Undercover With the Enemy

by Sharron McClellan

  “I take it that’s our prize for succeeding?” Holly asked. Whatever the notebook contained, it had to be special for Tempe to go to all this trouble of setting up her and Kane.

  “It is,” Tempe replied.

  “Did you call the guard?” Kane asked, apparently still stuck on the news that they’d been subjected to a test. “Get him to make his rounds earlier?”

  “I did. Sorry about the pursuit, but I thought you’d get out faster.” A small, unexpected smile flitted across Tempe’s face. “No harm, no foul.”

  She’d done it on purpose?

  Tempe nodded toward Kane. “I’m surprised you figured that out before Holly. I think I underestimated you.”

  Holly’s brows arched in surprise. Was Tempe saying he was as good as she? An onsite test was annoying but tolerable. But to say that Kane was her equal at reading people?

  Unacceptable. She was trained by the best—her mother.

  In the long run, being the circus’ second psychic wasn’t her calling, and her mother had understood. The rest of the family hadn’t been as forgiving, but eventually, they’d accepted her decision to leave. Of course, that she sent them money every month didn’t hurt. It was hard to stay mad at someone who took care of those she loved.

  “Glad you trusted us to manage, but I don’t like being set up,” Kane said, rising partway out of the chair.

  Holly’s eyes widened in shock. She’d stood up to Tempe on more than one occasion, but she’d never said anything so brash. The V.P.’s expression morphed into annoyance, and she tapped the binder with her index finger. “I don’t ask your permission. Now, do you want to move on or argue?”

  Kane hesitated then sat. “What’s the assignment?”

  She slid the notebook across the table to Kane. “Open it.”

  He flipped it open but left it flat on the desk so Holly could lean in and read the contents.

  There was the usual contract. This time, the client was a woman named Mira Burke, from Savannah, Georgia.

  “Tim Burke’s ex-wife?” Kane asked.

  He knew them? Kane was one surprise after another.

  “Yes,” Tempe replied. “Do you think they’ll recognize you?”

  “If they recognized anyone, it would be my father. Not me. Besides, it’s a different social circle. The Burkes are politicians. My family was religious. They’re close, since one tends to support the other, but not that close.”

  Holly’s interested piqued. She’d discovered more about Kane in the last ten seconds than she’d learned in two years. He was closed-mouthed about everything, which was why he worked the ground-control portion of his assignments. To play a part took skills he didn’t possess. Like acting. Being both open and impenetrable at any given time.

  Kane was only impenetrable. A fortress of a man with no discernable emotions.

  “Good,” Tempe said. Holly flipped the page. There was a color picture of a necklace. A gaudy combination of diamonds and rubies in the shape of a turtle, the pendant seemed more suited to Hollywood and the red carpet. Not on a Southern belle’s neck. She didn’t bother to ask if this was the item to recover. Why else would it be in the folder?

  “It’s a family heirloom,” Tempe explained. “Mira was supposed to get it in the divorce, but it never arrived. He said it should have.”

  The usual, petty he said she said that seemed to accompany divorce. Holly shook her head. Why did people have to make it so difficult?

  Of course, if they didn’t, she’d be out of a job, since most of her retrieval gigs centered on high-profile broken marriages. She flipped to the next page. More pictures. A gray-haired but distinguished older man, sporting what was probably a custom tuxedo, had his arm around the waist of a big-haired blonde wearing an emerald-green sequined gown that made her look like a mermaid. His other hand was raised up in triumph.

  At first glance, most people might assume the younger woman by his side was his daughter. Holly honed in on the eagerness in his eyes and satisfaction at winning in hers. The way he held her just a bit too close.

  “Is this the mistress?”

  “That’s Tammi Lynn Burke,” Tempe said. “She was the other woman and his assistant until he married her a few months ago.”

  Tim and the new wife had the necklace. There was no way the blonde was letting it go, and if Tim Burke was like every-other politician she’d read about, he’d keep it out of spite.

