by Taylor Lee
EXPOSED: PREQUEL
Prequel: The Criminal Affairs Collection
By
Taylor Lee
EXPOSED: The Prequel Novella in USA Today best-selling author Taylor Lee’s Sizzling Hot Detective Series, The Criminal Affairs Collection.
•A renegade police officer infiltrates a dangerous cartel intending to take down its leader.
•Little does she know that the handsome Drug Lord is a special operative hotshot heading up a mission two years in the making.
•Learning who the outrageous woman is, the undercover commander does the only thing he can to protect the mission, and her. He claims her for his own.
WARNING: Romance so HOT it singes the pages. HOT, tough, explicit. Not for the faint at heart. Definitely bring a fan!
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Prologue
Jaxton Hughes trekked up the steep path leading from the resort to the nearby cliffs. The rivers, lakes, and crystal-clear pools dotting the astonishing Belize countryside were surrounded by rangy precipices. Climbing to the top of an outcropping, Jaxton marveled at the glorious sight awaiting him. The tropical paradise, rampant with color and texture, snagged his breath. The startling azure pool, at least twenty feet below his vantage point, was nestled between the craggy cliffs. Exotic multi-hued foliage and a solid bank of native orchids, including the distinctive national flower of Belize, the black orchid, ringed the shining, glass-like water.
Glad that he’d been wise enough to escape the crowded resort, at least for the moment, Jaxton silently thanked the nature gods who created the stunning panorama before him. He needed to clear his head, prepare for the challenging evening ahead. In the years of leading formidable missions, Jax had learned the importance of calming his spirit to ensure that he was emotionally as well as physically prepared for the certain dangers to come.
The peaceful scene below was so incongruous, so contrary to the challenges he was facing, that he might have laughed. Instead he shuddered at the internal warning signs confirming that his well-tuned body knew his trepidations were more than justified. Two years of arduous planning and countless setbacks would be put to the test this weekend. Jax breathed a hard sigh, acknowledging that his team’s chances of success were 70/30—against them.
Breaking from his reverie, Jaxton was startled to see he wasn’t alone. Standing on the edge of an opposing cliff was a woman. Or at least he thought it was a woman. She looked more like an apparition, a phantom. His heart pounding in his chest confirmed that the vision in the filmy white dress was real. Seeing her studying the crystal-clear water below, Jaxton realized to his horror that the woman was preparing to jump. The warning signals that had prepared him for dangerous action in hellholes from Somalia to the Ukraine tightened his nerve endings to snare drum–tautness. Acknowledging the distance between himself and the nymph poised on the edge of the precipice, he was struck by his impotence, his inability to stop her certain-death leap.
Choking on the warning shout trapped in his throat, he saw the slender woman reach for the tie on the back of her dress as if in slow motion. In one easy movement, the gauzy slip slithered to the ground, revealing her naked body.
Jaxton had traveled the globe, righting the wrongs that evil men wreaked on the innocent and the weak. To maintain his sanity and a soupçon of belief that good lived somewhere alongside the inhumanity of malevolent men, he sought respite in the arms of beautiful women. Stunned, Jaxton acknowledged that in all of his erotic romps seeking relief from the terrors of this world, he had never seen a more beautiful woman than the slender, blonde goddess poised on the edge of the forbidding cliff. A literal Venus rising from the water, she stole his breath.
To his shock, the sylphlike vision swept her hands high above her head. Before Jax could exhale the stifling air trapped in his chest and shout out a warning, the naked apparition rose on her tiptoes and dove headfirst into the gleaming pool a lifetime below.
