by Lauren Dane
“You want me to be your new courier to Japan and pick up phony documents and cash. Right, Mr. Briggs?” I said, the vodka cruising to my brain in a slow, easy fashion. I will not get dizzy. “Who would ever suspect me? I’m perfect for the job. After all, I wrote the damn video game program.”
I burped. Loud.
Mr. Briggs didn’t notice. He was too busy freaking out, praying no one had heard me. I don’t know where my sassiness came from. Either Cindy was a damned good acting teacher or three martinis was a damned good incentive.
“She’s crazy, Seymour,” Ms. Sims said, pulling on his arm. “Don’t agree to anything.”
“Are you going to let her run your business, Mr. Briggs?” I said, not letting up. I was enjoying this. Big-time.
“No,” he began, “but Ms. Sims is in charge of the overseas accounts.”
I was sweating pink. Hot and heavy. I still didn’t have his confession.
I made one more try.
“I need this job, Mr. Briggs. Say you’ll hire me to move cash for you, please!” I begged him. Jeez, that was dumb. Overkill. I broke the spy rules. I couldn’t help it. My pulse kicked up its heels higher than I wanted to go. My desperation showed.
Something popped in Ms. Sims’s brain.
She looked me up and down. I swear she was onto me and knew the fake diamond pin stuck in my cleavage was a recorder. “Something smells fishy here, Seymour. Who let her in here?”
“Who cares?” he said, going postal. “I’m hiring her to be a courier for us. If I don’t, she’ll go to the feds and tell them everything she found on your computer. The phony companies, the overseas dirty money, everything.”
“Keep your mouth shut!” Ms. Sims swiveled her head from left to right. She gasped loudly when she saw Steve and two men in plainclothes closing in on her. “You fool! You damned fool. Look what you’ve done.”
She pushed me hard, knocking the glass out of my hand, then bolted. She left poor Mr. Briggs wiping his forehead and demanding he be allowed to talk to his lawyer. I ignored him. Steve could take care of him. Ms. Sims was right. Something did smell. Her exotic dill weed perfume lingered in the air.
I jammed after her.
This was one takedown I was going to enjoy.
* * *
Ms. Sims had the advantage. No one knew why she was running. She could be headed to the bathroom to toss up the fried squid kebabs. Or reapply her demon-red lipstick. She also hadn’t downed three dirty martinis and she was used to maneuvering the corporate world in sky-high heels. I wasn’t. That didn’t stop me. I sprinted through the devil’s lair like a regular speed freak, my arms flailing about like I was a roller derby queen.
Nothing could stop me.
Until—
A trio of businessmen blocked my way. They were trying to look up a model’s skirt when she bent over to pick up her earring.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I busted out, knocking off a Japanese businessman’s glasses when I zinged past him. Then I slammed into a waiter carrying a tray of empty plastic champagne flutes. Down we went like dominos. I heard the loud crunch of plastic under my butt as I landed.
Ouch.
Huffing and puffing, pulse racing, I yanked off my silver-heeled kicks and then got to my feet and took off. I ran out into the hallway and looked up and down, but Ms. Sims had disappeared.
Damn.
I figured she was hiding in the bathroom, when—
There she was. Heading toward the exit. Two purple potted palms stood on either side of the private elevator.
I took off, my bare feet gliding over the plush plum carpeting so fast I was almost airborne. I was determined to grab her before she got into the elevator.
“Stop, FBI!” I shouted out. I have no idea where my courage came from to falsely identify myself as a fed, but it seemed like a good idea. I opened my purse and pulled out an expired department store credit card and flashed it under the overhead light.
Gold, it wasn’t.
Tarnished pewter, maybe.
Like my ass, if I didn’t make the collar. Talk about being in the moment, as Cindy would say. Anyway, Ms. Sims turned around and saw my feeble attempt at pulling this off.
She threw back her head and laughed. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“No joke, Ms. Sims,” I said, so close to her I could smell her revolting perfume. “I—I’m with the FBI.”
