Bulletproof

by Maggie Cummings

  “When?”

  “It was going to be tonight, but it’s George’s grandmother’s birthday.”

  “I love their family loyalty.” Briana shook her head. “Is there a rain date?”

  “Tomorrow night it looks like.” Dylan’s smile was so confident and proud it made her happy inside. Which stood in complete contrast to how she felt about the green light she knew she felt compelled to give.

  “You want my support on the undercover operation, I assume?”

  “Briana, I really think it could be good for the case.” Trevor was almost pleading, but it was hardly necessary. She knew it was time.

  “Nieves is going to call you. We wanted you to hear it from us first.” Dylan was so sincere. She followed their rules. She never blurred the lines at work. Briana simply hated the idea of Dylan being in any kind of danger even if the chances of things going awry were slim.

  “All right.” Briana tried to stay positive as she reminded herself that Dylan was smart and savvy. If this was anyone else, she would be thrilled at the development. “Let’s do it,” she said, verbalizing her decision on the spot and avoiding the risk of allowing emotion to cloud her judgment.

  “Awesome.” Trevor clapped his knees in excitement. He stood quickly. “We gotta jet. We’re going to meet the tech guys to see what the options are to wire up Dylan and Trish.”

  Ugh. Trish. She’d almost forgotten about that part. It’s just work, she said to herself trying to block out the image of Dylan and Trish pretending to be a couple. “Great work, you two.” She caught Dylan’s eye as she was about to leave. “Dylan.”

  Dylan turned, and her expression was full of care and gratitude and something else she couldn’t readily identify. It took every ounce of restraint not to step into her space just to feel the safety of her arms. “Be careful,” Briana said as blandly as possible.

  The smile that Dylan levied melted her on the spot.

  “Always.”

  * * *

  Briana handed a Spanish onion to Dylan. “Will you do this one when you’re done?”

  “Of course,” Dylan said as she took it and put it next to the peppers on the chopping block. “Quick question.” Dylan bumped her hip. “Are you going to look at me at all tonight?”

  It was cute that she was trying to keep the mood light, but Briana knew Dylan was attuned to her energy.

  “I mean, I’m happy to eat stir-fry and not talk about it, but you seem upset, and I want to allay your fears.” Dylan ducked in and stole a kiss. “And I want to a-lay you later.”

  Dylan laughed at her own cheesy pun, but Briana could barely crack a smile.

  “Wow. You are tough tonight.” Dylan returned to chopping.

  Briana reached for the cubed veggies and added them to the pan. “I’m sorry, Dylan.” She stirred the chicken, knowing she was being ridiculous. “This whole thing just has me…stressed, I guess.”

  “Come here.” Dylan hugged her from behind and leaned back against the island. “Babe, talk to me. Please?” Briana always loved the feel of Dylan’s arms around her, but right now it didn’t have its usual calming effect.

  “It’s not going to make a difference.”

  “This is because of what we talked about today. The undercover operation tomorrow night?”

  Briana reached forward to lower the flame on dinner and turned to face Dylan. “I know it’s stupid. I’m being irrational.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It’s true, though.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  She nodded.

  “If it was Trevor or Ahmed going in, would you feel this way?”

  She ran a finger along Dylan’s belt, stopping an inch from her holstered firearm as she thought about her response. She was a cautious attorney. She was hands-on with all her cases. She considered every move thoroughly before making decisions.

  “I would always be concerned about something with so much margin for error,” she said. “When there’s a chance of officers being discovered or, God forbid, getting hurt.”

  “I know. You care. Everyone knows that about you.” Dylan hunched a little to meet her gaze. “That’s not what I asked.” Briana felt Dylan’s hands on her hips. “If it wasn’t me going in, would you be this stressed?”

  “But it is you.”

