by Mandy Baxter
Charlie got out of the car and took a moment to gather her thoughts. By being here, she wanted Mason to know that he couldn’t get anything past her. That she had his number, and damn it, she would not be made a fool of. He wasn’t in charge. Not even close. Scheduling meetings off the books—unacceptable. Not to mention damned shady. Charlie wanted the win but not at the expense of sacrificing her integrity. Decker obviously wasn’t trustworthy. Even if he managed to get anything on Eagan, who would believe him? An unreliable witness was useless. Not following proper procedure would sink her case.
They could find another way to flip Eagan. Mason was out and Charlie was going to put an end to his involvement with the task force right here and now. She’d bring conspiracy charges against him so fast it would make his head spin.
She smoothed a hand over her hair and headed into the prison. She showed her DOJ badge and signed in at the front desk.
A moment later, one of the prison staff met her. “Charlie?” He reached out and shook her hand. “Evan Hill. I’m the chief facility security supervisor. Decker’s in the visitation area with his father right now.”
Charlie fell into step beside him. “How long has he been here?”
“Not long,” Evan replied. “A half hour or so.”
“And no one else has shown up yet?”
“Not yet.” Charlie quickened her pace to keep up with Evan as they hustled down the hallway. “Besides Mason Decker, there’s a Max Clark on Jensen’s visitors list for today.”
The name didn’t ring a bell, but that didn’t matter. It could be an alias. Adrenaline pooled in Charlie’s muscles. If this Max Clark was in fact Eagan, it would be best to ambush Mason and get him the hell out of there before he showed up.
God, Charlie. What in the hell are you doing?
She was a planner. Flying by the seat of her pants wasn’t Charlie’s thing. She wouldn’t be made a fool of, though. Not by Mason Decker, or anyone. No way was she going to lose control over her task force or the people in it. She was in charge. Period. She didn’t need Mason to get the win. Carrera would just have to live with her decision to remove him.
A loud buzzer preceded the opening of a heavy metal door that led to the visiting area. “There are guards inside. If you need help or run into trouble, you’ll be covered.”
She smiled her appreciation at Evan. “Thanks.” The only person who was going to need help was Mason Decker after she raked his ass over the coals.
From across the room she spotted him deep in conversation with his father. For a moment, Charlie was taken aback by the similarities between the two men. They shared the same rugged good looks, the same striking green eyes and sharp features. Through Jensen Decker, Charlie got a glimpse of what Mason would someday look like, and it proved that he’d only get better with age. Good looks or not, Mason had screwed the pooch. No one fucked with Charlie’s task force and got away with it. Not when she stood to lose so much.
Her heels clacked on the industrial flooring as she strode toward their table. The sound drew Mason’s attention and he caught sight of her from the corner of his eye. A momentary glimmer of shock crossed his face, but he recovered quickly and replaced it instead with recognition. Jensen’s brow furrowed and his mouth formed a hard line. He murmured something to Mason and he gave a quick response before pushing out his chair and turning toward Charlie.
“You’re late.” His growled response sent a tingle up Charlie’s spine. “But Kieran isn’t here yet so it’s no big deal.”
What in the hell … ? His words threw her for a loop. She opened her mouth to let him have it, but before she could say a single word, Mason cut her off.
“Jensen, this is Charlie Sinclair. She brokers in rare gems and her specialty is diamonds. Charlie, meet the infamous Jensen Decker.”
Diamonds? Sinclair? Huh? Charlie looked at Mason. The hard glint in his eyes and the stern set of his jaw told her that she’d better roll with the punches or the consequences could be dire. She’d seen defense attorneys look at their clients that way. Especially when they knew their case didn’t have a leg to stand on.
Shit! Charlie was beginning to think that waltzing in here to shit-can Mason might not have been the best idea.
“It’s an honor to meet the legend in person,” Charlie replied as smoothly as she could, despite the shock that hadn’t quite worn off. It was true, though. Jensen Decker was a rock star among criminals. She still had no idea in hell what was going on, but she’d play along—for now. “Sorry I’m late.”
