Playing Dirty

by HelenKay Dimon

  Anthony’s relaxed lounge against the counter ended. He stood up straight as his lips flattened into a straight line. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

  “Right.” This time she gave in and picked up her phone. The anxiety spinning in her stomach whirled at super speed at the continued lack of a response.

  In the past, Trent would go long stretches without touching base. She was used to that, but he always responded within a few days when she texted and asked for a status check. It was their code, but it failed this time.

  She tried to think of a way to approach this, skipping the sour notes about Trent’s employment choices. Fact was, Anthony looked calm, but she’d guess he was worried and calling in favors and ten seconds away from going to Trent’s boss for help. He was an overprotective dad. She knew because he’d played that role for her for years. It could be suffocating. She’d found her way through it. Trent had a harder time with the coddling.

  Still, her worry kept multiplying. Much more and she’d camp out in the hallway of Trent’s Capitol Hill condo. “It’s just that he hasn’t been to his place and—­”

  “Let me worry about this.” Anthony grabbed the coffeepot, the one appliance with which he was very familiar, and refilled her mug. “You have a new boyfriend to keep happy.”

  That sounded . . . well, awful. Wiped most of the worries about Trent right out of her head and filled it with a please-­be-­kidding sensation. “Ugh.”

  Anthony’s smile came back full force. “What, too old fashioned?”

  “Only by about fifty years.”

  “I just think the younger generation of women would benefit from being more attentive to their men.”

  She held up both hands to beat back the words. “Oh my God, stop.”

  “Fine.” Anthony pointed at her while he shot her with his most serious expression. “But I want to meet him soon.”

  Yeah, that was a dinner she didn’t relish. Anthony could be intense. Ford could be vague. The idea of those worlds colliding while she tried to choke down linguini didn’t appeal to her. “Maybe.”

  “I know his work is important, but so are you.” Anthony dove into the pink box for pastry number two.

  Clearly he had switched the target of his lecturing from Trent to her. Yet another reason Trent needed to show up soon. It was time for him to take one for the team. “You really think I’m going to let Ford take me for granted?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She picked at the uneaten half of her doughnut, suddenly not hungry for much of anything. “What are you saying?”

  “Let me check around. Ask a few questions about the guy.” When she opened her mouth, Anthony talked over her. “More than the standard reference check for the rental.”

  “You mean you want to investigate him? Like call-­in-­the-­FBI type check him out?”

  “It’s prudent.”

  Shay noticed that Anthony didn’t laugh off her attempt at sarcasm. That’s part of what scared her. “It’s insulting.”

  She forced her body to relax when she realized the tension running across her shoulders had turned into a neck cramp. Truth was, her objections zoomed right past feeling uncomfortable about Anthony poking around into Ford’s life to something deeper.

  “I’m more worried about your safety than hurting your boyfriend’s feelings.”

  “He’s private.” Their relationship was new and in a tenuous phase. She didn’t want to drag Ford in front of her uncle. Her very wealthy uncle.

  And there it was. The real fear. Her last boyfriend proved more attracted to Anthony’s bank accounts than her. She didn’t want to live through that again.

  “Which is exactly why I’ll be careful,” Anthony said.

  She needed him to back down. Maybe spend as much energy on finding Trent as he was on her love life. “No.”

  Anthony lowered his doughnut back down to the box nice and slow. “I’m not asking for permission, Shay.”

  “Good, because I’m not giving it.” Nothing in his expression suggested she’d won the argument. “I’m not kidding. Absolutely not.”

  Anthony nodded but didn’t bother looking up. “I hear you.”

  That’s not what worried her.

  Alliance team members moved in and out of the main room of the Warehouse. Most of Delta Team wore exercise clothes and headed to the showers after the mandatory gym session called by Josiah. Bravo team had hit the weight room early and now gathered around the conference room table going through the paper trail computer analyst Ellery Kimball compiled on Trent Creighton.

  Ellery could track anything. She liked guns but only on the practice range. She showed no interest in fieldwork. Cute and petite with fiery auburn hair, she stood up to the men in the office and could seemingly track any money transaction anywhere with only the thinnest of leads.

  Ward had to laugh at the men’s reaction to her. Ford called her skills spooky, but none of them ever mistook her pretty face for a sign of weakness. Despite how protective they all were of her, they listened. Sometimes Ward thought she had better command of the room than he did.

  Wade sat in his small glass-­walled office and watched it all. None of them were good at waiting but they needed a solid lead on the scientist, so they poured over every frame of video and every line of document.

  They’d connected with sources. They would find him. Ford and West would leave a pile of bodies behind them, if that’s what it took. They clearly had no trouble sneaking off to France on a twenty-­hour turnaround without authority to rough up a former asset. Ward knew he should be angry and threatening disciplinary actions, but he would have done the same thing in Ford’s position.