  “Exactly.” There was a second of silence and Briana knew Dylan was waiting for eye contact. She couldn’t resist even if she wanted to. “Bri,” Dylan said, using the nickname she loved. “I’m a better cop than Ahmed. I know that sounds obnoxious.” She shrugged and looked a little embarrassed to be touting herself. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s great. The whole team is. But when it comes to this kind of field work, I’m good. You should trust me. Even Trevor. He’s the best. But he knows I’ve got this. Because I do.” Dylan caressed her arms. “It’s going to be fine. I swear.”

  It was crazy that just hearing Dylan boast made her feel better. It was like her confidence was contagious, and while she wasn’t totally relaxed, there was something in Dylan’s words and demeanor that made her believe it was going to be all right.

  A few feet away the door opened, and the backdraft sucked whatever tension remained right out into the corridor as Stef entered the apartment.

  “Look at you cuties,” she said, joining them for a group hug and placing a kiss on each of their cheeks. “You guys are freaking adorable,” she said.

  Briana raised her eyebrows. “That’s funny, because we were just fighting.”

  “If this is how you guys fight…” Stef widened her eyes but let the sentence drop off. It didn’t matter—her implication came through loud and clear. “What’s for dinner?” she asked.

  “Stir-fry,” Briana said. She gave Dylan’s butt a playful smack. “If Detective Prescott ever finishes chopping the vegetables.”

  The rest of the night was fine. Dinner was delicious. The company, even better. Briana loved the way Dylan had turned her mood a hundred and eighty degrees with a simple honest conversation. It was direct and refreshing and everything she always wanted in a relationship. Not that she was saying this was a relationship. What had they defined it as? An exclusive, noncommittal liaison? Damn if she could remember the label they’d settled on.

  All she knew was that it felt good and right and balanced.

  In the quiet of her bedroom, she heard Dylan’s even breath, the sign she was out cold. Dylan was predictable like that. The second she came, she was wiped. For some reason, Briana found it endearing. Perhaps it was because she was always well taken care of by then. Or maybe it was the sheer knowledge that she was able to make Dylan lose control with her.

  Briana smiled in the dark, thinking it was likely both.

  She liked how selfless Dylan was, how thoughtful. She appreciated the grand gestures—the walks home, the daily case updates. But she was a sucker for the little acts too. The way Dylan made sure the work fridge never ran out of skim milk and always had some at her house these days. The fact that her cabinets were stocked with her favorite treats: pistachios and trail mix and Sour Patch Kids.

  Dylan cared about her. And the feeling was mutual. Briana looked forward to morning coffee at the plant. She loved that Dylan was the last person she communicated with on the nights they spent apart. She indulged in every minute they were together in either her apartment or Dylan’s, where they could be open and free to kiss and touch.

  Holy shit.

  She could give it any phony description she wanted. Dylan was her girlfriend. Her secret girlfriend, but most definitely her girlfriend.

  It happened so naturally she could hardly pinpoint when things had moved out of the casual zone and into something more defined. More importantly, for the first time in forever, she was absolutely elated with the shift.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “We’re spread all over out here.” Trevor’s voice was even, but Dylan picked up on just the slightest bit of tension in his delivery.

  She didn’t have a
whole lot of time to talk him off the ledge, so she gave him a sturdy “10-4,” in hopes that less was more. “I’ll see you on the other side, brother,” she said, ending the conversation and turning to Trish.

  “You ready?” Without waiting for an answer, Dylan took Trish’s hand and strode into the Wine Bar.

  She was full of confidence and anticipation. And honestly, there was really no reason to be nervous. Conversations intercepted over the wire had told them George and Benji were traveling together in Rivas’s Maxima. Twenty minutes earlier the surveillance team had followed George’s car to the location and watched both men enter the establishment.

  The objective for tonight was simple. Get eyes inside. Have a drink. Anything beyond that was gravy.

  Dylan had studied photos on the Wine Bar’s website in addition to whatever images she could dig up on popular review forums. Even though that research had provided a good sense of the interior layout, Dylan was unprepared for how quaint and intimate the establishment was. There were a few small tables, but the bar was wide open. George and Benji were sitting at one end with Paul. Dylan went straight for an open spot in the middle of the bar.

