The Right to Surrender

by H M Thomas

  Her own phone vibrated on top of her dresser and she turned to answer it. Her partner. Of course. “Neil, honey, I was waiting on your call.” She smiled brightly at Finn. “I wish I was there too.”

  Finn glared back at her and Gretchen met his dark gaze with a careless shrug. She swallowed her tears when he spun on his heel and stalked from the room, barely refraining from slamming the door behind him. She pulled in a shuddering breath before walking to the door and sliding the lock into place.

  “What have you got?” she asked Neil.

  “Shit hit the fan at Carlisle’s club,” he explained. “You picked a hell of a weekend to go on sabbatical. He’s calling in the big guns for this.”

  Gretchen closed her eyes and leaned against the door, realizing why Carlisle’s right-hand man had seemed so familiar.

  “He’s two hours out.” She began to gather her own things and pack her bags for the drive home.

  “What? How do you know that?”

  Because he just left my hotel room, she thought sadly, but she wouldn’t tell Neil that, because no one could know her Finn James was Carlisle’s Jay.

  “Sources,” she answered instead. “I’m on my way.”

  Chapter 3

  Gretchen shot a glare at Neil as he tapped his pen against the notebook on his lap. Normally she welcomed her partner’s energy, but this morning she longed for his natural calm. She jerked her head up as their captain burst through the door, his face twisted into what she could only assume was a permanent scowl since she’d never seen him without it.

  “Please tell me you know something,” he grumbled as he fell into the chair behind his desk.

  Gretchen caught Neil’s eye. Neither of them knew anything more than they’d known a week ago when Neil had called her back from Brock’s wedding. Raymond Carlisle had been set to buy a substantial amount of drugs from one of the suppliers they’d infiltrated, but the buy had been interrupted, the supply confiscated, and men taken to jail. They may have been able to brush it off as some cop’s good luck, but Carlisle’s last two buys had been busted. Someone had a leak.

  “Someone in Carlisle’s organization is syphoning information to an agency that isn’t us.” Neil’s voice held a hint of accusation. No doubt to let Gretchen know she should’ve been the one to syphon the information.

  “We don’t know that the information came from Carlisle’s,” she defended. “It could’ve just as easily been from the supplier. It’s not like the Murphy’s have their shit perfectly together.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  Gretchen turned at the sound of Agent Corey Callahan’s voice.

  “Murphy’s group is solid. None of the other buys have been busted. Only the ones to your guy. Keep it up, and we won’t be supplying him anymore.” He fell into his seat.

  Ass.

  Corey had seamlessly infiltrated the Murphy’s almost a year ago, and Gretchen was beginning to think he may have forgotten who he actually worked for.

  Gretchen raised a brow. “We? Whose side are you own Callahan?”

  He met her glare with his own. Yeah, she knew that look. A little longer undercover, and she wouldn’t recognize Corey Callahan at all.

  “The leak’s in Carlisle’s organization,” he replied with no real answer. He turned back to their captain. “Carlisle’s put Jay Finley on it. I almost feel sorry for whoever they find.”

  Jay Finley. Gretchen sighed. She hadn’t seen Finn since he’d left her hotel room a week ago to handle the problem they now discussed. He’d been sent God only knew where to do the devil only knew what. She hoped he stayed gone, this assignment would be a hell of a lot harder if he ever ended up in town full time.

  She raised her gaze to Corey’s who now studied her too closely for her liking. “What?” she snapped.

  “Any idea who the snitch is?”

  The mischievous twinkle in his eye made her uneasy.

  “No. I haven’t even heard mention Carlisle thinks there is one.”

  Corey’s hint of mischief turned into full-blown glee. “That’s because he thinks it’s you.”

  Whoa. What?

  “What do you mean, he thinks it’s me? I haven’t done anything.”

  He raised a brow. “Exactly.”

