by Desiree Holt
He had no idea who she was. The clothes she wore had no pockets, so she wasn’t carrying any identification. He hadn’t even been able to find the key to her car, and hadn’t that taken some fast talking with the tow truck guy. All the while, by the way, cursing the added attention he might be calling to himself. But leaving her car there wasn’t a real option. What if there was something in there that could adversely affect this mission? She had, after all, broken into Bostic’s house the way he had.
Where had she come from, anyway? What had she been looking for? In the time he’d taken to learn everything he could about the politician, he hadn’t found even a hint of anyone else sniffing around the man. Oh, he was well aware his quarry’s nasty business dealings weren’t as secret as the man would like, but he threw so much money around no one wanted to tackle the situation. Certainly no other politicians who didn’t want him to bury them.
So, who in the fucking hell was she?
He glanced at her pausing in his work to decipher the thumb drives he’d copied from Bostic’s safe. She seemed to be breathing normally, and her color wasn’t too pale. If she didn’t wake up by herself in a few minutes, he’d wake her himself. He wondered who the hell she was and what the fuck she was doing in Bostic’s house.
He guessed her height to be about five foot seven. Her thick black hair had been pulled back into a ponytail stuck through the opening in the back of a ball cap. A long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, both black, although loose, did little to disguise what appeared to be a lithe, very toned, athletic figure. When he’d had her bouncing over his shoulder, he’d have had to be dead not to notice the nice round softness of her breasts or the silkiness of her skin where his hand brushed against it.
Can it, Holden. You don’t need a boner when you have work to do.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman for anything more than the most casual sex. This certainly wasn’t the time to break a pattern, but, hell, he was only human.
What the hell was she doing breaking into Bostic’s office, anyway? It wasn’t as difficult for him as it might be for the average burglar, but he was far from average and had exceptional skills and training. Where had this woman come from?
He continued to keep her in his peripheral vision as he uploaded data into a specific program to manipulate it. He was instantly alert when he heard a soft moan from the direction of the couch. He looked over as she shifted position and sat up. He could have told her to take it easy, but apparently he was too late. She sat up too fast and immediately flopped back onto the cushions. For the next several moments he waited, poised to prevent her leaving or screaming.
She did neither. She sat up again, this time much slower, looking around in the darkened room. His sharp eyesight noticed she had arranged her face into a deliberate mask, giving nothing away. Very slowly, she slipped one hand around her waistband. When she looked over at him, he nodded.
“I have your gun.” He nodded to where it lay on his desk. “Pretty big weapon for you to be carrying around. Don’t see too many women with a Browning 1911 with ACP 380 ammo. Didn’t realize the streets of Tampa were that dangerous.”
She shrugged. “Depends where you are.”
He looked down at his keyboard but kept her in his peripheral vision, waiting for her to make her move.
She snorted. “Relax. I’m not stupid enough to try to escape from a guy who can render me unconscious with his pinkie.”
“And I’m not stupid enough to take my eyes off you,” he countered. “So. If you don’t want to answer my question about the gun, how about telling me why you were sneaking into Senator Drake Bostic’s house?”
She laughed, a sound harsh and soft at the same time. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” When he didn’t say anything, she shrugged. “Okay, I guess we could keep this up all night except I have things to do and this couch lacks a lot in the comfort department.” She pushed on the cushions as if testing their softness.
He could have told her there wasn’t one soft thing in this house, including him.
Silence filled the room, thick and suffocating. For interminable moments, neither of them spoke. Grey continued working the computer program, always keeping the woman in his peripheral vision.
“Where’s my car?” she said at last.
“In my driveway.”
“Well.” She gave a short laugh. “A man who can drive two cars at once. Remarkable.”
He made no comment. His training had taught him that if he waited long enough in a situation like this, the other person would feel compelled to speak, to jack up the conversation, find out what the hell was going on. A lot of information had tumbled out this way. But Grey had the niggling sense this woman would be different. She hadn’t demanded to know what she was doing there, or why he had rendered her unconscious. She didn’t yell at him to tell her what was going on or threaten to call the cops if he didn’t let her go. He had the sense she knew attempting escape would be fruitless, and she was just as prepared to wait it out as he was.
A good thirty minutes passed, and she still hadn’t said another word, just sat there. The only thing she’d done was lean back and pull her legs up to sit cross-legged. Who in hell was she, anyway, that she carried a powerful handgun and seemed to have as much discipline as he did? Military? Private security? If so, who had hired her to dig into Bostic’s business?
At the forty-five minute mark, she cleared her throat.
Okay, here we go. “Yes?”
“I assume you might shoot me if I try to head out the door,” she said, “but is it safe to use the bathroom?”
He almost laughed. He could really like her if he let himself. He minimized the document on his screen and pushed back his chair.
“This way.” He indicated the short hallway with his hand.
“Are you planning to come in with me?” She turned her head and gave him a half-smile over her shoulder as he followed her down the hallway.