  The men weren’t the only ones who sucked at waiting. Ward opened and closed his right hand. He kept thinking if he strengthened it enough, loosened his muscles the right way, he’d get the feeling back. Not fucking happening. After all the rehabilitation and hours of work, the doctors said he should be happy he could make a fist after having a knife rammed through his palm. He thought they should kiss his ass.

  But the main reason behind the act that caused his injury was on the way to visit him, and seeing her reminded him that he’d take a stake through the heart if it meant keeping her safe. Natasha Gregory, former MI6 agent, current Alliance director, and the woman who flipped his life upside down until he couldn’t imagine a day without her.

  They met in Fiji when they were both on an assignment for their respective agencies—­he posing as a tourist and she as a bartender—­and neither knew the other’s true identity. Their operations overlapped. She threatened to kill him more than once. He couldn’t help but fall for her.

  In the end he got the woman and Alliance was born. He considered it the best operation of his life, even though it did sideline him permanently from the field.

  His cool blonde didn’t disappoint back then when tracking down a brutal dictator, and she didn’t disappoint now. She walked across the main floor in khaki utility pants and a long-­sleeve black tee, with her long straight hair up in a ponytail. The confident walk highlighted her lithe frame. Tall and sexy and very much in charge.

  She pushed open the door and entered without knocking. “The energy is thrumming on the floor, isn’t it?”

  He loved everything about her, but that British accent was so damn hot. He’d tell her, but they had a deal he would not breach. At work they were all business. She demanded to be treated as the boss and she’d fucking earned it, so he didn’t test that limit.

  “The team doesn’t exactly excel at sitting.” Shooting, yes, but Ward didn’t let them touch weapons in the office except at the indoor practice range.

  “Then it’s good I brought this.” She dumped a file on the edge of his desk.

  He didn’t touch it. “What is it?”

  “We have a waterfront construction worker in southwest
DC who reported some odd activity in a run-­down building.” She flipped the cover open and pointed at a photo. “Sounded like nothing. The police checked it out. It only got flagged for our review because some smart analyst noticed the expensive and seemingly new alarm system on the gate.”

  “Someone earned his pay.” That old kick of adrenaline pounded him. Tension started building inside him and he itched to put on a vest and grab his guns.

  “You can thank Ellery.” Tasha shrugged. “She has some program that sorts these things out.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “A quick look at the deeds led to a rabbit hole of corporations inside of corporations, and after some stone overturning, finally back to Anthony Creighton.”

  Ward was starting to hate that family. “More than interesting.”

  She turned away with her back to him and faced the floor. A few seconds passed before she spoke again. “Ward?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you staring at my ass?”

  He pulled his gaze away from that very impressive part of her when he heard the amusement in her voice, but not without some effort. “Yes, I am.”

  “We’re at work.”

  “Which is why I haven’t bent you over the desk and dragged those pants off.” He had to push the mental image out of his head before he started squirming in his chair.

  She shot him a smile over her shoulder. “Later.”

  “You can fucking count on that.”

  “In the meantime, it looks like your boys have something to break into.” She put her hand on the door handle then stopped. “Where’s Ford’s head in this?”

  “Meaning?” But Ward knew. He’d served with Ford. The guy was rock solid but he lacked the gene for tolerating bullshit. Tact was not in his wheelhouse either.

  “I know about the Paris trip.” She spun back around and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Then there’s the issue between Ford and Harlan.”

  “I wonder who told you about that.” Ward admired his cosupervisor, but the guy was all about the chain of command. That put Harlan on a collision course with Ford.

  “Not Harlan, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  Ward balanced his palms against the edge of the desk and pushed back, straightening his arms. “Ford handles disappointment with sarcasm.”

  She treated him to one of her you’ve-­lost-­it eye rolls. “You sound like his father instead of his boss.”

  Ward decided to ignore that. “Ford and Bravo should take the lead on his.”

  “If you think he’s ready.”

  The “he” in question stopped talking with his group on the main floor and stood up, staring straight into Ward’s glassed-­walled office Ward took in the determined scowl and the fury bubbling beneath the surface. Ford would do anything to stop Trent and whomever the kid was working with, and Ward agreed there was someone.

  More than once Ward had put his life in Ford’s hands, and he’d do it again. “I do.”

  “Fantastic.” She reached for the doorknob again.

  “One question.”

  She froze, looking more wary than curious. “Yeah?”

  “Why are you investigating warehouse deeds and minor trails on your own instead of letting the folks down here handle it?” When she didn’t immediately jump in, he tried again. “Seems a bit beneath your job description.”

  She threaded her fingers together in front of her, held that pose for a second before dropping her arms to her sides again. Not one to fidget and shuffle her feet, she looked to be fighting off a major case of both right now. “We’re not engaging in a pissing contest, Ward. That’s part of our deal.”

  The defensiveness reminded him of how they first met, arguing over who got to bring down a dictator hiding in Fiji. “Just making sure we’re still on track here.”

  She came away from the glass door and stood at the edge of his desk. “Some little shit with a drop of catastrophic toxin is not taking out a city on my watch.”

