And Mitch.
Caroline nodded. “I’ll do it, but I have one stipulation.”
Grey didn’t sigh. More of a frustrated half-grunt. “What’s that?”
“No Mitch.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Mitch. He can’t come with me. Normally, we work well together. Always have. This assignment though, it’s…”
“I know.”
Of course he did. In pursuit of a serial killer, he’d watched Syd come on to men and after getting to know them as a couple, getting to know Grey and his protective tendencies, Caroline couldn’t fathom the gut-shriveling toll that had taken.
Grey stared down at his fancy shoes for a second, then lightly pounded his fist against the wall. As Mitch’s closest friend, he knew what this meant. Mitch would see it as a betrayal rather than emotional protection. If Grey agreed to her terms, he’d become part of the issue—emotionally and professionally—between Mitch and Caroline.
Finally, he came back to her. “Fine. No Mitch. I’ll pay you a hundred bucks to tell your boyfriend I’m sending you to Sin City to find a husband.”
Caroline grinned, gave him an affectionate pop on the shoulder. “Not a chance. Sucks to be the boss, doesn’t it?”
* * *
Caroline wouldn’t look at him.
Mitch leaned back in his chair, watching her emerge from the hallway looking like the cat who’d swallowed the canary.
Like Grey she insisted on dressing like she was still going to work at the Bureau, but her suits were tailored and fit her like a glove. Fine by him. They showed off her sweet ass and generous breasts.
Breasts he hadn’t gotten up and close and personal with since he’d begged off going to that damn dinner at the country club.
Marriage trap. That’s what that dinner had spelled. Marriage wasn’t for him, because, come on, he wasn’t exactly easy to live with. He loved Caroline and losing her wasn’t an option, but where did that leave him? He could barely commit to a season of fantasy football, much less making a woman happy forever. She might be a little crazy, which he loved, but it would take full-on psychosis to want to do happily-ever-after with him. He was saving her a lot of pain and heartache.
Caroline’s long legs ate up the space as she hurried across the floor to her desk, heels clicking like she meant business.
Caroline always meant business.
But, no matter what, she wasn’t one to avoid looking him in the eye.
Unless she was hiding something.
The door banged open and Grey followed behind her, all business as well. He started toward Mitch, meeting his eyes, and then, bam. Attention diverted. Suddenly the floor was more interesting, and Grey took a sharp right, disappearing behind the flimsy room divider.
Oh, hell no.
Mitch started to yell, “What the fuck’s going on?” but decided to use the filter Caroline kept insisting he try. She and Grey were hiding something and it wasn’t the surprise party for his birthday since that day had come and gone without so much as a Hallmark card. The six-pack of Corona from Grey was cool, and Teeg, the dweeb, had made him an awesome Dr. Who wallpaper for his computer, but hell, Brice Brennan had gotten a full-on banner and balloons just for joining the frickin’ team.
Pussy.
Mitch pinned his lips together. Games. Caroline wanted to play a game, fine. He would show her.
Resting his hands on his stomach, he rocked in his chair, the squeaking from the old metal loud enough to raise the dead. It grated on her nerves and he knew it. One of the petty reasons he refused to oil the damn thing. He liked getting on Caroline’s nerves. She was hot when she was pissed.
Which happened a lot with him.
Squeak, squeeak, squeeeeak.
Screwing up her face, she finally glanced up. “Stop it.”
He smiled and winked.
Squeeeeeak.
She froze and lifted one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Stop it or I’ll shoot you.”
“Tell me what’s going on.” Squeak. Squeak. “Or no deal.”
Her black briefcase landed hard on the top of her desk, fluttering a pile of papers she had neatly stacked. “You are such a bastard.”
Teeg chose that moment to reappear. He saw Caroline’s frustrated movements, and for half a second, Mitch saw it on Teeg’s face. Code Red. Code Red. Abort! Abort!
