Pulling the sunglasses from his face, Keith turned and nailed Malcolm with a hard stare. “You'd better not be protecting her. We have an investigation to run, man. Don't let your dick get in the way of your job.”
Gritting his teeth, Malcolm resisted the urge to defend Darcy. Whenever an agent went undercover, a certain amount of trust and discretion was automatically issued. He wouldn't have fallen for Darcy if he thought she could be responsible for committing any of these crimes. “I'm not compromising the investigation. I told you there's no way she's involved. She doesn't have it in her to murder anyone.”
“You don't have evidence putting her in the clear. If she killed Yataines because he got too close to what she was doing for Snyder, you could be next.” Keith's clipped tone betrayed his impatience with Malcolm's assumptions.
“She didn't kill him.”
“Get proof, Malcolm. Don't fall for this woman. Don't let her play you. Before you went under, you studied the transcripts. You saw the tapes. You pointed out the holes in her story. If she and Yataines were both working for Snyder, she had to know more about what he was doing than she admitted. Couples talk about work. They tell each other juicy gossip and bitch about the parts that make their jobs harder, but she said nothing about any of that, not even when directly questioned. She was very uncooperative.”
Malcolm shifted, uncomfortable having his observations thrown back at him. Yes, there had been inconsistencies. Now that he knew her better, he could see that she had been both terrified and grief-stricken. Both had likely interfered with her recall. Even if she had remembered more, she could have withheld information out of loyalty to Snyder. She honestly didn't believe the man guilty of anything beyond wanting her to work for him.
But Keith wasn't finished. “The police found nothing in the home, no evidence of Yataines's work for Snyder, and the office had been wiped clean. The custodial staff said she'd been by to collect his things, yet the forensics team found not one fingerprint from either of them. You agreed she knew more than she was saying.”
Keith's logic ground against Malcolm's nerves, mostly because he was right. He had no evidence that either cleared Darcy or led to a break on the case. Even the technology he was planting into Snyder's operating systems wouldn't yield anything until after the fact.
“I have a new theory. I'm setting up now to work on it.”
Keith snatched his coffee back. “Which is?”
“I think Snyder had Yataines killed because he knew something. Darcy said something about Scott encouraging her to break ties with Snyder Corp. At the two meetings I've had with her and Snyder, he came across as uncommonly fond of her, possessive and controlling. It's plausible Snyder saw Yataines as a barrier.”
For all her talk about how grateful she was to Snyder for helping her with the police, Darcy didn't seem to want to be around him for too long. At their meeting, she had kept her part brief, going so far as to ask Snyder for detailed outcome descriptions so she could know exactly when her obligation ended. She'd pressed Malcolm for completion dates, almost as if she was counting down the time until she would no longer have to associate with him. Perhaps that was wishful thinking on Malcolm's part. Darcy had said she wanted to grow her business by exploring options not related to Snyder Corp.
Keith posed the million-dollar question again. “Do you think he has romantic goals in mind? Are you doing this to set yourself up as the next barrier so he can try to kill you?”
“Nope.” Though she had commanded Malcolm's attention with the soft femininity of her presence, Snyder hadn't seemed affected by her physical appearance at all. “He wants her for something not sexual.”
Now the glasses came off. Keith pressed his thumb and forefinger into the inside corners of his eyes, a sure sign of frustration. “Then why are you sleeping with her? It's not required. Flirting with her and charming her are certainly in the game plan, Mal. Sleeping with her will only compromise the investigation.”
“Don't lecture me.” Malcolm's temper got the better of him, mostly because he knew Keith was right. Yet the idea of going even a night without seeing her, touching her, or talking to her made him restless and cranky. “I'll bring down the bad guy.”
Keith studied him for a long while. “I'm leaving this out of the report. We never talked about it. As your friend, I advise you to do the same. Be careful, Malcolm. If you fall for her and she's guilty, you're in for a lot of hell. If she's innocent, you're in for even more hell when she finds out who you really are. As your partner, I advise you to stop fucking one of our major suspects.”
