Game On (The Bod Squad Series Book 1)

by Gabra Zackman

  She smiled. “Foot fetish, Tex?”

  He winked. “So shoe me.”

  She groaned. “Oh, so BAD! You’re such a heel.”

  “You, on the other hand,” he murmured, “are keeping me on my toes. . . .”

  They moved closer together. And held each other’s gaze. Then Chas broke the moment.

  “Shall we go in?” he asked.

  ‡‡‡

  THE PARTY WAS in full swing when Susannah and Chas walked into the ballroom. It was an extraordinary sight to behold: a tri-tier chandelier sparkled in the midst of the enormous room, and candles blazed atop crystalline pillars. All the crystal seemed old-world; vintage colors of rose and dusky green, continuing the theme from the entryway, adorned the structures. Tables of various heights were positioned throughout the room; they glittered with candles in glass holders and colored stones that surrounded the glass. Larger tables were decorated similarly but overflowed with fancy-looking delicacies like oysters on the half shell, shrimp cocktail, and a carving station with what looked to be prime rib. Susannah’s stomach growled loudly, and she glanced at Chas, grateful for the sounds of music and the crowd. There was a three-piece band playing old jazz tunes; a singer in an exquisite forties-style chiffon gown was crooning a beautiful, haunting rendition of “Someone to Watch Over Me.” Butlers in tuxedos carried trays of champagne as other waiters passed hors d’oeuvres. Chas walked up to the closest butler and picked two glasses off the tray. “Champagne?” he offered.

  “Oooh, rose champagne! Love to,” she said appraisingly.

  “It’s the 1999 Heidsieck,” he said.

  She took a long gulp. “Well, its delicious, Tex, but I wouldn’t know the difference between a Heidsieck and a Hide ’n’ Seek.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t mind playing hide-and-seek with you.”

  She took another long swig of the delicious fruity champagne. “Well,” she said seductively, “play your cards right. . . .”

  He paused for a moment, looking straight at her. “May I have this dance?”

  ‡‡‡

  CHAS PALMER WAS an excellent dancer. His steps were sure, his hand warm on her waist. It seemed the entire party’s eyes were on them as he spun her around the floor to the wistful tunes of Cole Porter. He wore a spicy scent, musky and masculine, and just the right amount. She could only truly catch it when her chin was pressed against his shoulder.

  After a few dances, she said, “Thank you, Tex. We’ve hit my limit of pretending I’m an elegant dame. Really, it was an honor. But I’d better go rest my feet before I lose ’em. Or perhaps I should seem like a lady and powder my nose?”

  “You’re more than lady enough for me,” he said, interest potent in his deep blue gaze, “but if you’re looking for the bathroom, it’s upstairs. There’s one down here of course, but it’s not as private. And the one upstairs has more seating room, if you’re looking to rest your feet.”

  She quirked her brow. “Thanks for the tip. And thanks for the dance. I enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, I think we both know that I enjoyed it more.”

  Spinning on her heels, she gave him one last glance before making her way upstairs.

  ‡‡‡

  CHAS WATCHED SUSANNAH retrieve her purse and then disappear. He felt frozen in place, like his legs were no longer working, and he wondered what his next move would be. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, titillated, challenged, and thrown off all at once. This woman was doing things to him that made him want more of her, and in a space where they could be alone. He wondered when and if he’d have that chance. Turning back to the party, he smiled as he began to plot his next course of action.

  ‡‡‡

  SUSANNAH DASHED UP staircase number two as fast as her little heels could take her. She spoke to Jackson frantically as she did so. “Jackie? You there?”

  “I’m here, Sugar Plum,” he replied instantly. “Sounds like a fun party.”

  “Well, he’s one smooth operator, I’ll say that for him. Give me an idea of where I should be heading.”

  “Okeydoke,” he said, and she heard clicking in the background. “I gotcha. You’re on the third floor. Turn right at the top of the staircase and go all the way to the end.”

  “Got it. On my way.” She looked around in disbelief as she hurried down the hall. “Jackie—whoa! I wish you could see what I’m seeing. This is like the kind of place I’ve only read about!”

  “Yeah, and the kinda place I’ve never read about.”

  “Very funny.” She smirked, coming up on the end of the hall. “Now what?”

