by Mandy Baxter
“We could meet up afterward?” Lacey suggested. “We could catch a movie or I could just come over to your place and hang out.”
There was no doubt she’d need to decompress after dinner. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home. If you bring the cheesecake, I’ll grab a bottle of wine.”
“Deal.” Lacey glanced over Charlie’s shoulder before leaning in toward her ear. “Dear old dad’s here. Good luck. Hey, Mr. Cahill!” Lacey straightened as she called out. She could go from zero to charming in a second flat. “What are you drinking tonight?”
“Macallan 25, neat,” he replied in his crisp, clear voice. He leaned in and kissed Charlie’s cheek before sitting down beside her. “When are you going to give up on being a bum and finally take the bar exam, Lacey?”
“When hell freezes over,” she replied with a smile. She poured the ridiculously expensive scotch into a glass and placed it on a cocktail napkin. “I’ll leave the lawyering to Charlie.”
“Hmmm.” Robert Cahill gave Lacey an appraising look before he sipped from the glass.
Lacey gave Charlie one last wide-eyed glance before she hightailed it for the opposite end of the bar. Charlie mouthed coward and Lacey nodded in agreement, giving a quick shrug of her shoulders before she focused her attention on a couple who’d just bellied up to the bar.
“So, kiddo. How’s the life of civil servitude treating you?”
“Fulfilling as ever,” Charlie said. “How’s the corporate shark tank?”
“Pays the bills.”
Understatement of the century. No one could ever say Robert Cahill wasn’t good at what he did. His firm handled clients from some of the richest corporations in the world. Charlie made pennies compared to her dad’s two-grand-per-billable-hour rate, hence his disdain of her “civil servitude.” He’d expected her to join the firm when she graduated law school, and almost five years later he was still pretty butt-hurt that she’d chosen the Office of the U.S. Attorneys over the private sector.
Charlie watched her dad from the corner of her eye. Decked out in a perfectly tailored suit, not a graying hair out of place, distinguished and refined, he screamed one-percenter. He sipped from his glass and set it gently back down on the cocktail napkin.
“What are you working on right now?”
They had this conversation once a month. She couldn’t figure out if her dad was truly interested in what she was doing or if he was looking for something to use against her. To convince her to ditch criminal law once and for all. She hated to admit that part of the reason she pushed herself so hard was because she wanted to prove a point to him. To show him that she didn’t have to make two grand an hour or negotiate billion-dollar deals to have worth. What she did mattered. She just wished her dad could see it.
“I’m actually working on something pretty big.” Excitement leaked into Charlie’s voice as she turned to face her dad. “I’m heading up a multiagency task force.”
Her dad glanced at her from the side of his eye and his brows arched. “Oh yeah? What sort of task force?”
Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be talking about it. She’d told Lacey because that woman was a vault, and Charlie knew that whatever they discussed would never see the light of day again. She doubted her dad would mention it to anyone at his firm or anywhere else, for that matter. He might have been disappointed in her decision to practice criminal law, but he’d never betray her confidence.
“FBI, U.S. Customs, the Marshals Service. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“Sounds like it.” Her dad tipped his glass and studied the amber liquid inside. “Who are you after?”
Charlie trusted her dad, but she still wasn’t going to name any names. “Some pretty big fish with even bigger plans,” she said. “If I get the job done, I’ll be exposing corruption at several pretty high levels and taking down a few bad guys in the process.”
Charlie turned to face her dad. His expression was drawn, lips pursed. Concern etched his features and lit his light blue eyes. “They’re all bad guys in your line of work, aren’t they, kiddo?”
Worry leaked into his tone and it tugged at Charlie’s heart. Maybe her dad’s opinion of her job wasn’t merely based on his disappointment that she hadn’t followed in his footsteps. “I’ll be okay, Dad. I’m surrounded by elite-level law enforcement. No one’s going to let anything happen to me. Besides, I’m behind the scenes. Not hands-on.”
