Mommy Under Cover

by Delores Fossen

  One way or another, and no matter what the cost, he would bring Fletcher down.

  Chapter Nine

  Dr. Barton Fletcher stared at the black-and-white photograph for several minutes, until he felt the dangerous anger bubbling up inside him.

  And he didn’t even try to contain that anger.

  He grabbed the photo from his desk, ripped it to shreds and threw the debris into the fireplace. The crystal decanter followed. Crashing. Slivering into a thousand shimmering pieces. The expensive bourbon inside sent the flames lashing in the hearth.

  “Damn them.”

  The two of them had tried to ruin him. Of course, he had to take some of the blame for this. He should have trusted his instincts, and his instincts had told him that they were not who they had claimed to be, that they were not to be trusted.

  His instincts had been right.

  Now the clinic was gone. Reduced to rubble and ash. It was a rental, so the building itself was no huge loss, but the equipment inside would be expensive to replace. As would the three employees who’d died. It didn’t matter that he didn’t even know their names or had even a vague recollection of their faces.

  They were his.

  His.

  And that’s why retribution for their deaths had to be hard and swift.

  It had taken him almost three weeks of digging, but finally he had what he needed. He picked up the phone as the orangy flames devoured what was left of the photograph.

  “Agents Tessa Abbot and Riley McDade,” Fletcher said to the person who answered the phone. “Find them. Now. I want them both.”

  ADJUSTING HER equipment bag, her Chinese takeout and the half dozen or so yellowing sales flyers that she’d gathered up from her covered entrance, Tessa unlocked the door to her D.C. condo. The security system immediately began to whine and she reached inside to press the buttons on the keypad to disarm it. Glancing down on the foyer floor, she noticed that she’d killed another ficus plant.

  “Welcome home,” she mumbled.

  And that was home in a generic sense.

  She’d lived in this particular condo almost a year and hadn’t gotten around to furnishing the place. Well, except for her repeated attempts to have a Feng Shui thing with ficus plants. But other than dead flora still in their pots, it was definitely a bare-bones room—a sofa and an entertainment center that she hadn’t completely figured out how to operate.

  Tessa tossed her equipment bag and the sales flyers next to the ficus and glanced in the direction of the phone still perched on the arm of the sofa. Right where she’d left it almost three weeks ago before leaving with Riley for the Fletcher assignment. Because the room was dark, she had no trouble seeing the pulsing red message light. Her heart jumped at the possibility that Riley might have called while she was in Denver.

  And Tessa cursed her juvenile, hormone-induced reaction.

  There was no reason for Riley to stay in touch. None. It wasn’t as if their relationship had been personal.

  Except for her.

  A thought that riled and annoyed her.

  Still, that didn’t stop her from crossing the room—hurriedly crossing, at that—and nearly tripping over her own feet. She pressed the button on the phone to listen to her messages.

  The first one was from her father, asking her if she’d heard from Riley. The second was from Karen Sandoval, a friend and fellow SIU agent, who wanted Tessa to call her at home.

  Probably to ask if she’d heard from Riley.

  Heaven knew, enough people had quizzed her about that while she was in Denver. She hadn’t lied, exactly. But then she hadn’t told the truth, either. She hadn’t informed anyone that Riley had almost certainly continued the mission that he’d been ordered to terminate.

  Hissing out a weary breath, she decided that Karen, her father and their questions about Riley would have to wait. “A long bubble bath and a glass of wine get priority tonight,” Tessa mumbled.

  Every part of her body seemed achy and sore, and Tessa gave her shoulder a test rotation to see if it would help to loosen up her muscles. It didn’t. Desk duty for the past two weeks had taken more of a toll than an intense field ops.

  She could blame that in part on the nonstop, tormenting images of Riley McDade. Specifically, images of his seminaked body and that kiss. Not the fake ones they’d shared during the ops. The kiss. The real one in the forest before the helicopter had arrived. The kiss she’d relived a thousand times.

  The feel of his mouth on hers.

  The way he fit against her body.

  The taste of him.

  Especially his taste.

  Damn him.

  How the heck had she let him get to her like this?

  Nothing could come of it, of course. With her possible promotion on the horizon, she could soon be a rookie mission commander. A desk job, yes, but it was something that she’d strived for since she’d become an agent. A position that required a spotless record. A position she respected.

  As did her father.

  Besides, Riley was now a renegade. He hadn’t contacted anyone in the agency. Not that she’d officially heard that. But if he’d checked in, then people wouldn’t have been questioning her to find out where he was.

  Well, wherever he was, he was obviously headed in a different direction from her personal career path, and it was possible she’d never see him again. Tessa was a little surprised to realize that the possibility of that caused her heart to ache.

  Yes, Riley was arrogant, pigheaded and a badass rebel. But it would take a lifetime for her to forget that he was also the most memorable man she’d ever met.

  Forcing that truly depressing thought aside, Tessa peeled off her jacket, turned on the too dim living room light and then the radio—the one part of the entertainment center she did know how to operate. The restless, pulsing sounds of a popular hip hop song poured through the room. She immediately changed the station because she was restless enough without the music adding more.

