Undercover with the Enemy

by Christine Michels

  And to do that he needed to know the whole story. “What did DiMona suspect?”

  Heather looked at him. “You mean why did he want me to spy on you?” Court nodded, and she continued. “All he said was that his gut told him there was something not right about you.”

  Court considered the implications. As long as DiMona hadn’t found anything to confirm his suspicions, everything should still be all right. The Colombians weren’t going to sacrifice a useful connection without proof. “What exactly does DiMona know about me? You’ve met him a few times now, haven’t you? What did you give him?”

  Heather shrugged. “Nothing that satisfied him.” She detailed the bits and pieces of information she’d passed on. None of it particularly damaging. So Court had that much of an edge at any rate. He immersed himself in his thoughts, considering all the angles, the dangers, the advantages.

  A moment later, he looked at her where she stood silhouetted against the night-blackened window of the room, waiting, simply waiting for him to tell her whether he would help her or not. Some women would have continued to talk, to beg, if necessary. But not Heather. She had said her piece, and now she waited. Waited to find out if the man she trusted would help her, or throw her to the wolves.

  Her dark-red hair, aflame with the highlights cast by the overhead light, was secured haphazardly on top of her head with a comb. The style revealed the slender curve of her neck. Such a delicate neck. DiMona could have snapped it so easily.

  The thought brought Court to his feet? What had she been thinking to place herself in a position like that? Ice ran through his veins at the thought of all that could have happened. What could still happen if things went wrong.

  Fear for her turned to anger. And that anger needed a focus. With a curse, he drew her attention away from the night. “I can’t believe this! What the hell were you thinking to get yourself involved in something like this?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly—an obvious sign of her own rising temper—and he welcomed it. “I was thinking that I had to help my brother. Tell me what I should have done differently, Court.”

  “You should have gone to the police.”

  Her eyes flared with sparks. “Oh, sure. And what do you think the police would have said when I told them that my drug-dealing little brother needed help because he’d stolen money from his supplier? Somehow, I don’t picture a heck of a lot of sympathy, or help, coming my way.”

  She had him there. He couldn’t predict how the cops would have reacted. But he couldn’t let go of his anger that quickly. “Your brother got himself into the mess, you should have let him get himself out. Take responsibility for his own actions.”

  “Right. That’s what you would have done if you’d had a sister get involved with drugs and get herself into a situation she couldn’t see her way out of. You’d have walked away.”

  Ouch! That barb struck deep. He raked his hair back. “No. No, I guess I wouldn’t. But damn it, Heather, wasn’t there someone you could have turned to for help?” Before she could answer, he gripped her arms, almost shaking her in his frustration. “Don’t you know what could have happened to you?”

  She stared up at him, still defiant, still angry. That was his Heather. Never back down. Meet anger with anger. “No!” she all but spat the word. “There was no one I could turn to. Des and I rely on each other. And as for your second question, yes, I have a pretty good idea of the kinds of things that could have happened to me. But the day I walk away instead of doing what I can to help someone who needs me, will be the day I can’t live with myself anymore.”

  Her words struck fear into his heart, and this time he did shake her slightly. “And what good is that caring personality going to do anyone if you’re dead?”

  She gripped his biceps, trying to push out of his grasp. “Stop it! I can’t change who I am any more than you can. And you certainly can’t change me, so stop trying.”

  He stared at her. She was right. He couldn’t change her any more than he could change the fact that he was a burned-out cop whose only means of making a living involved standing behind a badge and a gun. A gun that she hated. Yet, despite what his conscious mind might dictate, a deeper more primal impulse told him he had to protect her, not change her. Crushing her to him, holding her tightly enough that not even the DiMonas of the world could take her from him, he said, “You’re right. I’m sorry. But, you scare me to death.”

  Heather closed her eyes. She scared him? He should try seeing himself from her point of view. “Does that mean you’ll help me?” she asked.