“Not unless you have the idea you can crawl out the window and get away. I should point out, however, it has bars on it.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Leave before I find out what the hell this is all about? Not on your life.”
Grey stood there, staring at the door she closed in his face. Who the hell is this woman? She had to have some kind of balls to behave this way. Practically every other woman he’d ever met would either be pitching a fit or screaming for him to tell her what was going on. Or, worse yet, dissolving in tears. Of course, none of them would have had the moxie to break into Bostic’s heavily protected house.
He still stood there, rattling it through his brain, when the door opened and he found himself practically nose to nose with her. And what a nose it was. In the dim light from the hall fixture, he got his first good look at her face. High cheekbones and a softly rounded jawline were accented by pouty lips that under very, very different circumstances he’d be in a hurry to lick. Her eyes were a dark green, framed by the thickest lashes he’d ever seen, and everything was painted on a canvas of delicate olive skin.
Jesus!
He had major business here, and it didn’t include slobbering over this woman’s attributes, especially since he had no idea how she fit into the whole picture yet. Maybe it was just too long since he’d gotten laid, but sex had not been on his to-do list since Lucky’s death.
The silent treatment hadn’t worked, so he decided to try a different tack.
“I’m getting some coffee,” he told her. “Care for a cup?”
She tilted her head and gave him a quizzical look. “I might if I knew whether I’m here as your prisoner or your guest.”
“Have some coffee with me, and maybe you’ll find out. And maybe you’ll also tell me what you were doing in Senator Drake Bostic’s private den.”
“We’ll see.” She shrugged. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
When they were seated across from each other at the small kitchen table, they spent a long moment in
a stare down. Grey swallowed a tiny smile of satisfaction when she looked away first.
“Took longer than I thought,” he told her. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“I could ask you the same thing. And what’s with all this electronic equipment?” She waved toward the living room. “Some new kind of décor?”
Another long moment of silence. He could tell she had the discipline to wait for his answer, but his control was greater. He could wait her out.
“Okay, I’ll play.” She swallowed some coffee. “I’m a cop. What’s your excuse for this exercise?”
He laughed. “A cop breaking into Bostic’s house? I thought he owned all of you.”
She wrinkled her nose as if she’d just smelled something unpleasant. “Not this one, damn it.” She took another drink of her coffee and sat up straighter. “Maybe that’s why I was at his house tonight. Why were you there?”
Grey had survived as long as he had by learning when to trust his gut, and right now his gut told him this woman was not the enemy. But he had to step carefully here. If his instincts were wrong, the whole thing could fall apart and he’d never take the senator down. And he could see this woman sizing him up much as he’d done to her.
The stare down continued until at last she sighed.
“I guess if you were going to kill me or torture me, you’d already have done it.” She drained the last of her coffee. “I’m a cop, but not one Bostic owns.”
He nodded. “I guessed that. His pet cops wouldn’t be breaking and entering in his house. So, what’s your deal with him? Not enough money coming your way?”
She clenched her fists, and, for a moment, he thought she might actually reach out and strike him. She did her best to blank her face, but the anger in her eyes flared so hot it almost singed him.
“I’m a real cop, asshole, not one who’s for sale. I just got fed up seeing his crap one too many times.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
Chapter Five
Athena gave the man sitting across from her an unblinking look. She couldn’t figure out what the hell his game was. Other than rendering her unconscious, of course, and hauling her ass to…wherever the hell they were, he hadn’t harmed her. Hadn’t drawn a weapon. Hadn’t restrained her from leaving, although she was pretty damn sure he’d strike quick as a snake if she tried. Hadn’t made any threatening moves, although he had an air about him that said they lay just below the surface.
Unexpected raw sensuality simmered in the room like a heavy fog, tantalizing their senses. She sensed danger around him, but, oddly enough, not to herself. Broad shoulders defined a lean body rippling with muscle, and he had the air of a jungle animal, a panther stealthily stalking its prey until it was ready to pounce. Every hormone in her body did a tarantella trying to get her attention. There was an electricity about him, a raw sensuality that made her want to rip off her clothes and his even as she assessed the level of danger in the situation and wondered who the hell this guy was.
Whatever he was doing obviously required a lot of very expensive electronic equipment. When she’d opened her eyes, her first sight of him had been in the center of a U-shape made with long folding aluminum tables covered with enough stuff to run a small country.
What the hell? Her life was so fucked up, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had flipped her switches the way this one did with nothing more than a look and his presence. She had no doubt she could outwait him, but she was getting tired of playing this game. And she wanted to know why he was at Bostic’s house. What his axe to grind was.
“Okay.” She leaned back and blew out a breath. “Yes, Bostic’s money buys him a hands-off policy with the police department. I started keeping a record of how many times he managed to slide through, although I have no idea what to do with it. No one in this town will risk offending him or his megabucks.”
“So the cops here are on his payroll?”