  “What’s the new wife say?” Kane asked. “Does she deny having it?”

  “Of course,” Tempe replied. “He bought a beach house for her right after they married and claimed it was lost in the move. We’re fairly sure it’s there.”

  “Do you know where inside the house?” Holly asked.

  “No. Which is why you’ll need this.” She opened her desk drawer, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to Holly. She opened it. Inside was an invitation. Hand-drawn calligraphy. Gilded. Heavy linen paper.

  Very chichi, as her mother would say. She opened the invitation and leaned toward Kane so he could read it with her. He smelled like soap, and she took a deep inhalation before she could stop herself.

  Get a grip, girl. This is Kane.

  She focused her attention on the paper.

  Save the Date

  For your next Senator, Tim Burke

  Summer weekend at Tim’s private estate on Hilton Head Island, S.C.

  Fishing. Golf. Auction. Dinner.

  Requested contribution:

  $20,000 Saturday Only

  $50,000 (Friday, Saturday, Sunday)

  It continued on with contact info, location, and what to wear.

  A weekend at a mansion? On the beach?

  Holly’s feet almost danced at the idea. Now, that sounded like fun. Of course, her black cat suit would be not be considered proper attire with this crowd unless they were into that sort of thing.

  Unlikely.

  “I’ll need some new clothes,” she said, trying to keep the excitement from her voice.

  “I take it we’re going as a couple?” Kane asked.

  Her excitement ebbed as he brought her back to reality. This wasn’t a weekend gig that involved a little larceny. It was a weekend gig with Kane.

  Kane the Pain.

  He sounded less than thrilled.

  “Not you. I need you to run the op,” Tempe said. “You’ll be Holly’s assistant, since it’ll give you an excuse to use your computer and question the staff. We’re pairing Holly with Michael Bravo.”

  “Michael?” Holly’s heart pounded as she tried to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice. Jet black hair. Blue eyes. He was six-feet three inches of super-hot agent.

  They’d worked together before, and it had ended up with them in bed and one of the best nights of sex she’d ever had. She hadn’t seen him since, but he’d crossed her mind on more than one occasion.

  She’d get to sleep with him again and steal a necklace?

  Best job ever.

  Except for one thing, or rather, one person.

  Kane.

  …

  Michael Bravo? Kane frowned. The man was an ass.

  It wasn’t his skills. Kane had worked with him more than a few times, and the agent always did as he was told. Never deviated from the plan, and if the situation changed, he spoke to Kane for direction. More of a follower than a leader, Bravo was a helluva lot easier to deal with than Holly.

  Away from the field, Michael bragged about his work and used it to get laid. More than one new recruit had ended up in the man’s bed, and from the look on Holly’s face, he’d bet money she would be next on the list if she hadn’t slept with him already. He glanced at her carefully blank expression.

  She had.

  He didn’t know how he knew, but he did, and he wished he didn’t. Disappointment washed over him. He’d hoped she was smarter than that.

  She caught his stare and scowled in return. Kane didn’t care. She was probably mad that he was going to be on the op and ruin her fun.

 
Let her be angry. This was work. Not a tea party. “The event starts this Friday,” he said. “That only gives us twenty-four hours to prep and arrive onsite, and once we’re there, we have just three days to find a piece of jewelry with no intelligence on where it might be.”

  “Doable,” Holly said.

  If we’re lucky. But he didn’t contradict her. Not now and not in front of Tempe. He turned his attention back to their boss. “Do you have the cover stories set up?”

  “We do,” Tempe replied. “It’s a rush job, so they’re not as deep as I’d like, but this is politics, and nothing is what it seems. I think you’ll manage despite the short notice.”

  She held out a flash drive. “This gives you everything you’ll need to know. Names, itineraries, etc.”

  “Thanks.” He pocketed the drive.

  “This is for Holly,” Tempe said, fishing in the drawer. Pulling out a credit card, she handed the plastic to his partner.

  “Clothing?” Holly asked.

  “Yes, but no sequins.”

  “I can do conservative,” she insisted.