Malcolm drove to his apartment in Rochester, collected his mail, and threw out his dead plant. His sister, Katrina, had bought it for him in an attempt to humanize his abode, but Malcolm wasn't home enough to keep anything alive. He had thanked her for the gift. She was a genuinely nice person, and he didn't have the heart to tell her it wouldn't last long. She would notice its absence the next time she came over, but she wouldn't comment.
Knowing her, she would just bring him a new plant, give him a kiss on the cheek, and dive right into catching up on how their lives had evolved since they last saw one another. She was going to go insane with happiness when she found out about Darcy.
Though he technically should have spent his day taking care of personal business, he couldn't concentrate enough to remember what he had to do. He paid a few bills and picked up Theo's cell phone. If he saw her tonight, would that be considered personal time or work time? Did it matter?
He tapped out a text, then deleted it. Too restless to do anything else, he stared at the display and willed it to ring or to show a text from her. If she initiated contact, then he had no choice. He would have to respond. His mother's promise of pancetta wasn't nearly as important.
Throwing caution to the wind, he tapped in a question and sent it before he could reconsider the wisdom of his action.
Are you busy right now?
Darcy wasn't the kind of person who sat next to her phone. Most of the time, she kept it zipped away in her purse with the ringer turned down so low she missed most calls. It didn't vibrate or chime to indicate she'd received an e-mail or a text. It was stupid to expect an immediate reply.
His heart leaped when his phone trilled to indicate a text message.
I'm getting dressed to go out with Amy and some friends for drinks. Don't worry. I'm wearing underwear.
Malcolm laughed at her reassurance. He didn't have a rule about underwear, but when he topped her, he usually instructed her to take them off. The last time, she had giggled and teased him about wanting easy access. He wondered how alluring she dressed to go out with her girlfriends.
What are you wearing?
She must have been waiting for his reply, because her answer came quickly.
Amy is here waiting for me, so I don't have time to sext with you right now. How about later when they all ditch me for whatever guys they pick up?
He hadn't meant it that way, but he couldn't find a flaw with her plan.
Give me the time and place, sweetheart, and I'll make you come in public.
After that time in the car, Malcolm hadn't pushed Darcy to do anything in public, not that he considered wearing a butterfly while in the passenger seat of a car to be very public. His phone chimed one last time.
Nectarine Ballroom. Discounted drinks until 8:30. They'll probably abandon me by about 9.
The Nectarine wasn't very well lit. The last time he had been there, he'd been in college and Michigan's smoking ban was an asthmatic's wet dream. The vague details didn't help him at all. Were there semiprivate places where he could instruct her to touch herself? They had likely remodeled or changed things around in the last decade. Malcolm toyed with the decision for all of ten seconds. He wasn't going to sext with Darcy. He was going to surprise her.
Plus all texts would be admissible in court. She would never forgive him if something like that became part of a legal record.
A glance at the clock showed he had
plenty of time to partake in his mother's pancetta before he surprised Darcy. He showered and shaved. The clothes he'd transported to the Ann Arbor apartment supplied by the department were disposable. Made up of khakis and various tee, polo, and button-down shirts, the style fit the computer geek. Malcolm, however, preferred suits and dress pants for work and jeans for play.
He selected a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt. In keeping with his persona, he left the tie at home. Darcy might think he was trying too hard.
His mother greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a tight hug. “You look nice tonight. My birthday isn't for another two months. What's the occasion?”
Returning her hug, he picked her up and kissed her cheek. He moved them a little farther into the foyer so the front door could close. “No occasion, Mom. I have a meeting tonight.”
“Donna.” His father's voice boomed through the house. “Is that M.J.? Did he bring some antacid?”
Mario Junior, his older brother, had the dubious distinction of going through life being called a name most people, thanks to Spiderman, associated with Mary Jane.
