As she began dialing Jefferson’s number again, her frown eased. Her husband might not give a good damn about her, but her son loved her—always had, he’d told her since he was six, and always would. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the only thing that made life bearable.
For an instant when she heard his voice, she thought she’d been lucky enough to reach him, but then she realized it was his voice mail again. “This is Jefferson,” he said in his easygoing Southern drawl. “I can’t take your call, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon as I can.”
Just the sound of his prerecorded voice made her smile. When he’d come to live with them, he’d been a small, tow-headed, solemn little boy who’d called her ma’am for the first six months. Eventually he had eased his way into Mother, then Mom, before finally getting to Mama. That was the magic word. If she hadn’t already loved him, she would have fallen in love with him the first time that name came from his mouth.
She waited for the beep, then said, “Hey, baby, it’s just your mama again. Yes, it’s only been twenty minutes since my last call. What can I say? I miss you. I wish you would take a few days to come to Tulsa and see your uncle Henry. I know, I know—he’s in a coma and doesn’t have a clue who comes to see him and who doesn’t, and he hasn’t been the greatest uncle in the world, but he is your only uncle on the Daniels side, and it would mean a whole lot to your mother if you’d be the bigger man this once.”
She drew a breath, then quickly continued. “Anyway, I just wanted to hear your voice. I love you, Jeffer—” The voice mail beeped, cutting off her message. She flipped her phone shut, then laid it on the table and gave a heavy sigh. “Always have. Always will.”
Until that day she’d thought she could say the same about her brother. She’d idolized Henry growing up, had turned to him whenever she’d needed advice, comfort, help. Even his refusal to accept Jefferson as a member of the family hadn’t lessened her love for him . . . but her discoveries had. Learning about his “niece,” finding the photo of the girl, recognizing her all-too-familiar features . . .
Of course she still loved Henry. He was her brother; how could she not love him? But at that moment she hated him every bit as much as she loved him. God help her. God forgive her.
Selena laid aside the skirt she’d been folding and went to the bedroom window to watch as Tony pulled his department-issue Impala into his driveway. He climbed out, in shirtsleeves as usual, the cuffs turned back a few times in deference to the heat, then leaned into the backseat to get his briefcase and suit coat. Out of habit, he went to the mailbox, then stood there, day’s mail in hand, and gazed at her house.
She raised her hand to tap on the glass, then silently flattened her palm against it instead. If he wanted to come over and see her, he would. Trying to influence his decision wasn’t fair.
When he finally started in her direction, she realized she’d been holding her breath. If he’d gone inside his own house, as he’d done the night before, she would have . . .
Faintly she smiled. She didn’t know what she would have done. Being in a relationship was new to her, and being in love was totally outside her experience. In truth, she probably would have gone back to her packing, while pretending that she wasn’t slowly dying inside.
The doorbell rang as she started down the stairs. She wished she had the nerve to open the doors, wrap her arms around Tony, and give him one of those deep, hungry, hard kisses she was craving. If she was sure he would welcome it, she would, but that was a big if.
He looked hot and tired, his hair disheveled and a faint shadow of beard darkening his jaw. He looked as if he hadn’t slept well the night before. That was fair. Neither had she. When he saw her, a smile slowly curved his mouth, as if he couldn’t help it. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, so she kept one on the doorknob, the other folded behind her back.
He dragged his fingers through his hair, glanced around awkwardly, then gestured. “How’s your arm?”
“It’s fine.” She’d coated the wound with antibiotic cream and dispensed with the bandage, and found that the pain had diminished to nothing more than a dull throb unless she overstressed it. She wasn’t back to her fighting best yet, but she would be soon.
“When do you see the doctor again?”
“A couple days.” Though she doubted she would bother. She had more important things to worry about. Staying alive. Not losing Tony.
Funny, that she’d lied to him, betrayed him, and shot him, and he’d forgiven her, but he was having such a tough time with her working as a confidential informant for the FBI.
He wasn’t likely to be pleased about her working with Damon Long.
The central air-conditioning unit rumbled softly as it came on, and the nearest vent released cold air over her, making her more aware of the heat radiating through the open door. “Want to come in?”
Tony hesitated, then stepped across the threshold. When she faced him again after closing the door, she found him gazing at the boxes of painting supplies and canvases sitting inside the living room doorway. Hugging herself tightly, she said, “They want me to move into Henry’s house.”
A stillness spread over him. She felt the distance between them growing, and she didn’t have any idea how to close it again. He didn’t even look at her as he asked, “When?”
“Tonight.” She forced a weak smile. “Want to help me?”
Slowly, he turned his head. He wanted to say no. She could see it as easily as she could see his eyes were brown and his mouth was flattened. He struggled with it before dragging in a breath. “Sure.” Another hesitation, another mental struggle. “Do you have time for dinner first?”
Warm relief rushed over her, easing the tightness of her muscles and unclenching the knot in her stomach. “Sure. Want to go out or cook here?”
