by Misty Evans
All these years of shoring up her reserves, mistrusting the people who came into her life, hadn’t prepared her for this. Even if she’d been wary of Ian at first, eventually he’d won her over. And now, suddenly, Syd understood the betrayal the battered women who came to her must feel.
Then again, Fed Boy could be wrong. If so, that blasted bug under the lamp might tell them so.
A knock sounded on the closed door.
Showtime.
“Come in.”
Ian came through the door in his usual spiffy suit, silk tie and perfectly groomed blond hair. An attorney by trade, he made no bones about flashing his success. Until now, it never bothered Syd because he’d been giving so much back through the shelter. But if he were using the shelter as a front? Well, that would simply piss her off. And a pissed-off Sydney was not a nice person.
“Good morning,” Ian said. “Ready for our weekly meeting?”
Syd ticked off Fed Boy’s list of rules for undercover operations.
Rule one, befriend Ian.
Check.
Rule two, perform fishing expedition to see if Ian would offer her a job as an escort.
Here we go.
Syd glanced down at the credit card bill—prop number one—she’d brought from home. Slowly, she folded it, but made a point of frowning as she did so.
Ian cocked his head. “You don’t seem like yourself. Everything okay?”
“It’s nothing. Just a lot on my mind. Let’s get on with our meeting. I’m sure you have clients to see today.”
He eased into one of her guest chairs, making sure to unbutton his suit jacket before sitting. “You sure? If you need something, maybe I can help.”
Act natural.
She shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m fine. It’s nothing life-shattering.” She picked up a folder and handed it to him. “The weekly update.”
He set the folder down. “Syd, talk to me. Clearly, something is bothering you.”
A moment passed. She counted off another few seconds in her head, decided the pregnant pause was just pregnant enough and sighed. “My car is dying. It needs work, but it’s old and not worth putting any money into. My credit is stretched to the limit due to my student loans.” She smiled. “Thank you, Georgetown U. Anyway, I think I need a second job,” she held up her hand, “it’s only temporary. I won’t let it interfere with our work here. The shelter always comes first. I just need some quick cash to take care of the car issue.”
He waved her off. “I can give you a company car.”
She’d anticipated that and prepared for it. “Absolutely not. We’re a non-profit. Our benefactors wouldn’t understand having the expense of a car in our budget. Nor would I ask them to. All the money should go to the women, not to a car for me. Really, Ian, I’ll work it out. Let’s move on with our meeting.”
Ian eyed her. “What sort of work are you thinking?”
“No idea. I’m guessing retail. I’d have to do it in the evenings and on the weekends. Retail doesn’t pay all that much though.”
“Forget retail.” He sat back. “Evenings and weekends, huh?”
Yes, clever boy, keep thinking.
Syd sat a little straighter, stuck out her boobs and hoped he noticed the extra button she’d left undone.
Prop number two: boobs.
His gaze moved to her cleavage—that prop worked—but immediately came back to her face. The folder sat in front of him and he flipped it open.
Fed Boy’s rule number three: prove loyalty to suspect. “Speaking of the budget. You’ll notice I updated the expenses. I moved some things around so it looks like we have less money than we do. Like you did last year around Christmas. We had an influx of donations last month after the interview you did with Channel 4. I don’t want the inflated numbers to call attention to our accounting.”
Ian perused the document. “That’s fine. It’s a temporary thing anyway. It doesn’t hurt to be careful though.”
“Well, of course. With all the good work we do here, I wouldn’t want that washed away over an accounting issue.”
He closed the folder and set it down again. “Back to this second job issue. How about I ask around? See if I can come up with something?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry about it.”
Another of Fed Boy’s instructions was not to push. To be patient and let the situation unfold. Short of undoing another button, she wasn’t quite sure where to go next, so she waited.
And waited.
Ian leaned forward. “You know I have political connections. Maybe someone can help.”
And here came rule number four: illicit illegal action that can be documented. She nodded. “That would be great, Ian. What are you thinking?”
Maybe she was pushing it and her partner would have a fit, but she had Ian right where she needed him. And, really, her boobs were working it here.
He eyeballed her, seemed to hesitate. No, no, no. “Ian? Something wrong?”
Abruptly, he stood. “No. Not at all.” He checked his watch. “I have a meeting. Let me ask around about the job and I’ll get back to you. Don’t do anything until you hear from me. Okay?”
Dammit. She thought she’d had him. “Of course. Thank you. I’d appreciate anything you could do.”
You slimy son of a bitch.
What had Grey done? The voice in his head—the one that constantly reminded him he was a screw-up—laughed. He’d manipulated Sydney into this op and now she was committed. No going back.
Grey paced the floor, hands on hips, jaw set. She’d done it again. Only this time, Ian Goldberg had been the recipient of Sydney’s sexual tactics. She’d fluffed her hair, exposed her cleavage and condensed his rules of engagement, meant to be carefully set in place over several meetings, into a ten minute flirting session with that dickweed attorney.
But she’d gotten the sting underway. All they needed now was for Ian to take the Sydney bait. For some reason Grey was pissed. He wasn’t sure if he was more pissed because she’d played her part to perfection or that she’d done so by flashing skin.