  She could try, Kane mused. But Holly could wear a dress made of burlap and still seem more vibrant than the rest of the world. More alive.

  More everything.

  “Got something you want to say, assistant?” Holly asked.

  Was he that obvious? “Just that you might need some help. You could wear a sack, and you’d still stand out.”

  Tempe rose. “Just be ready. Both of you. The company plane leaves in twenty-four hours. A red-eye into Atlanta.” She waved them out.

  Kane toyed with the drive in his pocket as he headed for the door. Awesome. He hated red-eyes. He slid a glance at the agent beside him. She alternated between bouncing and stalking down the carpeted hallway. Either way, she was as flamboyant as a gilded peacock feather.

  “I don’t need you telling me what to wear,” Holly said once they turned a corner and Tempe’s office disappeared from sight.

  Kane glanced down at her, “It was a compliment, in case you missed it.”

  She flushed. “Sorry. That sounded less antagonistic in my head.”

  She didn’t look apologetic, but he’d take her at her word, or they might not make it to the plane, much less run another successful operation. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’re both tired.”

  “Thanks.” She followed him down the hall to the locker room. Because the room was co-ed, his locker wasn’t far from hers. She faced her locker as they both stripped out of their work clothes.

  “It sounds as if you ran in these circles once upon a time. Can you at least give me a few store names?” she asked, the rustle of cloth catching his attention.

  He stopped himself before he shrugged off the question. She was trying to get along. He would do the same. “Just Google ‘stupidly expensive stores in L.A.’, and you should get a list.”

  She snickered, and he chuckled. First smile. First shared laugh.

  What else would they discover about each other on this op?

  “Nothing too Hollywood,” he continued. “East coast and old southern money makes style a different beast. You want class. Not flash. Nothing too sparkly. Or low-cut—”

  “—I know,” Holly cut him off. “I’ve traveled. A lot.”

  “I noticed,” he replied. “The New England accent earlier was dead on. Can you do Southern?”

  “Of course I can, bless your heart,” Holly said with an accent so thick it sounded as if she grew up south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

  Silence reigned as they continued to strip out of their work clothes. Sitting in the van always left him stiff. Wearing nothing but his boxer-briefs, Kane stretched, arms overhead. That helped, but a sauna would have been better.

  With a groan, he reached for his shirt, and glancing in the mirror he kept on the shelf in his locker, he saw Holly watching him. Her eyes were on his calves, then his thighs. She hesitated, and he knew what she was staring at—

  The scar that traveled up his left thigh, ending on his hip bone and out of her sight. Thick and ugly, it was impossible to overlook.

  Ignore her, his smarter inner voice said. Get dressed. He remained frozen, unable to take his eyes off her as her gaze traveled up his body.

  She reached his shoulder. Then a few more inches. Their eyes met in the mirror.

  The heat rushing to her face was immediate and visible. She whirled away. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I saw the scar and wondered…”

  Of course, it was always about the scar. It was the first thing most women wanted to talk about, and they all fantasized that he got it by doing something heroic. Maybe shark wrestling to save a seal pup. Climbing the metaphorical castle to rescue a damsel in distress. Whatever they thought, it all came down to a singular courageous act.

  But it wasn’t a badge of honor. It was a mark of failure.

  He looked away as his thoughts turned to his ex-partner and lover, Danielle, and how he couldn’t save her.

  “There are worse things that happen when you fail a mission than pissing off your boss.”

  Chapter Three

  “That’s not a house. That’s a hotel,” Holly said as their town car came to a stop in front of a three-story, white and yellow beachfront home that could board her entire big-top family, plus a few more.

  “Seventeen bathrooms. Sixteen bedrooms. Almost seventeen thousand square feet,” he said, giving her the stats as he held the door open for her.

  She hesitated. This was sheer opulence, and even though she was dressed to impress in tan linen slacks, a cream-colored silk blouse and understated gold hoop earrings, she felt as if she should have worn something better. Nicer. Perhaps diamonds.

