by Dana Volney
“Agree to disagree.”
“There will be no half-assing this. If you’re not fully in, I need to know now.”
He leaned in closer, effortlessly crossing her desk with his height. “Oh, Sugar Baby, I’m so far in, you’ll be feeling me every step of the way.”
A chill ran down her spine. The sternness in his gaze should’ve pissed her off or made her defensive, but it didn’t. It gave her hope. He was in. For whatever reason, she didn’t care. He was helping to take down the man responsible for Robert’s death, and that’s all she really cared about.
Chapter Four
“They are trained killers and suspicious of everyone,” Eddie sang out in a low tone so Hannah could hear him over the earcomms. “They aren’t just going to let people tail them to their room.”
After getting Leo tucked away with Alex, and before they’d staked out the lobby of the Westin to catch the Huntingtons, he’d spent his afternoon digging around for camera feeds or anything that could prove Leo wasn’t the killer. But there were no camera feeds. They’d all been suspiciously dismantled around Leo’s apartment and Marty’s. Not on the fritz, not broken, the recordings had not been stolen, but all of the feeds had been cut. Definitely suspicious. So he was back to square one. He had to find something to tie another person to the crime scene, or short of recording a confession, Leo was screwed and he was partially to blame. He should’ve stayed around after graduation and actually done what he’d promised Mom he’d do—take care of his little brother. I’m doing it now, Mom, even if it’s a little too late.
Eddie swiped right on his phone in the hotel lobby as he glanced again at the check-in counter. He’d found a perfect position in a lounge chair to stake out the arriving guests. Hannah was pretending to talk to the concierge. She’d wanted to be within earshot. The two other agents on the task force were outside, monitoring the people coming in and out of the lobby.
They’d figured out who was coming in for the big meeting with Redburn—rather, he had because his skills were on point. That’s the awesomeness that had landed him in a seat where he couldn’t put his feet on the coffee table, and the closest bathroom automatically sprayed your shit with an equally crappy flower scent. All this so he could follow a couple up to their hotel room, arrest them, and then interrogate them instead of tracking down any evidence that could help his brother’s case. He should’ve held back on his badass tech skills. He should’ve never found the couple via multiple databases he had no business being in and a facial recognition program he’d written. But then he’d be back to being a poor team member, and he couldn’t stomach one more thing going wrong in his professional life. He needed to do an outstanding freaking job on this assignment so that Winter and his team could see he wasn’t incapable of doing good work. He needed redemption. His peeps at Wyn Security were his family, people he counted on. The idea that they didn’t think of him in the same way now nauseated him to his core.
Ironic, then, that George and Lilia Huntington were after the same thing. They’d landed themselves on the FBI watch list seven years ago by associating with a counterfeit ring out of Canada. The bureau had never pursued a case against them, but it started a file and added intel when possible. So far, Eddie knew that the Huntingtons lived a life of extravagance but not so much that they raised IRS flags, vacationed in tropical areas or near water—he’d guess for tactical reasons; international waters were a bitch on jurisdiction—and Lilia’s love of fine jewelry was second to none, while George enjoyed fast cars.
“Your eight o’clock.” Eddie made sure not to glance at the couple again. People who’d gotten away with this scale of illegal activity for nearly a decade did so because they trusted their instincts and erred on the side of caution.
Hannah didn’t move or flinch at the announcement; she continued to talk to the man in a suit about potential dinner reservations.
“Be calm,” Eddie whispered, spying the front desk clerk who’d been glancing at Hannah consistently since she walked in.
“I am calm,” Hannah hissed with her profile still to him.
“Not you.” Defensive much? Whatever the chip on that woman’s shoulder was, she was going to have to get over herself. Not everyone was here to please her, and not everyone was after her, either.