Chapter 1
Viviana Moreau tugged the skintight, gold lamé sheath dress over her curvy hips. With a naughty giggle, she thought that if she had paid by the yard for the outrageous garment, it would be the least expensive dress she’d ever worn. The strapless gown relied on her bosom to hold it in place. Fortunately her lush breasts, surging over the top, seemed up to the job, if barely. Ending a few scant inches below her firm, toned bottom, there wasn’t much more of the dress below the waist than there was above. Bending over to shove first one foot then the other into the five-inch hooker heels she bought to compliment the shocking dress, Viv winked at her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Tossing her wavy blonde hair over her shoulders in a cascade of shining glory, she congratulated the smiling woman. Face it, if anyone could do “slut on the make,” she could. God knew she had enough practice. Although Viviana admitted that tonight she may have outdone herself. Given the cesspool of humanity she was about to enter, it was just as well she was flying solo on this mission. She had convinced Travis Jensen, her uptight, by-the-book squad leader, that he could protect her better from the outside than from within. Particularly since she fudged the truth a tad when she had assured him that their captain had signed off on the undercover operation.
Surveying her risqué appearance, Viviana knew that neither Lieutenant Travis Jensen nor Captain Oscar Michels would have agreed to let her walk out the door dressed the way she was, much less enter a literal den of thieves—make that drug dealers. Which, she conceded with a dispassionate shrug, was just what she was about to do. Shoving at what should have been legitimate concerns about the propriety, let alone the riskiness of the venture she’d undertaken, Viv congratulated herself that she’d made it to Belize without incident. And, except for the fact that she wasn’t exactly authorized to be here, she was closer to taking down Martinez Flores than she’d ever been.
Ignoring the third and increasingly concerned message from Lieutenant Jensen insisting that she return his call, Viv allowed herself to revel in her afternoon adventure. Determined to sample the world-renowned diving cliffs in Belize, she’d made her way to the one closest to the snazzy resort she was staying in. An avowed adrenaline junkie, Viviana didn’t know what was more exhilarating—diving naked into the glass-like pool twenty feet below or clambering buck-naked up the hill to collect her abandoned cover-up. Granted, the filmy garb wasn’t much cover, but it allowed her a smidgen of decency as she scampered back to the elite resort.
An appreciative shiver rocketing through her core, Viviana admitted that the most exciting element of the forbidden escapade was realizing that her outrageous stunt had been observed. As she had yanked the scrap of gauzy material over her wet, bodacious body, she saw him across the ridge. At first she thought the tall, dark-haired man with designer shades hiding his eyes was a figment of her overblown imagination. After all, what could be more enticing than being spied on by a man who was sure to be a handsome stranger? How could he not be? All tall, dark voyeurs had to be handsome as well as dangerous, right? Acknowledging that ninety percent of the men staying at the resort were affiliated with the Muñoz cartel, Viviana hoped that her voyeur was an interloper. Merely a fellow risk-taker, planning a cliff dive of his own. She had snickered at the thought, wondering if, like her, the watcher would make the dive in the full Monty, sans clothing. She hope
d for his sake he did. Her naked leap had hit a solid level six on her ten-point orgasmic thrill guide.
Hearing the insistent buzz from her cell phone, Viviana hauled it out of her purse. The name on the caller ID confirmed that her luck had run out. It was one thing to ignore the persistent messages from her overwrought squad leader. It was quite another to ignore her captain. Assuming a nonchalance she was far from feeling, Viviana planted a smile on her face, hoping that its cheeriness would gravitate to her voice.
“Good evening, Captain Michels. I’m delighted—”
“Goddammit, Moreau! Don’t even try. I’m telling you, Detective, this time you’ve gone so far off the reservation, it would take a goddamned fucking cavalry to bring you back.”
Viv interrupted. “Sir, I understand your concerns, but—”
“Damn you, Viviana. You do not understand. If you had any idea how truly angry I am with you, you’d know better than to try to sweet-talk me. All I want to hear from you, Detective, is that you decided to take an unauthorized vacation to Belize to work on your suntan.” Ignoring her attempt to break in, her clearly irate supervisor continued, “What I do not want to hear is that you had the audacity, against my direct orders, to follow a man you are convinced is Martinez Flores to a high-level meeting of the Muñoz cartel!”
“But, sir, he—the man I’m following—is Martinez Flores, and you are correct, he is at a meeting with the Muñoz cartel.”