Jensen turned a caustic eye on his son. “It would have been nice if you’d told me beforehand you were inviting another player to the table. Kieran isn’t going to like this.”
A corner of Mason’s mouth hitched in a sardonic smile. He snagged a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up for Charlie to sit. “Are you kidding? He lives for shit like this. It won’t faze him in the least.”
Jensen looked as though he wanted to disagree but held his tongue. “So, tell me, Charlie, how long have you been a broker?”
She hated being put on the spot. Hated it. Improv wasn’t exactly her thing, but it appeared as though she had no choice but to wing it. “About five years. I was a buyer for Tiffany’s before that.”
“Decided to move out of the private sector, huh?”
“Yeah, well.” Charlie laughed. “You’ve gotta go where the money is, know what I mean?”
Jensen winked. The man was certainly as charming as his reputation suggested. Not even close to as growly and grumpy as his broody son.
“Where are your stones coming from?” Jensen asked.
It was a damn good thing she’d brushed up on the black-market diamond trade prior to convening this task force. She suspected it might be the only thing currently keeping her ass out of a sling. “India mostly. I don’t dabble with the raw material. I won’t touch a single stone until it’s cut and polished and accompanied by a passable Kimberley certificate.”
Jensen snorted. “Most brokers don’t like to get their hands dirty. You let the smugglers do all the heavy lifting and pull in a hefty commission in the process.”
Charlie shrugged. “I have the connections. Without the buyers, there would be no need to smuggle the stones out of Africa in the first place. Guys like you have a job because of people like me.”
Jensen broke out into good-natured laughter. “True.” He looked at Mason. “I like her.”
Mason cut her a look from the corner of his eye and Charlie let out a slow sigh that she hoped no one noticed. She kept her hands in her lap, clenched tight to keep them from shaking. She hadn’t been this nervous since the bar exam.
The buzzer signaled that the door to the visiting room was about to open again and Charlie jumped. Beside her, Mason took her forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. She really wished she was better at deciphering nonverbal communication, because she wasn’t sure if the contact had meant to be reassuring or a warning.
All eyes turned toward the door, and an anxious knot rose in Charlie’s throat. Things had gone from bad to worse as Kieran Eagan crossed the room to where they sat. Of all of the stupid decisions Charlie had ever made in her life, waltzing in here to confront Mason was by far the stupidest.
So far, she was doing a bang-up job of proving who was in charge.
Chapter Five
Mason teetered between feeling the urge to protect and throttle Charlie all at once. Of all the people he could have imagined walking through that door, she was dead last. So far, she hadn’t managed to screw him over, but that wasn’t saying much. She could have blown his cover right off the bat, and it was a miracle she’d gotten Mason’s hint and played along.
Charlie Cahill wasn’t stupid—current situation aside—and for that, Mason could be thankful. They’d yet to pass this quickly contrived cover story over on Kieran, though. It was way too soon to get comfortable.
“Hell, Mason, if I’d have known you were bringing a beautiful woman with you I would have made sure to be h
ere on time.”
Mason stood and Kieran rounded the table to embrace him. It had been almost a decade since he’d seen his childhood friend, his adopted brother, the surrogate son his dad wished Mason would’ve grown up to be like. For a long time, Kieran had been Mason’s only family. His confidant. Sometimes it was hard to believe they’d chosen such different paths, considering their shared upbringing. They were two sides of the same coin and Mason was shocked to realize how much he’d missed Kieran.
“Charlie.” Mason pulled away. “This is Kieran Eagan.”
She let out a slow breath and Mason hoped she’d be able to keep it together long enough to get this meeting over with. He still couldn’t believe how she’d managed to fuck up what had been a perfectly orchestrated plan. Good God, how had she even known he was here?
She held out her hand and Kieran took it. “Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Eagan.”
Kieran flashed a cocky grin. “Call me Kieran.”
He continued to hold Charlie’s hand and held eye contact for a moment too long. Mason’s gut clenched. Kieran was purposely trying to unnerve her. Rattle her into slipping. Revealing something. She let out a nervous laugh and angled her head to glance at Mason over his shoulder.