  Gretchen shook her head. She hated riddles. What did Corey mean exactly? She’d been working in that damn club for months: dancing, drinking, rubbing elbows . . . She narrowed her eyes to glare at Corey. His smug expression told her she’d reached his intended conclusion. She might rub elbows with patrons, but she didn’t rub any more interesting body parts.

  “What am I missing?” Neil asked behind her.

  She pulled her gaze away from Corey, but not before his grin disappeared and his green eyes softened with what may have been considered an apology on anyone else.

  “He suspects me because I haven’t slept with anyone.” She almost choked on the explanation.

  “What?” Neil sat up straighter, suddenly at attention.

  Corey shook his head as he swung his gaze from her to Neil and back. “Carlisle doesn’t advertise prostitution in his clubs,” the agent explained. “But he does highly encourage his girls to entertain guests in the private rooms he provides for them.”

  Gretchen had one such room complete with black leather couch and a bed in the corner with silk sheets. So far, she hadn’t sat on anything and she sure as hell hadn’t entertained anyone, although the bowl of condoms on the counter begged to be used.

  Behind her, Neil ground his teeth.

  Corey chuckled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, man. Your girl knew all this.”

  Gretchen closed her eyes as if she could avoid the explosion building around her.

  “Well what the hell is she supposed to do about it?” Neil demanded.

  “She’ll have to sleep with someone so they think she’s legit,” Carpenter replied as if discussing whether she should have coffee or juice for breakfast.

  Gretchen’s gaze snapped back to her boss. Her feelings had oscillated over the years between hate and respect for the man, at the moment, she sat firmly on the side of hate. “Uh-uh,” she protested, before Neil could bother. When she’d agreed to this assignment, her rules had been simple and clear—no nudity and no sex.

  “They suspect you because you don’t strip or put out,” Corey reasoned. “If you weren’t so good with your clothes on, they would’ve already forced you out of them.”

  “So, what? I just fuck one of them then?” Her stomach rolled with the possibility. It wasn’t that some of Carlisle’s men weren’t attractive, but she wouldn’t be forced to sleep with them, even for the job.

  “Is that a problem?” Carpenter asked.

  She fisted her hands in her lap, right now she needed to find the strength to not haul off and knock the hell out of her boss. “I’m not a prostitute. You’re not pimping me out for this case.”

  Carpenter stared back at her for a moment before he smiled. Her stomach tightened. His happiness surely meant she wouldn’t like what he said next.

  “Relax,” he told her. “It’s just Corey.”

  “Wait.” “What?” she and Corey protested in unison.

  “You’re not pimping me out,” Corey exclaimed. “No one thinks I’m a snitch.”

  Carpenter chuckled before he finally shook his head. “No one’s actually sleeping with anyone. We only need you to pretend. Corey, you’re already at the club, request some private time with their best dancer. Gretchen, pretend to go along with it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back.

  “Pretend?” she mumbled as she considered his plan. She and Corey could sit in her room, maybe even discuss strategy, and let everyone think they were screwing each other’s brains out. Sounded good, except
. . . “What happens the next night when Corey’s not there? As soon as I cross from dancer to prostitute, I’ll be expected to do it again.” And again and again. She could never go back to simply being a dancer. It didn’t matter how well she danced, once her clothes came off and her legs opened, dancing wouldn’t be enough to keep anyone’s attention.

  Corey shrugged. “We can send other agents in. I’m sure Neil will volunteer as tribute.”

  “Fuck you.” Neil’s chair scraped across the floor as he pushed to stand.

  Gretchen grabbed his wrist, a move Corey’s mischievous gaze didn’t miss.

  “I’ll let our deep cover know,” Carpenter interjected before his agents could come to blows. “We’ll make sure only our men get through.”

  Gretchen released Neil’s wrist and barely refrained from rolling her eyes. For all she knew there was no deep cover. She’d never suspected even a hint of someone in Carlisle’s organization that could be on her side. Then again, she hoped no one suspected her either.

