Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 01] Page 6

  I gritted my teeth and gave Smithe a harder look. “I have a pretty nasty assignment I’m almost ready to put someone on. I think you’d be a good candidate.”

  Ha. That shut him up. Takamoto looked like he was holding back a smile.

  I didn’t have a permit as part of the job, so those weapons weren’t coming near my hands until we got into the transportation they’d brought. I might as well have been naked. While still in the BPD station, Takamoto handed me my wallet with my civilian ID and I shoved it into my back pocket.

  I blinked when we walked into the sunshine. Was it already almost noon? Crap. Since I hadn’t eaten for so long, I was light-headed on top of being exhausted, hurt, angry, and filled with so much pain I couldn’t begin to think straight.

  One black Ford Expedition with dark-tinted windows waited in the back of the police department parking lot.

  A cool breeze hit me and I shivered. Spring had only made it to us a week ago.

  Christ, what an inane thought. Who cared that it was spring now? I might be losing my job.

  The breeze became a light wind and threw my dark hair across my face, a face that could probably use a whole bar of soap. My mouth tasted sour, and no doubt my breath would bowl over Superman. As soon as I had faced the firing squad I had a date with a toothbrush and a shower.

  I walked toward the SUV with Takamoto and Smithe. “You know how to do it up good, Steele,” Takamoto said with a grin as we reach the SUV

  “We’ve all got our talents,” I muttered.

  Smithe opened the rear driver’s-side door for me. “And yours seems to be getting in deep whenever you get a chance.”

  I scowled at him as I buckled my seat belt. “Bite me.”

  “One of these days I’ll take you up on that,” he said before he shut the door.

  The leather was smooth against my back as I slid down in my seat, exhaustion rolling through me. I’d faced Randolph’s death and had gone over everything I could about her case. I’d had my head agents brief me before I stopped at Gary’s, took a bat to his truck, ended up in jail, and had a nightmare that made me feel like I hadn’t slept at all.

  My eyes fluttered and Takamoto’s and Smithe’s conversation faded as sleep came.

  March 28

  Thursday afternoon

  “Time to face your doom, Steele,” Smithe said.

  The words barely registered as my eyes blinked open and I stared at the seat in front of me.

  Shit.

  Oxford.

  The familiar parking garage for RED’s cover operation made it easy to tell where I was. I didn’t want to be here right now. I’d rather have stayed on that backseat and slept for a million years than face what I had to now.

  In the agency only Oxford knew I’d been an assassin. All anyone knew was that I’d been in Special Forces in the Army before joining RED as a special agent.

  I owed her, and I hated the thought of disappointing her or, even worse, putting her in a position where she might have to can me.

  Damn. The thought of being forced to leave RED hit me like a punch to the gut.

  I rubbed my goose bump-covered arms. If I lost my job, I’d lose my identity. Everything that I’d worked for since she saved my ass.

  Takamoto and Smithe headed out of the lower level of the garage with me trailing in their wake. My scalp itched and I knew I had to look like I’d just come off of one of those survival reality TV shows, and lost. If I was a girly-girl I might have cared. Right now I didn’t.

  Feeling started coming back into my limbs and my body as we took the parking garage elevator up to the first floor. My feet dragged like a kid being taken to the principal’s office as we reached the pseudo interpreter agency.

  After my ASAC canned me from the Recovery Enforcement Division, would any other branch of the NSA take me on?

  Ha. The NSA didn’t know I existed. After all, RED didn’t exist, right?

  When the three of us passed the glass-walled reception area where the blinds were always kept shut, my reflection made it clear I looked even worse than I’d thought—which was pretty damned bad.

  I glanced down the hallway that led to the exercise center and wished I could jump into the shower in the women’s locker room before it was time to face Oxford.

  Yeah, like she would wait for a little thing like a shower.

  Takamoto touched the fingerprint scanner; then he, Smithe, and I entered the empty elevator and Takamoto punched the button for the fifth floor.

  “This year the Yanks don’t stand a chance against the Red Sox,” Takamoto said, and I turned my attention to him.