  “It’s me,” she heard someone say.

  The voice jolted through her and before it even registered in her brain, she turned to dive toward her equipment bag to get her weapon. But then, she realized it wasn’t just someone.

  It was Riley.

  He’d been so much on her mind, that for a moment Tessa thought he was a mirage.

  He wasn’t.

  Definitely the real thing.

  Dressed all in black and looking as if he’d just stepped away from a covert ops, he was here. Right here. Standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

  He had his hands bracketed on each side of the door-jamb. His gunmetal gaze fastened firmly on her. He looked like the answer to every woman’s hot fantasy.

  Well, her fantasies anyway.

  “How did you get in?” she asked.

  Not exactly the greeting she’d rehearsed if she ever saw him again, but the question had just leaped out of her mouth. It was certainly better than saying something about how relieved she was to see him.

  His stupid renegade antics hadn’t gotten him killed.

  “I came in through the French doors off your bedroom,” he explained. Calmly. As if breaking and entering was as common as brushing his teeth. For him, maybe it was. “I temporarily disarmed your security system.”

  Oh. “It’s supposed to be tamper-proof.”

  He shrugged. “Nothing’s tamper-proof.”

  Touché. And that was true on a lot of levels, especially personal ones.

  He cocked his head to the side. “Are you planning to call your father and turn me in?”

  It was a good question. Very good.

  Too bad Tessa didn’t have a very good answer.

  She countered with a question of her own. “Why did you come here?”

  He gave her a considering stare, shook his head as if suddenly aggravated, and pushed himself away from the door. He walked closer. Slow, easy, calculated steps. Tiger steps. As if he were stalking a prey.

  Or a mate.

&nb
sp; That last part was probably just her insane imagination.

  Or much to her disgust, wishful thinking.

  “I thought you might be interested in what happened after we parted ways.” His words were slow and easy, a verbal stroll with his accent kissing the words.

  Tessa nodded and swallowed hard when he stopped just inches in front of her. So close that she caught his scent. His well-worn black leather jacket. His deodorant soap. And the unique smell of the equally unique man.

  “I reviewed the surveillance tape we got from the clinic.” Riley took the tape in question from the pocket inside his jacket and tossed it onto her sofa. “By the way, thanks for giving me the opportunity to check it out.”

  “You’re welcome.” Since his tone had turned businesslike, Tessa added some aloofness to her own. “The techs didn’t find anything useful on the tape I had. Well, except for the fact that Fletcher was running a scam with the DNA manipulation, but we already knew that.”

  Another step closer. Too close. A definite violation of personal space. “Yes.” He let that hum between them for several seconds. “Does the name ‘Brice Marden’ mean anything to you?”

  Tessa had anticipated several things he might say, but she hadn’t expected their discussion to move in that direction. “You mean, the artist?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.” Riley glanced around the bare walls of the condo and frowned. “Why don’t you have any art in this place?”

  Okay. So, she hadn’t expected that, either. “Is that conversation, or is this about what you found on the tape?”

  “Both.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What does one have to do with the other?”

  “Just an observation. I figured you must like art if you can recognize a genuine Picasso from a fake in Fletcher’s office, and if you recognized an artist who’s not a household name. Well, not in my household anyway.”

  Riley turned, angling his body so that he was still close but not facing her, and he leaned his back against the snack bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. “On the surveillance tape, Fletcher mentioned that he’d just bought an untitled Brice Marden.”

  “And?” Tessa tried to sound nonchalant but failed miserably when she realized where all of this was leading. “You found the paper trail for the sale?”

  He nodded. “The seller hasn’t met Fletcher—yet. It was an e-transaction. But Fletcher’s due to pick up the painting tomorrow evening at a gallery in Houston.”

  “He won’t show. He’ll send one of his employees,” she quickly pointed out.

  “No doubt. But employees can be followed just as well as Fletcher can be. He’s gone underground, Tessa. He’s trying to stay out of sight while the heat dies down, but that painting will lead me right to him.”

  The agent part of her wanted to celebrate his success. Riley had done it. He’d closed in on a killer. But there was another part of her that was suddenly terrified for him. After all, he had no backup. No support from headquarters. He was a lone renegade walking into a lion’s den.

  “I can talk to my father,” she offered. “Perhaps get you some assistance from the local authorities—”

  “No. I don’t want you involved in this.” He mumbled something under his breath. “That’s not why I’m here. You were right to leave on the helicopter that day.”

  This time there was no businesslike tone in Riley’s voice, but Tessa wasn’t sure what emotion had replaced it. Something, though. Something that scared her far more than facing down a killer.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Fletcher was on to us,” Riley admitted. “I heard him say it on the surveillance tape. He chose his words carefully, but he indicated to Beatrice that his suspicions were why he wouldn’t take us to that second facility.” His gaze came back to her. “He’s looking for us, Tessa.”

  Along with a lot of other scenarios, she’d considered that. However, considering it was totally different from having it confirmed. She swallowed hard. “Probably. But he won’t find us. He won’t be able to get through the layers of SIU security.”