Technically, I wasn’t lying. I was with the feds, but I wasn’t one of them. Yet I had sense of belonging, knowing I’d helped them get the dirt on these two. I knew now Ms. Sims was the instigator and poor Mr. Briggs was her patsy. His kingdom for a lay. Why did men always fall for that stunt?
What mattered most to me was that I didn’t give up. Didn’t let my fears sidetrack me. I could do this. I got a funny chill then. A strange sense this was what Steve wanted me to feel, that I had the moxie to make it as a federal agent.
I soon discovered it wasn’t all about flashing a badge and giving a shout out.
The doors opened and Ms. Sims raced into the elevator all smiles and then pushed over a potted plant to block me from following her. Dirt flew everywhere.
“I always said you were dirt under my feet.” She jabbed the elevator buttons to make the doors close.
“You won’t sweep me away that easily,” I shot back, and then I shoved my bod through the doors seconds before they closed on my boobs.
Ms. Sims was one angry conspirator.
She smashed her palm into my face and then pulled my hair. I refused to let her petty chick move throw me off balance. I kicked her in the shin. She yelped, but that didn’t stop her. She ripped off the pin attached to the front of my low-cut dress with her claws, scratching my shoulder and making me wince.
Oh, yeah? No one takes my decoder pin.
I grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard until she dropped it. She yanked on my exposed bra strap. It broke and my breast fell out of my C-cup.
What the hell?
I wasn’t going to let a bare tit stop me.
I’d shown more skin at the sushi restaurant.
I dove at her while she tried to get the doors open; she sidestepped me. I pushed her; she shoved me back. She punched the buttons, the doors opened, she tried to get out. I tripped her. She went down like a long-legged giraffe with an angry lioness hot on its tail, her butt up in the air. I jumped on her back and straddled her before she had a chance to kick me, and then I pulled her arms back toward me and did what any good FBI agent would do if they didn’t have a plastic zip-tie.
I cuffed her with the long chain on my silver-sequined purse.
* * *
“I couldn’t have hogtied her better myself, Pepper,” Steve said, wrapping a black velvet tablecloth around my shoulders. I shivered when his hand slipped to my bare breast. Thank God, no one could see him.
“Too bad you missed the foxy catfight,” I said, loving his touch. He was giving me what I wanted and needed, and I would take down the inglorious Ms. Sims all over again if he promised not to stop.
“Thank God, you weren’t hurt,” he said. He nuzzled his face in my hair, his breath hot on the back of my neck. I got all warm and fuzzy inside, hearing his words.
He hustled me through the chaos, taking control, answering the questions thrown at us. Even in the dim light, I could see his eyes were on fire, his whole body moving in exact precision. As if he were in the heat of battle. Orchestrating the takedown of Mr. Briggs and Ms. Sims smoothly and with the expertise and know-how of a trained field agent.
That was when it hit me.
This was how an FBI agent operated in the real world, not the virtual fantasy sandbox where I played. Fool. I’d been so caught up in “being in the moment,” I’d turned that moment into a sideshow. I imagined the two federal agents muttering
to each other that I overreacted, backed up with comments about me being a typical female, even if I did take down the target.
I dropped my chin to my chest. I was ashamed of my bravado, my tasteless theatrics. I was no closer to joining the FBI now than I’d been before tonight. The truth was, my dream seemed further away than ever.
I didn’t tell Steve how I felt. He had high hopes for me and I’d let him down. Yet I couldn’t believe how he kept me close to him, protecting me, while he barked orders to the hotel staff to serve drinks and keep the party going. The situation was intense, edgy, and the sooner they cleaned up the scene and got their prisoners out of here, the sooner everyone would forget the FBI had shown up as an uninvited guest.
Everyone except Mr. Briggs.
He couldn’t resist a parting shot at me before they took him away in handcuffs. He pulled hard to get away from the agent gripping his arm to have his say.