“I know, Charlie,” he said. “But I’m still your dad and I can still worry about you.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Are you ready to eat? I skipped lunch and I’m starving.”
He scooped up his glass and stood from the bar stool. “Me too. Let’s go get a table.”
Charlie grabbed what was left of her drink and followed her dad into the dining area. She didn’t want to admit to herself, let alone him, that this assignment had her a little spooked. But Chief Deputy Carrera had promised her only the best of the best would be appointed to the task force.
She sure as hell hoped so. Because she was after the sort of people who couldn’t risk exposure and would go to any lengths to protect their identities and their secrets. When power and money were involved, the rules didn’t apply. Anything goes. And not only was Charlie prepared to expose Faction Five’s leaders, she was going to use one of the world’s foremost diamond smugglers to get to them.
Danger or not, she wouldn’t stop until she took them all down.
Chapter Two
Mason pulled into the parking garage of the Phillip Burton Federal Building in San Francisco and killed the engine. He’d slept all of about two hours the previous night and he was still wondering if his decision to become a part of Carrera’s task force was a huge mistake. Especially now that he knew the chief deputy had been fully aware of Mason’s history. And not just the part that made him look like a chump for leaving CBP because he was tired of being used solely for undercover jobs. It all seemed too good to be true. A red flag if Mason ever saw one. Then again, he was being asked to do something he swore he’d never do in order to get a chance at joining the U.S. Marshals Service. So this wouldn’t exactly be a cakewalk. Still, Mason couldn’t fully let his guard down. Always suspicious. He let out a snort. Maybe he was more like his dad than he wanted to admit.
His hands clutched the steering wheel and he stared straight ahead. He could back out now. Tell the Marshals Service to fuck off, swallow his considerable pride, and work private security somewhere. He didn’t have to be a rent-a-cop. There were plenty of corporations and wealthy people out there looking for protection. Shit, he’d probably make a hell of a lot more money in the private sector. Once he was away from government scrutiny he might even be able to finally escape his past.
“Shit.”
Mason let out a gust of breath as he reached for the handle and pushed open the door. Against his better judgment he hopped out of his Camaro and headed inside. It was because of his past that he was going through with this. Not only to prove a point to Carrera and anyone else who might have doubts about him, but to prove to himself that his past didn’t have any hold on him. Mason wasn’t like his family and he never would be. He was better than his upbringing. Better than the opinions of guys like Carrera who measured him by his relations.
He checked in at the front desk and pinned the visitor badge to his shirt. He supposed he’d be given a temporary ID badge or something once he was briefed. Until then, he was nothing more than the chief deputy’s invited guest. His footsteps were heavy as he headed for the bank of elevators. He waited for an empty car and stepped inside.
“Hold the elevator!”
The last thing Mason wanted was to exchange small talk with a stranger in a cramped metal box. Already he felt the walls closing in on him, and the door hadn’t even slid shut. Rather than hold the door, he pushed the button to close it. He didn’t feel all that personable and he made no apologies for it. Whoever wanted a ride up could wait for the next car.
A slender hand
shot into the crack just before the door closed completely. It bounced for a brief moment and slid open, to Mason’s disappointment. A huff of breath preceded a tall, curvy woman who stepped into the car. She swept the curtain of her wavy strawberry-blond hair away from her face and her dark blue eyes narrowed as she shot an accusing glare Mason’s way.
Pretty. But the way her gaze raked Mason from head to toe made him feel as though he was being measured up. Whoever she was, she had a chip on her shoulder and obviously was just as thrilled about sharing the elevator as he was. Well, too damned bad. She’s the one who’d insisted on taking this car. She’d just have to suck it up and share the air that felt like it was diminishing by the second.
“Sixth floor, please.”
Her voice had a husky timbre to it. Warm and sweet as fresh honey. It made the fine hairs stand up on the back of Mason’s neck and he reached back to rub the sensation away. He didn’t move to punch the button—he was already heading to the sixth floor—and she turned to cut him an exasperated look. Jesus. How dare he not jab his finger on the six, the second the words came out of her haughty mouth.