  “Yes.” She felt his lips brush the top of her head. “Yes, I’ll help you. Somehow.”

  Her arms tightened around him and, for the first time in a long time, she reveled in the sensation of leaning on someone else. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, the sound little more than a rumble deep in his chest. And then, pulling away from her slightly, he lifted her chin with his finger to look deeply into her eyes for a moment. As though satisfied with what he saw there, he slowly lowered his lips to capture hers. At first the kiss was tender and chaste. But, within an instant, it changed, becoming hungry, needy and so hot.

  Desire rose within her with the unstoppable force of an incoming tide. It had been so long…too long. But just as she surrendered to the need within her, she felt him pull away.

  “Whoa. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry.”

  Swallowing her fear of rejection, of being hurt, of there being no future for two people like them, Heather met his eyes. “I’m not,” she said.

  As though doubting his own ears, or perhaps her sincerity, Court looked deeply into her eyes. He seemed frozen by indecision. When he still said nothing, Heather reached up to caress his whisker-shadowed cheek. “I need this night, Court. I’m not asking for promises for the future. For once, I just want to live in the moment.” She studied his set face. “Please,” she added in a near whisper.

  A sound, half groan, half growl, erupted from his throat as he drew her into his embrace again. “Don’t regret this,” he murmured into the shell of her ear.

  “I won’t,” she said just before his lips closed over hers again. Vaguely, she was aware of his hands skimming over her, loosening the tie of her robe, coursing over her naked breasts. His fingers found her turgid nipple, tugged on it gently, and a lightning bolt of sensation rocketed through her, robbing her of strength and breath as it settled, a hot glowing coal, at the juncture of her thighs. Heather clamped her lips to contain the moan of need that rose in her throat, but some small sound must have escaped for Court clasped her to him more tightly.

  His hands moved over her shoulders to caress her back, taking the robe with them and, a moment later, it pooled in a heap at her feet. She didn’t care.

  He tightened his embrace, compressing her full breasts against his chest as he rocked his hips forward, letting her feel the length and breadth of his arousal against her soft belly. And, as molten heat flowed through her veins in answer to Court’s un spoken demand for surrender, Heather was thankful that this time there would be no stopping. Whether right or wrong, she needed to find oblivion in his arms. Just for a while.

  Wanting nothing more in that instant than to feel his naked flesh against hers, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt then shoved the garment off of his body. Yes! Yes! Yes! His skin was like satin over steel. Her hands skimmed the silken hair on his chest, moved over the washboard firmness of his abdomen to the zipper on his trousers.

  But his hands moved to stay her. “Not yet,” he murmured. He stifled her protest by picking her up in his arms and carrying her the few steps to the bed. After laying her down in the center of it, he stood back to look at her, devouring her with his gaze. Her flesh tingled, the nipples of her swollen breasts contracting even more as his gaze raked her from head to toe and back again, hesitating briefly at the triangle of burnished copper curls at the junction of her thighs. “You are so beautiful,” he sai
d in a husky tone as his eyes, hard and luminous with arousal, fastened on her face. “You can’t imagine how many times I’ve thought of seeing you like this.”

  “Probably no more than I have thought of you,” she confessed in a murmur. She couldn’t help staring at him. Her gaze moved from his hard masculine features that fell just short of handsome to his wide chest and the V of soft dark hair between his pectoral muscles. Over his flat male nipples, down to his muscle-corded abdomen, to his hips where the prominent bulge of his sex was still concealed by his trou sers. And then, she lifted her eyes to meet his once more. “Hold me, Court.”

  It was all the invitation he needed. Bracing his hands on either side of her, he leaned forward to capture her lips, ravaging her mouth and overpowering her senses with his potent masculine assault. Her hands skimmed his body, but once again encountered the frustrating barrier of his trousers. “Your pants,” she reminded him when she came up for air. Her fumbling fingers managed to undo them, but as she struggled to push them from his narrow hips, he took over the task.

