by Mimi Barbour
Roy broke into the uncomfortable silence. “They badgering you to come back to work for them?”
Sloan didn’t break eye contact with her; instead, he stared her down and took a short breath of relief when she was the first to look away.
Roy cleared his throat, obviously still waiting for Sloan’s answer. He decided not to bullshit because Roy could read him like a lie detector.
“Not lately. We were pretty close to closing a few cases they’d had on the books for years. But Don’s a good guy. He can handle it.” Sloan turned away so Roy or the chick wouldn’t see his yearning, but the old buzzard couldn’t be fooled. He grabbed Sloan’s shoulder and squeezed, his way of showing understanding and affection.
“I’ll go see what they want and get rid of them. You look after our visitor here… and remember. We’ve got the Vanguard’s vehicle to finish today. Thankfully, Les is painting the final design trim this morning. We did promise we’d have the car ready after five. I need to get those drawings done for the ‘66 Stingray, so you can get the boys working on the powertrain build. And you still have the motor to overhaul and the drive shaft.”
Back to business, Roy nodded, took the woman’s arm like a gentleman and led her away. She hesitated, but only for a minute. Sloan watched them and shook his head, the tubby, slightly crippled senior citizen always solicitous of the opposite sex – Beauty and the Beast.
Sloan’s eyes glommed onto the sway of her hips, sexy without meaning to be. Her slender albeit muscular form could stop construction workers in their tracks. But it would be her glorious legs that would bring the whistles. His own lips puckered up but the sound came out so low only he heard it.
Maybe not! As if his eyes burned into her body, she turned and threw him a challenging one-sided grin; no humor, only a silent message: eat your heart out!
Sloan wilted; feeling a flash of instant sexual hunger so intense, he had to catch himself. Babysitting these two old guys had put a real crimp in his partying. It was past time to find himself a honey and get some much needed attention to his own drive shaft.
He pulled himself together, arched his back and tried to wipe off the grease spots from his latest uniform of tight jeans. He tucked in one side of the black golf shirt with the garage’s logo, Booker’s, embroidered in white on the pocket. Then he grabbed his wavy black hair to tie it back with the elastic band he always carried in his pocket. Pissed at himself for letting it get so long, he shrugged.
With no regulations forcing him to keep it trimmed, his barber visits were low on his pole of priorities. Picking up his mug of lukewarm coffee, he faced the closed door and straightened his shoulders.
Chapter Four
As soon as Sloan entered his office, he knew by the look on Don’s face this wasn’t a social call. Last weekend when they’d bar-hopped together, his buddy had spent most of the night bitchin’ about the officious little prick they’d lined him up with, and now Sloan was able to see first-hand what he meant.
“Special Agent Nigel Dullen.” The slim dude dressed in a beautifully- designed gray suit with his creaseless navy tie shouting ‘silk’, looked like a walking advertisement for GQ 100. His groomed brown hair, blow-dried and sprayed in place, made Sloan sorry he hadn’t dealt with his own messy mop.
He reached over to take the extended hand, decided the gold watch Dullen sported must have cost him a paycheck, and then wondered how the slick, bug-eyed character whitened his teeth so they positively glowed. “Sloan Booker.” He shook hands and purposely turned his back so Slick wouldn’t see his grimace or the wink he sent his friend. “Hey, Don. What’s up?”
“Hey, Sloan. How about I let Nigel fill you in.”
Not sure if it was a good sign or not when his pal looked out the window to hide his sudden grin, Sloan felt himself tightening. Something’s going on… When two men worked together as long as he and Don had, they learned to read each other’s body language. This morning, Don’s attitude screamed, Oh man, you’re not gonna like this!
Bracing himself, Sloan went to sit in his chair behind the desk where he would feel more in charge of the situation. On the side section, his drawings for the Corvette job they’d started were laid out. Instinctively, he covered them.