Mitch pointed at him and then at his chair at command central, in effect telling him to sit. The kid couldn’t run every time Caroline got her panties in a bunch. Then Mitch went back to his first concern. “Where are you going, Caroline?”
“None of your business.”
Squeeek. “Wrong answer.”
“Talk to Grey. He can fill you in.” She retrieved her gun from her bottom drawer and stuffed it in the briefcase. At least she hadn’t pointed at him. “I’ve got to go.”
Mitch planted his feet, whirled his chair around, and grabbed his own gun, sliding it into his shoulder holster before he stood. “Ready when you are.”
A pause and Caroline pointed a finger at him. “You’re not going.”
“We’re partners. Where you go, I go.”
The deep voice of their boss came from behind the partition. “Not this time, Monroe.”
Grey, the asshat, was still hiding behind that stupid screen.
“Is this an assignment?” Mitch yelled back.
Teeg, head down, typed furiously. Syd should find him a goddamn partition too.
“Sort of,” came Grey’s reply.
Sort of? “What the hell does that mean?”
Grey rolled his office chair back enough to peek out at Mitch. “A sensitive one that I’ve deemed Caroline to be the most appropriate member to handle.”
Mitch had dealt with his share of sensitive assignments. Hell, he’d been one of the those assignments when he’d been a fugitive on the run from the FBI and a murder suspect. He’d lost two childhood friends and nearly lost Caroline in the process. Sensitive? He laughed in the face of sensitivity.
Which, come to think of it, might be why he wasn’t the first person Grey had thought of for this supposed sensitive assignment. Also why Caroline kept trying to train him to use a filter.
Fuck.
He wasn’t about to give up though. Bullheaded was another of his charms. “An assignment is an assignment, Grey. Justice Team rules say no one works alone.”
Teeg stopped typing. Caroline shot Grey an oh, shit look.
Mitch grinned. Gotcha.
From the beginning, Grey himself had made that rule number one. Their unofficial nongovernmental status and the jobs they took on—bringing justice to those above the law—was dangerous stuff. No one worked alone.
Mitch resumed his seat. “Looks like we’re at an impasse, kids.”
Squeeek.
Caroline fisted her hands and made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. “You cannot come. No way. Trust me, please. It’s better that I do this alone.”
“That sound you just made is a real turn-on,” Mitch said, mentally telling his filter to take a hike. He winked at Caroline.
“Ugh!” She flipped him the bird.
Grey rubbed his eyes and sighed. “You don’t want to go, Mitch.”
They were both acting like it was a nightmare assignment, but how bad could it be? The Justice Team only did nightmare assignments in the first place. Very few things in life bothered him—unless it was dinner at the fancy-schmancy country club with Caroline’s wedding-obsessed mother.
And if it were that bad, Caroline definitely shouldn’t be going it alone. “It’s me or IT boy over there.”
“Me?” Teeg’s voice was almost as high-pitched as the squeaky chair under Mitch’s ass. “I’m no agent.”
Mitch looked back at Caroline and gave a what-can-you-do shrug. “Your choice, babe.”
She hated it when he called her babe. Hated it when he had her backed into a corner.
In the next second, she was flipping open the
briefcase. “Where’s my gun?”
“He’s right, Caroline,” Grey said. “I can’t send you to Las Vegas alone.”
“What?” she shrieked. “You just told me…”
“I know. But he’s right. You need backup.”
“Vegas?” Mitch nearly jumped out of his chair. “I love Vegas! Showgirls, gambling… Did I mention the showgirls?”
A metal projectile that looked suspiciously like a stapler flew through the air from the direction of Caroline’s desk. He ducked in the knick of time and the stapler clanged to the floor behind him.
“I’m in,” he told Grey, and then he turned to grin at Caroline. “Let’s go.”
“You don’t even know what the assignment is,” she said.
“What’s to know? It’s Vegas.”
“Caroline,” Grey said, “I’ll have Teeg send you the details of the op on your phone.”
