Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 01] Read online

  The look I gave him said, are you out of your mind? “Right now standing is better.”

  He winced. “Sorry, Steele.”

  I braced my hands on the back of the chair I would like to be sitting in. “All in the name of the job, right?”

  “You want to do this later?” Donovan asked. “You can take a breather in the lounge.”

  “Nah. Let’s go.”

  Donovan used a touchpad to bring up Tarantino’s photo on the screen that materialized at the end of the table.

  My cheeks and body burned at the thought of what he’d put me through. “Too bad I couldn’t have kneed him in the balls Saturday night instead of you,” I grumbled.

  “Same here.” He grimaced and touched the pad again to run the familiar stats we had already gathered alongside Tarantino’s photo.

  Donovan held one of the cuffs he’d worn Saturday night. The cuff looked thick, and the device Hector Martinez and his “gadget” staff had implemented was virtually invisible the way it fit into the leather. It was small, but could mirror an entire hard drive. An identical device had been implanted in the ankle cuff I’d had on.

  When Donovan pressed one of the studs on the outside of the cuff, the device popped out. The gadget was about an inch long, with an embedded button that Donovan used to slide out the port access. He injected the device into a slot near the computer touchpad.

  In an instant, the information from Tarantino’s hard drive came up on the screen, information organized into document folders. Each folder had a different name.

  I straightened and crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Click on the folder for ‘Special Projects.’ ”

  “Good enough place to start.”

  The folder was filled with files showing large donations to various charities.

  “Jeez,” I said as we went through file after file. “Everything’s documented so well that it has to be an accountant’s dream.”

  Donovan closed a spreadsheet. “We’ll have some of the agents get on top of the charities to make sure they’re legit.”

  I nodded. “Either they’re legit, or he’s damned good at hiding his money.”

  Folder after folder of information showed us nothing more than employee records, along with his expenses and various streams of income.

  “Christ, the man makes a truckload of cash.” I leaned on one elbow. “Investments and clubs, including the Crystal Twilight.”

  After we’d spent at least three hours working our way through the info, Donovan rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. I was ready to drop.

  “Enough.” I raised my arms, clasped my hands, and started in on a number of stretches. “We’ll let the geek squad tear apart the copy of everything we got from the hard drive.” I leaned to one side while stretching my opposite. “We’ve gone through everything obvious, and we might as well let the guys do their thing.”

  Donovan touched the pad and the screen dematerialized. He ejected the device with Tarantino’s information on it and stood. “Taylor seems to know his stuff.”

  “He sure does.”

  When Donovan stood and stretched it was something to behold. All those muscles flexing and bunching.

  I had to turn away, or embarrass myself by tackling him and kissing that firm mouth and tasting his male flavor.

  Donovan and I took the device with Tarantino’s hard drive to Seth Taylor, a self-proclaimed “geek” who headed up the team of agents who were technological analysts and hackers.

  Taylor might call himself a geek, but he looked nothing like the stereotypical moniker. Sharp blue eyes; a sexy grin on a movie-star face; a build like a swimmer and the tan to go along with it.

  “What’s up?” Taylor stood. He’d been sitting in a chair in front of a monitor, viewing code, as we entered the room his team worked in.

  Donovan handed him the device with Tarantino’s hard drive information. “We need every nook and cranny explored to see if there’s anything dirty on this guy. Lucca Tarantino.”

  Taylor took the gadget. “Anything in particular we’re searching for?”

  I frowned. “Mainly auction information. If you see something that looks like Tarantino’s involved in auctions with any kind of ‘merchandise,’ or you find odd transactions, those are things we need to know about right away.”

  Taylor glanced over his shoulder at a guy who did look more like a hacker geek with his slightly larger belly, shaggy hair, and T-shirt with a Battlestar Galactica logo. Hmmm. Guess RED had different appearance standards for geeks than special agents. “I’ll give it to Sparks. Sparky will dissect it in no time.”

  Donovan nodded. “Thanks, Taylor.”

