the powerful right hook coming at him. Then the side of his head exploded and he was tripping backward over a chair. He crash-landed against the wall with a thud that rocked the door in its frame. He had time to register Scott bearing down on him when Chief Levering’s command rang out, “Knock it off.”

  Scott stopped short when Chief Levering caught a hand in his collar. “Don’t make me say it again.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Scott growled, visibly shaking.

  Jason rubbed his jaw. He couldn’t meet either man’s gaze. Not when he hadn’t even gotten to the good parts yet.

  “Get up,” Chief Levering said to Jason just as the door opened and Chick stuck his bald head into the room.

  “You want me to call the cops?” He gave a short laugh.

  “Aren’t you a comedian.” Chief Levering scowled. “Bring us another round, would you?”

  Chick disappeared again, and Chief Levering pointed to the table. “Both of you sit and get a grip. Now.”