Undercover: An Out of Line Novel

by McLaughlin, Jennifer

  "They're…" Her jaw dropped as she faced me again. "How did you get her to agree to that?"

  I snorted. "She's the one who asked me to do all that, not the other way around."

  "What?" She blinked. "No."

  "Yes," I argued and held a hand over my heart. "Scouts honor."

  "Holy shit," she said.

  "Language," I reminded her.

  She covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Oops," she said through the barrier.

  Finn laughed and pointed the spatula at a Mason jar with a lid that had at least ten one dollar bills in it. "Swear jar."

  She pouted, walked to her purse, and pulled her wallet out. "The kids didn't hear me."

  "I did," Susan called from the living room.

  She was nine, and a handful. An adorable handful, but still.

  Carrie moaned.

  "She hears everything," Finn stage-whispered.

  "Heard that, too!" she called out in a sing-song voice.

  "Finish your homework," Carrie called out to her.

  "If you hear all this, then why aren't you in here hugging your uncle?" I called back, grinning. Susan was the picture perfect combination of Carrie's brains and Finn's stubbornness—they were going to have their hands full when she was older.

  "Don't think calling her in here will protect you," Carrie hissed, dropping her dollar into the jar. "We're not done discussing this yet."

  "There's nothing to discuss."

  A red-haired blur rushed around the corner, and I caught her as she flung herself at me, hugging me tightly. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her shampoo and childlike scent that reminded me of cookies and strawberries.

  "Hey, Uncle Hernandez," she muttered into my shoulder. "How was work?"

  "Boring," I said, squeezing her until she squealed. She loved when I did that. "How was school?"

  "Boring," she shot back.

  I bounced her and looked into her bright blue eyes. There it was again—that weird ache deep in the pit of my chest that wouldn't leave me alone. "And that Megan girl?"

  "I said what you told me to, and she left me alone."

  "See? I told you." I grinned. "Works every time."

  Carrie cleared her throat. "What did you tell her to say?"

  "That's on a need to know basis," she repeated like I'd taught her. Wriggling out of my arms, she ran to her daddy, hugging him from behind.

  Finn pretended to be thrown off balance, wobbling and crying out.

  Susan giggled and helped "balance'" him.

  As soon as she took off for the living room again, Carrie opened her mouth.

  I held my hand up. "I'm going for my case, not because I'm secretly in love with her. She asked me to go with her as her fake boyfriend to keep her annoying ex away from her, not because she's secretly in love with me. We're not gonna hook up, and we're not gonna suddenly realize we're in love with one another after all these years. It's not a movie—it's real life."

  She licked her lips. "Which boyfriend?"

  "Samuel," I said.

  She smiled. "Know why I don't believe a word you just said?"

  "Because you're delusional?" I shot back.

  "Hey," Finn warned. "Watch it. I love you, but I love her more."

  Carrie shook her head at her husband's defense. "Nope."

  I stood there waiting for her to finish, but when she didn't, I realized she literally wanted me to ask her why not. Part of me was too stubborn to give her what she wanted, but the other part—the cop part which needed answers—couldn't resist. "Why not?"

  "Because you can't say any of her ex-boyfriend's names without sounding like you want to vomit." She smiled and smoothed her hair. "In fact, I'm so sure that at the very least you're going to kiss each other that I'm willing to put my money where my mouth is."

  Finn whistled. "Don't do it. Hernandez doesn't lose bets."

  "How much?" I asked.

  "Fifty, plus my famous chocolate chip cookies if I lose."

  I laughed. "Done." I extended my hand. "Shake on it?"

  "Of course." She shook my hand. "You're going down."

  She flipped her red hair over her shoulder, looking way too proud of herself. "No, you are. And I can't wait to see you hit your knees."

  "I'm used to girls saying that to me," I teased, letting go of her.

  "Ew." She scrunched her face up. "Gross."

  "That's not what you said last night when I—" Finn started, grinning mischievously.

  "Finn," Carrie hissed, her cheeks reddening.