“I will not ask you how you know that, Sergeant Moreau. I will only ask what the goddamn fucking hell does it matter if your mystery man is Flores or Genghis fucking Khan? I told you specifically, in the clearest language I am capable of, that you were to let go of your death wish and stay the hell away from that dangerous asshole.”
Viviana took a deep breath and risked his escalating anger. “Please, sir. Let me speak. You know I have been tracking Flores since the botched raid in Tucson. When I saw him in that dive in Tijuana, I knew I not only had a chance to avenge the death of two of my fellow officers but also to bring down an international criminal.”
“Since I specifically told you that under no circumstances would I sign off on such a harebrained, dangerous mission, you intended to do that how, Detective Moreau? Head for fucking Belize and take the drug dealing felon down all by your itty-bitty self? Once again, against my direct orders?”
“I…I know you weren’t exactly in favor of my plan—”
“Goddammit, Viviana!”
“Sir, listen to me, please. Give me a chance to explain. I know I’m taking a chance, but we both know that the man I’m tracking is Martinez Flores. Moreover, I’ve managed to work my way into his inner circle. I promise you, he hasn’t recognized me. He doesn’t know that I’m a cop. How could he? He thinks I’m a bar slut on the make.”
Her commander’s aggrieved sigh was audible. “I do not want to know how you convinced him of that, Detective Moreau…”
Given it was the first thing he’d said to her without yelling or swearing, Viviana pressed her minimal advantage. “Please, sir, hear me out. Yes, I should have gotten your permission. And I shouldn’t have implied to Lieutenant Jensen that you had approved the mission.”
Not wanting to throw her squad leader under the bus, Viviana chose not to tell their captain that after Viviana had recognized Flores in Tucson, she and her squad, with Jensen’s permission, began tailing the known Muñoz cartel honcho. When Viviana overheard Martinez and his buddies discussing the meeting in Belize, she begged her squad leader to let her go. After underscoring the obvious dangers, Lieutenant Jensen had put his hands up in defeat. With a discouraged groan, he muttered, “And if I forbid you to go, Detective Moreau?”
Mick O’Reilly, her partner, had guffawed. “Hell, Lieutenant, why bother? You know damn well no matter what you say, she’ll go anyhow. Leave it to our blonde bombshell to figure out a way to turn your tentative nod into full-scale approval.”
A week later, Viviana sent Lieutenant Jensen a selfie of her boarding the plane to Belize. Sending a picture of Flores standing among a group of Hispanic men, Viviana then texted him, assuming she had his support with a “minor” overstatement. “It’s a good thing I have your permission, Lieutenant. It looks like the conclave in Belize is attracting more cartel big shots than we knew.” With a smiley face emoticon, she added, “Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I’ll keep in touch. You know you can count on me to be careful.”
After a rancorous, hour-long call with Captain Michels and a nearly silent Lieutenant Jensen, Viviana managed to convince her irate captain that it would be more dangerous for her to abruptly leave the secret rendezvous than to stay. Still furious with her for disobeying his orders and promising retribution when she returned, Captain Michels agreed that Viviana’s best chance of coming out of the mission alive was to keep the undertaking off the official books. Before he closed the call without so much as a good-bye, Captain Michels warned Viviana that if she and her miniscule team weren’t back in San Jose in three days, he truly was going to send in the cavalry—in the form of the DEA, FBI, ICE, and every other goddamned agency he could rustle up.
With a hard sigh, Viviana tried to put the challenging conversation behind her. Tonight was going to be difficult enough. She needed to be at the top of her game. Thinking about the disgusting cartel member she’d managed to suck up to, Viv gave an aggrieved snort. Damn, the least her uptight captain could acknowledge was that she’d pulled off a major coup. After all, how many San Jose PD detectives had managed to work their way into what could be a major meeting of the Muñoz cartel? Make that one: her.