The couple in their pressed jeans and matching white button-down shirts led the bellhop hauling their designer luggage across the marble lobby floor to the bank of elevators. Hannah whirled on her heels. She’d changed into skinny jeans and a cargo jacket with boots, which fit right in. Not to mention her ass looked good in the tightly fitting pants. He’d kept his brown polo and jeans, going for the most nondescript look possible.
Hannah swiveled on her heels and grinned at the twenty-something clerk with a Superman comb-over. There was an extra bounce in her step as she headed directly for the desk. Did she just bat her eyelashes and laugh when he greeted her? She’s flirting with him. He shook his head and glanced at the revolving glass entrance. The agents, who’d failed to see Mr. and Mrs. Huntington come through the front door, were not in the lobby like they were supposed to be.
He pocketed his phone and met her on the walk to the elevators; careful to be sure the couple had already caught their ride up.
“Tenth floor.” Hannah flashed him the duplicated key card pocket.
“I figured they’d be in a top floor suite.” He glanced over his shoulder at the clerk who was watching Hannah’s ass. “Did you get his number?”
“Apparently they are keeping a low profile for the job.” Her brows furrowed. “Who’s number?”
“Never mind.”
After the elevator stopped, they listened for any hallway noises before stepping on the plush blue-and-gold-patterned carpet. The room they wanted was across from the exit stairwell, which couldn’t be a coincidence.
They hadn’t discussed the part where they got into the room yet. He was forming a scheme that he wasn’t so hot on—generally trying to avoid even acting desperate in front of women and coworkers. Hannah probably should’ve grabbed a maid’s outfit. Housekeepers were always trusted in hotels.
He pointed to the wall beside the door, and she stopped, angling her back against it. Too bad he didn’t figure out a way to get his lips on hers for this little play, too. He paused in front of the door and pictured himself drunk and in desperate need to make up with the woman behind the door.
“Bae,” he shouted as he pounded his fists on the center of the door. The ridiculous nickname for significant others people had these days rolled off his tongue, and he kind of liked it, “I’m sorry, bae. I love you.” He braced both hands on the frame and hung his head in front of the peephole, sniffling for good measure.
Faint steps approached on the other side of the door.
“You can’t stay mad forever,” he called out again, this time lifting his head and putting the sorriest frown on his lips he could muster. Whoever had come to the door needed to see the emotion and that he wasn’t giving up anytime soon. “You’re my lobster!”
Hannah snickered. He had to stifle a grin. If all else failed, they could always watch Friends reruns together on this stakeout.
“You have the wrong room.” A male voice held a stern warning on the other side of the door he was putting all of his weight on.
“Do you have someone in there, bae? Open this door.” Eddie banged his fists harder on the door. George wouldn’t get the option to ignore him. He was going to have to open his door, or risk other guests calling the front desk and eventually the police. “I swear to God, if you have already brought another man up to our room, our room—”
The chain clanked, and Eddie wrapped his palm around the doorframe for leverage.
“Baby, we can work this out.” He continued to sell the lie to drive home the fact that George needed to have a face-to-face conversation to make him go away.
“Your bae isn’t here.” George’s voice was clearer with the door open.
“I know.” Eddie jabb
ed his elbow up to George’s nose, connecting hard. He rushed him into the hotel room to let Hannah follow. The Misses was still in there somewhere. Which fighting skills and deadly force the couple liked to use wasn’t clear in the file, and there was no time to be wrong about them being peaceful criminals.
George took two swings, but Eddie avoided any impact and used the force of the last punch to twist George’s arm behind his back and slam him up against the door to the bathroom, pushing his forearm against George’s neck.
There was scuffling coming from the bed area, and Eddie looked over his left shoulder to glimpse Hannah.
“Kit Kat, how ya doing?” The scuffling stopped. Answer me, Hannah. Tell me you won. “Bae?” He had a gun with him, but there’d be a lot of unwanted attention if that’s what had to go down. She had two more seconds to answer him before he went after her.
“Just dandy.” Hannah’s hair was messy as she marched Lilia out from behind the bed. “Don’t call me any of those names.”