  Now that he understood. “Agreed.”

  “I thought you would.” She blew out a long breath before going back to the door and opening it to call out. “Ford?”

  He didn’t hesitate. He practically jogged the distance to the office and nodded his welcomes as he walked in. “Hello, Director.”

  “Tasha is fine.”

  Ward grabbed the file and held it out to Ford. “We have a lead.”

  “What is it?” he asked as he flipped through the first few pages.

  Tasha slapped her hand against the top sheet. “First, I need to know that you’re going to be a team player on this and not hijack a plane and head out for Iceland.”

  Ford dropped his arms and switched his frown from Tasha to Ward and back again. “If there’s a lead in Iceland I will.”

  She smiled but looked as if she wanted to fight it. “From anyone else I’d be forced to give a chain of command lecture.”

  Ford peeked at her over the top of the file. “Please promise you’re going to spare me.”

  Not one to back down, Tasha didn’t now either. “Find me that damn kid scientist and I will.”

  Ward had seen this before. These two had their battle down. He doubted they needed him but he stepped in anyway. “It’s all about finding the right incentive.”

  “Sure is.” Ford nodded. “Challenge accepted.”

  7

  “COME ON, baby. Open up for me.” Ford shifted his hand to the right as he kept up the steady string of sweet talk. “That’s it. Let go.”

  “I feel dirty listening to this.” Reid didn’t even twitch as he stood in full battle gear with his assault rifle at his side. “Not that I’m going to stop, of course.”

  Ford ignored him and the other members of the Alliance team hovering around him. They stood just outside the ten-­foot security door to the front gate of the run-­down Atlantis Food Company building. The sun had disappeared hours ago and only security lights from the surrounding warehouses brightened the deadly quiet area of the southwest DC waterfront.

  Water lapped against the dock, and the sharp scent of rotting fish wrapped around them. Ford blocked it all and focused on the task in front of him.

  Josiah separated from Delta team and looked over Reid’s shoulder. “With that kind of sex talk, I feel sorry for Ford’s last girlfriend. Remind me, what did she do for a living?”

  No way was Ford touching that, since the last woman in his life that Josiah knew about turned out to be a spy for North Korea. Not that one minute of those ten days were a secret. The men standing around him right now knew because it happened two months into his employment at Alliance and the beginning of the team. The second damn overseas field operation, in fact.

  He’d figured it out right after they had sex. She did a good job of searching his stuff in the hotel room. Avoided most of his traps and kept everything exactly as she found it. She was good. He’d been better. Still, he’d had no choice but to neutralize and report.

  The guys had given him shit for weeks for not sniffing her out before they hit the sheets. Which was a welcome relief compared to the threats of dismissal from Harlan. Between that and what Ward liked to refer to as his shitty attitude, Ford was still on informal probation. At this rate he’d always be.

  In reality, with his CIA career in shambles and his choices slim, Alliance had been his last stop. He liked to say he chose to switch jobs when Ward came with the offer, but the truth was, he had few options because he wasn’t qualified for anything else.

  Ford had been there for seven months and had no intention of blowing the gig, even if he did find the operation parameters the CIA and MI6 tried to hand down for Alliance fucking ridiculous. Pages of regulations made up by men who spent their days sitting behind a desk. No real life experience. No discussion with anyone in the field. As if the bad guys followed protocol.
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br />   Good thing Tasha and Ward ignored all of that garbage. They insisted on moving fast and hard once they cleared the intel. They expected the teams to be on call and ready to go. That’s why Ford hated having time off. Too much opportunity to think.

  And then there was the problem where his mind went soft after a few days of his dick getting hard. Shay had him spinning in circles. The mix of sexy and smart, grounded without taking herself too seriously, reeled him in. The husky voice, the walk that made his brain sputter.

  But the attraction tunneled deeper than the surface. He liked the way she led her life and supported him . . . or the guy she thought he was. She didn’t run around in circles or panic. She took things in stride. She was rock solid, and he’d known so few rock solid types in his life. ­People who wanted something or broke rules and made excuses, yes. Someone who was exactly who she claimed to be, no pretense or games, no.

  She was supposed to be a job. He was supposed to be watching from a distance. He blew right through both of those terms of his assignment and now had a disaster brewing.

  She was related to Trent, which meant she could be dirty. At the very least Ford expected and dreaded a spectacular explosion when she figured out he’d lied to her. And if Trent died in the fallout it, Shay would come gunning for him. Ford predicted it, saw the train coming at him but could not seem to back away from her.

  Damn women.

  Not that staying was an option. To keep his edge, he needed to keep moving. Needed to be at work. He’d learned that the hard way more than a year ago and could still see the red stain of a woman’s blood on his palms when he turned his hands over.

  He used those same hands now. The electric pick knocked the internal pins clear. Twenty seconds of grinding and the tumblers in the old-­fashioned lock gave way. With that out of the way, Ford slid the box’s front panel to the side to reveal the computerized second lock underneath.