  No chance of that. Not now.

  She and Kane had arrived at the Savannah airport minus Bravo—he was flying in later from New York where he’d completed a job two hours ago. Kane had insisted on talking shop while he drove to their destination. She’d given him half an ear and scoped out the area as it sped by, making note of the small bridge that separated the island from the mainland.

  Easy to run if needed.

  Otherwise, it was a golfer’s paradise. Bike paths paralleled the road. They even passed an organic farmer’s market, with Mercedes and BMWs parked in the adjoining lot. When golfing greens disappeared, cypress trees, marsh grasses, and an array of flowers—both manicured and wild—took their place.

  They reached the driveway—gated to keep out the riff raff—and presented the guard their invitation. He gave them a bit of side-eye, and she assumed it was because they were late—the plane had been delayed in Houston. But she didn’t apologize or offer explanation, since she was playing the part of a woman too wealthy to care what the staff thought.

  He waved them through, and the house came into view. Now, here she stood. Staring like a yokel.

  “Are you getting out or do you plan to sit and gawk all morning?” Kane asked.

  Heat rushed to her face, and Holly swung her feet to the pavement, being careful not to scuff the patent leather of her tan pumps. Kane held out his hand. She hesitated. How did he appear so crisp after a red-eye flight combined with the long drive from the airport? Both his pressed white shirt and gray slacks were still wrinkle free. He could walk into any meeting in the world, and no one would think he’d been awake since midnight.

  Neat trick.

  He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, breaking her concentration. “Take it. I’m your assistant, so let me assist.”

  The warmth of his skin penetrated hers as he helped her to her feet.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” he replied, his voice low.

  Two men dressed in matching navy blue jackets and tan khakis trotted down the stairs, took the keys from Kane, opened the trunk, and proceeded to empty it of luggage.

  Holly hoped she appeared less uncomfortable than she felt. She’d played a lot of parts in her time at HRS, but this was new. She wasn’t used to affluence and felt more
out of place than normal.

  It didn’t help there were no other cars in view. No people. No nothing.

  It doesn’t matter, her inner voice scolded. It’s a show, like anything else, and the show must go on. “Looks like we’re not the only ones running late,” she said, in her best southern drawl. “Are you sure we’re at the right place?”

  “According to the GPS, yes. Then again, it’s been known to send me to a trailer park when I wanted a steak house.”

  Was that a joke? It was hard to tell, since he didn’t smile. If he were kidding, he was the best straight man she’d even seen. “Good enough,” she replied. “Though, I hate being late to the party.” It was easier to blend when she didn’t have to make an entrance in a crowded room.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll find them later. In the meantime, we can finish going over the plans,” Kane said, following the attendants as they hauled the luggage up the stairs.

  He seemed to be in full it’s-about-the-job-and-nothing-else mode, so not a joke. Maybe later, when Bravo arrived, she could spend some time with him instead. Anyone was more interesting than Kane. Still, she kept in character and offered him a small, indifferent shrug as a reply as she scaled the stairs into the foyer, letting Kane open the door for her.

  “Wow,” she whispered, the word loud enough for only herself and Kane to hear. A giant crystal vase, bursting with orchids, was the focal point in the middle of the vast foyer. Marble floors led to a wide staircase that wound its way upward.

  “Close your mouth,” Kane said, his mouth barely moving. “You’re gawking again.”

  She snapped her jaw tight as a petite woman in a conservative blue jacket and tan skirt, not unlike the valets, walked toward them, a clipboard in her hand. “Hello, you must be…”

  “Kane Buchanan. This is Holly Kennedy.”

  She shook their hands. Her grip firm. “Welcome to Mr. Burke’s home. We’re so glad you could join us. I’m Mary Beth. I’ll be assisting the host and hostess this weekend.”

  Another woman wearing the same suit trotted up and whispered something into Mary Beth’s ear. Panic washed over perfect, petite features before disappearing almost as fast. “I hate to be rude, but we’re just cleaning up after lunch and—”