  She had a brief glimpse of his sex jutting from a thick patch of black hair at his groin, and then he was beside her again. So warm, so solid, so strong. Just what she needed to thaw the chill of fear in her soul.

  As he covered her face and neck with kisses, his large warm hand closed over her breast, weighing its softness while his thumb caressed the taut nipple. This time she could not contain the groan that escaped her on the heels of the sensation that rocketed through her. Encouraged, his mouth replaced his hand at her breast, closing over the swollen tip, tugging at the tiny crest as he raked the sensitive nub with his tongue. His hand trailed slowly down her body, stopping briefly to delve into her navel before continuing farther to stroke the insides of her thighs. His touch stoked the hot coals of Heather’s desire into a raging blaze. Unconsciously seeking to ease the fierce pressure that continued to build, she lifted her hips, pressing herself against the palm of his hand. But it wasn’t enough, and she groaned in frustration.

  Lifting his head from her breast to look into her face with smoldering eyes, he smiled, a lingering triumphant smile that ignited a fire in her blood. “Now, Court,” she demanded.

  He shook his head. “You’re not ready yet.”

  Not ready? The man was insane. She was about to explode. “Yes…” she panted. “I am.”

  Without responding, he rolled over her, nudging her knees apart to kneel between them. She lifted her hips in expectation and invitation, but he merely leaned forward, pressing his sex unsatisfyingly against her as he leaned forward to kiss her. Then, slowly, with torturous precision he trailed a path of fire down her body with his lips and tongue, pausing to torment each of her throbbing nipples to even greater attention before kissing her navel and then tracking even lower. As his mouth closed over that most secret part of her, the last of her control shattered and Heather writhed beneath him. “Now, Court. Please.”

  And finally, he entered her. Huge and hot and achingly hard, he filled her. She cried out, her hands clutching at the smooth, hard flesh of his back as the tension within her built to a fever pitch. Instinctively, she matched his rhythm, her hips driving upward to meet each of his powerful thrusts until a starburst of perceptions exploded in her brain and waves of sensation impacted, carrying her away on their surging crests. But he gave her no time to linger for he hadn’t yet found his release. And before long, his cadential movements had once more stoked the fever in her blood. She clutched at him, seeking anchorage in the storm of desire that raged through her. And this time, when she cried out her satisfaction, he was with her, his hoarse shout echoing hers. Their hearts hammered in unison, and it was a long time before he rolled to one side.

  Heather sighed and curled her fingers into the silken hair on his chest, closing her eyes against the slow but inexorable intrusion of reality. It didn’t work. And there was one question she had to ask. “Court—”

  “Hm?” he responded sleepily.

  “Are you—” She swallowed not quite daring to ask.

  “Am I what?”

  “Are you a cop?”

  She sensed his sudden stillness. His hesitation. Lifting her head, she looked up into his face. Into his shuttered eyes. “Trust me?” she murmured. “Please. I need to know that we are trusting each other.”

  Court studied her expression for a moment. Then, as though reaching a decision, he murmured, “Yeah. I’m one of the good guys.” Then, he kissed her brow. “Now, sleep for a little while, sweetheart, and let me do the worrying.”

  To her surprise, she did.

  Chapter 15

  Court stared blearily into his coffee. It was 4:12 a.m. according to the digital numerals on his watch. He sighed. Now, when it was almost time to rise, he was finally starting to get tired. He’d hated to leave Heather to wake alone, and he’d wanted nothing more than to hold her throughout the night, but there was too much to do for him to lie in bed when he wasn’t able to sleep anyway.

  Now that plans had been made and set into motion though, Court found his thoughts returning to Heather. To the way she’d looked, all warm and soft, when he’d slid from her bed. He hoped he got the opportunity to see her that way again. Soon.

  Half asleep, he continued to stare dreamily into his coffee. And that’s how Ernest found him when he returned to the control room with a fresh pot of coffee. Something in Court’s face must have be trayed the direction of his thoughts because Ernest shook his head, then said, “You know we’re going to have to use her to get to DiMona and the kid. There’s no other way.”

