by Misty Evans
A few minutes later, he was back in the car with a box of fancy cupcakes in several flavors since he didn’t know whether Sydney preferred chocolate, vanilla or cherry. Funny how he knew so much about her, but not that. Or what had really happened to her mother.
Her duplex was a narrow three story built in the 1950’s if his guess was right. From the looks of the exterior, not much had changed in sixty years. Suddenly feeling stupid that he was carrying a pink bakery box, he jammed an impatient thumb into the buzzer for her place.
“Yes?” A disembodied voice said from the speaker a moment later, suspicion evident.
She didn’t get many visitors. Understandable she’d be wondering who was at her door.
“It’s me. Grey. Thought we could talk about our...project.”
There was a long pause. So long, in fact, he was sure she’d blown him off. He was about to ring the buzzer again—two could play the bullheaded game—when the buzzer made a low drone and the door popped open.
She stood in the doorway, her face tight, lips thinned. The blue of her eyes was stormy gray. She started to smart off to him—he could see it in her body language—and then her attention fell on the pink box. “There’d better be chocolate in there.”
Yes. Payoff.
He handed her the box and followed her inside. The place was respectable, although small. Clean, neat; a touch of Syd’s personality showing up in the colorful pillows and stacks of self-improvement books on her coffee table.
She led him to the kitchen, lifted an overly-frosted cupcake from the box, peeled one side of the wrapper down and sunk her teeth into it. Her eyelids fluttered closed. “Damn.” She leaned back against the kitchen counter and made a couple of low moans that sent Grey’s mind into fantasyland. What would it be like to be that cupcake, making her moan like that? “That’s heavenly.”
Grey pointed at the coffee pot and turned his back to her so she wouldn’t see his expanding crotch. “Mind if I make a pot?”
One shoulder shrugged. “Be my guest. Coffee’s in the upper cabinet. And while you’re at it, you can tell me why you were following me earlier.”
Yep, she’d seen him. He wasn’t surprised. But had she seen him when she left the hospital or later in traffic? “I wanted to give you some ideas for getting Ian to open up about the escort service and ways you can get him to recruit you. I also need to share an update with you on The Lion and the scope of our mission.”
She narrowed her eyes while he scooped coffee grounds into the filter. “So you went into stalker mode again? Could have just picked up the phone.”
“The new info is confidential. I don’t share that sort of thing over an open phone line.”
Her eye roll was barely contained. “So what is it?”
Grey pushed the start button on the old Mr. Coffee machine. His partner needed an upgrade in the appliance department. “A little wrinkle on our killer. Remember, I told you he hides behind diplomatic immunity? Well, his country may listen to waiving that if I can produce evidence that he also killed Mariam Rashid.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“She was a candidate for Prime Minister in Lebanon six months ago. One of the few Muslim women in the Lebanese parliament. Her husband was Prime Minister ten years ago and was assassinated. Mariam was brutally raped and murdered two days before the election. Her killer or killers got away. They believe she knew her killer.”
Syd snapped her fingers. “Yes. There’s been all kinds of international women’s organizations protesting and calling for justice.”
“The whole international community has been calling for justice, putting a lot of pressure on the Lebanese government. Our boy has been traveling back and forth from D.C. to Lebanon since 2009. He happened to be in Lebanon for the elections when the murder happened.”
“So we have to prove he committed that murder too?”
Grey took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Or fabricate evidence.”
“Fabricate? As in lie?”
Funny how the thought of coloring outside the lines, as Syd called it, didn’t bother him when it came to taking down The Lion. But this latest addition, falsifying evidence, did, especially when he knew the real stuff was there. “He’s a likely suspect, there’s no getting around that. We’ll see what real evidence turns up and then I’ll decide how to handle the rest.” Time to get back to his reason for visiting. “Did you run errands this morning? You weren’t here or at the shelter when I checked.”
Turning away, she set down the lopsided cupcake. Played with the paper wrapper. “Were you checking up on me?”
