by Misty Evans
She dropped the folder, grabbed the front of Fed Boy’s shirt and hauled him closer. The gawking look of surprise he gave her might at some point be comical. Right now it was a nightmare. “Pucker up,” she whispered and mashed her face against his.
If he minded the fact that she had her tongue in his mouth, he was one hell of a good actor. He, in fact, slid his arms around her waist and settled his hands on her ass, gripping and pulling her closer and Syd’s core sparked. When exactly was the last time she’d had a male induced orgasm?
“Oh!” a woman’s voice sounded and the two of them jumped apart.
They both spun to the door where Annie, one of the residents and Syd’s makeshift den mother, stood. She focused on Fed Boy with the hard look of a woman accustomed to mistrusting men.
“Annie, hi.” Syd ran her hand down Fed Boy’s arm. “This is...”
“Jason.” He nodded his hello. “Jason Black.”
Disregarding him, Annie turned to Syd. “I heard something in here. I knew you were gone, though.”
“Sorry we scared you,” Fed Boy said.
Syd nodded. “Yes, but next time, maybe knock. I forgot something and Jason swung me by for it. We got, um—” She glanced at Fed Boy and he grinned.
Bastard.
“Distracted?” he offered.
“Yes, distracted.”
Annie eyed them, but Fed Boy laid a cutie-pie smile on her and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Annie.”
Good work jumping in there, considering the inferno burning inside Syd had melted her brain cells.
Annie stared at his hand and Syd took a step forward. “Are you okay?”
“Are you okay?” Annie countered, as if Syd had lost her mind.
Syd remained still. She’d learned not to touch a battered woman. Personal space was especially precious to them. Still, part of her ached to hug Annie. To show her that touching didn’t always mean beating. “I’m fine. We’ll be leaving in two minutes. Why don’t you head back to the common room?”
Annie glanced at Fed Boy. “You’re sure?”
For added reinforcement, Syd relaxed her stance and eased her lips into a smile. Body language speak for I’m comfortable. “Positive. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Slowly, Annie turned to the door, but stopped and threw a sneer Fed Boy’s way. Not unexpected. The women around here didn’t trust men—any men—one bit.
Syd wondered if she should take a clue from Annie.
Holy shit, Sydney could kiss.
And act. She’d shocked the hell right out of him.
Lips still tingling from the assault, Grey cleared his throat. Sydney met every one of the items on his checklist for the perfect woman to work this mission, but there was something else. Something undefinable about her he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that had made him more than happy to kiss her back and be damn sorry when they had to stop.
Probably because he’d been celibate since he’d been fired. Yeah, that was it. He hadn’t expected Sydney to be so…aggressive. So physical. So damn female. His body, starved for sex as it was, couldn’t help but respond.
He needed to adjust his pants, the fabric now entirely too tight. But the way Annie looked at him did the job of dousing his libido. There was no time to examine what that kiss had done. He’d give Sydney a little hell about it later, after he decided whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that his new partner was so...physical. And attractive. And…
Jesus.
Annie’s eyes bored into him. Working violent crimes, he’d seen that expression on the faces of victims. She looked at him like he was a monster. Someone who couldn’t be trusted. The same flash of distrust had appeared in Sydney’s eyes throughout the evening. What could he do to change that?
Maybe nothing, but he could at least be polite and considerate. Sydney was right about these women. They’d been through hell, most of it courtesy of men. All he could do was show Annie and Sydney that not all men were assholes. “Annie, I’m glad you took the initiative to check up on the sounds you heard.” He touched Sydney’s arm. “Now I know Sydney’s in good hands when she’s working late.”
Sydney cleared her throat and glanced at the floor. Was that a touch of pink on her cheeks?
Annie’s expression softened as she focused on Sydney’s face. “We look out for our own and we couldn’t do without Sydney. She’s a friend and mentor to all of us.”