“It's Malcolm.”
Footsteps thumped across the wood. Malcolm tried to release his mother, but she held tight.
“Honey, let the boy go. He's staying for dinner. You can fawn over him all evening and make your other kids jealous.” Mario pried his wife's hands from around his youngest son's neck.
Donna pursed her lips in sour disapproval at both her husband and her son. “He spends his days consorting with drug dealers and murderers. I sleep better at night knowing that if something horrible happens, I held him tight the last time I saw him.”
This wasn't a discussion he wanted to have again. From the first day he expressed an interest in law enforcement, his mother hadn't approved. She thought he would be a skinny computer geek, forever stuck behind a desk. Then his muscles had bulked up and he had been selected for undercover work. She worried constantly.
His mother eyed him dubiously. “And he's leaving after dinner for a meeting. That makes me nervous, Mario.” She smacked Malcolm's arm, hard. “What happens when you meet a good woman and you want to have kids? Would you put her through this kind of stress? It'll destroy your marriage, Malcolm.”
For the first time, Malcolm thought seriously about one of the many questions his mother liked to throw at him. His profession would likely destroy his chances with Darcy, but for completely different reasons. He had to give her reasons to look past his deception. Tonight was just one step in a series of steps he would take to ensnare her heart.
Mario put a stop to Donna's overbearing mothering. “Donna, that's between Malcolm and whoever he marries. It's none of our business.”
“Mom, you promised pancetta, not a guilt trip. I like my job. It feels good to get the bad guys off the streets and make the world a better, safer place for the people I love.” He slung his arm around her waist and guided her through the living room to the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”
She shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and pointed at a cupboard. “Help your sister set the table. We'll eat when M.J. and my grandbabies get here.”
An hour later, Malcolm helped his sister clear the table. No matter what charges of favoritism were leveled in light of his mother's melodrama, he and Katrina always got stuck with the cleanup while M.J. and his wife regaled their parents with stories about their children. The topics of conversation, Malcolm's two nephews, wrestled and ran through the house without regard to property because they knew they could do no wrong in their grandparents’ eyes. They avoided the kitchen because they knew neither Malcolm nor Katrina would put up with their rambunctiousness.
Katrina possessed the same dark looks as Malcolm, but she had the softness of femininity to add the touch of beauty to what could have been a harshly angled face. She peered at Malcolm, her face scrunched up as she considered something.
“Mal? You got a date tonight?”
He took a stack of dirty plates from her hands and put them under the faucet. “I'm working tonight.”
Once Katrina had a scent, she didn't let up. It made her a really good lawyer. “You smell awfully good for work. Will Keith be there?”
Malcolm sighed. Katrina had nursed a crush on Keith since the first time Malcolm introduced his college friend to his family. She had been a senior in high school, and Keith had freaked out when the then seventeen-year-old girl had tried to kiss him. “Trina, he's not interested in you.”
“Don't change the subject.” She snapped a towel at him to pay him back for the comment about Keith. He let it slide, but it conjured an image of Darcy's naked body writhing under his single tail that nearly made him lose track of the conversation. “So Keith won't be there to keep you on your leash. I take it she's smart and submissive if you're willing to bend the rules to see her when you don't have to.”
“I'm not bending any rules.” Malcolm growled and hoped Katrina would let it go. He wasn't bending the rules. There were no real rules for what he did. Guidelines existed, but those were subject to the agent's judgment. “It's a meeting, not a date.”
A date implied they had set it up ahead of time. A meeting meant they would meet. More might happen. Then again, it might not. He scrubbed food stuck to a plate and handed the dish to Katrina to put in the dishwasher.
“You're a horrible liar.”