  “Gretchen,” Neil spoke quietly. “What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t have much choice.” She met her boss’s gaze and held it. She hadn’t thought he’d be willing to sacrifice her for this case, but now. . .

  She stood and glared down at her boss. “Fair warning, I’ll cut the first man who doesn’t take no for an answer, and that body will be on you.”

  After a tense moment, Carpenter nodded. “Understood.”

  She returned the nod, still not comfortable with this new plan, but determined to prove to Carlisle that she wasn’t his snitch. Well, at least not his only snitch.

  ~ ~ ~

  Damn you, Brock.

  Finn turned off his phone, then turned it back on a moment later. He looked down at the device in his hand. On the frozen screen, Gretchen stood in his arms, her green eyes focused on him and a soft smile on her lips. He hit the arrow and brought their frozen images to life. It had been two weeks since he’d held her in his arms, but he could still feel her body pressed against his, and he couldn’t shake the incessant urge to have it there again. He stopped the video.

  Before he’d seen the video of their dance, Finn had almost convinced himself Gretchen hadn’t felt as good as he remembered, that she hadn’t grown even more beautiful during their decade apart. But then Brock had sent this damn video and now Finn knew he hadn’t convinced himself of shit. He shifted, trying to relieve the strain of his slacks across his hardening member. Thoughts of Gretchen had had him in a near constant state of arousal for two weeks and frankly it was starting to piss him off.

  He looked around the club, taking in the half-dressed patrons and mostly nude dancers, and wondered why he hadn’t taken someone home already. It wasn’t like he was holding out for Gretchen. He’d never have Gretchen. She’d been too good for him ten years ago when he’d turned her away, and she was too good for him now. Whether or not he had sex with someone else wouldn’t change any of that, but it would do a hell of lot toward helping him sate his need for her.

  “Someone piss in your cornflakes?” Grant asked.

  Finn hadn’t even noticed the bouncer approach. He’d been too busy scanning the room, not for possible threats, but for possible partners.

  “What gives?” Grant tried again as he leaned against the wall beside Finn.

  Finn sighed. Grant would eventually wear him down anyway. The bouncer would make a damn fine interrogator if he ever decided to try a legit profession.

  “I need to get laid,” Finn finally answered the other man.

  Grant eyed him. “And you’re looking here? You never sleep with girls from the club.”

  Finn could only nod. Grant was right. Finn’s number one, and maybe only, rule was no sleeping with girls from the club, especially those that worked there. Things could get complicated enough working for Carlisle, he didn’t need the added hassle of a woman.

  “It’s been a while,” he replied as if that explained his willingness to forget good sense.

  Grant turned to look across the club. “Didn’t you go to a wedding or something a couple of weeks ago? I thought groomsmen were guaranteed to get laid at those things.”

  Finn snorted out a response that only made Grant’s eyes narrow. That damn wedding was the reason Finn hadn’t been able to sleep for two weeks now.

  “It didn’t quite work out,” he told his coworker. “Carlisle’s issues put the brakes on things.”

  “Damn,” Grant mumbled. Then with a sly smile he asked, “Bridesmaid?”

  If only. Finn shook his head. “Worse. The groom’s little sister.”

  Grant’s laugh was quick and loud, as if he’d tried and failed to contain it. Finally, he managed to reign his laughter in. “Carlisle did you a favor.”

  Finn nodded. Maybe. Probably. If not for Carlisle’s call interrupting them, he likely would’ve slept with Gretchen that night. And then what? He couldn’t imagine either of them satisfied with one time or even one night. But what could he do, date Gretchen Christensen? The thought should have sounded more ridiculous.

  “Earth to Jay.” Grant nudged him with an elbow, using the name Finn went by in Raymond Carlisle’s world, a further reminder of why he and Gretchen could never work.

  Finn shook his thoughts free. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

  “Yeah,” Grant smirked. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  Finn opened his mouth to respond, but Grant had turned his attention to the other side of the room.