“Let’s go out.” He set his briefcase next to the boxes, then draped his jacket over the top. “But not yet. Not for a few hours.”
The warmth turned to heat as he took a step toward her. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her hard against his body, then lifted one hand to tenderly cup her face. “I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his mouth brushing hers.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she whispered an instant before his mouth closed over hers, his tongue thrusting inside. She slid her hands into his hair before wrapping her arms tightly around him and rubbing against him like a cat. She wasn’t sure, but she might have started purring, too, a deep, contented Ummm that went on forever.
They made it only as far as the stairs, shedding necessary clothes on the way. As he bent to suckle her nipple, she gave a vague thought to the condoms upstairs in the nightstand, then took him inside her anyway.
It was fast and hard, over in moments, then they completed the short trip to her bedroom. He moved the suitcases while she swept up the unpacked clothes and dropped them aside, then they met in the middle of the bed and started all over again.
When they’d both come several times, when their bodies were slick with sweat and their breathing had settled from frantic to merely ragged, she turned onto her side to face him. “I love you.”
He looked as solemn as she sounded. He didn’t smile, not even a little, but lifted her hand, pressed a gentle kiss to the palm, then clasped it to his chest. “I know. I love you.”
His heart rate was slowing, but strong and reassuring. Just beyond the tips of her fingers was the puckered scar from where she’d shot him, still purplish red, an obscene reminder of what William had done to them.
“I have to do this,” she whispered. Not just for her own safety, not just for their future. She had to settle scores with William. Had to pay him back for all he’d cost her. Had to avenge herself, and Tony.
Amazingly, she didn’t have to explain it to him. He understood, even though he shook his head in grim disagreement. “He’ll never know that he lost.” He whispered, too, as if the subject was too important for
normal voices.
“I’ll know.”
His expression turned sad and worried, and tugged at her heart. “But at what cost, Selena? You could lose your life.”
Or her reason for living. “I won’t let that happen,” she said fiercely, laying her head on his shoulder so he could hug her tightly.
Because if William cost her the one thing that mattered most in her life, then he really would have won, and that was one thing she couldn’t survive.
Jen Fleming sat on the edge of the bed, her delicate little features screwed up in a pout as she watched Scott pack. “You keep that up, your face will freeze that way,” he warned.
That made her laugh. “Marcella used to tell me that when I was little.”
Marcella, nanny to Jen and her brothers, had been the most influential person in her life as a kid, but she’d been adamantly against hiring a nanny for Brianne and Bradley. He’d given in to her on the matter, though he’d privately liked the idea of his kids having a nanny. Wouldn’t that have given the people he’d grown up with something to talk about?
Jen drew her feet onto the bed and rested her chin on her knees. “If this case is here in town, I don’t understand why you can’t come home at night.”
“Because we don’t want the bad guys finding out who I really am.”
“Big, bad FBI agent,” she teased. “What is this case that you can’t wear your wedding ring?”
“I can’t wear the ring because no one’s supposed to know I’m married.”
“What name are you using?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Where will you be staying?”
He couldn’t blame her for all the questions. He’d never worked undercover before, so this was her first experience with it, as well. It was hard for her to imagine that he had a fake name and all the documentation to go with it—driver’s license, address, credit history, job history, even an arrest record. The Bureau was nothing if not thorough.
He added the last of the clothes to the suitcase, then closed it. “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.”
She laughed again. “Marcella used to tell me that, too.” Rising onto her knees, she twined her arms around his neck. “Of course, you would never lie to the light of your life, would you?”
“Never.” Guilt flickered through him, because even that was a lie. To cover it, he bent his head to kiss her, and felt his body’s instantaneous response. Nine years they’d been married, and it was always the same. Looking at her, touching her, kissing her—everything that involved her turned him on. Nine years, and he still had trouble believing she was his.
He was doing everything in his power to make sure that didn’t change.
Regretfully he pulled away from her. “I’ve got to go, honey. I’ll see you when I can.”
She didn’t offer to go downstairs with him, but lay back in bed, her blue silk robe draped over her perfect body. With her hair mussed and her face flushed from the lovemaking before he’d returned to his packing, she looked wicked and wanton and incredibly beautiful. When he glanced back from the doorway, she blew him a kiss.
He’d rather stay with her than carry through what he’d started. But the price of not carrying it through was steep— losing her. Losing everything. Damned if he would let that happen.
He drove across town to the Daniels estate and let himself in through the back door. Robinette sat at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread open. Across from him was a slender redhead—Beth Gentry, who’d been brought in from the Seattle office.
Robinette had come from San Francisco, the agents providing security from various other field offices. It was safer that way, lessening the chances that anyone in Davis’s local operation could recognize any of them. Scott—
He gave himself a mental shake. Now that he was officially on the job, he had to get in the habit of thinking of himself as Brian Jamieson. He was the exception, and it had taken a lot of hard bargaining with the SAC to get a place on the team. Since his field of expertise was computer crimes, and he kept a fairly low profile even in his social life, it wasn’t likely anyone in the drug business had ever seen or heard of him. Plus, being local had given him a bit of a head start—he had been the agent on duty the day the shootings happened, making him the first in the Bureau to know about Henry Daniels’s dual lives. By the time the SAC had decided to step in on the case, Brian had already done the initial background investigations, had already begun uncovering bits and pieces about William Davis’s business.