  He held his hands up in surrender, spatula still clutched tightly.

  Without prompting, she slid into his arms, and as he hugged her, he whispered something in her ear that only she could hear. Whatever it was must have been dirty, because she slapped his shoulder and walked away with even redder cheeks. Finn watched her go with a warmth to his eyes that only ever really showed itself for Carrie, Susan, or baby Cory. Again, that weird feeling punched me in the chest, and I pressed my hand to it, frowning.

  I should really get to the doctor and get myself checked out.

  Clearly, something was wrong with me.

  4

  Marie

  I smoothed my hair for what had to be the millionth time and sighed at myself in frustration as I watched out the front door for any signs of Joseph. He was ten minutes late, and each minute that passed increased my doubts about running off with a guy like him. This spur of the moment decision to take a few risks was more than likely going to kick me in the rear later, and I had no one to blame but myself…and maybe Joseph.

  After all, he was late.

  I hated when people were late.

  My phone buzzed. It was Carrie. Somehow, she'd heard about this whole thing, even though I'd been trying to keep it quiet before she butted in and freaked over something that may not even go anywhere, but the cat had been let out of the bag, and its nose was sticking into my business, like usual. I loved Carrie, I really did, but whatever happened between Joseph and me needed to happen privately, without her or Finn interfering…

  Which wouldn't happen if she was texting me incessantly about how things were going, or offering advice on how best to get Joseph to like me.

  Either he'd like me, or he wouldn't.

  I didn't need help figuring it all out.

  I opened the text with a sigh. Sure enough, it was advice. Good luck. Did you bring the red skirt? The black dress? Don’t forget to smile a lot, and wear your hair down.

  I rolled my eyes. According to Carrie, Joseph loved me in the red skirt, and always stared at my ass when I wore it. Personally, I didn't think he stared at any body part of mine, and she was full of it. Yes, I’ll wear it tomorrow night. But he’s late.

  My phone buzzed immediately. He’s always late. It’s part of his charm.

  Charm. Sure.

  Someone knocked, ripping me away from my conversation. I jumped, heart pounding, and lifted my head. Joseph stared at me through the door. Opening it, I noticed two things immediately.

  One: He wasn't wearing a suit like usual. Instead, he wore a pair of jeans with several tears in them, a T-shirt that hugged every inch of his hard, broad shoulders and chest, and a pair of black boots. Him standing there looking casual and devastatingly handsome without even trying took my breath away. He actually took it right out of my frigging chest. Joseph Hernandez. Ugh.

  Two: He held two coffees in his hand, and one of them was extended to me in some sort of peace offering that both made me want to either hug him in gratitude or punch him because he knew exactly what to do to make sure I didn't go off on him for being late.

  Bring me caffeine.

  "I'm sorry," he said simply, holding the coffee out even more. "It's your favorite."

  I took it, my fingers brushing his. For a second, just a second, that jolt of awareness hit me, but I quickly separated our skin and stepped back where I could no longer smell him. How did he always smell so good? "You don't know my favorite coffee."

  That
brown brow of his cocked up. "English toffee mocha, non-fat, extra whipped cream."

  Damn him. "You're late."

  "I know." He looked past my shoulder. "That your bag?"

  "Yeah," I muttered into my coffee lid. It smelled delicious.

  When he started to reach past me, I stiffened. Not only because I could smell him again, or because he touched me with his shoulder, but because I was a strong, independent woman who could carry my own bag.

  "I've got it," I said quickly.

  He picked it up anyway, pulling back slowly while locking eyes with me. "You're doing it again."

  "What?" I asked, the word almost getting stuck in my throat.

  He stayed where he was, only a few inches away from me and half bent over so our eyes were at the same level. "You're flinching away from me. If we were lovers, you wouldn't do that."

  The way he said lovers—yeaaaah, it made my stomach twist into even bigger knots. If he kept it up, I'd never get it back to normal. It was on the tip of my tongue to argue that I hadn't flinched away at all...