“Not everyone,” she added quickly, “but enough of the top brass so that he skates on everything.”
“Like what?”
“Like the other night, when one of his young interns came into the station to make a report.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth. “She’s not the first one he’s played games with in his office—rough games, I might add—and I’m sure she won’t be the last.”
He watched her through narrowed eyes. “So, what happened that sent you scouting in his house?”
“I took the girl into one of the interview rooms to take her statement.” Athena’s stomach cramped as her thoughts traveled back to the other night. “She was frightened to death, scared no one would believe her. Didn’t even bring a friend with her. And she had some pretty spectacular bruises.”
“Fuck.” The epithet exploded softly.
“Exactly.” She shifted in her chair, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. “Anyway, I was trying to be as gentle with her as possible when the chief of detectives and our captain busted into the room and Captain Marcel took the whole thing out of my hands.”
“You mean he kicked you out of the room?”
“Worse. He took the young girl away and said he’d finish with her himself.”
“Son of a bitch.” The man across from her slammed a fist on the table.
“Exactly. I knew the drill. He’s done it before. Terrorize the victim, dump a bunch of cash on her, and make the whole thing go away. Not to mention a number of other dirty deals he manipulates.” She rubbed a hand over her face, as if she could make the memory go away. “My lieutenant isn’t as bad, but he goes along with it. He likes his job, and some of that cash finds its way into his pocket.”
“What did you do?” he asked.
“About the only thing I could. I told my LT I was sick of the mess. That I was taking some of my accumulated leave time, and I’d let him know if and when I’d be back.”
The man frowned at her. “And he just let you go?”
She shrugged. “What was he going to do? If he made a scene, it would generate too many questions. But he knows I’m at my limit with the situation. I’m a cop, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is, but I’m a cop because I want to help people, not take payoffs and look the other way.”
“Grey,” he said.
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“It’s my name. Grey Holden.”
“Oh.” She sat back, studying him. The name suited him. His hair was steel grey—but not the kind that came with age—and his eyes were the color of slate. He wasn’t handsome by any means, but he had the most masculine face she’d seen in a long time, with sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. This man was all business. He sure didn’t look like a guy who would just blurt out his name. Okay, then. She reached her hand across the table.
“Athena Madero.”
When he took her hand in his to shake, a powerful current sharp enough to fry her hair sizzled from her hand along her arm and into the rest of her body. She was glad she was wearing a T-shirt because it made it almost impossible for him to see how her nipples had suddenly hardened and peaked, or catch sight of the pulse she could feel pounding at the base of her throat. And, surprisingly, a heavy throbbing in the walls of her sex she hadn’t felt in much longer than she cared to think.
Who and what the hell was this man, anyway? His grip was firm but not crushing, and was it her imagination that he held her hand a few seconds longer than normal?
“What is it you do, Grey Holden? Military? Mercenary? Soldier of fortune?”
“First, tell me why you were in Bostic’s house tonight. Surely not looking for more evidence of sexual abuse.”
Athena chewed her bottom lip, trying to figure out how to phrase this. Would he think she was drinking tainted juice if she blurted out the rumors she’d heard? Seeing too many movies? Watching too much television?
Oh, well, what the hell.
“I have heard rumors here and there,” she told him. “Rumors that the senator makes the bulk of his
money dealing in illegal arms to terrorists. In Africa and the Middle East,” she added, then leaned back and waited to see if he called her crazy.
But instead, he sat there, fixing her with that penetrating gaze, his expression giving away nothing.
“You think I’m nuts, right?” She shrugged. “What I expected. But what were you doing there? What were you looking for?”
Although his face gave nothing away, she could sense him debating with himself exactly how much to tell her.
“Where are your credentials?” he asked at last. “Where’s your identification?”
“What? In my car. Locked in the glove compartment.” She frowned. “Now you ask for it?”
“Do you have some kind of magic ignition?” he asked. “You sure don’t have any hiding places on you for a key.”
She laughed and lifted one foot, resting it on her knee, and undid the laces on her shoe. Carefully, she opened the little pocket inside the instep and removed the key. “Ta-da!” She held it up for him to see.
“I’m getting rusty, dammit.” He mumbled curses beneath his breath. “I had other things on my mind and wasn’t as thorough as I should be. Stuff like that will get me killed if I’m not more careful.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “I’m obviously not going to shoot you. You have my gun.”
“That’s beside the point,” he muttered, letting loose another string of curses. “Okay, I want to see your identification. Then we’ll go from there.”
She could have tried to get away from him when they went outside to her car, but she figured it would be a useless effort. Besides, she wanted to know his reason for targeting Bostic. Maybe they could work together. She was smart enough to know this was going to be more than she could handle herself.
“Okay,” he said when that was taken care of. “I’m satisfied you are who you say you are. Tell me exactly what you were looking for at Bostic’s. Certainly you don’t think he keeps a record of the girls he abuses.”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Wait. Don’t answer that.”