  “What do you want, babe?” she asked, playing it up.

  “I don’t know,” Trish responded as she perused the wine list. “Are you going to do red or white? Or are you going to be boring and order a beer?”

  The bartender laughed and stepped close to wait on them. “Good evening, folks. How are we tonight?”

  “Good, thanks.” Dylan looked around pretending to admire the ambiance as she absorbed every last detail of the space.

  “Are you wine drinkers? Or would you like some suggestions?”

  “I made her come in here.” Trish nudged her playfully. “We were on our way home, but this place looked so cute, and I said we had to stop for a drink. It’s so cozy.”

  The bartender smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell the owner you said so.” He ticked his head toward Paul. “He’s sitting over there.” He leaned forward and spent a decent amount of time explaining the various wines listed, finishing by saying they were free to start with a sample if they didn’t want to commit. “We also have a nice selection of beer if that’s more your speed,” he said to Dylan.

  “Nah, I’m here. When in Rome, as they say.” She picked a Californian blend that was reasonably priced. She’d barely listened to his spiel because she was trying to focus on the conversation a few feet away.

  Trish pointed to an Italian vintage he’d recommended, and he nodded amiably. “I’ll get those right away.”

  As he worked, Dylan and Trish chatted like they were a regular couple. Even though they had coordinated backstories to draw upon, it wasn’t necessary. And truthfully, Dylan knew it was better to keep it simple. They knew each other well enough to find common ground. Dylan steered the conversation to a singing competition show Trish’s favorite contestant had just been booted from.

  The banter was light and lively but bland enough that she could half listen and still make observations.

  So far, there was no smoking gun. While she imagined their targets were talking business, they spoke low and in hushed tones. No money or product had exchanged hands. Trish was seated with her back to the guys, and Dylan faced her, hoping her angle created a good vantage point for the pinhole camera secreted in her clothing. She knew it wasn’t much. They could be discussing sports or politics, but her gut told her this place was HQ, and they were ironing out details of their operation.

  After almost fifteen minutes, the only other couple at the bar departed, leaving the Wine Bar empty, save for their subjects and them. Dylan felt her back tighten with just the tiniest amount of excitement and stress, confident this was it. The moment she’d been anxiously anticipating. An opening for Benji and George to chat them up, to gawk at them, to give it their best shot.

  But it was Paul who made the move. Making eye contact, he offered a nod and the hint of a smile, slightly raising his glass in a way that signaled both appreciation for their patronage but also a kind of sovereignty over his domain. Dylan suppressed her eye roll and replaced it with an expression of eager gratitude. It was fucking perfect, and Paul couldn’t resist the opportunity to play king. He hopped off his stool and headed toward them.

  This was going to be interesting.

  “Hello, ladies.” Paul sized them up deliberately, and Dylan looked right into his dark brown eyes. An arrogant smile completed his polished look. He gestured toward the bartender, who was filling an order. “Simon tells me this is your first time here,” he said. “I hope you’re having a nice night. Enjoying your drinks.”

  “Yeah, it’s great.” Dylan raised her glass in support of her statement. Next to her Trish stiffened. Dylan covered her knee to convey it was all good.

  “I’m Paul. The owner.” He was too comfortable. “Please tell me if there’s anything you need.”

  The notion that Paul would be the one to take an interest in them was one Dylan hadn’t really anticipated, but presented with direct access, her mind raced for the best way to leverage the opportunity.

  “I think we’re good.” Dylan looked at Trish to be sure, the way she would check in with Briana if she was on a real date.

  “Did you have dinner next door?” he asked. He clearly wasn’t going away, and Dylan knew that meant one thing. He was vetting them. As cops or customers, she wasn’t sure.

  “Is the Italian restaurant next door connected to this place?” she said answering his question with one of her own. If they were doing this, she was in.

  He looked over his shoulder at the arched doorway she’d noticed in the back. “It is, yes.” He grin was broad and toothy and smug as fuck. “Wine Bar operates independently. However, we also serve as Victor’s service bar.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Makes sense.”