Sydney’s gaze came up and the flush on her cheeks deepened. She gave Annie a small smile and a nod. Annie smiled back and left them alone.
As soon as the door shut, Sydney let out a long, slow sigh. “That’s why I was nervous.”
He should move away now. Put some distance between them. Study that file. Instead, he kept his body between Sydney and the desk. “You did good, although you could have said I was a relative or something.”
She shook her head. “Everyone here knows I don’t have family. It helps me connect with them. Makes them realize I understand what being alone means. So, I made you my boyfriend. Or, at least someone I maul in the dark.”
God, she was funny. Fast on her feet, too. She was definitely going to make a good undercover asset. As long as she didn’t kiss the wrong guy and give Grey a heart attack.
He picked up the folder. “Why Karen? A married woman, even if she has run from her husband, isn’t a good pick for the escort service.”
“Unless she wanted me to make her disappear. Then she’s the perfect pick.”
“Ian knows about your side enterprise? Making these women disappear?”
“He knows some of them show up and don’t stay long. I think he suspects I help them, but doesn’t necessarily want confirmation. Plausible deniability and all that.”
More likely the dickweed knew everything Sydney was doing and used her insight to decide which candidates were the most likely to work for his escort service. After all, if any of the women Sydney had helped disappear turned up as victims down the road, Ian had a scapegoat. “Any chance you can make Karen look even better to Ian? See if he takes the bait?”
Her eyes widened. “You want me to offer Karen up as bait? No. Out of the question.”
“I’m only looking for evidence that might lead us to the killer. If I can catch Ian in the act of recruiting Karen, I can blackmail him into helping me catch The Lion. I would never put Karen’s life in danger.”
“Said the spider to the fly.” Sydney tossed the file on top of her messy desk. “No. I’m not comfortable with that. I can’t put Karen on Ian’s plate. And maybe, just maybe, he’s innocent.”
Ah, they were back to that. “Maybe he is.” And the US government was filled with honest politicians and visiting diplomats never murdered in cold blood. “We’ll know for sure if we give him a potential woman to recruit and he either goes after her or keeps his hands clean.”
Sydney propped her hand on her hip. “Earlier you said you wanted him to recruit me.” She sucked in her cheeks, tapped a foot on the floor. “I’ll convince Ian I need to do something different. Get out of here. Supplement my measly income. Something…”
“He’s already got his eye on Karen. We don’t want to tip our hand.”
She glared at him, hands on hips. He knew that look. It was the same one Monroe gave him when he wasn’t about to budge.
Grey shook his head, let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t like it, but it could work.”
Of course it would work. Ian would be an idiot not to snatch up Sydney for The Smoking Gun. And that was the ultimate plan, wasn’t it? Grey would be one step closer to getting real evidence on The Lion. One step closer to getting his job back.
Sydney composed her face, stopped tapping her foot. “I don’t really care whether you like it or not. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. I offer up myself or we quit this gig here and now.”
It was all Grey could do not to grin. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Banfield.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not willing to sacrifice an alread
y emotionally unstable woman. Besides, none of these women could handle the pressure. Me? I love bringing a son of a bitch to his knees.”
Jesus. Better watch my balls.
“And, Fed Boy? Don’t think I don’t know you just manipulated me into offering myself up.” She grabbed his shirt, pulled him close—too close. “I’ve got your number, pal.”
Then she kissed him. Again. This time long and slow and teasing and his mind went ballistic. Total puzzle this woman.
A puzzle he was looking forward to piecing together.
Chapter Six
Early Saturday morning, Grey shot six .40 caliber rounds from his Glock into the paper target in front of him. To his left, Allan Drummond, an investment banker learning self-defense at Front Range Training Institute, also fired. Personal protection classes were on the upswing all across the country and Front Range was opening two new training centers in the D.C. area alone before the year was out. If Grey wanted an honest, reliable job, this was it. Decent hours, decent pay. A sense of normalcy.