Mason indicated the lit button panel. “Already done, princess.”
Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch and her lips parted. Color rose to her cheeks and she drew in an indignant breath as though ready to let him have it. Mason cocked a brow and met her steady blue gaze, all but daring her to say something. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with bullshit of any kind, and she’d be just as good as anyone to take the brunt of his frustration.
She didn’t break eye contact. For a long, tense moment she simply stared. Mason could be damned intimidating when he wanted to be. He had a good six inches and fifty or so pounds on her. She didn’t cower, though. Didn’t even flinch. The hard line of her mouth softened and curved into a tantalizing smile that nearly blinded him.
“Thank you.” The words slipped from between her lips in an almost silky caress. She gave him one last look that speared straight through him before she turned around and dismissed him completely.
Damn.
If not for her expression, which very clearly conveyed to Mason he was no better than a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her expensive stilettos, he might have reconsidered his shitty attitude and tried to warm her up to him a bit. The light locks of her hair brushed her shoulders in a blunt cut with soft, haphazard waves. Her crisp suit jacket and matching skirt hugged every round, supple curve of her body. Her crisp attitude wasn’t his cup of tea, but her body checked every box on his hell yeah list.
A sweet, floral scent hit Mason’s nostrils and he breathed in deeply. His brow furrowed as he realized they’d almost reached the sixth floor and he hadn’t broken out into a cold sweat or experienced an ounce of panic. Usually, tight spaces made him twitchy as fuck, but his companion in the cramped car had distracted him from his own ridiculous anxiety.
Huh.
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. His companion rushed from the elevator as though her heels were on fire, leaving Mason to stare after her. She hung a quick right and disappeared down a hallway. Her speedy exit wasn’t exactly the boost to Mason’s ego that he needed to get him through the rest of the morning. The fact that she couldn’t seem to get out of the elevator fast enough was more like a kick to the nuts.
Awesome.
The elevator doors threatened to close him back in and Mason took a wide step out into the hallway. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side in an effort to release some of the tension that already pulled his muscles taut. So far, his day wasn’t turning out so hot. If he didn’t experience an uptick soon, he doubted he’d make it through the briefing without stroking out.
“Can I help you with something?”
Mason looked up to find a cheerful older woman smiling up at him. Her sympathetic expression, coupled with elevator-woman’s obvious disgust, told him he was doing a pretty damned good job of broadcasting his emotions this morning. Something that he’d have to shut down in a hurry if he was going to work this operation with Carrera.
“Yeah.” Mason brushed a hand through his hair. “I’m looking for conference room B.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips curved wryly as she studied him with much more interest. “You’re with the Faction Five task force?”
Mason fixed a pleasant but not open smile on his face. He knew better than to admit or deny anything when involved with these sorts of clandestine operations.
The woman’s smile broadened as though Mason had passed some sort of test. “I’m Meredith. Charlie’s assistant. They’re getting ready to start in a few minutes. I was headed to the conference room if you’d like to walk with me.”
“Thanks.” Mason fell into step beside Meredith. “I’m Mason Decker, by the way.”
“Oh, the wild card,” Meredith said with a chuckle.
Mason’s gut twisted into a knot. What was better than walking into a room full of high-ranking officials knowing that most of them didn’t think you were capable of getting the job done? He’d rather someone dropped him into the gorilla enclosure at the zoo.
“That bad, huh?”
“I have a feeling it’s a little overblown.” Meredith turned and winked at him. “Want a little advice before we go in?”
Couldn’t hurt. “Sure.”
“Don’t let Charlie intimidate you.”
Great. He didn’t know anything about the assistant U.S. attorney who was heading up the task force, but from the sound of it, he was a guy who liked to throw his weight around. The last thing Mason wanted was to get into a pissing match with some stick-up-his-ass attorney who thought that because he had a fancy degree, he knew more about undercover ops—or Kieran Eagan—than Mason did. If he was going to be a part of this task force, everyone involved needed to know from the get-go that if it was his future on the line, he was in charge. Period.