He put down the Burris scope to keep from throwing it against the wall.
Ten minutes later, he was still pacing when she flew in the door of his hideout and clapped her hands. “Did you see that? Or hear that? Or whatever? I did it! I got it rolling.”
In two strides, he could pick her up and hug her. In two strides, he could grab her arms and shake some sense into her. But that damn smile on her face kept him rooted to the spot. Hell if he’d wipe that smile off her face with the stream of curse words running through his head.
On the other hand, hell if he wouldn’t. “You could have blown the whole op, Sydney.”
She stepped back. “What?”
He ticked off the potential issues on his fingers. “You were too aggressive. You rushed the whole setup. You put your body on display to distract him. Should I go on?”
She held up her fisted hand, raised one finger. “I was not too aggressive.” Another finger. “I did not rush it. I let the conversation take its course.” Third finger. “I used my assets to lure him. Let him see the merchandise. What the hell is your problem? Mad because I’ve had no training and I’m still pretty good at this?”
Two strides? No, it took him one to grab her and pull her to his chest. “What if Goldberg had misconstrued your assets, Syd?” She tried to push away, but Grey held her tight. “What if he’d come on to you, like this? Asked for a little payoff before helping you. Then what?”
She wiggled around, trying to free herself. “This is Ian. He’s too slick for that. Besides, even if he had, I’d have told him to screw himself.”
Grey couldn’t help the chuckle that rose in his chest. Her breasts pressed into his ribs. He could lower his head and kiss her and show her just what Ian could have done, but that would be wrong. Wrong, because again she was flaunting her body and pretending it didn’t matter. “You’re lucky. That’s all. Gold
berg is slick. If it hadn’t been for those luscious assets, he probably would have been suspicious of the whole conversation. This time it worked, next time it could land you on the wrong side of a violent killer. Follow my instructions next time.”
Her gaze wandered over his face, down to his chest and she gripped his shirt in her hand. “I know what I’m doing.”
He released her, shoved his hands in his pockets so he didn’t grab her again. “You’ve never gone undercover before. You’ve got good instincts and the skills to do this right, but if you’re going to be my partner and put your life on the line for this mission, you have to let me coach you. I’m a trained agent. A resource for you. Use me.”
“Oh, here we go.” She let out a long breath, took two steps to the right. Stopped and stared at the ceiling a minute before turning back to him. “I’m used to being alone. This partnering thing is new for me. I’m sorry.”
Sorry wasn’t a word he ever thought he’d hear from her. For a second, he didn’t know what to say. The voice in his head didn’t either. He blew out a heavy breath. “I’ve seen seasoned agents blow an undercover op. Seasoned agents who got their asses shot or were killed. What we’re doing here is serious and I’m having second thoughts about putting you in the line of fire.”
Mostly because her gorgeous assets were still peaking at him from her plunging neckline. “You can do this sting, Sydney. I know you can. But you have to stop leading with your emotions. And your body.” He grinned at her. “Not that I don’t appreciate the view. I just prefer Goldberg doesn’t have access to it.”
Now she smiled. “Well, look at you acting all jealous. Careful, Fed Boy, you’re turning me on here.”
That made two of them. Talk about being too aggressive. “Sydney, you’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Trying to distract me with sex.”
“Oh. Damn. Is that what you think I’m doing? You don’t think I’m actually turned on by your protectiveness and that green smoke coming out your ears?”
“Are you?”
She inched closer, trailed her fingers down the front of his shirt, then back up. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “Sometimes, the aggressiveness is a defense mechanism. You’ve figured that out. When I’m getting shoved into a place I don’t want to be, I claw my way out, however I need to. Years of being on my own taught me to do that. You want me to do this a certain way, but I’m not sure how to do that. I’ll learn though. Then there’s the other part of me that thinks it’s kind of hot the way you’re so bent on it being your way. I like the clash of wills with you. Usually I don’t.”
“I’m a bit of a perfectionist. Especially when I have to sit back here and let you take all the risks. If you don’t want me to have a coronary, maybe just button this button,” he grazed the button in question with one finger, “for me.”
“Usually a man wants me to take my clothes off, not cover everything up.”
Oh, he wanted her to take off her clothes, but...”I don’t doubt that.”
“But, if it’ll make you happy…” She fastened the button. “Better?”
He laughed. “Not sure.”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, you’re a goddamned headcase. First you tell me you don’t want the buttons open, now you do want them open. So, basically, for your own personal pleasure, you want the buttons open? Am I right?”
He laughed again. “Yes.”
“Perfect. Then what do I get?”
“My undying appreciation?”
“Not what I was thinking. Although, that wouldn’t be bad.”
“You have that anyway for working this sting with me. Not many women would.”
“Why not?”
How much to tell? She already knew enough. “There’s not one agent in the FBI right now, male or female, who will work with me after my firing. And what I’m asking you to do—throw yourself at a serial killer with no formal training—is sick. Reckless even. No man in his right mind would ask you to do this. And no woman in her right mind would agree to it.”