  But then I realized I'd instinctively bent myself backward in an attempt to put a comfortable amount of distance between us. Oops. "Who the heck says lovers nowadays?"

  "Who says heck, instead of hell, and is an adult?" he countered.

  I pressed my mouth into a thin line.

  "You have to stop flinching away from me, Marie."

  "Fine," I retorted, not even bothering to try and deny that I had.

  Straightening my spine, I curled my hand behind his neck and pressed my forehead to his, imitating a loving gesture that I had never done. I much preferred my personal space and my own air to breathe, thank you very much.

  As I ran my thumb across the back of his neck in a slow caress like I'd seen Carrie do to Finn a million times, I sucked in a breath because being this close to him…it was dangerous.

  For both of us.

  The usual jolt of energy I felt near him was a lightning bolt now, and it struck me right between the eyes. He slid his hand behind my back, resting on the spot right above my pants and my butt. Funny, how intimate a place that was, even though it was just a back.

  Nothing sexy. Nothing taboo.

  And yet…

  "Better?"

  He made a sound. "It's a start."

  "I could kiss you if that helps?" I stroked the back of his neck again. "Or touch you…?"

  "Careful," he whispered, his voice strained.

  I blinked innocently. "What's the matter? Can't handle this?"

  "A forehead on mine and a few empty threats?" He snorted, backing away from my touch despite his derision. "I think I can handle that."

  "If you say so," I said in a singsong voice.

  He shot me a dirty look but remained silent.

  As I reached for my bag, he sidestepped me effortlessly. "I've got it."

  "I can carry my own bag." I tried to grab it again. "Come on. Give it to me."

  "No." He looked me up and down. "I'm the kind of guy who carries shit for his girl."

  "I'm not your girl. Not really."

  "For the purpose of this weekend, you are." He frowned and opened my front door. "And I'm carrying the fucking bag for you."

  I crossed my arms, annoyance tinting my vision with shades of red. "None of my real boyfriends were this stubborn."

  "Yeah, and how'd those guys work out for you?"

  "Exactly how I wanted them to." I picked up my purse and headed to the door. "Ready, sweetheart?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Please tell me you're not the kind of girlfriend who makes up pet names for her guy."

  "I wouldn't know."

  He followed me outside, watching as I shut the door and locked it. As soon as I removed the key, he tested the knob, making sure it was locked.

  "You literally just watched me lock it," I said, gesturing at the knob with the key.

  After looking confused for a second at my irritation, he shrugged. "Rule number one of being a good investigator? Never trust what you can or can't see. Always ensure what you believe to be true on your own, with your own two hands and eyes, so there is no doubt left."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Much better than ‘sweetheart'," he muttered, unlocking his truck with his remote. "How much do you know about this Pierre Rasco guy?"

  I trailed him, watching his shoulders flex and roll with each motion. And the arm holding my luggage was rock hard, with those veins sticking out that ripped guys always had. "Nothing at all. Never met the guy, but he's a genius with numbers, and knowing when to stay, and when to cut your losses and go."

  "Tell that to his clients," Joseph muttered. "He's been skimming money out of their accounts, telling them their investments failed, and then cutting them lose due to their poor market value to him."

  I touched my neck. "Seriously?"

  "Yep." He opened the passenger door of his red truck for me, then headed for the back. "Smart, huh?"

  Sliding into my seat, I frowned. "Not smart enough to get away with it."

  "Criminals never are," he said as he slid the suitcase into the back and dusted off his hands. As he got into his seat, I closed my door since I no longer needed it open to speak with him. "Clients fall for the act and think they made poor choices, but guys like me always catch them because…?"

  When he looked at me with expectation, it took me a second to realize what he wanted from me. "…A good investigator never trusts what he can or can't see without double checking for himself."

  He grinned and started the car. "That's right. There might be hope for you yet."

  I shook my head, watching my house disappear as he pulled away from the driveway. It was a rental, a two-story cape cod that I'd fallen in love with on sight four years ago. Rumor had it the owners were looking to sell, but they were picky about the buyer. Despite my having lived here for four years without a single late payment, they wanted to sell the house to a "nice family with kids."