So he was in. This case was going to make his career . . . and save his life.
He left his luggage near the door leading to the servants’ quarters, introduced himself to Gentry, then surveyed the dinner on the table—a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, paper-wrapped deli sandwiches, and a jar of instant coffee. “Jeez, I didn’t know we were going to be roughing it,” he groused as he helped himself to a sandwich.
Robinette didn’t glance up. “Gentry doesn’t cook. Doesn’t make coffee. Doesn’t make food runs.”
The redhead gave him a smug smile.
“Hell, I make coffee. What’s so hard about it?” The coffeemaker sat on the counter; a quick look in the cabinets located a box of filters and a can of coffee. He got a pot started, then sat down to wait. “What’s the plan for today?”
“Get unpacked. Settle in.” Robinette unwrapped a sandwich, checked its contents, then took a bite. “Long goes to court in the morning, then he’ll get fitted with an electronic ankle bracelet. Once that’s done, you’ll spring him from jail and bring him back here.”
“By myself?” Long was desperate and dangerous, two qualities Brian tried never to underestimate. But then, he wasn’t just a computer geek himself. He had the same training as the other agents involved.
“You can’t very well show up with an entire squad, can you? But don’t worry. You’ll have escorts. You may not recognize them, but they’ll know you.”
Well trained or not, Brian didn’t like the idea of being alone with Long right off the bat. The guy was cagey, one hell of a criminal mind. What if he saw through Brian’s act? What if Brian blew the whole operation before it had hardly even begun?
But he wouldn’t blow it. He would never give Long any reason to suspect that Brian might be more—or less—than he pretended. He couldn’t make Long suspicious because, like it or not, whatever success they achieved depended, in part, on Long.
And failure could be blamed on him as well. That fact might come in real handy.
After Tony and Selena showered and dressed, they drove to south Tulsa for sushi before returning to load boxes and suitcases into both their cars. When Selena had locked up her house for the last time, Tony wrapped his arms around her. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
She smiled, though she’d never felt less like doing so. “It’s not too late for you to change yours.”
Regretfully, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“I can’t, either.”
For a moment he simply held her close. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the soft thud of his heart, the even tempo of his breathing, and wished she could stay there forever. Too soon, though, he let go and stepped away. “I’ll follow you.”
It was only a few miles to the estate on Riverside Drive. When Selena had stayed there as a guest two years earlier, she’d been restricted to using the back gate, reserved for servants and deliveries. When she’d broken in a few weeks ago, she’d gone over the fence once and slipped through the back gate the other time. For the first time in her life, she drove up to the front gate and the undercover FBI agent on duty smiled politely and waved her through.
The estate was more secure than her small house, Robinette had said, and since Monday’s incident at the shooting range, Selena was all in favor of security. With the expansive grounds cleared for two hundred yards in every direction from the house, the tall fence, the alarms, and the security cameras, getting inside the property
required an extreme level of determination. It wasn’t impossible—she’d demonstrated that—but the average thug wasn’t likely to succeed.
When they reached the front door, Brian Jamieson greeted them. Selena walked ten feet into the entry, then stopped, setting her two bags on the marble floor.
Her first time entering the house through the main gate and the front door, as if she had a right to be there, rather than slinking in through the back like a shameful secret. Somehow she had expected something more from the experience, but it was oddly empty.
A young woman came down the hall that led into the kitchen, dismissed Tony with a look, and apparently wished she could do the same with Selena. Instead, she said, “You’ve met Jamieson. I’m Beth Gentry.”
Gentry was probably a few years older than Selena, several inches shorter, and spoke with an indefinable accent. With short, sleek red hair, a golden hue to her skin, and green eyes, she was pretty enough, but there was a toughness about her that had nothing to do with the .45 holstered on her belt. Did that come from being a woman in a predominantly male profession? Or was she ensuring that Selena knew up front where they stood with each other?
“This is Tony Ceola,” Selena said. Of course, the agents already knew. No doubt, they knew as much about her life as she did—certainly enough to control her. Disliking the feeling intensely, she issued a small demand to shift the balance of power. “The rest of my things are in our cars. Get them, please, and take them upstairs.” Without waiting for a response, she turned away, picked up the bags she’d brought in, and started up the grand staircase.
On her previous visits, she’d regretted not taking a tour of the whole house. The artist in her had wanted nothing more than to spend endless hours studying each and every master-piece, but she’d had other things in mind, such as staying alive. Now her gaze flitted from painting to sculpture to architectural detail. The night she’d broken in, she’d searched each of the five bedrooms on the second floor. She turned to the right and into the room that looked as if it was ready and waiting for a visit from a beloved niece.
Deep Cover Page 6