Malcolm narrowed his eyes, but he didn't say anything. In point of fact, he was an excellent liar. That was part of the reason he had been selected to work undercover. However Katrina came with a built-in lie detector that manifested as intuition. Malcolm utilized the same skill in the field, so he knew there was no explaining the sixth sense. That's how he knew Darcy wasn't complicit in Yataines's disappearance. Of course, Keith had little faith in intuition. His dogged insistence on hard evidence led to convictions, so Malcolm wasn't about to argue.
When he left an hour later, Katrina used that excuse to exit as well. He walked her down the street to her car.
She punched his arm lightly. “I'm sure you'll knock her off her feet. And then you'll tie her up and make her beg.”
“Trina.” He held up his hands to ward off more affectionate punches. She was one of two people, his mother being the other, who could get away with hitting him and not being hit back.
Snorting, she clicked the button to unlock her door. “Mal, I work for the prosecutor's office. I've been informed about your case. I saw her picture, and I know your type. Be careful, okay?”
Instead of reassuring his sister, he obfuscated. “So you agree I am a good liar.”
“No. You like her.”
He set his jaw hard and looked Katrina in the eyes. “She's innocent. If I'm not mistaken, she's a target and a victim. I'm going to nail the bastard who did this. I'll serve him up to you on a silver platter. A guy that rich has to have at least one of those. Maybe even a gold platter. We'll see.”
Katrina shook her head. “You got it bad, big brother.” She kissed his cheek and wiped away her lip balm with her thumb. “When this is all over, I hope I get to meet her outside of my office.”
When Malcolm returned to his car a few minutes later, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least Katrina knew when to stop pushing. He also harbored high hopes that his family would eventually get to meet Darcy. They would adore her instantly.
The drive to the Ann Arbor nightclub took nearly forty-five minutes. Five times, Malcolm considered turning back. He didn't need to entrench himself into her life this deeply in order to break this case, yet he couldn't stop the possessive and affectionate feelings that filled him whenever he thought of her. He hadn't seen her since the evening before, when he'd pled family obligations as an excuse for not staying the night.
He paid the cover charge at the door and reflected on the incongruity of ladies getting in for free. If the situation was reversed, he was sure several gender discrimination lawsuits would result.
Lighting in the interior hadn't brightened in
the ten years since he'd last been to the Nectarine. Now that he was inside, he remembered the open floor plan with the circular bar in the center. No smoke lingered in the air, so he had a clear view of the scenery.
It didn't take long to spot Darcy. She nursed a drink from her seat at a table with mostly empty seats. One man sat with her, and they appeared to be engaged in an animated discussion.
Before jealousy compelled him to do something cavemanlike, another woman swooped in. She put her hand on the man's shoulder, and the two of them headed to the dance floor. Music pulsed through the room, but the beat didn't register in Malcolm's head. He pulled out the chair next to Darcy and sat down before she could tell him the seats were taken.
The warning on her lips died the second she looked up and realized it was him. She beamed with a welcoming smile, and his heart flip-flopped.
“I was hoping you would read between the lines.”
He brushed a kiss over her lips. “I was hoping you left the spaces on purpose.”
She frowned. “I didn't pull you away from your family, did I?”
“No. I went there first and came here instead of going home to my empty apartment. Seeing you is so much better than dreaming about you.”
A light flush crept up her neck. He wanted to lick that heated skin. The smile returned to her lips. “I'm glad you came. I was about to call a cab and head home. Want to come with me?”
He nodded toward the dance floor. “How about we dance a bit first? I brought something for you.”
Her lips parted, and her pupils dilated with excitement. He loved how she understood his implication. “Does this thing you brought require the removal of my underwear?”
“Yes. Take them off now.”
She opened her mouth, probably to argue or to ask to go to the bathroom for privacy. Tonight he wanted to challenge her modesty.
He halted her question with the pressure of his hand on the side of her head. He slid his thumb over her brow, and then he caressed the edge of her lower lip. Her breathing calmed, and her gaze automatically lowered.
“Do you remember the rules, sweetheart?”
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