“You never told me he was so charming.”
Some of the tension released from Mason’s muscles. He needed her to be the haughty woman from the elevator. The badass bitch with a chip on her shoulder. If she could do that for him, Mason could float the rest. He could get them both out of here today and hopefully still keep the task force on track. She just had to keep it together for fifteen minutes. A half hour at the most and they’d be home free. Sort of.
Charlie turned back to Kieran. His smile remained pleasant as he finally released her hand and took a seat at the table.
“You’re the only son of a bitch on the face of the earth who prison agrees with, Jensen,” he said with a chuckle. “Seriously, whose palms are you greasing? Because someone is treating you right.”
Mason’s dad looked at Kieran with all of the affection reserved for a son. Meanwhile, he treated his real son, his own flesh and blood, with suspicion. Like he was the outsider. This job was dredging up all sorts of repressed emotions. Ones Mason had spent most of his life trying not to deal with.
“I didn’t grease any palms this time.” Jensen bucked his chin toward Mason. “Mason organized the transfer here. So far, so good.”
A sly smile spread on Kieran’s lips and he finally turned his full attention to Mason. He hadn’t changed much over the years. A slightly older—and decidedly more sophisticated—version of that same smart-ass homeless kid who’d tried to hustle his dad and then steal his wallet. Jensen had always liked to have a pet project and he’d made Kieran his. Brought him into their home, taught him everything he knew, because Mason had never been interested in having anything to do with the con game.
“Finally using those superpowers of yours for evil, huh? It’s been a long time, Mason.”
It sure as hell had been. “How’ve you been, Kieran?”
He flashed a confident grin. “I can’t complain.” His gaze slid to Charlie. “Looks like you’re doing all right too.”
“Charlie’s a broker,” Mason replied.
Kieran’s gaze narrowed. “Funny. I’m familiar with everyone in the game. Don’t know of any Charlies. Especially one so pretty.”
Ugh. The man could talk a saint happily into sin. Charlie seemed unaffected by his charm, and Mason tried not to feel smug. Looked like Kieran couldn’t put everyone under his spell.
“I don’t think I need a broker.” Kieran’s tone chilled by a degree.
“You might not need one,” Mason said. “But you could use one like Charlie.”
Kieran gave her the once-over. She didn’t even squirm, which earned her a point or two. Neither did she try to butt in and assert herself, which helped to put Mason at ease. Thank God.
Kieran chuckled. “When you make a change, you make it big, don’t you, Mason?” He leaned back in his chair and fixed Mason with his inscrutable, deep brown gaze. “I’ve never known you to be anything other than a stand-up guy. Hell, you wouldn’t even take a free sample without confirming it was free first. What in the hell is going on? Why now?”
Mason gritted his teeth. He’d vowed long ago to never be anything less than 100 percent with Kieran. Playing to his ego and blurring the lines between truth and fiction was the last thing he wanted to do, but he was going to suck it the fuck up and do it anyway. “Because I’m tired of swimming upstream,” he said. “I want what you have.”
Kieran smirked. Arrogant as ever.
“And what is it that I have, Mason?”
He replied from between clenched teeth, “Everything.”
A tense, quiet moment followed. Kieran’s discerning expression turned to one of amusement and he broke into raucous laughter. “Mason Decker wants what I have? Did hell freeze over and no one told me?”
Mason cast a nervous glance around the visitors’ room. Kieran never did give a shit about attracting attention. No, he lived for it. One of the guys at CBP told him that a group of marshals had been close to apprehending Kieran once. The crazy SOB had jumped off a bridge to evade capture, and gave the marshals the finger all the way down until he hit the water.
“I’ve got something that could be useful to you, Kieran,” Mason replied coolly. “If you don’t want it, I’m sure there’s someone else out there hustling who’d put me on their payroll.”
Kieran gave Mason a shit-eating grin before turning his attention to Charlie. “Tell me more about what you bring to the table, Charlie.”
Shit. How would she react to being put on the spot? Mason spoke up before she’d be forced to answer. “Charlie is—”
“The woman’s got a mouth, Mason,” Kieran interrupted. “And not an unattractive one. So … what makes you such a special snowflake?”