“Watching your back is all.”
“Bullshit. But now you know where I went.”
“Want to talk about it?”
She eyeballed him. “If I wanted to talk about it, I would. I want to see just how good you are, partner. My guess is you saw me at Edwin, but don’t know why I was there.”
Testing him? Sure, but he had to play this right. “You were at Edwin Hospital, visiting a patient, I assume.”
“I was indeed.”
The smell of coffee filled the tiny galley kitchen. Grey helped himself to a mug and filled one for Sydney too. “We all have secrets,” he said, handing her the cup. “I don’t need details, but if this patient or your relationship to him or her can jeopardize our mission, I need to know.”
She took the cup, her fingertips brushing his. “At this point, no. It won’t jeopardize the mission, but if we get to the point where it does, I’ll tell you about it. I’m just not willing to do that right now.”
Good enough. For now. Didn’t help their trust issues, but he’d deal with it. “We will talk about it, Syd. Maybe not today, but soon. Your emotions affect the mission, whether you admit it or not. And I can’t have you endanger yourself because of those emotions. You feel me?” He took a sip of coffee, saw her defenses once more lock into place. “Tell me what you need to feel comfortable opening up to me.”
She took a step closer, let her gaze sweep over him. “Oh, honey, what I need has nothing to do with talking. Not right now anyway.”
Her fail safe. Always throwing up that tough, sexy girl persona. Not that he minded. Hell, no. It might be fun to see how far she’d run with it. “What are you talking about?” he asked innocently.
She smiled—enjoying the game—and inched even closer. “If you need to ask, you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“Don’t push me, Syd. You might not like the man you get.”
“Who’s to say you’d like the woman you’d get? Maybe we’re a match made in heaven. Maybe we’ll make each other crazy. Maybe not. But we’d sure relieve some stress. Don’t you think?”
There was no thinking involved. It was a slam-dunk. He brushed hair from her face, tucked it behind her ear. If only he could get past that tough girl look in her eyes and reach the real Sydney. “You already make me crazy.”
“Then I haven’t lost my touch. What do you say, Fed Boy? Want to show me how good you are?”
Yowza, did he ever. But not here…not like this. He wanted her to want him...really want him, not just throwing sex out there to divert his attention. “I’ll show you as soon as you start trusting me and stop trying to get me off the subject of Edwin Hospital. Don’t use sex to play me.”
She stepped back and he stared at her a minute while her mind went to work. Atta, girl, Syd. “You’re suddenly quiet, Sydney. Having trouble dealing with how good I am?”
“Wow. You can be a bastard.”
“You bet I can. But I’m here for you anytime you want to talk. About Edwin. About your mother.”
Her breath hitched. He waited to see if she’d take the bait.
“My mother is dead.”
Okay. So much for being a friend she would confide in. As his old partner could attest, Grey wasn’t always good friend material. What mattered was that he came through when it all went to hell and no one else was left standing.
He moved back and set down his cu
p. Folded his arms. There was still room to get her talking about her past. “Sorry to hear that about your mother. Must be rough not having any family around.”
She shrugged. “My mother has been gone a long time and my father has never been part of my life. I’m used to being on my own. Taking care of myself. That’s why I agreed to work with you. I’m dispensable.”
Ouch. “You don’t have to be alone anymore, Sydney. You choose to be. And, hey, you’ve got me.”
Her snicker lacked confidence in that fact. “We’ll see, Fed Boy.” She glanced at the pink box. “Do you like vanilla or chocolate?”
“Chocolate.”
She handed him a chocolate cupcake. “We’re off to a good start then. I like chocolate too. Now let’s sit down and you can tell me about my new job as a whore.”
Grey accepted the cupcake and steered her toward the table. “Asset. You’re an undercover asset for the United States Government.” He held up his cupcake and forced her half-eaten one into her hand. “Hold that up and repeat after me. ‘Fidelity, bravery, integrity. As an agent for the government, do you, Sydney Banfield, swear to uphold those values and protect your country from all acts of treason and terrorism, except those deemed appropriate by your invaluable partner, so help you God?’”