Suddenly there was a tense feeling in the room that warned him the papers had been moved. Though not caring if Don had checked them out, he knew his partner would have waited to be invited or would’ve asked. Only one other person had had the chance to snoop and this knowledge made his hackles rise.
While he settled himself, Agent Dullen had also made himself comfortable in the visitor’s chair, crossing his knee over the other like most women did.
Bristling, Sloan felt the walls closing in and decided to get the party started. “So, Nigel, how about you fill me in?”
Don smothered a chuckle that almost brought a smile to Sloan’s face.
“Yes. Good. Here it is. We want you to work with the agency again for a limited time and for a special op.”
Cutting him off, Sloan stood. “Not interested.”
Shocked and too stupid to hide the fact, Dullen stuttered. “B-but you haven’t heard what this is all about.”
“So which part of the two-word sentence didn’t you understand, Nigel? Not or interested?”
Totally baffled, Nigel looked over at Don, who shook his head, lifted his hands and made a face that clearly read, I told you so.
Trying once again, Nigel used a more conciliatory tone. “Agent Booker. You must let me explain.”
“No. What I must do is kick your skinny ass out of my place and get back to work on the drawings that I see someone has tampered with.”
Now Don let out a bark of a laugh that drew a hateful glare from Dullen and a frustrated growl from Sloan. “Man, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“You better believe it. I told the bosses you’d be a pig-headed idiot who’d refuse to listen to our perfectly-conceived plan. I’m so glad you didn’t disappoint me.”
Sloan narrowed his gaze. Figuring Don was playing him didn’t alter the fact that his damned curiosity had been stroked.
Sitting back down, he said. “Okay, then. You’ve got five minutes.”
“Oh, good.” Dullen’s sigh was overdone.
Sloan first pointed at Dullen. “Not you.” Then swivelled to aim his finger at Don. “Him.”
Now alert, leaning forward on the small couch he’d chosen when entering the well-lit office, Don began, “Actually, man, it’s not you we need so much as your house. It’s about the Amans, the family of five who moved into your neighborhood recently, right across the street from you.” Don pulled out his cell phone and within seconds began reading from his notes. “The father is Samir and the mother’s name is Janna. The children range from nine to three—a boy called Faisal, and two girls. The five-year-old is Dina, and the youngest girl who’s three is called Anya. She’s the only one who was born here on the island.”
“Hold it. I know their names as well as you do. They didn’t just move in, and you know it. They’ve been living here for five years. And they’re nice people. When they first came, they reached out, held a barbecue to introduce themselves and made a lot of friends in the neighborhood.”
Nigel’s snort of disgust interrupted. Sneering, he added, “Many terrorists appear to be nice people. They’re trained to be good pretenders.”
Chapter Five
Sloan had the biggest urge to drop the idiot right there and then. Only respect for the badge and the prick’s relationship with Don stopped him.
“Seriously, man? Terrorists? Give me a break.”
Don interrupted. “Sloan, listen. No one’s being accused here. There’ve been some strange goings-on in that house. They’re expecting visitors who we’ve ascertained have ties to other suspected terrorists back on the mainland. And Mrs. Aman—”
“Her name is Janna, as you well know.”
“Janna, then, has a brother, who’s recently become of interest to Homeland Securi
ty.”
Involved, unable to stop himself, Sloan fired back. “How do you know all this?”
“We’ve had a few of our Muslim operatives join with a certain community in California and they’ve reported information about her brother and his family. Look, we’re not saying these people are involved. What we are saying is they need to be watched, and you’ve got the perfect house from which we can do so.”
Shaking his head, Sloan cut in. “Hold it, buddy. I work twelve hours a day at this garage. And… I have to be here, you know that. So how do you propose for me to be in two places at once?” He came around the desk and leaned against the edge. Crossing his arms, he tried to hold in his aggravation. Tormented by his longing to dig into the story more, his voice harsher than he would have liked, he added. “No can do, pal. Sorry.”