  Everything within Court screamed in protest at the thought of sending Heather into danger, but he only nodded, lifting his tired eyes to meet Ernest’s look. “Yeah, I know.” His heart gave a painful thud at the admission. How had he come to care for her so much in so short a time?

  Ernest appeared about to say something more, but the door of the room opened, surprising them both as Heather entered. “Hi.” She wiped her palms against her jean-clad thighs. “Liz told me where to find you. Mind if I join you?”

  “Of course not. Come in.” Court found her a chair and an awkward silence followed. Looking at her, Court couldn’t help but think of the few hours they’d spent together. And how badly he wanted to repeat them.

  Meeting his gaze, perhaps reading his mind, color rose in Heather’s cheeks. Finally, she cleared her throat, glanced self-consciously at Ernest, and returned her gaze to Court. “So, what do we do?”

  Court sighed inwardly. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but Heather needed to know. “The only way we can do anything for your brother is to coordinate his rescue with our other operation. If we move too soon on your brother’s behalf, we could tip them off and throw away two years of work and DEA resources. We can thank our lucky stars that the timing is as good as it is.”

  Heather frowned slightly. “So how long do we have to wait?”

  “It shouldn’t be long. We’re expecting everything to go down within the next thirty-six to sixty hours.”

  Heather looked thoughtful, and then slowly nodded. “Okay. The waiting is going to drive me crazy, but…what do you want me to do?”

  Court cleared his throat. “We’d prefer to keep you out of it as much as possible—”

  “I’m not staying out of it,” Heather interrupted him. The vehemence in her voice stunned him. “Des is my brother. Besides you need me to—”

  “As I was about to say…” Court interrupted her, in turn. “Unfortunately we can’t think of any way around involving you. We need you in order to get to DiMona.”

  “Oh.” Heather flushed. “Sorry.”

  Court nodded and glanced at Ernest. The two shared a speaking look. Tell her what she has to do, Ernest’s look said. Prepare her. Impatience nipped at Court, but he knew the man was right. They didn’t know when the call would come letting them know that it was going down. And when the call came, their superiors might say move now or they might say move in six hours. Whatever
happened, they had to be ready.

  Damn! Every protective instinct within Court balked at what he had to do. Setting aside the fledgling emotion that rose in his throat trying to choke him, refusing to even try to identify it, he sought the words he needed to explain.

  “So, then,” Heather interrupted his thoughts, “what are you going to want me to do?”

  Court looked at her. “The first thing you’re going to have to do is set up a meeting with DiMona. The plan is that we’ll give you some information to feed him. But, when you meet, you’re going to refuse to tell him anything until you see Des. We’ll tail you to where he’s being held, and then we’ll come in and get you.”

  Heather considered. “It sounds simple enough. But how am I going to know what time to set up the meeting for if you don’t know when we can move?”

  “Good question. It’s one we’re still working on. I think what we’re going to have to do is wait a while to see if the call comes down. Tonight, if we still haven’t heard, then we’re going to go ahead and set up the meeting using our best estimate of the timing. We can pretty much guarantee that they’ll move at night.” And hopefully, somehow in all this mess, he’d get his hands on the proof he needed to put DiMona away. But he couldn’t focus on that now. Not with Des Buchanan’s life—and possibly Heather’s as well—at stake. Even if Court got nothing else on DiMona, he should at least be able to get him on kidnapping.

  Five hours later, Heather stood in the breakfast nook sipping hot chocolate as she stared out at another dreary day. Hold on Des, she thought, I’m coming. At a slight noise from behind, she turned to see Court entering the room. He looked tired, and she noticed that he was limping slightly. “Is your leg bothering you?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Not really. The strength is fine now. I’ve noticed, though, that when it’s tired it feels like there’s a tight elastic band wrapped around my knee.”