Sydney laughed. Really laughed. “You’re a trip, Fed Boy.” She held up her cupcake. “Fidelity, bravery, integrity. As an agent for the government, I, Sydney Banfield, swear to uphold these values and protect my country from all acts of treason and terrorism, except those deemed appropriate by my invaluable partner, yada, yada, yada.”
They clinked their cupcakes together and Grey stuck his finger in the frosting on his and licked it off. Fidelity, bravery and integrity…he was definitely going to need all three to handle this smart-mouthed, annoying and incredibly sexy woman.
Syd settled into her well-loved—nice way of saying freaking ancient—sofa and mentally prepared herself for Fed Boy’s mini-camp on becoming an undercover agent. Being a student had always appealed to her. As a kid she had loved the learning process. Embracing new concepts, challenging her mind to grow and awaken to new theories.
She had thrived on it.
Except when the professor drew charts.
And right now the professor leaned over her coffee table drawing some kind of numbered chart that sent a synapse in her brain into overload. She may have been sweating.
“Seriously,” she said. “You’re creating a chart?”
He didn’t bother to look at her and kept numbering. “Seriously. I’m creating a chart. It’s important.”
Syd rolled her eyes and waited for him to finish. This should be good. A chart for God’s sake. She let loose a loud huff and waited. Eventually, he set down his pen, tented the paper under his fingers and spun it toward her.
“Oh, goody.” She leaned forward to read, then shot a hard stare in his direction. “You’re giving me a list of rules for undercover operations?”
If the hard stare had any impact, it fizzled fast.
“I am.”
One thing was for sure, Fed Boy wasn’t afraid of her. “Have you learned nothing about me? You can’t box me in.”
“I’m not boxing you in. I’m giving you gentle guidelines.”
“That’s a load of crap.”
He grinned in that most annoying way men did when they thought they had the upper hand. “It might be, but it’s good crap. Shall we review the list?”
Maniacs. What was it about her that attracted maniacs? She’d need a valium after this lecture, but in the spirit of partnership, she’d give him an inch. Maybe less. At least she could listen. Then she’d absorb the information, break it into usable parts and do it her way.
Problem solved.
“Okay, hot shot. Let’s see what you’ve got.” She scooted forward on the sofa and pointed to the first rule on his list. “Rule number one: befriend Ian. Pfft, I’ve already done that.”
“No you haven’t,” Grey said.
Leave it to him to make things difficult. He just didn’t want to admit she already had the first rule locked. “I work for the man. We’re friendly. How do I not have rule number one completed?”
“You need to know him differently for this. You have to make him believe you want a job as an escort. The fact that he knows you so well might hinder that process. He has to buy that you’d be willing to become a call-girl when that goes against everything you’ve expressed in the past. Think about it. The objectifying of women? When would you ever let that happen?”
Maybe he had a point there.
Bastard.
“Rule number two:—”
“—which leads right into the point I just made.”
Could he be any more of a pain in the ass? She smiled at him, showing plenty of teeth so he could see her total amusement. “Have you ever considered therapy for this condition? I think it would help you. Immensely.”
“You are a wicked woman.” He leaned forward and tapped the tip of her nose. “But I love it.”
Syd coughed, made a gagging sound, stomped one foot and then gagged again. “Sorry. Hairball.”
Grey laughed and the easy, relaxed sound settled her racing mind. Even when she poked fun at him, he refused to be intimidated. “Rule two. Perform fishing expedition to see if Ian will offer a job as an escort.”
“Make him believe you want, no, need the job, Syd.”
“Not an issue. I’ll tell him I’m broke. Easy to believe on my salary. Rule number three: prove loyalty to suspect.”