“Who are you? We don’t have any cash on us. Take the jewelry,” George rasped out with half his face still pressed firmly against the wall.
“I don’t suppose you have two sets of handcuffs on you?” Eddie called over his shoulder.
“Sure do. Brought them both for this happy occasion.”
“You’re cops? You don’t have anything on us.” Lilia’s demeanor was calm and cool, as if she were ordering fancy wine to go with a ritzy dinner.
“Let’s just see about that, shall we?” Eddie forced George over to the chair at the little window table with a view of more downtown brick buildings. The restaurant they’d be meeting Redburn at tonight was across the street, a round red awning protruding over the sidewalk. The Huntingtons might not have the penthouse suite, but these two did travel smartly. Hannah pushed Lilia down into the other chair at the table.
Eddie found their laptop, plopped down on the king-size bed, and sank two inches into the white fluff. “Whoa. This is nice. Snickerdoodle, you have to try out this bed.”
“In your dreams.” She hunkered over the Louis Vuitton luggage set and hauled the pieces up on the bed one by one.
He glanced at her as he gained access to the laptop. “Where’d you get the gloves?”
“My purse.” The satchel she had across her chest must carry a lot of work crap because she was super prepared. “Find anything yet?”
“Hold your horses, I just got in.”
“What are you looking for? We’re here on vacation.” George was going to stick to his innocent guns, apparently.
“Darling, hush, I’m not even sure they’re cops.” His wife was the smarter of the pair, clearly. “They haven’t read us our rights or told us why they’re arresting us.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” Eddie touched his index finger to his nose, then pointed at the man, who’d stopped struggling against the metal binding his hands.
“What are you looking for?” The man was persistent. It was a good thing Redburn didn’t know what these masterminds looked like; he’d hate to have to wear clothes that matched Hannah’s and bark orders like a Wall Street drone all day.
“Got it.” E-mails on meeting places with Redburn, obscure talk of money, and Seattle, all red flagged by Eddie’s virus.
“I think I have something, too.” Hannah dug around in the hard-shell suitcase with bright-colored clothes sticking out of it. Her hand emerged, grasping twenties—the most common U.S. bill counterfeited. “Bingo.” She smiled and her entire face lit up. The weariness of her lips was replaced with joy, and her dark blue eyes danced in happiness. Damn, she was beautiful.
“Care to explain that?” Eddie titled his head toward Hannah.
“It’s our traveling cash. We don’t like to put it all in one spot. Might get stolen.” Lilia arched a brow.
“You’re saying that if we test these, they won’t come back as counterfeit?” Hannah joined him near the bed, her sweet perfume surrounding him again. White chocolate—there had to be notes of that gratifying confection in her fragrance.
“Counterfeit?” George raised both brows, and for the first time, Eddie really looked at him. The damage from his elbow was apparent; George’s nose was red and swelling into the eye space, his clothes were disheveled, and his hair rumpled. But he was a good liar. The shock on his face would appear genuine to most people, but Eddie could see it in the sides of his eyes. He was guilty as hell.
Eddie decoded more of the notes on the laptop, directing the information to Hannah. “The dinner is set for tonight, as we were told”—there was a small victory in Leo’s not being a total liar—“and the deal should take place after that if all goes well.”
Hannah flipped her thumb over the money, and her hair blew back from the breeze. Then she reached into her pocket and produced her badge, flipping it out in standard form for them to see the gold shield in all its glory.
“Special Agent Hannah Malone with the FBI.” The corner of her lips started to turn up. Yeah, she definitely enjoyed that part.
Eddie kept searching the Huntingtons’ laptop for more clues on their operation and other irons they might have in the fire. If they could arrest not only Redburn and friends but catch other criminals, too, that would be a job well done indeed.
“We know you’re in town to meet with Warren Redburn,” Hannah continued, “and broker a deal on counterfeit money. I want the details that haven’t already been established.”