  “You’re looking for a room at the end of the corridor, one of the last two, most likely—it’s where he spends most of his time. You’re looking for any computer or handheld so you can download the—”

  “Yes, yes, I know what I’m doing,” she interrupted. “I’m out. Will do what I can.” In truth, Susannah understood why Jackson was repeating the instructions. Hacking was not her strong suit. Undercover work? Easy as pie. Assuming an identity and using a gun? Of course. Flirting up a storm and getting incriminating information? Hell, yes! But hacking? Not really. That’s what Lisa Bee handled, at the outset anyway. Lisa Bee was really the office manager, the one who kept them all on task, but she had some mad computer skills to boot. If Susannah needed something really tricky, however, she always asked her best friend, AJ Jones, who was an expert hacker in a class all her own and went by the handle “Fingers.” But was Susannah up to this task tonight? Damn right she was.

  Entering a room that could have only been Chas’s office, she let out a breath. The office felt like one of those libraries seen in old movies: hardwood furnishings, antique maps, the scent of fine cigars. And yes, of course—a beautiful decanter with a golden-brown liquid in it. Scotch, she’d bet. Probably the finest. On the opposite wall was an old-fashioned credenza over which was a Kokoschka painting she loved. It was one of her favorites: a man and a woman in a swirl of passion. Was it a print? Or the real thing? “Oh, Mr. Palmer,” she murmured, “we have more in common than I thought.”

  And incongruously placed, in the midst of it all, was his computer. “Gotcha!” she exclaimed.

  Reaching into her bra, she pulled out a small, square gadget no bigger than a button. From it, she unfolded a high-capacity USB drive. Inserting it into his laptop, she then typed several commands on the keyboard. As she waited for the hard drive to load she sent a text to AJ.

  Hey, Fingers. Got stuff. Uploading HD now. Instant transfer to Rosebud. Use my login. Xoxo Legs

  The Boss knew she had an outside source, but she had never introduced him to AJ, her girlfriend from childhood. Some things were best kept on the DL. And lord knew, AJ was a maniac about her privacy. She had different aliases in different cities and walked through the world as though she were omnipresent, seemingly living several lives at once. Susannah had no desire to compromise her friend’s extreme lifestyle choice, and, in fact, made great use of it. AJ was the best in the business and had a way of storming through even the strongest firewalls. When they were in high school together, AJ was the one who got all the answers to the tests before they were given, got the gossip about their classmates before anyone else, and staged elaborate revenge plots on all the “mean girls” who tortured Susannah. Her favorite involved a video that was shown to the entire school in the auditorium depicting a particular cheerleader trying to wax her own bikini line . . . Brazilian style. Susannah still laughed about said cheerleader—the whole school called her Hairless Wonder till graduation.

  After about five minutes, the transfer was complete. She removed the USB, tucked it back into her bra, and was just about to exit when Chas walked in.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked pointedly.

  “Oh”—she blushed—“I just lost my way and got a bit . . . curious.”

  “That’s okay. I’m a bit curious too
.”

  “About what?” she began to ask, but was taken off guard by Chas’s lips as he moved in for a kiss.

  She was surprised, knocked off her center, and the kiss was so brief she almost thought she imagined it. His lips simply brushed hers, and then they locked eyes. A whole story passed between them, a full truth, a sure challenge. Then she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to her again.

  This kiss was real. Deep. Searching. On both parts. His tongue entered her mouth and she gasped. She could feel it all the way to her toes. Just as her knees were about to buckle, he lifted her onto the desk, edged between her legs, and came straight into contact with . . . her .380.

  He broke the kiss and looked down. “Hmm. Nice equipment. And the gun’s not bad either.”

  She breathed a sigh and tried to collect herself. “Well, it’s always good for a girl to be prepared, I say.”

  “Indeed. I’m intimidated, but excited too.”

  “Glad to hear it,” she said, beginning to slide off the desk. “Well, Chas, this was a lot for me, having come up from DC for the party. I think maybe it’s time I make my way to my hotel.”

  “May I see you again?” he murmured softly.

  “Sure,” she said, retrieving a card from her purse and tucking it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll be around all weekend.” And with that, she tried to walk gracefully out of the room, but she was still weak-kneed from his kiss. She took a massive fall—an indignified crumple, really—and was once again hoisted off the ground by Chas’s strong arms.