  “They have a delicious menu. If you’re interested, I can see if there’s a table.”

  “We actually ate earlier. We sort of stopped here spur of the moment.”

  “Do you live in the neighborhood?”

  “Downtown,” Dylan said. “FiDi.”

  “The financial district. This is a trek for you.”

  “We like to go out to dinner.” She reached for Trish’s hand subtly. “Can’t be taking her to the same spots over and over. Gotta keep it interesting, you know.” She added a wink. “We checked out the Afghani place down the street.”

  “I saw it got a fantastic write-up recently. Tell me, how was it?”

  “Really good.” Dylan put on a good show. “I kept it simple, though. I ordered a chicken kabob dish that came with jasmine rice.”

  Paul focused his attention on Trish. “And what about you, dear?” Dear. Gag.

  “Oh, I got the same thing.” Trish didn’t miss a beat, and Dylan squeezed her thigh in discreet praise. “It was yummy, though.”

  “Are you enjoying the wine?”

  “It’s nice,” Trish said.

  “Paul, we’re gonna hit it,” Benji called out as he stood to put on his jacket.

  “Sit down,” Paul ordered. “We still have some business to go over.”

  Fuck if Benji didn’t stop dead in his tracks. “Hurry up, cuz. We want to go out.”

  “Relax yourself, Goldenballs.” Oh my God, they got an actual Goldenballs reference. Dylan laughed out loud, even though Paul was obviously showing off for them.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “Little brother?”

  “Baby cousin.” Paul gave her the information she already knew, but she nodded in deference to his authority.

  “So that makes him the junior partner here?”

  “No.” Paul shook her off. “I’m an attorney.” He reached in his breast pocket and handed them a business card from his law firm. Cocky motherfucker. “This”—he looked around the Wine Bar—“is just for fun.” A place to wash the drug money, more like.

  “So, wait.” Dylan shook her head in faux disbelief. She looked down the bar at Benji and George. “You guys a
re all lawyers?” Dylan wiggled her eyebrows at Trish. “Babe, I think we just hit the jackpot.”

  Paul laughed at her stupid humor. “Are you in need of representation?” he joked.

  “Not yet, thank God.” She looked at the sky, faking gratitude. “But they say everyone should have at least one lawyer on their side. I’m hoping we just scored three.”

  Paul clapped her shoulder jovially. She loved that he was getting comfortable with her. “Sorry to burst your bubble. But my cousin and his friend just do odd jobs for me. As far as legal advice goes, you’re stuck with me.”

  “One’s better than none, right?” She continued the spirited back and forth, hoping Paul might drop his guard even further. “Your card says you work in Princeton. Don’t tell me you come all the way here from Jersey.”

  “It’s really not so bad if you know the right time to travel. I’ve mastered the science of knowing when traffic flows and when the turnpike is going to be a virtual parking lot,” he said with a smug laugh. Transporting narcotics across state lines. Dylan nodded, pretending to care as she mentally checked off another chargeable offense.

  “What do you do for work…?” Paul paused, waiting for her to introduce herself.

  “Dylan.” She extended her hand. “Dylan Burke,” she said, using the fake surname that matched the department-issued fictitious ID in her wallet. “This is my girlfriend, Trish.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” George put his beer down with a thud. “You guys are, like, actual lesbians?”

  “George.” Paul leered at him.

  “Bro. I’m not saying anything bad. I think it’s cool. You guys are both hot.”

  Dylan saw Benji elbow him to shut up.

  “Knock it off,” Paul scolded. “My apologies on behalf of that Neanderthal.” He rolled his eyes, but in the moment Benji had gotten up and joined them.

  “Sorry about that. George can be a jerk.” Benji signaled between himself and Paul. “Our aunt’s a lesbian. We get it. We’re allies.”

  The fuck was happening here?

  Dylan wasn’t sure she understood exactly. But one thing was clear. She and Trish were directly engaged in conversation with Paul and Benji Goldenballs Rafferty.