Fuck.
Mason fought the urge to rake his fingers through his hair. Any outward show of frustration would be a red flag for Kieran. And messing with his hair was one of Mason’s tells. There was no way Charlie could convince Kieran she was a black-market diamond broker. None. They were as good as screwed.
*
Charlie might as well have been thrown on stage at the San Francisco Opera, bare-assed naked, and asked to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Her heart hammered in her rib cage as it inched its way up her throat. Her mind swirled with myriad thoughts that were damned near impossible to organize. Get it together, Charlie. Don’t screw this up …
“I have a very limited number of contacts, but I sell to an elite clientele. Most of the people who buy from me want to remain anonymous for obvious reasons. They’re willing to spend millions—tens of millions—on quality stones.” She drew on every bit of knowledge she’d gathered in the course of her research on Eagan’s operation, hoping she could impress him enough to pique his interest. “They want the certificates. They prefer to appear to be politically correct, but the fact of the matter is that they don’t give a shit. My clientele want statement pieces. Gems that flaunt their wealth. They want the big game of diamonds.”
“Tens of millions?” Kieran’s eyes grew hungry as did his wide grin. Charlie knew from her research that he generated an estimated ten million in income last year. But if she could promise to double or even triple that number, she doubted he’d be able to turn down the opportunity to work with Mason.
“I brokered thirty million in sales in the second half of last year,” Charlie replied.
Kieran smirked. “Can you prove it?”
Charlie cocked a brow. “Can you provide me proof of your income for last year?”
He laughed. “Client list?”
Charlie’s lips pursed. “Strictly confidential. No one sees it. Not even the famous Kieran Eagan.”
“Infamous is more like it, huh, Mason?”
Charlie chanced a glance at Mason from the corner of her eye. He didn’t show a single sign of
tension. He was so damned relaxed, you’d never guess he’d been estranged for over a decade from the other two men seated at the table. His haunting eyes fixated on Eagan, and one dark brow arched curiously. His full lips spread into a slow smile and he hiked a casual shoulder.
“You said it, not me.”
It was apparent there was a history between the two men. More even than Carrera had let on. What else had he failed to fill her in on? Had the chief deputy known Mason had changed the date of his meeting with his father and Eagan? Charlie’s brain cranked into high gear and she forced herself to stay in the moment. She couldn’t afford to let her concentration slip for even a second.
“Charlie’s connected,” Kieran conceded. “Or so she claims. Which means she can bring in the whales. What about you, Mason? What do you have to offer me?”
Charlie’s stomach curled into an anxious knot. How far was Mason willing to go to earn Kieran’s trust?
“They’re watching you.” Mason rested his muscular forearms on the table and leaned in toward Kieran. “You know they are.”
Kieran’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement. “Who?”
“FBI, CIA, CBP, the Marshals Service. You name it, they want you.”
Kieran shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a popular guy, but I’m not worried. Federal law enforcement is populated with self-important, pretentious assholes and they’ve got bigger fish to catch than me.”
“And I’m one of them,” Mason replied, his expression blank.
“Yeah.” Kieran flashed a wide grin. “You are.”
“Not anymore.”
Charlie’s eyes met Jensen’s. The elder Decker had been all but silent for most of the meeting. He watched with interest as Mason and Kieran squared off, his expression almost pleased. As though his two fighting children were finally getting along.
Again Charlie wondered, just how close were the two?
“Because you want what I have?” Sarcasm accented Kieran’s words.
Mason’s jaw squared. “Exactly.”
“Calm down, boys.” Finally, Jensen chose to break his silence. “No one wants to get into a pissing contest.” His gaze flitted to Charlie. “Especially with our current company. No need to hash out fifteen years of bullshit all at once. You’ll have plenty of time to do that later. Kieran, you’ve got product to move and the feds are up your ass. Charlie could help you with that while Mason”—his gaze met his son’s—“can help keep the heat off of you with Customs and directed where you want it to be so you can raise a little capital.”