  “You okay?” he asked, a smile in his eyes.

  “Just great,” she said. “Classy as always.”

  Another moment passed between them. Then he spoke up. “One question. On the holster of your gun there was a pair of legs. Your moniker, perhaps?”

  She grinned. “You might say.”

  “Gee, I wonder why.”

  She brushed herself off and edged away from him toward the door. “Well, thanks, Tex. It’s been a fun night.”

  “Sure thing, Legs. I look forward to the next one. And one more thing . . .”

  “Yes?” she inquired.

  He paused a moment before replying. “My gun’s bigger than yours.”

  As she walked out of the room and down the corridor, all she heard was Jackson’s uncontrollable laughter ringing in her ear.

  3

  SUSANNAH WOKE UP the next morning slightly hungover and unable to move her feet. “Damn heels,” she cursed. Then she tried again. She gingerly touched a foot to the ground, stood up, and crumpled into a heap. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she exclaimed. It was at just that moment that she heard a knock on the door.

  “Room service,” said the familiar jocular voice, a moment before a key card got put into the lock, the door opened, and Jackson walked in with a large pitcher of coffee and a plate of bacon. He always looked like he had stepped right out of a music video, and had a cool hipster style all his own, wildly appealing to women. Today he was wearing a pair of jeans and a vintage vest that he matched with a conductor’s cap reading “I Am The Man” on the brim. Eyeing her contorted position on the floor, her rumpled robe, and her bedroom hair, he smiled and said, “Ah. Just what the Boss ordered.”

  “Very funny,” she replied, trying to get up without flashing Jackson, “and you could have knocked, asswipe.”

  “He did knock,” said a throaty bass with a touch of laughter in it. “He knocked for four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.”

  Fuck. The Boss was here. And she was on the floor, tangled in her hair, her robe, and the remaining shards of her dignity.

  “Well,” she mumbled, “you could have at least given me a chance to have some coffee before being interrogated.”

  “Taken care of.” Jackson chuckled. “Coffee and a side of bacon.”

  This did make her smile. It was her favorite way to start a morning. She was famous for ordering “Eggs and toast with a double side of bacon—hold the eggs and toast.” So she figured if Jackson was doing his best to make her happy, she’d better do her best to please the Boss.

  She made her way up and glanced over at Bossman. He was rakishly handsome; his current look was slightly grown-out hair and a five o’clock shadow. He always had different looks, seeming to delight himself with ways he could “out-undercover” his undercover operatives. Susannah couldn’t tell what made the Boss tick. He never dated anyone, only slept occasionally, and had an undying lust for Chipotle and old movies, often at the same time.

  Bossman smiled and cocked his head to the side. “New robe? I wasn’t aware you liked paisley.”

  “It’s a gift from my mother, dickhead.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘Boss Dickhead’?”

  “Sorry,” she said, genuinely chastised, “you know I’m not good in the mornings.”

  “Well,” said a snarky female voice with a Southern twang, “that’s not what I heard.”

  Lisa Bee, five feet two inches in heels if she was having a “tall day,” poked her head around the bedroom door, a wide smile painted on her cherry-red lips.

  “Oh, hell, you guys!” Susannah exclaimed. “Why didn’t you let me know I was having a party for breakfast?”

  “Well, it’s your own goddamn fault, ma chérie,” Lisa Bee chirped in her N’awlins French. “You’re the one who made the mistake of telling our mark that you were around all weekend.”

  “Oh shit,” Susannah replied, “did I really?”

  “Yes, Legs,” said the Boss with a sarcastic tinge. “We know he’s your type and all, but we weren’t really planning a weekend in New York. That being said, it gives us all a chance to do a little more legwork. Not that your leg work isn’t quite astounding, but . . .”

  “All right, all right,” she grumbled, “let me get some clothes on, and I’ll meet you in the living room.”

  “Actually, you’ll meet us in your new suite, upstairs.”

  “New suite?”

  “Well, Legs,” Jackson said pointedly, “if we have the chance to have him over, we’d like him to be impressed.”

  “WE?” Susannah yelled.