“Why would we do that?” Lilia crossed her legs and tried to lean back in her chair with her wrists still cuffed behind her back. The position was definitely putting uncomfortable pressure on Lilia’s upper arms and shoulders right about now.
“You’re not who we’re after. You’re small fish. I want the big fish.” Hannah sat on the edge of the dresser that held a flat-screen TV on the other end and crossed her ankles. “Help me out and I’ll help you out.”
“We have nothing to say.”
He ground his teeth. They didn’t have time for this defiance. The more time the couple wasted, the less time he had to dig into Leo’s predicament. Lilia or George had one more minute before Eddie started inserting his own pain onto their shoulders. Two fingers would be enough to dislocate it, and causing pain only got easier from there.
Wait. Yah buddy, coding to the rescue. “We don’t need them.” Eddie stood to show Hannah the screen. “You two keep really good notes, for criminals.”
“How’d you get this?” Hannah asked.
“I’m that good.” He waggled his brows at her, then turned his attention to the couple whose day just went from bad to worse. “Due to your excellent record keeping, I’m sure we’ll round up all of your friends in the next couple of days.”
“Our stuff is secure and coded.”
“I’m not just another pretty face. And my program was better at decoding than your program was at staying coded.” He closed the laptop and tucked it under his arm. He’d already sent a copy back to his own server, but he was going to keep it close by until the FBI had the information in their system.
Hannah stepped into the bathroom. He could hear her voice on the phone thanks to the sensitive earcomms, but it was faint and he could only pick up one side of the conversation. Hers.
“I need you to get to the Westin ASAP.” Her voice tensed; he could practically hear her stiffened posture, and he didn’t like it. “I don’t care what he said. Get here to take two people into custody. Double-time it.”
Ten minutes later, the two agents from the morning meeting, the ones who were supposed to be waiting downstairs this entire time, knocked on the door. Hannah intercepted them before they could enter, keeping her voice low. If she wanted them to ask the Huntingtons specific questions in the interrogation, then it would make sense to keep quiet, but there were also sudden lines on her forehead and stiffness to her back. And he could hear exactly what she said this time; it sounded like the agents were to keep how they’d intercepted the Huntingtons to themselves and report their findings only to
her.
That could be standard operating procedure for a task force. But he hadn’t had a bad vibe this strong since ... well, this morning during Leo’s interrogation. There was more to Hannah’s story.
He didn’t have time to play the guessing game, out loud or internally. Right now he and Hannah had to get ready for the next step in the plan—impersonate the Huntingtons at dinner tonight with Redburn. There were records to sift through so they were up to speed, whether the young ones got anything out of the couple they’d just whisked away or not. His guess was not, unless the couple wised up and cut a deal for reduced sentencing. Part of him hoped that they didn’t get off that easily.
The other part of him was focused on Hannah. By all accounts, she’d just made a big bust by taking down counterfeiters and potentially their cohorts, and yet she wasn’t chomping at the bit to book them and take the credit—things he expected someone with grand career plans would do.
The door slammed, and he set his laptop on the table. He’d dig into more e-mails later. After he and Hannah had a deep and loving conversation about her honesty.
“I thought the juniors were outside this entire time. Why did you have to call them over?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. She froze just as she made it to the suitcase on the bed.
“How did you know that?” The anger in her glare was real, and so was the surprise.
“I told you the earcomms are very sensitive.” He tapped his ear. “I can hear everything when you’re wearing it.”
Her gaze diverted to the phone in her hand. “They were called away and had to come back.”
“That makes no sense.” There was a legit reason he kept stepping closer: She needed to be pressed for information. “You just let them leave us without backup?” He felt his neck heat. Hannah’s sexiness aside, teams didn’t leave each other high and dry. He knew better than anyone from his army days. People worked in teams for a reason, and if he couldn’t trust Hannah or the rest of her people, they were going to have a problem. Scratch that. They had a problem.