Hadn’t she been doing that over the past two years by helping the women at the shelter? By keeping the place running? By taking care of every issue that cropped up?
Fed Boy touched her hand with just the tips of his fingers and the connection, no matter how light the touch, sent a surge right through her arm. Major sex appeal smothering this guy.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he said.
Actually, he didn’t, unless he was going to say that she wanted to strip him naked and jump him, which she didn’t think he would say. Nothing emotional, nothing long term. Just a good bang.
She held her hand for him to continue.
“You’ve proven your loyalty when it comes to his legal business and with helping the women create new identities. But he has deniability in that. With the escort service, there’s no deniability. He’s running it and you have to prove to him that you won’t turn him in.”
Unfortunately, she saw his point. What she did for Ian every day was radically different than what they were talking about here. Ian had to believe she could suspend her rally against abusive men and become a woman who allowed herself to be compromised.
At the hands of men.
She sighed. “Rule number four:—”
“What? No argument on rule number three?”
“Quit while you’re ahead. I get it. I’ll figure something out. This number four though, illicit illegal action that can be documented? I’m not having sex with anyone to prove he’s running a whore house.”
Grey threw up his hands. “Whoa! That’s not what it means. All you need to do is immerse yourself in that world. Watch, listen and take notes. Befriend the girls, get them talking and feed me information. That’s it. I’d never expect you to have sex with these assholes. It goes against everything I believe. Particularly when it comes to keeping my partner safe. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Yeah, they’d see about that. They’d see about it if it came down to Fed Boy making or breaking his case. Then she’d be, as she originally said, disposable.
Flat out, he didn’t seem the type to turn tail on her. Why she thought that, she couldn’t guess, and the feeling that was now hammering away at her—the one indicating maybe she should trust him—made her stomach pitch.
She glanced at him and found those dark eyes focused on her. Observing. “Don’t try to figure out what I’m thinking. If you need to know what it is, I’ll tell you.” She batted her eyes. “I’m not shy
.”
“That much I’ve established.”
“So, I have your rules. Are we done?”
“No.”
She flapped her arms. “Jeez! What else?”
“You can’t rush the rules. Go slow. Tackle each one over a couple of meetings.”
“One rule spread out over multiple meetings? It’ll take forever.”
Originally, she’d suspected it, but now she knew this man was plain crazy. She didn’t have the time or patience to drag this thing out. She wanted it done with.
“If you seem too eager he’ll know something is up. How this works is, you groom him and if all goes well he’ll ask you if you want to be an escort. Then we’re in.”
“What if I can get it done faster? I mean, we’ve already established that he, on a certain level, trusts me. I could probably work the rules faster.”
“No. This is too important. Please. Take it slow. If you do this right, he’ll be begging you to work for The Smoking Gun. And that’s what we want.” He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees and leveled those puppy dog eyes on her. “Can you do that for me, Syd?”
Oh, puh-lease. This guy was too good. She should smack him. Just whap! Except, she had to give him props for knowing how to work a girl. She’d been doing it to men for years now.
She moved to the edge of the sofa, put her face just inches from his. “I love a man who knows how to get what he wants. Very hot.”
He grinned. “Then we’re on the same page?”
“Let’s just say I understand your concerns.”
Understanding them and addressing them were two different things. Whether or not she could do this his way would have to be determined.
Later.
Much later.
Chapter Eight
Syd always liked Mondays. In her mind, Mondays meant a new start, a fresh canvas upon which to paint the week. As miserable and untrusting as she could be, it made little sense not to feel hopeful for the week ahead. Particularly in her line of work where one battered woman after another came and went from her life.
This particular Monday, Syd wasn’t feeling so hopeful. No. On this day, she’d just planted a listening device along the underside of the lamp on her desk. All to spy on a man she’d grown to admire for his unyielding support of mistreated women. For two years, Syd had watched Ian Goldberg fight tirelessly for the women in their care. Women who’d been wronged by men they loved. And who supposedly loved them.