  Thinking about the baseball season that was going to start Monday was a lot better than thinking about what I was about to face.

  Oxford’s disappointment. And no doubt anger.

  “The boys kicked ass in the Grapefruit League during spring training,” I said.

  “Zapato’s looking particularly good,” Smithe said. “He’s one hell of a pitcher.”

  As a city we were still pissed about last year’s ninth-inning loss to the Yanks on a home run by Andy Dominique in the World Series.

  Every floor seemed to pass by too fast. With a soft stop, we reached my fifth-floor doom.

  I looked down at the CC and wished I was working with my team. But at this moment I was destined to stay above the CC on the catwalk that went past the TSs’ glass-walled offices.

  “Oxford’s,” Smithe said.

  I glared at him. “Oh, really? Thanks for informing me of that little fact.”

  While Takamoto and Smithe left me and headed toward the stairs to the CC I practically dragged my feet as I went to my ASAC’s office.

  Darlene looked down her nose at me as she immediately showed me in, almost like she was shoving me through the door before she closed it.

  I swallowed as I met Karen Oxford’s dark eyes. Her gaze remained steady as she pressed a button on her glass-and-chrome desk.

  Vertical black blinds hummed along their track as they covered the glass walls, giving us complete privacy.

  This was so not good.

  Oxford leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her on her desk, her dark gaze shrewd and calculating. At times like this she made me feel as if she could peel me like an onion, layer by layer. She didn’t invite me to sit, just stared at me for a long moment.

  Oh, damn. As much as I’d cared for Gary, my career meant enough that I would have chosen my job over dating any guy. And I was about to lose it.

  And Randolph. God, I couldn’t leave before I took out her killers.

  “You destroyed property in front of a street full of witnesses,” she finally said.

  “I caught my boyfriend in bed with a woman.” Heat and numbness alternately gripped me.

  For a moment I swore her gaze and her tone lessened their intensity. “I realize you lost an agent as well as your significant other in one day.” Her tone was hard, though, as she continued, and any possible softness was gone. “Regardless of the situation, Steele, you were completely out of line.”

  “Yes, ma’am—”

  “Have you ever thought how it might compromise yourself and your family if your escapade ended up on the evening news?”

  Uh . . .

  She pulled a cell phone out of her desk. “You were recorded, Steele. If RED hadn’t cleaned up the mess before it ended up as a little joke on the news, your face would have shown up on every television in the Boston area.”

  My cheeks burned. Shit. That was something that never occurred to me.

  I fought the urge to start begging. Don’t can me, don’t can me, don’t can me. “Nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  “It had better not.” Oxford looked at me intently. “I won’t have you compromise this agency.”

  I wanted to collapse with relief. I hadn’t been released from RED. Yeah, I’d screwed up, but she wasn’t going to let me go.

  A buzzing sound made me jump.

  “Is it Agent Dono
van, Darlene?” Oxford said to the air. I wasn’t really sure where the microphone was. “If it is, send him in.”

  Not two seconds and a pink-faced, obviously flustered Darlene showed in one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen. No wonder Darlene looked so flustered.

  Just his vivid blue eyes were enough to make a woman’s mouth water. A black overshirt over a black T-shirt couldn’t disguise what was obviously a fit, muscular body. Snug blue jeans only emphasized the fact.

  Well, well, well.

  Look at those broad shoulders, a well-defined chest beneath his T-shirt, and sculpted, muscular biceps. Thank God for short-sleeved shirts because those biceps were made to be seen. He wasn’t body-builder big, but it was obvious he had a kind of power no mortal could match. Bet he was Superman in bed. His tapered hips, and snug Levis over muscular thighs completed the picture of a woman’s wet dream.

  He was rough around the edges with an unapproachable look to him, but it didn’t disguise the fact that he was one hot male.

  Oxford gestured toward the big hunk of a man now standing next to me. “Special Agent Nick Donovan is new to RED and has been assigned to double-team your operation. He’ll work the op with you as a Team Supervisor until we complete Operation Cinderella. He will also be your partner when you go in undercover in the BDSM clubs.”