Granted, she had to latch on to a truly despicable man in order to attend the meeting. Grimacing at the thought of the oily playboy she was now forced to treat as a man she couldn’t live without, Viviana called on her well-established repertoire of slutty, come-on behaviors. Her never-fail antics had worked with every man she’d ever used them on. The struggle for Viviana in her undercover roles was that the men she had to suck up to were often the scum of the earth, as despicable as they were dangerous. And she admitted that Martinez Flores ranked among the most dissolute. He was disgusting, boorish, and looked at her with ill-concealed, lascivious intent. It was clear that he thought she was as loose and lewd as her practiced routine implied.
Viv sighed. Keeping Flores at bay wasn’t going to be easy. She had insisted on having a suite of her own, but to no avail. She fully understood that an evening of hardcore drinking, coupled with the belief that women were good for one thing and one thing only, made her vulnerable to the overtures of the obnoxious drug lord. Besides, it wasn’t as though she could get help from any of his colleagues. As a whole, the dangerous men shared Martinez’s view of women, especially women who looked and acted like Viviana did.
Taking one last glance at her reflection in the mirror, Viviana confirmed she looked as hot as her wanton role required. She tucked her trusty balisong blade in the stealthy sling on the inside of her thigh. She would only use the vicious blade as a last resort. To keep Flores at bay, she relied on the dreaded monthly curse, the age-old subterfuge of women the world over. In the event that menstrual blood wouldn’t stop Martinez, she slipped a couple of Fentanyl pills in the inner pocket of her purse. Dropping the high-powered opiate in his fourth or fifth glass of bourbon would ensure that Flores would never know what hit him. Viviana would be able to breathlessly assure the disgusting man, struggling awake the next morning from a drugged sleep, that she’d never been fucked as thoroughly or as outrageously. It would never occur to the pathetic man that she was lying. After all, in Flores’s mind, he was a virile Lothario. Women should be so lucky that he’d chosen to fuck them.
Chapter 2
Jax stood at the entrance to the opulent private dining room and marveled. It was hard to decide which was more beautiful—the lavish interior or the extraordinary paradise visible through the open walls of the resort. Jax was accustomed to extravagant surroundings. He had stayed in magnificent hotels and resorts across the globe. B
ut the owners of the Reefside Resort had outdone themselves. Clearly they’d decided that no mere high-end architect could approach the sumptuous natural beauty surrounding the resort. Rather than try to compete with Mother Nature, they had wisely let the omnipotent designer do her work. Unrestricted by walls and windows, the dining room was open on three sides to the tropical panorama endemic to the prepossessing beauty of the Belize countryside. The fragrance of exotic flowers contorting with the sound of waves lapping against the barrier reefs added to the mystery of the gorgeous, starlit night.
Glancing across the room, Jax didn’t acknowledge his teammates, who were sprinkled throughout the assembled gathering. In any other setting, the muscled, granite-eyed men might have raised questions about their profession. But surrounded by dozens of dark-skinned, shifty-eyed men as tall and fierce-looking as his team, Jax didn’t have to worry that their disguise would be blown. Even the bulges under his operatives’ jackets, confirming they were armed, weren’t a cause for concern. Indeed, a lack of weapons would have been more compromising. It would have been clear evidence his guys didn’t belong. Hell, the cartel members likely strapped on their guns every day before they took their morning piss. They no doubt slept with at least one gun or knife under their pillows. Jax did.
Still standing at the entrance to the dining room, Jax nodded to the beefy, blond-haired man lurking in the far corner of the room. Brent Peters, his second-in-command, returned his nod, as did Serge Striker, the tall, lean, sharp-eyed Denzel Washington–lookalike who was lounging next to Peters. Jax had introduced both men to the cartel reps he’d met in preparation for the conclave. Jax hadn’t hid their association. It was a given that he would travel with armed men. No self-respecting drug dealer would arrive at a meeting hosted by one of the most dangerous cartels in Central America without bodyguards. If not bodyguards per se, they were men who were clearly as dangerous as Jax was.