  “Can it, Legs,” said the Boss suavely. “Meet us upstairs in five. Have your stuff packed. Someone will move it for you. And we’ve bought you a new dress for tonight.”

  “Really? I must’ve impressed you last night. What suite?”

  “The penthouse,” he replied with a smirk. “And after you pick your jaw up off the floor, you could start with a ‘thank you.’ ”

  ‡‡‡

  THE TRIBECA GRAND’S Penthouse 8 looked more like a music producer’s apartment than a hotel suite. Susannah looked around the rooms and gaped at the fully stocked bar, banquette seating, and private rooftop terrace. She let out a small sigh when her gaze landed upon the sexy bedroom layout: king-sized bed with a white duvet, hot tub, the Art Deco glass chandelier, the New York skyline. For a small-town Virginia girl, this was eye-opening, to say the least. Though she wasn’t a hick—as a child, she’d spent every summer visiting her French grandmother in her farmhouse cottage in the Dordogne—she still felt provincial in her roots. And this place was as cosmopolitan swank as it got. She grinned, imagining staying here for two whole days! Completely awestruck, she sat down on the leather banquette next to the coffee table where everyone had organized the morning’s meeting. She knew which place was hers from the large pitcher of coffee and the larger plate of bacon.

  “All right, Legs,” Bossman began, “what did you get off the hard drive?”

  “Well, I don’t know yet,” she replied, already aggravated before the meeting had even begun. “My contact hasn’t had time to get back to me.”

  “And you didn’t think to look yourself?”

  “BOSSMAN! I came in and went to bed and the next thing I knew Jackson had his bacon in my bedroom!”

  “Now in
all fairness,” Jackson piped in, “if it’s my bacon we’re talking about, it’d be a much larger plate.”

  Lisa Bee giggled. The Boss and Susannah glared. Jackson looked smug. The Boss began again. “Susannah, have some coffee. That’s an order. Jackson, shut up. Bee, check out the hard drive. Legs, give her what you’ve got.”

  Susannah looked confused for a moment, then remembered where it was. “Right,” she said, reaching into her bra and pulling out the USB drive. “Sorry, Bee. I slept on it.”

  “Well, if I had a nickel . . .” Lisa Bee said, laughing, taking the stick and inserting it into her laptop. “Gimme a couple minutes and we’ll see what we’ve landed.”

  Susannah poured herself a cup of coffee and took a long sip. Then she snarfed down three pieces of bacon. Jackson gave her a long look. “At least you’re the one in the penthouse,” he said with envy. “Because of you I gotta sleep in the car.”

  ‡‡‡

  JACKSON WAS TRYING to make jokes again, but in truth, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Lisa Bee. It was getting worse and worse, this crush he had, and he was trying desperately to defuse it with humor. Or dick jokes. Or talking about other women. Instead, he just seemed like an asshole, and he knew it. He had known Lisa Bee for the better part of five years, and they had become friends. Jackson was a self-professed ladies’ man, a new-age gigolo, a lover of women and sensual delights. Which is why it startled him to feel things for this curvy little Southern delight that he’d never before known. He felt protective of her, but she also excited him to no end. She was every bit his match, in more ways than one, he’d bet. He could feel himself getting turned on just imagining what she’d be like in the bedroom. But it wasn’t time for that now, he reasoned, if it ever would be. For now he’d better keep himself on task and keep their relationship platonic. She laughed again and he drew in a deep breath. It was going to be a long night.

  ‡‡‡

  CHAS PALMER SAT frozen at his computer screen, waiting for Windows to reactivate. Someone had tinkered with his hard drive and made a rookie mistake doing it. His mind flashed on the sexy redhead from last night. Could she have been in here toying with his equipment? No way—the only equipment she was toying with was hers for the asking. Still, she did carry a gun . . . a nice one at that. It turned him on something fierce. He could barely sleep, imagining what it would be like to remove her holster and have access to the rest of her. It’d sure be interesting if she was looking for information about him—that would turn him on even more. She wouldn’t find it, of course. He’d never leave his real hard drive anywhere it could be found. The computer that sat on his desk was just for show. All his real information was stored on an external hard drive kept in the safe beneath the scotch, only opened by spinning the globe and putting a finger first on Paris, then on Tangier, the two cities where he hunted his father’s killer.