  “Damn it,” the man grumbled and pushed away from the wall, his body suddenly tense, all business.

  Finn straightened as well but saw nothing threatening. Finally, he followed Grant’s glare to the stage where a woman in black lingerie and a black bandit style mask stood in the low lights.

  The corner of Finn’s mouth turned up. “Who’s that and what is she wearing?”

  Grant huffed, not nearly as amused as Finn. “That’s Lilah. I guess she’s Zorro tonight.”

  Ah. Lilah. The very woman Carlisle had called Finn back to investigate. Finn studied the woman now. She didn’t appear to be a threat, at least not to anything but heart rates and testicles.

  She wore black—lacey black bootie shorts that left the bottoms of her tight cheeks exposed and a matching bra that barely contained a pair of full breasts. Her stomach was flat, hard. Finn had the impression Lilah’s lack of body fat came from physical activity and not the lack of food and abundance of drugs that caused many of the other girls to appear malnourished. No, Lilah looked healthy, and she carried her pounds where they counted. Finn’s hand itched to find out if her curves were as soft and lush as they appeared.

  “She dress up often?” he asked Grant.

  The other man sighed dramatically and patted his chest. “Last week she was Wonder Woman. Every pre-pubescent fantasy come to life my man.”

  Finn let a chuckle escape and returned his attention to the stage. Although he hadn’t seen Lilah dance before, he’d heard she put on a good show. In the months she’d been at the club, attendance had grown. Still, Carlisle wasn’t satisfied. The girl refused to take her clothes off, and though she’d been propositioned, as far as Finn knew she hadn’t slept with any of the patrons. In other words, she was exactly what she claimed—a dancer. Unfortunately, Carlisle distrusted honesty more than anything else.

  Lilah looked out over the crowd, the top portion of her face hidden by the black mask. It was kind of kinky in a fun, almost innocent way. Her lips curved, bringing Finn’s attention to a set of full, plump lips painted a dark, slick color.

  Behind Finn’s zipper, his softening dick came back to life. She scanned the room as she waited for the music to change and the lights to shift to her. Her gaze passed over Grant and then Finn, before swinging back and landing on him. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes from where
he stood, but he could see they’d gone wide.

  She rubbed her hands over her thighs and turned away. Odd. They’d never met, but she seemed affected by his presence. Did she know he’d been told to look into her, to find out if she was Carlisle’s snitch? If so, she probably wouldn’t know he hadn’t bothered. He already knew who he could blame for the leaked information, but her reaction left him intrigued.

  Seconds ticked by as he watched her, before she glanced at him over her shoulder. When she pulled one of those darkly painted lips between her teeth, his stomach twisted and his heart beat slightly faster. Finn didn’t believe in love at first sight, or love in general for that matter. But lust? Yeah, that could be instantaneous. Case in point, the little dancer already had him imagining what she looked like stripped of her mask and lingerie.

  The DJ’s song ended and Lilah pulled her gaze away, blinking away the glare of the stage lights that basked her in soft red glow. Music began to pump through the speakers, a low, sultry beat that made Finn think of sex. Probably the point.

  Lilah strutted across the stage, before she grabbed the pole and pulled her legs into the air. She spun and then wrapped them around the pole to squeeze it between her thighs. She hung upside down, her breasts dangerously close to bursting out of her black bra top. Finn watched, awaiting the moment all that soft flesh spilled out. But then she was on the ground, her body gyrating, her hips pumping. No doubt the woman would be absolute hell in the sack. Finn watched, enthralled until the last beat of the music died and she lie still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  The audience exploded, whistling and cheering. They wanted more, and damn if Finn didn’t too.

  “She have a room?” he asked Grant.

  “What?” the bouncer responded.

  “Does she have a room?” Finn repeated.

  “She has one,” Grant answered slowly. “She doesn’t really use it.”