Deep Cover

by Kimberly Van Meter

And her hunches were rarely wrong.

  Was Hobbs aware that Jones was from Washington?

  Likely not.

  Hobbs was relatively new—transferred in from the New York office when the previous chief retired.

  And clearly, neither Kelly nor Jones had been eager to cough up the information.

  Which meant, they had history they were trying to hide.

  Rosa finished her scotch.

  That wasn’t going to work.

  No secrets. No hiding.

  The stakes were too high to mess around with unknown variables.

  She wasn’t one to knee-jerk react, but she was very good at watching and waiting. In her experience, people revealed their biases, prejudices and their dirty laundry if you were patient. All she had to do was watch and wait.

  And if it turned out that Kelly and Jones were hiding something, they’d be on the first plane back to where they came from.

  Rosa Ramirez didn’t mess around.

  * * *

  Shaine finger combed his hair, grabbed his wallet and fake ID and headed out.

  There was no way he was going to sit in that apartment all night, stewing about the fact that he couldn’t shake the certainty that Poppy was in over her head in some lame attempt to prove something.

  She was an adult.

  And capable of making her own decisions—she’d made that abundantly clear when she’d walked out on him.

  If she got herself shot again, why should he worry about her welfare? All he owed her was the same amount of professional courtesy that he would give any agent.

  Undercover work was risky business.

  Not everyone was cut out for it.

  It wasn’t that Poppy was weak or afraid. She lacked that certain something—intuition—that guided an undercover agent and kept them from getting killed.

  A good undercover agent knew when to cut bait and run and when to bluff.

  Shaine could take things to the edge and stare down into the abyss without fearing a fall.

  Poppy just had crazy determination and a thirst for adventure.

  Hell, he’d liked that about her.

  Until she’d started going undercover.

  Then, he’d hated it.

  Because that didn’t keep you alive.

  “I can do this,” Poppy had insisted. “Lachlan doesn’t know I’m wearing a wire and he has no reason to suspect it, either.”

  “The intel is bad,” Shaine had nearly shouted, wanting to grab her by the shoulders and shake her stubborn head off. “Can’t you tell that you’ve been made? Why else would Lachlan invite you back to his place even after someone recognized you?”

  “I’ll slip in, grab the file and be gone. It’ll be quick. Lachlan is having a huge party. He’ll be too busy to even think about me.”

  “You’re naive, Poppy. Don’t go. My gut is saying he’s luring you into a trap.”

  Poppy’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t believe I have what it takes to be a hotshot like you. Well, I do. I can do this and I’m going to do it.”

  The events of that night were etched in his memory, but Poppy bore the scars.

  He’d thought taking a bullet would’ve cooled her jets about undercover work, but it’d only made her more determined than ever.

  That’d been the beginning of the end for them.

  Now it was happening all over again and he was supposed to just let it happen because now it wasn’t any of his business?

  Talk about a messed up déjà vu.

  But it is what it is.

  They weren’t dating. They hadn’t even spoken to each other since the night she bailed.

  Up until yesterday when Poppy walked into the debriefing, she’d faded like mist from his life.

  So...whatever.

  Shaine hailed a cab, telling the driver, “Take me to the hottest nightclub in Miami,” and leaned back to get his head on straight.

  Time for a little research.

  Game play level: professional.

  CHAPTER 4

  Poppy heard the door on the other side of the apartment close and she briefly perked up, wondering where Shaine was going.

  They weren’t scheduled to start until tomorrow but that was the thing about Shaine, he did as he pleased and went where his gut told him to.

  Which then also made her wonder why he was stepping out on his own.

  Did he know something? Was he trying to get the jump on the investigation so he didn’t have to work with her?

  Stop panicking, she told herself. Second-guessing every move was a rookie mistake, and if it weren’t Shaine, she wouldn’t think twice about her partner acting as he should undercover.