“I’m not most women. I have my reasons. And no, I’m not ready to talk about those reasons. I just want us to be on the same page—or at least in the vicinity. We have two completely different styles. Sometimes your way will work better, sometimes mine will. Can we compromise? Agree to disagree?”
He liked this Sydney as much as the no-holds-barred version. “I can compromise. Not much. But for you, I’ll try. As long as you agree not to put yourself in unnecessary jeopardy and give me a heart attack.”
“Agreed.” Then she stepped up, undid two buttons, grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him.
Like lightning in a spring storm, the kiss was too soon, too fast and way too much.
But her lips were soft, her show of bravado so strong, it did him in. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and Jesus help him, he wanted to unbutton the rest of her shirt, touch her bare skin.
Where he was careful and meticulous, Sydney was impetuous and cavalier.
Monroe, his former partner, was the same way. That’s why they’d made a good team.
Until they hadn’t.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Grey drew back, although doing so cost him dearly, but they couldn’t do this. Not here, not...
Oh, hell. Why not? He wasn’t a federal agent anymore. Sydney was a grown woman who knew her mind.
Definitely.
Without a doubt.
Right?
But the voice in his head would never leave him alone. He was a screw-up. Mixing sex with this mission was just asking for another round of see Grey ruin his career. Not to mention, Sydney deserved someone better. Not a man who’d gotten his ass fired and was working a black ops mission in order to climb out of FBI purgatory. Sydney was special.
Taking a deep breath, he set her back away from him. “This is a bad, bad idea, partner. You better think this over before you commit to something you’ll regret tomorrow.”
Her breath came in little hitches as she righted her shirt and stared at him from under half-lidded eyes. “See, here’s where we’re different. I never have regrets. For me everything is a learning experience. Maybe I’ll learn that I could do better next time, but I never regret my mistakes. But that’s just me going to the wall every time. Full speed ahead. You’re different. And that, Grey, is what’s magical about you.”
Grey’s knees threatened to buckle. Him, magical? He had so many regrets, he couldn’t keep track of them all. “You called me Grey.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we? Didn’t you say your friends call you Grey?”
Friends. The exact thing he’d wanted them to be. Only now, he wanted more. Much more. “Yes, we’re friends. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine.” He hoped he’d have her front soon as well.
“I’ve never had that before. Someone to take care of me. Well, I did once. With my mother. Not since. It’s good to know I have it again. Like I said, one step at a time.”
One step at a time. One kiss at a time. One button at a time. He could handle that. “You’re an incredible woman, Sydney Banfield. Incredible.”
“Trying to get me to open another button?”
He grinned. “You know it.”
She redid one of the buttons. “You’ll have to work harder than that.”
He always did like a challenge. Slipping a hand behind her neck, he drew her face to his and kissed her, long, deep and wet.
Maybe it was a mistake, but he’d been known to make mistakes.
By late afternoon, Ian was back at the shelter. He marched into Syd’s office and handed her two files. New residents for her to process. So many women to help.
She took the files, opened the one on top and saw a photo of a blonde woman with two blackened eyes and—as usual—her breath caught. Day after day of seeing battered women drained her, but she’d never give up helping them. Sometimes she was their last stop. “Thank you. I’ll contact them today. See what we can do to help.”
�
��Good.” He turned toward the door, then glanced back at her.
This is it. Somehow, she knew it. Ian, a man she’d actually believed cared for the well-being of the fairer sex, was about to make her a prostitute. “Ian, is something wrong?”
In one smooth motion, he swung the door closed and the latch made the normal clunking noise, but today it boomed louder, scraped against her nerves, a statement to her that what she thought she knew wasn’t reality.
Ian hitched up his pants and sat in the chair across from her desk. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation this morning and made some calls.”
Yep. This is it. She just hoped Grey had his listening ears on. She smiled at her boss. “Ian, this sounds like good news.”
Slowly, his lips spread into a grin. “Well, it might be. It depends. I’m just not sure how you’d feel about the type of work it is.”
Yes, my love, do tell.
“At this point, I’ll shovel manure. I need a car. And fast.”
Ian leaned forward. “I called some of my politician friends.”
And once again—hopefully this time it wouldn’t be a false alarm—came rule number four: illicit illegal action that can be documented. Syd waved him on.
“Occasionally, some of these friends have a function to attend and need someone, shall we say, tailor-made, to escort them.”
Son of a bitch. If Grey had his listening ears on, he’d be peeing himself.
“Tailor-made?”
“Yes. Someone who won’t embarrass them by speaking out of turn or acting inappropriately.”
Talk about the creep factor. Syd remained still, ignoring the fire shooting up her arms. “Ian, we’re friends. Just say what you mean.”
He smiled in that way that made him such a successful lawyer. “You’re right. We are friends. What I mean is these men—senators, congressmen, diplomats—they need escorts. Attractive, intelligent, likable women who can go to a State dinner and not cause an international incident with a slip of the tongue. I have a lot of contacts. I know women like that. Some of them come through Fresh Start for one reason or another. You’re one of those women, Syd. In fact, I’ve often thought of approaching you about this, but felt it inappropriate.”