“I’m used to working with those sorts of guys,” Mason said. “But thanks. I’ll try to keep my chin up.”
Meredith chuckled in a way that made Mason think he was on the outside of an inside joke. “You do that, kiddo.”
The conference room was already full when they walked in. Mason let out a gust of breath as he tried to gain his bearings. He liked to be the guy seated and eyeballing the people walking through the door, not the other way around. Already, he felt at a disadvantage, which wasn’t going to do much for his confidence. If he was going to be face-to-face with Kieran Eagan, he needed to be at the top of his game.
Mason paused just inside the doorway as he caught a glimpse of shining strawberry-blond hair. His mystery elevator-woman stood at the head of the long table, one arm braced on the polished surface as she studied the contents of the open file folder in front of her.
“Charlie,” Meredith said, drawing the attention of the room. “This is Mason Decker.”
Mason’s gaze wandered to the men in the room, but instead, cranky-elevator-lady’s head snapped up from whatever held her concentration. Her deep blue eyes narrowed as her mouth puckered. She let out a slow sigh and Mason swallowed down a groan as he realized why Meredith had been so amused. Was it too late to back the fuck out now?
“Have a seat.” Her warm, honeyed voice rang with authority. He could see why Meredith had thought it best to warn him. Damn. Working with the petulant assistant U.S. attorney was going to be an uphill battle, that was for sure. “Okay, everyone, let’s get down to business.”
*
Charlie’s composure threatened to slip the moment Meredith introduced her to Mason Decker. It was just her luck that the rude jerk from the elevator would be the guy Carrera suggested as their inside man. Charlie had dealt with guys like him before. Confident, tough, with panty-melting good looks and a dismissive attitude that had women dying to get their attention. Well, too bad for him she wasn’t the least bit interested in attracting his interest. Instead of giving in to her annoyance, Charlie gave herself a kick in the ass and swallowed down the flustered i
ndignation that would have otherwise made her appear as though she wasn’t in charge. The last thing she needed was for this operation to go off the rails before it even had a chance to leave the station.
The former Customs agent took a seat directly across from her at the other end of the table. He leaned back in the chair, arms folded across his wide chest, his intense light green eyes focused on her as though daring her to do something he would find even marginally impressive. Cocky SOB. No doubt Mason Decker’s ego was as big as his large, muscular frame. Charlie couldn’t help but worry he’d prove to be an enormous pain in the ass. She needed this operation to run by the book and as smoothly as possible. The future of her career depended on it.
She tried to ignore the unnerving intensity of his gaze and the way his nearly black hair brushed his brow in a haphazard and outwardly defiant way. The bulk of his frame, packed with solid muscle, and the square cut of his jaw, rough with a few days’ worth of stubble, didn’t faze her nor did his full lips that curved into a sardonic smirk. Carrera was right about one thing: Decker was perfect for the job. He’d be right at home with guys like Eagan. Rough around the edges. Arrogant. Unapologetic. Ruthless. He was by far the most intimidating man in the room. Hell, probably the entire building.
Charlie stood at the head of the table. All eyes turned to her and she swallowed down her nerves. She was a badass, damn it. Her dad always said that self-doubt had no place in the courtroom or the boardroom. It was time to prove herself.
“For those of you who don’t know, I’m Assistant U.S. Attorney Charlotte Cahill and I’m heading up the Faction Five task force that you’ve all been asked to be a part of. Several months ago, the Marshals Service received a tip about the formation of a large-scale crime syndicate known as Faction Five. According to the informant, the heads of Faction Five are law enforcement and holders of public office. Right now, we’re looking at everyone from local PD to FBI, federal judges, and even members of Congress. A new player entered the mix a couple of months ago. We’ve been tracking the activity of Kieran Eagan, who most of you know since you’ve all tried to arrest him for something at one point or another.”