“You never would have caught on to me without Miss Smarty-Pants here,” he sputtered, glaring at me. If looks could kill, I was among the walking dead. “I should have fired her months ago.”
“Then why didn’t you?” I looked right back at him and didn’t blink a phony lash.
“Because you were the best programmer I ever had.” He shook his head. “Who would have thought the FBI hired agents that smart.”
I beamed. Damn, that felt good. My ex-boss thinking I was an agent and giving me the credit for his takedown.
“Briggs is right, Pepper,” Steve whispered in my ear. “It’s your collar.”
I nodded, loving hearing him say that. But this was no cop show. I had stepped through the fourth wall tonight and become part of the real world. I could no longer hide behind my glasses. Nor did I want to.
“That doesn’t mean the next time I want you running around cuffing suspects half-naked,” Steve continued, his voice stern. We headed toward the parking garage, the party chatter and clinking glasses behind us, the plush gold-and-red carpeting under my bare feet masking our footsteps. “The Bureau has rules about that.”
“The next time?” I asked, my pulse racing.
“Fighting white-collar crime is important business, Pepper,” he said, “and you’ve got the talents the Bureau is looking for.”
“What about my employment record? Ms. Sims deleted everything.” I kept pace with him, stretching my neck to keep my head level with his chin, emphasizing my height sans heels as if to prove to him I was no slouch. That I could fight cybercrime and keep the workplace safe for all of us who sit down at a computer every morning and log on with a cup of java and a Twitter addiction.
“A few phone calls to the right sources and we’ll have your job record cleared,” he said. “And your back-unemployment checks.”
“You forgot one thing,” I said, hating to bring it up. “I’ve got a record with the FBI.”
Steve grinned. “After what you did for the investigation tonight, I can convince Jordan to make sure there’s no account of you slamming me on the back of the neck. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she pushed your paperwork through pronto.”
I smiled. Jordan. His sexy boss. Cool.
“We’ll get you set up for the second phase of testing,” he continued, “and when you pass—”
I loved hearing that. His words gave me the confidence I would need to get through the process.
“—I don’t see why you can’t start your training at the academy with the next class.” Steve paused in the dark stairway and kissed me. Not sexy. Deeper than that. Soulful. Caring. Something I always wanted but never had. “On one condition, Miss O’Malley.”
“What’s that?” I breathed, knowing I’d agree to anything with his lips so close to mine, his hand playing with my bare breast under the black velvet.
“You have to follow the rules of the game.”
“Like you do?” I asked.
He smiled, but he didn’t answer me.
“Do you agree?” he said, leading me to his unmarked car. Double-parked.
“Yes.”
Keep it simple. No wordy explanations, no begging.
“And you’re sure you have what it takes to be a special agent?” he asked, unlocking the passenger door.
“Yes.”
“There’s no stopping you, no matter what they throw at you?”
“No.” My heart was racing, drawing all my reserve together to keep focused, make my dream crystallize.
He jumped into the car. I followed. “Then be at my place tomorrow night at eight o’clock sharp.” He gunned the engine and sexy vibrations zapped through me like I was hot-wired. My libido went from zero to ninety in a heartbeat. “I’ll show you the ropes.”
He gave me the address in his clipped, agentlike manner, not repeating it, expecting me to set each word in my mind and not forget it.
“I’ll be there,” I told him. He smiled and then jammed his old Buick out of the underground parking garage like Batman on a mission. I held on tight.
Boy, will I.
Chapter Seven
Eight o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.
Steve laid out the tools of his trade in a precise manner, taking care to make certain the sake was cooled to room temperature, the linen ropes smooth and pliable, the roses’ effusive scent intoxicating.
And his dick hard.