  Riley reached out, touched her arm with his fingers and rubbed softly. A comforting gesture. Probably not meant to arouse her.

  Even though she fought it, the sensations rippled through.

  “Fletcher might,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. To warn you. I figured you were safe while you were shut away in a vault in Denver. But here, you need to be careful.”

  Tessa had to push the effects of that rippling sensation aside so she could respond to what he was saying. “I’m always careful, Riley.”

  However, for the first time in her career, maybe her entire life, Tessa wondered if that was true. She hadn’t been careful in guarding her heart.

  And she was paying for it.

  Because now that he’d delivered his message, in a few minutes Riley would no doubt leave, and even if he collared Fletcher, she might never see him again.

  “Why the look?” he asked.

  Tessa wanted to deny there was a look, but instead she just tried to change her expression.

  Judging from Riley’s frown, she didn’t succeed. Not even a little.

  He hooked his fingers into the waist of her jeans and pulled her closer. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” And that would have been a much more effective comeback if Tessa hadn’t had to repeat it just to give it some sound.

  The corner of his mouth lifted a fraction. A simple gesture that was anything but simple coming from Riley. “Close down. Pretend none of this matters.”

  “Because it’s easier.”

  Which was a lie.

  Nothing about this was easier.

  “We’re not partners anymore,” he informed her. He tugged her another inch closer. Then another. Until his thigh was right against hers. And until the heat was blazing through her like wildfire.

  Tessa tried one last time. “But we’re both still SIU agents.”

  “Well, one of us is anyway. My future at the agency is in question.”

  And with that he leaned in and brushed his mouth over hers.

  “Riley—”

  But saying his name was as far as Tessa got. Because there was no argument in the world she could voice that would stop her from wanting him. Even the time they’d spent apart—time that she’d hoped would help cleanse her mind of him—had only made her want him more.

  “I don’t understand this,” she whispered, with his mouth hovering right over hers.

  “Neither do I.”

  And after admitting that, he went in for the capture. He took her mouth. Claiming it. It was pure finesse. Raw emotion. All laced with need, want, desire. All the emotions they’d tried to keep at bay while they’d pretended to be lovers.

  Nothing about this was a pretense.

  Nothing.

  Tessa tried to catch her breath. But couldn’t. And decided she didn’t want her breath anyway. What she wanted was this. She wanted Riley. She wanted his mouth on her. She wanted to feel all the things that he could make her feel. All the things he was offering.

  He moved slowly and yet it seemed as if everything else happened fast. So fast. The pulse drumming in her head. Her breath. The fire that raced through her. It was as if she were caught in a whirlwind of emotion and sensations.

  His mouth didn’t stop, either. He continued to kiss her. First, just her lips. Then he worked his way down. To her chin. And lower. Until he finally reached that place on her neck that she’d put off-limits at the clinic. But Riley obviously no longer considered it forbidden territory. His mouth lingered there.

  Touching.

  Teasing.

  Arousing.

  Until Tessa had to have more. She circled her arms around him and jerked him toward her, until they were plastered against each other. Body against body. Her breasts against his chest. Every part of him against every part of her.

  Riley moved slightly away from her, turned and pinned
her against the wall. Not that she was planning to go anywhere. But he gathered her wrists in his left hand and lifted them over her head, pressing them against the cool painted surface. He slid his other hand over the front of her loose cable-knit sweater.

  Tessa heard herself moan. A deep sound of need. And was surprised by just how much need there was swelling up inside her.

  He eased his hand lower. Beneath her sweater. His fingers slid over her stomach, over her bare skin, creating a pulsing ache that was already starting to demand relief. But he didn’t go in the direction of that ache. Instead he worked his way up.

  To her breasts.

  There, he sparked a different kind of ache. One so strong that Tessa gasped for air.

  Riley pushed down the cups of her bra and, without breaking eye contact with her, wet his fingertips with his tongue and then slid those now moist fingers over her nipples.

  Tessa got so caught up in the pleasure, the sensations, that she almost forgot that she shouldn’t be only on the receiving end of this. There were things she wanted to do to him. Things she’d fantasized about all week. Now, she would get to live out that fantasy.

  She lifted her right leg, slowly. No random movement, either. She slid her leg between his and used her thigh to apply some light pressure to his erection.

  Her pulse jumped when she heard Riley’s suddenly ragged breath. And then he cursed. Not mild profanity, either. A collection of words that should have made her blush, but instead kicked the fire inside her up a notch.

  “If we’re going to finish this,” she managed to say, “we should go to the bedroom.”

  Riley shook his head, and for a moment she was afraid he might have come to his senses.

  Thank goodness, he hadn’t.

  “We’re not the missionary type,” he told her, repeating what they’d said in the clinic. His voice was slightly rough. Like the still-damp thumb he swiped over her right nipple. A movement that caused her to see double. “Or the bed type. Besides, I want to take the edge off for you. No regrets, Tessa. Not about this.”

  Not understanding, she fought her way through the haze so she could speak. “What do you mean?”

  Riley didn’t answer. Instead he showed her.