Over the past few days of watching and finally meeting Sydney, he’d realized all over again that he wasn’t cut out for normalcy. Never had been. That’s why he got his kicks from flying helos for Delta Force. Why he’d joined the FBI in the first place. Not like his old man who’d worked as a security guard for Arizona State for forty years before keeling over from a heart attack. Grey liked a challenge, liked pushing himself and the limits of his capabilities.
Sydney had reminded him of that. Reminded him that sometimes the law served to protect the wrong people. That rules had to be broken on occasion in order to help the innocent.
That throwing oneself headfirst into a situation to bring down the bad guys was an admirable trait rather than a stupid one.
Sydney. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her eyes, how good she smelled—like strawberries—and how damn tight his pants had gotten when she’d kissed him. But she was a wildcard and could blow this operation to hell if he didn’t control her.
A controlling man. The thing his asset hated most. It wouldn’t be easy, but they’d have to find a way to trust each other.
Once Allan finished his shots, Grey set down the Glock, took off his ear protection and pushed the button to pull in the paper targets. His six shots had cut a nice center hole in the mock target’s chest. Allan’s holes lay scattered over the upper body.
Good enough.
“What do you think?” Allan asked, surveying his handiwork as Grey came over to his cubicle.
“You passed.” Grey clapped the smiling middle-aged man on the shoulder. Front Range was a good job, just not the job that made his blood race. “The trick is to keep practicing. Every week, a few hours at the shooting range.”
“I’ve already signed up for two hours every Thursday night for the next month.”
Grey nodded. In the midst of training, clients were fired up. A month from now, the banker would be back to his old routines, his old habits. The personal training he’d just completed after six weeks with Grey would give him a sense of false confidence and he’d let things slide.
But there were only so many things in the world Grey could control. Every day, he wished he’d saved his sister from the monster who’d killed her. Every day, he accepted he could never change the fact he’d failed.
Sydney, like his Front Range clientele, was not one of those things he could control.
Horny male or not, wanting her sexually was wrong. He was her partner, but he was also in charge of the operation. He had the experience and the skills she didn’t. He understood the risks from front to back and putting her in danger was high on the list of risks. An ugly truth, but one he would work to lower.
Getting involved with her was out of the question. Understanding that he didn’t fully trust her, his emotions still made him do stupid things, like with Monroe. He’d failed his former partner and he’d be damned if he did the same thing to his new one.
A few minutes later inside his office, Grey booted up his laptop, plugged in the necessary documentation for Allan’s certificate and laid out his cleaning kit. Setting the Glock on a light blue cloth, he thought about his Front Range job. When had good enough become his motto?
He was no longer in mission critical situations—although if he managed to go undercover with Sydney, that could change in a heartbeat—but he believed in giving his all no matter what the job entailed. Good enough didn’t cut it. Even when going down in a blaze of treasonous FBI glory, he’d made sure to give a hundred and ten percent.
Tapping his thumb against the Glock, he admired the cool, unemotional metal. Maintaining a flawless weapon was nonnegotiable. You could take the man out of the FBI but you couldn’t take the training out of the man.
Removing the magazine, he did a visual check of the weapon. Assured it was clear, he dry fired it and then field stripped it to its parts. If only he could do the same with Sydney. Run his fingers over her various parts, figure out what made her tick beneath her daring attitude and in-your-face sexuality.
Don’t profile her, G. Waste of time. Figure out what motivates her and use it.
Sticking up for the underdog motivated her. Protecting women motivated her. Putting herself on the line? Well, that right there was her modus operandi. But what did she get out of it?
The satisfaction of helping those who fell through the cracks. The will to get up every day because someone needed a champion. Those were his reasons for taking on the world. Were they hers too?
He scrubbed and wiped down the metal, blew compressed air in every corner. After soaking a cloth patch with solvent, he ran the patch through the chamber and cleaned it with a nylon brush.