“Hey, do I look like an idiot? I know your situation better than anyone, so when this was discussed back at the agency, we came up with a fool-proof plan.”
Tantalized, Sloan waited to see what this fabulous proposal was.
“Since you can’t be the one to investigate these people, we have an agent who’s perfect for the job. Al has been involved with Muslims, grew up with an aunt who married a Pakistani man and lived with them for a number of years in that country, and… understands their faith and the language. You have a roomy house, three bedrooms, and can have a new roommate without anyone getting suspicious.”
Instant rejection filled Sloan’s expression. “That won’t work for me. I like being alone after my long days here at the garage. I don’t need some slob of an agent hanging around, disturbing my belongings and leaving his gear messing up my place.”
Sloan had always been a neatnik, one of the quirks of his personality that had driven his father, Tommy, around the bend. It had forced Sloan to move out at an early age and buy a place of his own as soon as his wages with the FBI had allowed.
It had also started a lot of fights at the garage when his father had been in charge, and where Sloan had worked quite often, helping them out in a pinch. His amazing talent for drawing the specifications for remodeling the vehicles they took on had been passed down from father to son.
The last few years, probably because of his earlier boozing habit, Tom’s hand hadn’t been quite steady enough for the more detailed sections. Mostly, he’d relied on Sloan. But every time Sloan had walked into the place, his hackles had risen and he’d gotten that same claustrophobic feeling. The mess in the joint had driven him nuts.
Snatching Sloan’s attention with a cough, Don shook his head. “We weren’t thinking of a full-on, typical undercover stake-out. We’d thought of a more casual kind of surveillance, unless things get hot and then we’d make a change. But for now, we just need to get someone in closer with the family, who can kind of infiltrate into their everyday lives, get involved on a more than casual level, meet their acquaintances, learn who they typically spend time with, what activities they’re involved in, you know—that kind of thing.”
Totally stymied, Sloan didn’t hide his suspicion. “And how the fuck do you figure to make all that happen?”
Don’s chuckle and his hands rubbing together brought Sloan to attention. “My man, trust me. Our secret weapon will make even you go along with this operation.”
Hackles raised, not too stupid, Sloan visualized the woman who was even now wandering his garage and entertaining his mechanic. “Does the chick outside have anything to do with this hackneyed, crazy-assed plan of yours?”
“She is the plan. And it’s beautiful. Let me introduce her and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Not gonna happen. If you’re thinking I’d hate rooming with a man, you’re right. But living in the same house as a broad with legs like hers is a total no-goddam-way-in-hell.” Sloan meant every word. “Have a heart, bro.”
“Wait, you haven’t heard it all.” Don wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, his tell for when he felt deeply about something. “She’ll be your fiancée, girlfriend, ex-wife, hell… for all I care, your common-law floozy. Whatever you want to name her. But she’s our best hope in uncovering secrets to stop possible terrorist activities from taking place on the island. Like I told you, she’s got a background of living with Muslims and understands their ways. If you don’t agree with going along with this plan, you won’t believe the lengths the department is willing to go to. They’re serious, Sloan. Homeland Security will harass those poor people, and you and I both know the damage they can do. If you care about the Amans at all, let us set this up.”
Sloan pictured Sam and his family at the latest street barbecue, the shy way they interacted with the neighbors, little Dina running to him to be picked up and comforted after a fall she’d taken from her bike, her small arms confidentially circling his neck. They were a nice family. How could he let the government pursue these people, pester them until their lives were ruined or they were forced to move?
Still hedging, he asked, “What qualifications does this agent have? When did she move to Hawaii? How come I never met her?”
Nigel finally spoke up. “Her name is Special Agent Alia Hawkins and she transferred in from San Diego last month. She has impeccable credentials. Both her aunt and uncle belonged to the Muslim faith and after her parents died, she lived with their family until she’d graduated high school with honors through correspondence. Then she returned to the States and went to university in Chicago. After getting her Bachelor of Science in Criminology, she took her training at Quantico.”