She sighed. Mitch got that a lot from the people around him. “I hate you.”
Mitch closed the distance between them and hugged her, giving her ass a covert goose. “I know. But I promise when we get back, I’ll make it up to you.”
She smacked his wandering hand. “You will, too. You’ll go to dinner with my parents at the country club.”
“Let’s not be hasty…”
“Swear it, or I’ll ditch you on the roadside before we get to the airport.”
Hells bells, he loved this woman. He really needed to make her happy and not blow this. They could have all kinds of fun in Las Vegas even if they were on assignment.
Raising his hand, he gave her a boy scout salute. “I swear, Caroline. I will go to dinner with your parents at the country club. You won’t even have to hold me at gunpoint.”
A smile broke over her lips. “Yes, I will, but that’s okay. You’re worth it. I hate you, but you’re worth it.”
She was probably the only person in the world who thought so. “Can we go now?”
“Fine.” She grabbed her briefcase and shook her head. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
2
Caroline stood in front of a mirror in a stuffy back room of the Happy Humper, an aging 70’s era nightclub three blocks off the strip that hadn’t seen a decent paint job in twenty-five years.
For the biggest reality show of the year, the big-shots could have sprung for a better venue, but whispers around the room implied the network exec—aka the head honcho—didn’t want to vaporize their budget during auditions. The big bucks, according to rumor, would be unleashed for the finale.
Hopefully, it would afford the thirty chattering people shoved into this fifteen by twenty room a little space to move. Whatever. Caroline intended to be long gone by then.
And, snap, the getup the stylists had put her in would make Mitch’s eyes—along with other parts of his anatomy—bulge.
The woman who had strolled into this joint wearing a sleeveless sheath and her hair pulled back into an elegant chignon had been transformed into a stripper-turned-dominatrix. The fact that the leather, micro-mini dress ran a size too small and barely covered her crotch—hello to the penises of the world, here I am!—didn’t bother the obviously blind stylist.
The noise in the room, all those voices trying to be heard above the others, escalated and Caroline pressed three fingers into her forehead. For a girl accustomed to working in a quiet environment, aside from Mitch and his mouth, the tightness of the room and the blaring might make her head explode.
Noise or nerves?
Could be both. She couldn’t think too much about it. Not in this getup. Grey would owe her big for this one. Big.
She stared down at the plunging neckline that left her boobs precariously close to a wardrobe malfunction and made a mental note not to breathe. Or do anything else that might shift the girls in the wrong direction.
Just don’t look.
She lifted her gaze back to the mirror. To her hair. Her classy chignon? Gone. Replaced by curled and teased strands that hung in fat waves over her shoulder ala vixen-style.
This is so not me.
The makeup artist scooted behind her, bumping Caroline’s rear as she squeezed between her and one other contestant, a tall redhead not as dominatrix as Caroline but definitely heavy on the stripper. The feminists in TV land would love this.
Someone in the back corner shouted for a hair stylist and for a few seconds the room went silent.
“I’m here!” the stylist said.
The chatter immediately erupted again.
Hassan, one of the show’s other stylists, stepped behind Caroline and studied her reflection in the mirror, his gaze darting up and down in a methodical perusal lacking any hint of sexual impropriety. An artist checking his lines. He smoothed the leather suffocating her left hip and she flinched. Caroline didn’t like strangers touching her.
Even on assignments.
Hassan glanced up. “How are we doing?”
“I’m good. Sorry. You startled me.”
“That’s all right. I didn’t mean any offense. Making sure you look good is my job.”
This mess looked good? “And do I?”
“Honey, with your legs, you’d look good in a dry cleaning bag. Personally, I’d have toned it down some, but the guys running this gig want the sex amped up. Asses and tits all the way.”
“Apparently vaginas too because mine is about to wave to the world.”
His gaze shot right to her crotch and—yow—awkward.
“It’s a bit short,” he said. “Just don’t sit.”