  I glanced up at the big clock on one wall of the CC. “Just in time for our briefing with Oxford. She so does not tolerate tardiness, except for extreme circumstances. Better to be early with her.”

  When we reached Oxford’s reception area, Darlene smiled at Donovan, her cheeks turning pink. She pretended I didn’t exist, and her tone was sweet and girlish when she spoke to him. “You are a little early, but I’ll let Agent Oxford know you’re here.”

  I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes. She caught me doing it and glared at me when Donovan wasn’t looking.

  “Send them in,” Oxford said when Darlene buzzed her, and we went in.

  “Have a seat.” Oxford gestured to the chairs in front of her desk.

  “I’d prefer to stand,” I said. “I’m a little sore from Saturday night.”

  She looked at me with her keen, dark gaze. “Sit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I winced and my eyes watered as I obeyed, but I sure as hell obeyed.

  Donovan and I took turns filling her in on Saturday at the Crystal Twilight. I glossed over the more embarrassing parts and I was glad Donovan didn’t mention the kneeling-on-all-fours all-night-cage thing.

  I wanted to bring up my earlier thoughts of asking for “hazard pay,” but I doubted Oxford would find it amusing. She was going to find those expense reports interesting enough as it was. Butt plugs, dildos, whips, and black latex were going to have her brows rising. Hey, we had to get to know all the equipment we could. Not that we had to actually use it to get the entire experience.

  After we filled her in on everything from the club to the contents of the copied hard drive, Donovan’s expression grew dark. “Agent Steele shouldn’t have to go through shit like that.” His voice had a hardness to it that caught me off guard. The words just came out of nowhere. “I should handle this alone. I’m in tight, so that part of our mission was accomplished.”

  “What?” I said, his comment setting me off balance before I regained my senses. “Oh, no way. You are not pulling this chauvinistic crap on me.”

  Oxford gave the slightest wave of her hand toward the door in a dismissive gesture. “Protect her ass and she’ll protect yours.”

  I winced at the “ass” part.

  “Steele shouldn’t have to go through this shit,” he said again. Donovan always sounded like he was holding back a low growl. “She was whipped and humiliated in front of a crowd of people. They put her in a small cage like a goddamned animal, and poked and prodded her for fun. I don’t know what they might do to her next.”

  So much for him not mentioning that little tidbit of information.

  Our ASAC gave him a steady look. “If we pull her out now, six months of investigative work will be tossed down the drain. It’s up to Steele how much she can take, how much she’s willing to endure. Not me, not you.”

  Oxford leaned forward in her chair, her forearms resting on her desk. “Tell me, Donovan. Do you think a woman is any less capable than a man when it comes to dealing with undercover work?”

  Donovan scrubbed his hand over his face. “No, goddamnit.”

  “I’m fine, and she’s right.” Maybe I should punch him. If I was a man, Donovan wouldn’t be talking to our ASAC about his partner being forced into these kinds of degrading acts. “Every undercover goes into an operation knowing there c
ould be a price to pay.” The armrests bit into my hands as I clenched them. “At least I didn’t have to snort coke or something.” This time.

  Donovan looked twice as pissed. “I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

  “Is that all you have to go on, Donovan? A feeling?” Oxford got to her feet. Yeah, I’d say that was a real clear statement that she wanted us to leave. “Unless you have proof otherwise, a feeling’s not good enough to take down this operation, especially not now.”

  April 5

  Friday afternoon

  Friday, Donovan and I were poring over more intel from Jensen, Takamoto, and Smithe until one-thirty in the afternoon. Tomorrow we’d be going to the next club to get Strong’s hard drive contents. Great. Probably some more humiliation to look for in the meantime.

  “Ready for some lunch?” Donovan asked when we reached a stopping point.

  I grimaced. “RED cafeteria food just doesn’t appeal to me right now. I think today the special is meatloaf.”

  Donovan stood and stretched. I tried to hold back a sigh as I watched him. “Come with me to Kristin’s. I’ve got a room set up with enough equipment, and we can keep ourselves busy all afternoon working on Cinderella.”