  Forcing herself to relax, Poppy grabbed her file and started reading, committing her identity to heart.

  Name: Laci Langford, 22, from Connecticut. Moved to Miami to escape the cold East Coast winters.

  Major: Marketing.

  Parents: Sara and John Langford, deceased. No siblings.

  She perused the rest of the file, closing it as she tried to envision herself as the person described in the file.

  Laci Langford...definitely sounded like a stripper name.

  She’d have to remember to answer to Laci, not Poppy. Getting tripped up by a simple detail was usually the way rookies got made.

  The phantom ache pierced her chest again and she rubbed at the small scar beneath her blouse.

  Would she always feel as if she were running from that one event in her life?

  She’d made a mistake—screwed up and paid the price.

  The upside of getting shot? Poppy worked hard to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

  Unlike her persona, Laci, Poppy’s parents were still alive and well.

  And they’d been as unsupportive as Shaine about her decision to remain in her line of work.

  “Your father is worried,” her mother had said after her father had stormed from Poppy’s house during her recovery, trying to soften the blow. “You know he doesn’t understand this job of yours.”

  “He doesn’t have to understand the job. He just has to understand me.”

  “Well, you know that’s always been a challenge,” her mother, Dottie, admitted, her hands fluttering as she straightened everything she could get her fingers on. “Frankly, sweetheart, we’re all a little surprised that after this incident you’re not ready to get into a less dangerous line of work. I mean, Poppy...in all the years I’ve been a nurse, I’ve never been shot at.”

  Yes, but Dottie had been shit on, spit on, yelled at and otherwise abused by her patients, and Poppy had never wanted any piece of that.

  “I love my job,” Poppy said firmly, holding back the wince as she shifted her weight, trying not to agitate her healing wound. The doctor said it would be weeks before she could even think about returning to work, which sounded like an interminable amount of time to her ears, but she couldn’t exactly go against the doctor’s orders.

  Of course, that left her to suffer the opinions of her parents and friends who didn’t understand her job, nor did they appreciate that Poppy absolutely loved what she did.

  She tried to tell herself that they meant well, but after gritting her teeth through the same conversation for the umpteenth time, she’d practically worn her teeth down to nubs.

  “Of course you do, sweetheart,” Dottie said with open distress. “But some people aren’t cut out for these types of jobs. You’ve always been a delicate thing... Surely the Bureau could find a suitable desk job? Maybe a secretary position?”

  Poppy glared. “Do you realize how offensive that is to me? I didn’t work my ass off to sit behind a desk.” When her mother’s eyes started to water, Poppy bit back the rest of the hot words dancing on her tongue. Her parents would never understand—and honestly, she never expected them to—so their opinion wasn’t a huge shock. But the one person she’d thought would understand...

  Unwelcome tears crowded her sinuses and she sniffed them back.

  Dottie seemed to unde
rstand where the tears were coming from and tried to comfort her. “You two can work things out,” she assured Poppy, but Dottie didn’t know that there was absolutely zero chance of that happening. “It was probably very scary to see the woman he loves almost die. You really need to think of how this situation has affected those who love you.”

  “Damn it, Mom,” she muttered, pulling away with a curse. “Just stop.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You always turn it around back on me. As if I should be thinking of everyone else when no one seems to give a damn about how I feel about the situation. Shaine is just as bad as you, demanding that I give up a career I love without considering how doing so would kill me faster than any bullet. If you can’t support me, then stop pretending that you care. I’m done with all of you.”

  “Poppy Jones, what has gotten into you? You were never this aggressive, or so rude. This job has changed you and not for the better.” Dottie gathered her purse, her upper lip stiff. “I hope you come to your senses soon. Otherwise, I just don’t think my heart can take it. I didn’t raise my daughter to want a career she’s so ill-suited for.”

  Ill-suited? she’d wanted to scream. I was top of my class in Quantico, ranked in the top five in intelligence training and broke the record for fastest time running the eight-mile Hell Run.