“At all?”
In seven inch heels? How the hell long would they be here anyway?
Hassan shrugged and grabbed a passing makeup artist. “Let’s add some more liner here. Her eyes aren’t popping enough.”
More liner? She already had enough coal on there to fill a mine. God, she looked like some nasty dive-club stripper looking for her next john.
The protein bar she’d eaten on the way over tumbled in her stomach. But Caroline, being the team player, one who followed orders and wanted to find a missing girl, slid her feet out of what Mitch referred to as fuck-me-harder stilettos to give the teeny-tiny makeup artist half a chance at reaching her eyes without a stool. Because Caroline wasn’t allowed to sit down.
Something sticky connected with the bottom of her right foot and—ew—she imagined all sorts of nasty things it could be. Please, don’t let it be infectious.
“You look great,” the woman said.
“I look slutty.”
“Well, yeah. But this is Vegas, baby. And the guys out there won’t be able to resist you. One of the girls we had in here last night rocked a halter dress and they were all over her. The network exec snapped his fingers and the producers signed her before she even left.”
Caroline did some quick math. “So that means there’s one spot left, right?”
From the briefing Grey had Teeg send to her phone, she’d learned the show pitted three women against each other. All of them vying for the men’s attention in hopes of finding a husband. Yes, let’s find a husband in a group of men who take pleasure watching women undermine each other.
Once the final three women were decided on, they’d be sent on a series of group dates and the men chose which woman stayed and which went. That’s when things got interesting. After the first two women were voted off, all control went to the remaining bachelorette.
At that point, aware of who the men were who’d voted to keep her and more importantly, the ones who wanted her gone, she’d start eliminating possible suitors. And all those boys who’d voted against her? Well, if it were Caroline, they’d just better hold on to their balls because she’d shove her nine-millimeter right into their crotches and show them how to respect a woman.
“Yes,” the makeup artist said. “One of the women dropped out.”
Dropped out. Interesting. Had to be the senator’s daughter. “Any idea why?”
“She was here last night partying it up because she’d already been
picked as one of the bachelorettes. She looked happy—total party girl—and the guys loved it. The show scheduled her for a photoshoot this morning and she never showed.”
“Did they call her?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care either. Ten thousand women tried out. If a girl screws up, they move to the next one on the list.”
Alrighty then. Apparently the show’s creators didn’t concern themselves with the fact that a woman could have gone missing from their event. Or they’d performed some slick spin control to contain the story.
Caroline closed her eyes while the artist smudged more black on her upper eyelids. “Wow. That’s crazy. I guess I should be grateful since her bailing opened a spot.”
“A little advice, hon,” the makeup artist said. “Don’t leave here with anyone tonight. The producers are watching. And the girl that dropped out? She left with two of the bachelors last night. It didn’t look good and it pissed off the rest of the guys. My guess is the producers called her and told her she was out. If you want this gig, go out there, flirt a little or a lot, but don’t make it too easy.”
No problem there. Another shout silenced the room, this time someone needed a makeup artist. Stat. As if this were life and death?
“I guess that’s your cue,” Caroline said.
“Gotta run, hon. Go out there and knock ’em dead.”
The makeup artist pushed through the crowd and Caroline took one last look at herself in the mirror. If her mother saw this, she’d drop dead. Bam. Gone. At least there was one thing Mitch and her mother could agree on.
He’d hate this look. He’d like it on someone else. But not on her. On her, he liked buttoned-up, serious Caroline. Except in the bedroom. In the bedroom he wanted her naked.
Something she’d never had a problem with as long as he was equally naked.
Which, without a doubt, she’d find when she returned to the hotel tonight. She’d left him there in the midst of a pouting session resulting from her refusal to entertain him. Naked or otherwise.
To keep his agile mind occupied, she’d told him to search Megan’s suite for leads while she went off to her gig as a production assistant on Sin City Bachelorette.
Undercover Justice Page 2