  I had been standing there staring in shock, mouth hanging open when Oxford’s words finally penetrated.

  “What?” I shook my head, feeling like I needed to wake up. “I mean, hold on. I’ve put this case together from the beginning. George Perry is going into the private clubs with me.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Donovan’s expression darken, but he remained silent.

  My ASAC stood and braced her palms on her desk. “Steele, you will work with Agent Donovan and that is my final word on the subject.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Revelations

  March 28

  Thursday afternoon

  I left Oxford’s office, still not sure what had hit me.

  What the hell just happened? Why would Oxford stick me with another agent? TSs put together their operations using their team members, but it was rare to have two RED TSs head the same op. Why now and why me? Was it because of my bat versus truck adventure?

  No, this seemed like it had been arranged already.

  As soon as I took care of a few things, I would get an appointment with Oxford and discuss this little Agent Tall-Dark-and-No-Way problem. Yeah, he looked like an asset to the team, but double-teaming me as a TS for my op? I don’t think so.

  Donovan walked by my side as I went to my Team Center. He was silent, and when I glanced up I saw him looking at me with an intense expression, like he was analyzing me.

  Screw his analysis.

  “Chavez.” I motioned to Isabella Chavez, indicating I wanted to see her.

  She set down her comm and headed toward me. She glanced at Donovan, but I wasn’t in the mood for introductions. “I want you to take over Randolph’s cover and be Deseronto’s partner.” I met her dark eyes. She was model-gorgeous and one of my best agents. “You good with that?”

  “Absolutely,” she said with no hesitation and pure professionalism.

  “Give me a moment and I’ll brief you in my office,” I said.

  Since it didn’t look like Donovan was going away, I might as well introduce him to the team. “Listen up,” I said, loud enough to catch most of the agents’ attention until they were all quiet. “This is Special Agent Nick Donovan. He’s been assigned to our team. Donovan is new to RED so give him as much hell as possible.”

  Some of the agents laughed.

  Donovan didn’t. Donovan and Chavez followed me as I headed out of the CC and up the stairs. “Randolph and Deseronto penetrated a couple of BDSM clubs with ties to the group we’re targeting.”

  When we reached my office, I motioned to the chairs in front of my desk. Chavez sat. Donovan hitched his shoulder up against the door frame and studied me with those intense blue eyes, still saying nothing. If I was the type to be easily rattled, that look would have done the job.

  “I haven’t had a chance to review the intel reports this morning.” I focused on Chavez. “As soon as I do I’ll have you completely briefed before we put you out in the field. Isabella, you’ll be penetrating a BDSM club that Deseronto’s in. Are you up on the scene?”

  She nodded. “I know what to expect.”

  “Excellent. I’ll let you know when I have the latest intel for you.”

  “Got it.” Chavez stood.

  “I’ll be assigning more agents,” I said. “You and Deseronto won’t be alone.”

  Chavez nodded again before she turned and strode through the door past Donovan.

  Finally, my gaze met Donovan’s.

  “We need to talk,” he said as he pushed away from the door frame.

  “Yeah, we do.” I rubbed my temples. “But it’ll have to wait.”

  March 28

  Thursday evening

  My jogging shoes squeaked on the concrete floor of RED’s almost empty parking garage. Smells of dirty oil and antifreeze certainly didn’t make the churning in my stomach any better.

  Donovan and I didn’t speak as we walked from RED and neared a Ford Explorer black enough to seem to absorb most of the surrounding light. I wouldn’t exactly call it a comfortable silence.

  Oxford had informed me that Donovan would be the agent to drop me off at my place. Like I had a choice. I glanced at the empty parking spot between my undercover vehicles. My black Jeep Cherokee was still parked in front of Gary’s triple-decker.

  As much as I didn’t want to, I climbed into Donovan’s vehicle, which smelled of leather and the musky, spicy scent I’d noticed when I’d walked beside Donovan to the parking garage and in Oxford’s office.