  “Work?” I shifted in my chair. The pain had settled into a more reasonable burn. “You’re trying to get me to your place with work?”

  “Nah.” Donovan gathered the file folder he’d been going through. “I know the way to you, Steele, is through your stomach. I’ll fix lunch.”

  I scooted back my chair in a hurry. “If you can cook anything as well as you did those crepes, I am so there.”

  It didn’t take us long to gather our things and what files we needed, and anything that would help with the case.

  I followed him from RED HQ to Kristin’s home in Back Bay. She lived on the lowest floor of a brownstone. It had a front yard filled with flowers and wrought-iron gates and fencing. Huge trees shadowed the line of brownstones and sunlight winked through the leaves and onto my Cherokee when I parked in front of her place.

  “Dibs on the couch,” I called and flopped on the pretty, comfortable piece of furniture. “Maybe I’ll just nap. Forget eating. I’m going to fall asleep and then you’ll never get rid of me.”

  “Who said I wanted to get rid of you?” Donovan’s expression was intense. Then he disappeared into the kitchen.

  The look on his face did funny things to my belly that shot straight between my thighs. Damn. I so had the hots for my partner.

  My stomach rumbled and I wondered when was the last time I’d eaten anything? Ever since last Wednesday, when the world seemed to fall apart, I kept forgetting to eat. I was going to end up as stick-thin as my sister if I didn’t start eating. She was way too thin as far as I was concerned. Mammy and Daddy thought so, too, of course.

  The most delicious smell, like roasted meat, began drifting from the kitchen. I thought I’d die from hunger if I didn’t get something in my stomach, like now. I wanted to follow the incredible smells but I was soooo comfortable on that couch. My legs wouldn’t move, and I felt as if someone could stretch my arms and snap them back like rubber bands.

  Yeah, it had been a long week.

  Pain for Donovan and his sister gripped me as I studied Kristin’s living room again. At the same time I couldn’t help but wonder about Donovan’s sister as a young girl, and a younger Donovan.

  The pictures I’d noticed before on the fireplace mantel drew me. Despite my exhaustion I pushed myself from that comfortable couch and made my way to the fireplace.

  So many photos . . . a black-and-white that must have been taken in the sixties of a newly married couple. I saw two pictures of a family of four. The father was stern-faced and the mother unsmiling. Only Kristin smiled as she leaned against Donovan. He looked like he’d earned some of his hard edges by then, and I had a feeling his father had a lot to do with that.

  I moved on to photos of an older boy watching a little girl splashing in a play pool, another one of the two of them eating ice cream, and one with the little girl on top of the boy’s shoulders. Even then Donovan was a solidly built young man, but he didn’t have the hardness to him that he had now.

  A photo caught my eye that looked like it hadn’t been taken that long ago. I picked it up and something jerk-pulled my stomach as I saw the little girl grown up into a young woman and Donovan’s arm around her shoulders. She had her head against his chest and he was smiling down at her. You could see the love and caring so clearly on his face that the pull in my belly was stronger.

  Seeing Donovan with his sister in such happier times made it all hit me even harder. Before, Donovan’s sister was a faint image in my mind. She wasn’t anymore. I’d been determined to find his sister from the beginning, but somehow it now seemed more urgent and more real.

  “Ready to fill that bottomless pit?” Donovan’s voice from behind startled me and I almost dropped the photo.

  I set the picture back on the mantel and turned to face him. “Kristin is beautiful.”

  He looked at me and said, “Not only is she beautiful, but she’s a sweet kid. Genuine.”

  I moved closer to him. His presence was large and powerful no matter what he was doing. The handles of the serving tray he was gripping seemed so small in his hands.

  The serving tray even matched the rich mahogany furnishings. “Threw together some things from the fridge and pantry, and heated some roast chicken.” He set the tray on the glass-topped coffee table. “Didn’t know how hungry you’d be.” His gaze met mine. “I can tell you haven’t been eating enough.”