A gun, like a man or a woman, was more than parts. It was a metal tool, nothing more, and yet it had an untouchable essence. Neither good nor bad on its own, it was a dangerous tool in the wrong hands. In many ways, Sydney was like his gun.
As he reassembled the Glock, movement near the door caught his eye. A man entered the office, looked around. Grey didn’t bother glancing up but a cold tension tightened his gut. “You forget how to knock, Donaldson?”
The balding Special Agent In Charge of the D.C. field office unbuttoned his jacket, swept it back to rest his hands on his growing waistline. The movement prominently displayed his sidearm and badge. “Thought you didn’t like guns.”
“I don’t.” The magazine lay on Grey’s desk. He dry fired the gun at the wall again. “Doesn’t mean I won’t use one if necessary.”
The SAC grunted. Setting the gun on the desk, Grey met his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
Donaldson moved a box off the lone chair across from the desk and sat. “Heard from your partner lately? Or are you still pretending you don’t know where Monroe is?”
Grey bristled, but kept his face neutral. Not my partner anymore. “Don’t you have some puppies to kick? Maybe a fellow agent to screw over?”
Donaldson’s eyes went hard, his lips pinched. But he didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m here for an update on The Lion case. What progress have you made?”
Grey considered telling Donaldson about Sydney. Considered it and rejected it in one breath. “This case could blow the lid off Washington and cause an international repercussion to rival the Middle East war. You want me to do this right, don’t breathe down my neck. A sting like this takes time and there’s no one else you can turn to. Unless you want to drop the charges against Monroe and hand it over to him.”
Donaldson hated sarcasm. His watery eyes stared Grey down. “The situation has gotten more involved than…before.”
Before. Before Grey and Monroe discovered the line of evidence on the killings led to a Lebanese diplomat. Before Donaldson was bribed by the Secretary of Defense to kick Grey and Monroe off the case and sweep their evidence under the rug. Before Monroe punched out Donaldson and Grey refused to arrest him, then helped him disappear into the ether. “What now?”
“Lebanon may be open to letting us prosecute their man.
Nothing official, just some hearsay.”
Every deal had a price. “In exchange for what? Nuking Israel?”
Once more, Donaldson refused to rise to Grey’s bait. He withdrew a USB stick from inside his jacket and tossed it next to the Glock’s magazine clip. “All the information we have is on there. Mariam Rashid. The wife of an assassinated Prime Minister. Six months ago, she wanted to replace her husband and ran for Prime Minister. Now she’s dead. Raped and murdered two days before the election. The killers have not been apprehended and Lebanon wants them. Bad. My guess is The Lion did it. Mariam’s murder fits the pattern and the timeframe Khourey was last there. All we need to do is convince Lebanon. You get me what I need and we’ll be heroes. It’ll make for good diplomatic relations.”
Sitting back in his chair, Grey shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t seriously be asking me to manufacture evidence to prosecute this killer. The real evidence is there. I just have to find it.”
Donaldson shifted forward, tapped a chubby finger on Grey’s desk. “I want this monster stopped as discreetly and effectively as possible. If that means screwing over The Lion to get him out of my country, then so be it.”
His country. “Since when are you willing to break the law?”
Again the Special Agent In Charge gave him the evil eye. “Don’t play the self-righteous card with me. What you did was wrong, Justice. This is politics, plain and simple.”
“Translation: FBI agents can’t investigate the members of the Panthera without riling up the Secretary of Defense and the other political heavyweights involved…” He held up a finger. “But The Lion has to be stopped, one way or another, or he’ll expose the Panthera and all the dirty politicians using it. Expose them or go postal and kill a bunch of them. He’s getting bolder with this last kill. Bolder or more reckless, take your pick. Either way, the politicians who use the place are cowering in fear.”
“You need to move fast, so I can wrap this up and reassure the president and his peers they have nothing to fear. Stop The Lion before the shit hits the media fan.”