  Every part of me was exhausted to the point where I didn’t care if I dropped onto an oil slick.

  The moment I relaxed against the seat, wind just whooshed right out of me as I heaved out a long breath. I had to fight my eyelids just to keep them open.

  I realized Donovan wasn’t heading to Southie and I looked at him. “Uh, I live in South Boston,” I said as we headed toward Little Italy, in the North End.

  “We’re not going to your home,” he said without looking at me.

  “What the hell?” I came fully awake as he reached the parking garage at the corner of Congress Street and Sudbury Street, across from the Haymarket T stop. “What are you pulling, Donovan?”

  “I’m hungry.” He guided his Explorer into a spot and parked. “And we need to talk.”

  “No way.” I glared at him as he started to open his door. “You don’t just make decisions like that when it involves me.”

  He looked at me with a calm expression. “I just did,” he said before he climbed out of the SUV.

  Well, sonofabitch. I got out of the Explorer and shut the door harder than I should have. When we met up at the back of the SUV, I narrowed my gaze at him. “So what’s the deal?”

  “We’re going to an Italian place I just discovered on Salem.” He turned away and I jogged a little to keep up.

  “So you figured out Little Italy all on your own.” Okay, I know my tone was sarcastic, but I was tired and irritated at this man’s arrogance. He didn’t have an accent that I could identify, so I knew he wasn’t from Boston. He probably came from the western side of the United States.

  He looked at me. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”

  “When someone forces me to do something I don’t want to, yeah, I am.” I wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore, so I didn’t say anything else until we reached an Italian “ristorante” and bar and were seated.

  The aromas of Italian food almost made me melt. It smelled so good that my stomach started to rumble despite the fact that I was ticked at Donovan.

  As soon as the host handed us menus and walked away, I set my menu aside, folded my arms on the table, and focused on Donovan. “All right. S
o talk.”

  “We need to set some things straight. His eyes had gone from vivid blue to a darker shade. Cobalt. He kept his tone neutral, but by the way the muscles in his neck corded and his jaw tensed he was obviously feeling anything but neutral.

  “Let’s make this clear.” His gaze focused on mine and I refused to blink. “We’re partners, and from this point on it’s our op. Not yours. Ours.”

  A busboy set glasses of ice water on the table and bread that smelled strongly of garlic, but I didn’t take my gaze from Donovan’s. “I built Operation Cinderella from the ground up.” The surface of the cloth-covered table was rough beneath my arms as I faced off with him. “I don’t have a problem with you as a partner. But I call the shots.”

  “Bullshit.” Donovan let out a sound that was like a low rumble, and his jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth. “I’m not playing second fiddle in this op.”

  The waiter arrived and we could barely take our glares from one another long enough for Donovan to order a bottle of Chianti and grilled bruschetta for an appetizer. Right then I didn’t care that he had the audacity to order for both of us. I cared more about his attitude about Operation Cinderella.

  I shifted my arms, rumpling the tablecloth. “Team Supervisors don’t work in pairs, and I don’t need your interference.”

  The waiter returned, presented the bottle of Chianti, and poured it into our glasses when Donovan gave his approval. Without looking at the menu or the waiter, Donovan said, “We’ll have the veal marsala.”

  Obviously the waiter sensed the fact that his presence wasn’t wanted. He bowed and hurried away.

  “Well?” My tone was entirely hostile.

  “Kristin. My sister.” Donovan’s voice was suddenly coarse, raw. “The bastards took her. She was sold as a sex slave in that auction you’re tracking. To an international buyer or domestic, I don’t know.”

  “Christ.” I stared at Donovan like I’d been slammed in the face.

  There’s a reason why cops aren’t assigned to cases that they might be too close to. Emotions run too high and smarts and a clear head take a flying leap.

  My stomach clenched at the thought of what he was going through. It wasn’t like I didn’t understand. I personally wanted to bring these bastards down for killing one of my own. But my relationship with Randolph wasn’t that of a sister or even my partner.