He didn’t have to worry about that. His groin tightened, his breath quickened. He remembered how his agent-in-training moved when he was in her, her back dipping instinctively to meet him as he drove her home. Him yearning to finger her in her most secret place. Her knowing only that the burn between her legs intensified with each stroke. Moaning like a slave begging her master to take her. To fuck her. Her pleasure mixed with her curiosity, like sipping fine wine from a king’s silver goblet. The taste was made sweeter by the experience.
Steve tied the rope into an intricate knot, winding it this way and that. Precise, its artistry appealing to the eye. Cool to the skin. Such a knot would make Pepper squirm when he wrapped it around her breasts and then pulled on it. Gently, then harder...making it tighter. Making her moan. He couldn’t wait to see her breasts standing up, her nipples erect.
He looked at the clock. Ten minutes before eight.
Would she be on time?
Or would she run from the challenge?
He imagined she was filled with apprehension, her emotions over the top, her heart pounding.
Her juices flowing.
He was betting on her avid curiosity to break down any resistance. Especially after she’d had a taste of what she could do when she’d taken down Sims. And Briggs. Using the computer files and taped confession secured “from a reliable source” as evidence, he’d had no trouble getting a search warrant to raid the offices of Seymour T. Briggs for paper documents and additional computer files relevant to the ongoing investigation.
All that was left to wrap things up was to bring Pepper into the Bureau.
Steve knew what he was getting into. He was putting himself on the line, something he’d never done before. But she’d changed his mind about training a woman with the techie mind of a computer programmer. She was soft and curvy and all female. She’d impressed him with her raw talent and sex-on-top-of-the-copier routine. She was a natural. He couldn’t wait to begin her training. Not every woman would consent to enjoy the erotic evening he had planned.
He had no doubt Pepper would.
Her big green eyes staring at him, her full, pink lips parted in wonder, her high cheekbones finely sculpted. Innocent, but as sexy as all get-out. His mind flipped through his mental notes again as he’d done every night since he met her.
Tall. Big breasts. Great legs.
Long, flyaway hair that shimmered red-gold like a never-ending sunset.
But there was more to her
than her gorgeous bod.
Her curiosity amazed him. Her smarts challenged him. And her brazenness charmed him. In a world of spies and counterspies, secrets and lies that often left him frustrated and disillusioned, Pepper was the one real thing he could count on. A woman who said what she meant and looked damned sexy saying it. No regrets, no teasing a man until he couldn’t walk straight and then dropping him like a hot poker. She played it straight. Shot from the hip. And fit into his arms perfectly, her head snuggled against his chest, his arms snaked around her beautiful curves.
He couldn’t tell her how he felt. Not yet. First, he had to get her into the spy game.
And then?
It was up to her.
He was convinced Pepper had a bright future at the Bureau. If she could learn to trust her instincts and believe in herself. Years of self-doubt had wound themselves around her ego like a tight rope. Taut and unbreakable in her mind. Choking her ambition. That was where he came in.
Steve had planned this special evening to give her that confidence.
He had concealed his feelings well, giving small hints of his intentions toward her. Why not? She fit the profile of a good special agent. Reading body language. Going on the offensive when confronted with a difficult situation. Not backing down.
He’d never forget how she yelled out “Stop, FBI!” in a loud, convincing voice. He had to smile. He could imagine her racing after the elusive Ms. Sims, Pepper’s big breasts bouncing up and down. Christ, he couldn’t contain himself when he’d caught up to her and saw her beautiful tit exposed, her pointed nipple tempting him. His first instinct was to take her hard bud into his mouth and suck on it.
He would have if they’d been alone.
They weren’t.
His two backup agents couldn’t take their eyes off her. Steve had ripped a black velvet cloth off a table and wrapped it around her. He still remembered her soft mewling, her head against his shoulder. Then they did a fist bump. It was a moment he’d never forget. He’d ignored his cell phone ringing. Jordan. His only thought: protect Pepper at all costs. For the first time in his career, he let his heart rule his head. He knew that wasn’t how an undercover agent acted, that getting too close to the witness often led to guilt feelings if there was any screwup.