  But none of that mattered to her parents, which was why Poppy hadn’t bothered.

  A sigh escaped her parted lips as she roused herself from that terrible memory. Moving away from DC, leaving behind everything she’d ever known, had been her only choice.

  Facing Shaine after their breakup would’ve been a torture she wasn’t up to and having to listen to her parents berate her for her choices would’ve been the straw that broke her.

  Since moving to LA, her relationship with her parents remained stilted. She made obligatory phone calls now and then just to check in, but for the most part Poppy had cut ties.

  It’d been easier that way.

  She liked to think that it was easier for her parents, too.

  A kindness.

  Now they no longer had to lament the fact that their only daughter had become a “ballbusting man-hater” as her father liked to put it, and her mother didn’t have to hide her head in shame when her nosy, gossipy nurse friends pestered her for why Poppy hadn’t married or had kids by now.

  For cripes’ sake, they weren’t living in the ’50s.

  But you’d never know it from the way her parents were acting.

  The truth was, she could probably forgive her parents for their ignorant thinking, but she could never forgive Shaine for his.

  Up until this moment, Poppy had managed to shove Shaine and everything that came with the memory of their time together into the deepest, darkest, most remote part of her brain.

  But that all changed the minute he was assigned to her case.

  And yes, it was her case.

  El Escorpion was a DEA target and the FBI was assisting, as far as Poppy was concerned.

  Maybe she did have something to prove, but one thing she knew for certain—Poppy wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone, get in her way of closing this case.

  Not even Shaine Kelly.

  * * *

  Shaine walked into the slick, upscale strip bar Lit, where he and Poppy were supposed to be embedded, and observed the crowd, his body loose but his observation skills sharp.

  The blast of cool air was a welcome respite from the sticky Miami heat, but the place was crowded with half-dressed people with banging bodies. The bar should’ve been named Sin because that’s what oozed from the walls.

  He grinned suggestively at hot women, allowing his gaze to linger as if he wanted to imagine what it would be like to run his hands up and down those smoking curves, but actually, he was simply taking in the scene, gauging who may or may not be someone he needed to put on his radar.

  Shaine’s gaze snagged on the raised platform where the dancers were dominating the floor, and he realized with a grim start that some of the girls were topless. And while he enjoyed the view, he knew that Poppy was going to be up on that stage and he didn’t like that idea at all.

  Suck it up.

  Poppy wasn’t anything to him. Just another agent undercover.

  He shouldn’t care if she was gyrating on a pole as naked as the day she was born, as long as she was doing her job.

  He’d have to forget about all the times that lithe body had been pressed against his, her high breasts pushed into his face as they did things that were probably illegal in some states.

  Sweat popped along his hairline and he swore under his breath at how easily he was breaking character the moment something involving Poppy entered into his brain.

  Nice way to get yourself killed, hotshot.

  Get over it. Poppy was old news.

  This case could catapult his career and he aimed to make that happen.

  Plus, on a personal note, he hated drug dealers.

  Scum of the earth getting fat on the misery of others.

  Shaine approached the bar, needing a drink for multiple reasons, but the biggest being his need to scope out Angelo Costa.

  Angelo, the man in charge of the bar, looked as slick as everything else in the place. Dark hair, darker eyes, and if it weren’t for the hard glint in his eyes, one could almost call him pretty.

  Shaine knew right away that if he was going to get into the inner circle, getting tight with Angelo was going to be the key.

  Depositing himself casually at the bar, he ordered a beer and then swiveled back around to survey the crowd.

  Angelo delivered the beer with a comment. “You new to the area? I haven’t seen you around.”

  He was assessing Shaine as much as Shaine was assessing Angelo. It was a game—a game Shaine knew well.

  A thrill raced his spine.

  This was the exciting part. And it was the most dangerous.

  If everything was going to fall to shit, it would fall to shit right then and there.