  My mouth watered as I sat on the edge of the couch. I rubbed my palms on my jeans as I held myself back from snatching up food and stuffing it in my face like a street urchin who hadn’t seen a meal for months.

  Roast chicken was on the tray, along with fresh green grapes, several cheeses, and bread that was obviously homemade.

  “I have got to follow you home more often,” I said as he handed me a plate and I dove into the minibanquet.

  He looked at me, his gaze steady. “Any time, Steele.”

  The way he said it, so serious, made me want to squirm in my seat. Somehow we’d hit a mutual understanding, and maybe something more.

  Did I want to think about the something more?

  Onto my plate went lots of roast chicken, thick bread, one of every kind of cheese he had on the tray. And grapes. I so loved firm, sweet grapes.

  This time we ate in silence, not having a share-fest like we did the last time he’d cooked for us. It was not an entirely comfortable silence, I think because we’d told each other so much, yet hadn’t shared everything. We were keeping our cards close to our chests and neither of us wanted to call.

  “So, you have equipment set up to do some work on Operation Cinderella? I asked as we took the tray—just about every crumb gone off the plates—into the kitchen.

  “Yeah.” Nick started washing off the plates and I was surprised that a guy would automatically clean up. I used paper plates—tossing them in the garbage was my version of cleaning up after supper. “I’ve got a little equipment set up in the spare bedroom,” he said.

  “The whole kitchen is clean,” I said with amazement. “I can’t even tell you fixed anything for dinner.”

  Nick shrugged. “I like a clean house.”

  “You wouldn’t like my apartment then.” I pictured bottles of Mountain Dew and Guinness on my end tables and clothes on the floor. “Just call first if you’re ever going to stop by.”

  He looked at me and raised one of his eyebrows. “I’ll try and remember that.”

  When we finished cleaning up—or rather Donovan did, wasn’t much I could do—he directed me to the spare room.

  The door to the room was slightly open and a blue glow spilled out through the opening. The glow was accompanied by the familiar smell of hardware and plastic that all high-tech equipment seemed to have.

  I stopped in the doorway while he continued on in. “Looks like your
equipment is as high-tech as RED’s.” My gaze traveled over the surveillance cameras, holographic maps, and gadgets, along with several camera monitors, each focused on a different place. I had no doubt he’d installed it all to help him in his search for Kristin.

  Donovan sat in one of the office chairs and immediately began analyzing a screen in the middle of a bank of computers and monitors. “Come on in,” he said without looking at me.

  I walked all the way in. “You have your own ‘war room.’ ”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Guess you could call it that.”

  The room was clear of any furniture save for a cot along one wall. Every other bit of available space in what was a former bedroom was taken up by Donovan’s equipment. When I moved closer to him, the clean smell of his spice-and-leather scent met me.

  The leather was soft and comforting when I pulled up one of the six office chairs in the room. “Expecting company?” I said as I gestured to the other four chairs.

  “Have a team coming in.” Donovan moved his gaze to the camera monitors that showed parking lots and various other locations. “Recovery specialists.”

  I frowned. “That’s what RED agents are.”

  Donovan still didn’t look away from the monitors he was scanning. “These guys are what you’d call ‘special.’ ”

  “Okay. Special Special Agents.” I rolled my eyes to the off-white ceiling before looking at Donovan again. “I can go with that.” Sure.

  And then we buckled in and worked our butts off trying to find more leads on Operation Cinderella, and evaluating those we already had.

  “My head’s spinning.” When it hit eight p.m. I must have given the world’s biggest yawn. “I’ve got to get home and get some sleep.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” He pushed his chair away from the bank of equipment and got to his feet.

  I could have said I knew the way, but I found myself wanting to stay near Donovan a little longer. Thoughts of him touching me, kissing me, kept slipping through my mind. God, I’d bet he tasted so good.

  When I rose from my chair I almost froze when I saw the intensely sexual look in his blue eyes.