  "Are there any rumors about him?" he asked. "Gossip? Stories of him being shady at these things? People who don't like him?"

  I shook my head again. "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  I turned to him. "I think I'd remember hearing about it."

  "Damn." He turned left and got into the lane that merged onto the highway. "This guy is good. My case file has next to nothing on him that points to him being guilty."

  I tipped my head. "Maybe that's because he didn't do it?"

  "Maybe," he allowed. "Captain Rollins thinks he did, though."

  "Why are you even on this type of case? Does he live in Somerton?"

  Joseph shook his head. "Captain Rollins has a buddy in the Fresno district, and he worries that Rasco could have all the cops in his pocket since he's their financial advisor. We've done a few joint-task force things with Fresno before, so he came to Captain Rollins and asked him to send a guy, undercover, that he could trust to look into it."

  Nodding, I looked down at our coffees, sitting next to each other. His had the name Julie on it, and a phone number. "And he chose you?"

  "Yep. Mostly, I'm sure, because my partner is MIA on vacation, and I've been pretty bored around the office. I don't normally investigate shit like this."

  I smiled, thinking of Sarah. She was relatively new to our group, but we all loved her. "Who do you miss more? Ben or Sarah?"

  "A father can't choose favorites."

  I lowered my head so he wouldn't see my smile. "D-minus."

  "Did you just…" he blinked, merging onto the highway at sixty miles an hour. "…rate my joke?"

  There was no holding back the grin now. "Yep."

  "Jesus," he mumbled, grabbing his coffee. "No wonder the guys you dated never stuck around."

  "Oh, they wanted to. I didn't let them." I flipped my hair over my shoulder. "Besides, you're the first guy I did it to, and probably the last. After all, you're my only fake boyfriend."

  He touched his heart. "Aw. I'm honored."

  "F."

 
He snorted. "Who says that was a joke?"

  I lifted my brows.

  He shrugged and slid his coffee back into the cup holder, the phone number facing him now. "Whatever."

  "Does that happen often?" I asked, gesturing to the cup.

  "Coffee?" he asked, confused. "Two or three cups a day."

  I rolled my eyes. "Not that. I meant the name and number on your cup."

  "What?" He picked it up and glanced at it carefully, making sure to keep his eyes on the road at the same time. "Oh, yeah. Look at that. She was cute. Too bad I'm taken."

  I frowned. If he had a girl waiting for him back home, I was going to kill him. "By who?"

  "You, dumbass."

  I tried to be annoyed at his ‘pet name' for me but failed mostly because I'd called him far worse—both to his face and in my head. By the end of this weekend, I'd probably add a few more to that list. "You're not taken by me."

  "Fake or not, I don't cheat. I'm yours, fully, until we're done here. I was raised to be an honorable man."

  I swallowed because he was making me like him even more. "I don't cheat, either."

  "I know," he said, shifting his weight in his seat. "You're too shiny for that."

  Choking on a laugh, I said, "Shiny?"

  He nodded, not explaining further.

  Searching my brain for something to say so I didn't ask him how I was shiny, I latched onto the first thing that came to mind. "Speaking of being raised… You don't talk much about your parents. What are they like? Where do they live?"

  He flexed his jaw. "In the ground, six feet under. Have been since I was twelve."

  "Oh." My heart twisted. "I'm—"

  "Don't say you're sorry. They got there all on their own, through their own choices, and had no problems making those selfish choices that left their three children living with their grandfather. And when he died of old age, that left us alone without a family—because my parents cared more about the high they could chase than their own kids."

  I bit my tongue. I never knew any of this about him, and we'd been in each other's lives for over ten years. We'd met when I'd been just barely legal, and he'd hardly been old enough to drink. Back then, we'd flirted with the idea of dating, but he'd come on too strong, and I'd pushed him away because I didn't like it. But now, years later, I was finally wise enough and honest enough to admit that I did like it…