Don moved between Sloan and Nigel to draw Sloan’s attention. “For the sake of Sam and his family, man, you need to do this.”
Sloan replied, his voice filled with disgust. “Well, fuck!”
Chapter Six
“Now that’s exactly what I said.” Alia Hawkins entered the room in time to overhear Booker’s snippy comment. “Sorry, boys, we got a call. There’s a hostage situation happening in Waikiki and all agents in the vicinity have been ordered to assist.”
Dullen flew to his feet, shock visible. “Yes, right. We’d better be off. Think about our offer, Mr. Booker.”
Don stood in front of Sloan and didn’t break eye contact even after Dullen’s interruption. “She’s a good agent, bro.”
Sloan swivelled to assess the person they were discussing. The woman had longish, thick, light-brown hair she wore pushed up at the back, off her neck. Probably so the Hawaiian heat didn’t affect her as much. He’d seen other girls mangle their hair in the same way.
This chick could be a model for a top agency, her makeup – and there was a lot of it – had been applied flawlessly. The black outline around the striking blue eyes added depth and made them appear huge, as did the false eyelashes. If he’d been asked, he’d admit that his first impression was of a princess who’d be high maintenance.
Her classy yet simple outfit looked like she’d just slipped into it, no wrinkles or sweat marks, kinda businesslike yet feminine. His eyes were drawn yet again to her legs; an image of them could keep a guy awake at night thinking how soft they’d feel wrapped around him. Shit! Don’t go there, man. There was a small glittery bit of bling on her sandals, the only sign of frippery she’d allowed, and that little detail caught his interest.
Quickly, sensing her need to get moving, he searched her eyes once again and this time he read the dare she didn’t try to hide.
“Okay. I’ll go along with the set-up. But there’s to be no love interest. Agent Hawkins can be my troubled stepsister, needing refuge. Set it up and call me to come in for briefing. Better move now; looks like you people have work to do, and so do I.”
***
Alia heard Booker’s statement about her being his sister and breathed a sigh of relief. She could handle living with a man as his relative, but there was no way in hell she wanted to fight off another agent’s advances while being stuck living with him in his house on a covert assignment.
She’d had her experiences with harassment while doing her training at Quantico, guys thin
king because she was a female they could push her around, take advantage, even force their attentions on her and she’d be willing to put up with their pawing bullshit.
In fact, at the beginning of her training, one drunken, overzealous student had tried trapping her in her room to have some fun—whether she’d wanted to or not. Thanks to being fit and fast, he’d ended up with a bruised face and feeling sorry for himself by her form of refusal.
His words the next day – “You could’ve just said no” – made her laugh sarcastically. “Buddy, you weren’t in the mood to listen. Trust me, I tried. I guess all you wanted was to, ahh, feel… therefore I made you feel. So report me.” She’d glared her challenge and watched the hustler back off, disgust plain on his face.
After he’d turned to go, she’d stepped up close and spoke to his back, her warning tone low, fury seeping through every word. “Creeps like you have no place in the FBI. I won’t report you this time but I’ll pass out the word to the other female agents that you need to be watched. That you’re a pig who tries to take advantage of girls, overpower them and then pretend we asked for the treatment. Keep acting like – because you have a prick you’re special – and you won’t last a month.”
He’d stomped away and she’d followed through on her promise, warning the others. She’d been wrong; he’d lasted two months.
Don spoke up from the back seat and interrupted her thoughts. “Alia, Booker’s good people. He’s had a raw deal, what with his father dying unexpectedly and the garage being in such a mess that he had to step in. It’s been a bitch for him not being able to do what he loves.”
She turned to look at Agent Howard, a man she’d respected from the first day she’d arrived in the Honolulu agency’s office. Sure he’d made a pass, like most of the single guys had, but he’d taken her refusal with grace and had offered friendship rather than trying to get her to change her mind. She liked that.