  Shaine grinned as he swept up his beer for a swig. “You could say that. But you’re going to see a lot more of me. I’m your new bartender.” He extended his hand for a quick shake. “The name’s Rocco Pacheco. This place always jumping?”

  Angelo shrugged. “What can I say, it’s a smokin’ club. So you’re the new hire. Gotta say we don’t usually hire sight unseen. But you come with a hot résumé. Not many people leave Grind. What gives?”

  “Let’s just say the owner and I had a difference in opinion.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. He thought I should stop banging his wife. I disagreed.”

  Angelo laughed, shaking his head. “Ohh, you brave. Or stupid. Was she worth it?”

  “I don’t do anything that’s not worth my time.”

  “All right, yeah, yeah, I feel you. But the question is, do you learn from your mistakes?”

  “Are you asking am I going to sleep with the boss’s wife? Then, yeah, I’ve learned my lesson.”

  Angelo seemed amused. “Sounds like you’ll fit right in. So before you left Grind, what brought you to Miami?”

  “You’re looking at it. I like my women fast, my liquor expensive and a beautiful beach on which to nurse my hangover. Miami seemed the perfect place.”

  “Then you did come to the right place. But if you have a taste for expensive liquor, what’s with the cheap beer?”

  “I said I liked expensive liquor, I didn’t say I could afford it. At least not yet.”

  “I like your style, kid. I think you’ll fit in real well.”

  So far so good. But it could all be smoke and mirrors. If Lit was, in fact, the hub where El Escorpion was peddling Bliss, chances were Angelo was involved. And if that was the case, it was imperative that Shaine get in tight with the man.

  “So where’s the action?” Shaine asked, appearing hungry and horny. “I’m ready for a good time.”

  “I doubt you need my help. Just flash those pearly whites and you’ll be
glommed by women looking to put their stamp on you,” Angelo said with an enigmatic smile.

  “Yeah sure, but you seem the kind of guy who would know the real scene.”

  “Maybe. What did you have in mind?”

  “Anyone I should steer clear of? Not looking for a wife, just a good time, if you know what I mean.”

  “In that case—” Angelo leaned forward with a conspiratorial glance toward a sexy redhead who’d just taken the stage “—you might want to give Raquel a pass. She’s trouble, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Screw her once and she’ll start picking out rings.”

  “Damn, thanks for that.” He pretended to shudder, then added, “That’s a shame. She looks like a hot piece of ass.”

  “Oh, she is, for sure,” Angelo remarked as if he knew from experience just how she could set the sheets on fire. “But you play, you pay. Takes weeks to brush that Stage 3 clinger off your junk.”

  “Good to know.”

  Just then, a sassy brunette, wearing not much more than a thong sliding up her near perfect ass and a matching bikini top that was barely two tiny triangles covering her nipples, sidled up to the bar with a blinding smile for Angelo.

  “Hey, baby, I need a drink, I’m parched. That last set was brutal.” Then she slid her gaze over to Shaine, bold and interested. “And who are you?”

  Angelo answered for him. “Down, girl. Brandi, this is Rocco Pacheco, our new bartender.”

  “So you’re replacing Tommy?” Brandi asked. Shaine just shrugged as if he couldn’t care less who he was replacing. “Hmm, big shoes to fill. Everyone liked Tommy. Well, everyone except Angelo.”

  “The guy was a prick,” Angelo said with a small smirk. “And he didn’t seem to know his place.”

  “You were just jealous,” Brandi replied, still watching Shaine, her gaze as probing as Angelo’s, except Brandi’s stare lingered just a little too long on the areas that interested her more.

  Angelo pushed a blue drink Brandi’s way and she snatched it up, tossing an inviting smile at Shaine before walking away.

  “Watch out, she’ll eat your heart for breakfast,” Angelo warned with a chuckle, but his gaze never left Brandi’s swaying ass as she disappeared backstage. “But she’s a wild ride.”