Maximum Exposure

by Alison Kent

  Looking at herself engaged, uh, amorously with Finn, she realized, was a distraction with the potential to make her late, especially if he was at her shoulder while she viewed the pictures. She had to do something about her bed head and raccoon eyes from sleeping in her makeup and, ugh, she didn’t even want to think about her morning breath.

  In fact, the moment she heard him coming back, she hurried to the bathroom, passing him in the hallway, all too well aware that she should’ve made the trip first thing. No man needed to wake up next to the creature from whatever horror movie she’d come from.

  She found a bathrobe folded up in the small linen closet and took the time to brush both her teeth and her hair before returning to the room, pausing just inside the door and thinking she should’ve gone for the jeans and T-shirt she knew were in her office.

  “Hey, I was thinking I’d get dressed and run across the street for coffee and maybe a muffin,” she said. “Would you like something?”

  He didn’t look up from the photo he was leaning over and studying, and so she asked him again, keeping her distance, because if he was looking at the series of shots she thought he might be…

  She could feel her face coloring. What she couldn’t figure out was why, why, with everything they’d done, she would be self-conscious now. “Finn?”

  “Hey, c’mere a minute,” he told her.

  Oh, this was not going well. “I need to get ready for work, and I’d really like some breakfast, so why don’t we go through the photos tonight?”

  He shook his head, squinting even more at the screen, reaching toward her and gesturing her to come near. “These are the pictures I took last night of Roland and Tomás. I want you to see something.”

  Frowning, she crossed the room, pushing back her hair as she leaned forward to look at what he was pointing out. “What is it?”

  “Like I told you, they were unloading something from the back of the van. But looking closer, these boxes.” Using his cursor, he outlined a square at the side of the photo and zoomed in. “I’ve been through your storeroom a couple dozen times, and these aren’t the boxes I’ve seen your stock and supplies arrive in.”

  He turned his head, looked up at her, his eyes seriously dark. “These look like bricks, and I can only think of one thing anyone would deliver after hours and unexpectedly that’s packaged in bricks. And it has nothing to do with building houses.”

  “You’re kidding me.” She leaned past his shoulder to better see what he was showing her. “Those look like the foam packing bricks we use to protect shipments.”

  “And why would your manager be meeting your courier to stock a delivery of packing bricks?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” She was getting a really bad feeling about this, especially on top of the news of Roland’s deception. “Give me two minutes to get some clothes on. I want to see exactly what’s being stored in my storeroom.”

  She ran to her office, jammed her legs into her jeans, her feet into sandals. She was yanking her T-shirt over her head when she turned to find Finn at her door, watching. He waggled his brows in appreciation of her unbound breasts, and she stuck out her tongue as she covered them.

  With a quick wink, Finn led her down the stairs, the sound of both pairs of their feet echoing in the empty store like the thunder of a tropical storm. Once inside the storeroom, Olivia hit the lights and headed down the center aisle of shelving units. She stopped at the far end.

  If Roland was using his position at Splash & Flambé to traffic in narcotics…

  It didn’t even make sense. Her boutique was a small operation and did not attract the sort of clientele she associated with the drug trade.

  And even telling herself that sounded so naïve, because public figures, from politicians to entertainers, had proven time and again that even the mighty fall hard.

  “Here,” she told Finn, finding the bricks that should be nothing but squares of foam shrink-wrapped in Tyvek.

  Finn moved aside a roll of Bubble Wrap and a crate holding tubes of brown kraft paper, and grabbed a half dozen bricks, tossing them one at a time on the table Roland and the rest of the staff used for packing boxes for shipment and unpacking stock.

  When the fifth brick hit with a thud, Finn’s gaze shot to Olivia’s before they both looked over at the evidence they had on the table. All she could do was shake her head to fight the tears, which were pure anger, threatening to spill.

  “What now? Do we cut it open?” she asked, her heart beating against her ribs.

  “We can. Or we can take the pictures and the brick to the authorities and let them take a look.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, felt them shaking, hated the shaking, but she couldn’t stop it. Neither could she look away.

  It was as if things would be worse if she did, that everything she’d worked for in her life would explode in front of her if she then looked back. “I can’t believe this.”

  “It’s your call, sweetheart,” Finn said, stepping close enough to wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze.

  She leaned into him, took a deep breath. “Leaving everything alone and having someone come here would be best. Right? Let them see what we’ve touched and what we’ve found?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Finn said, nodding, just as a key sounded in the back door.

  They both looked down the corridor as light from outside spilled in. Roland walked through the door, punched the security code into the alarm panel, then stopped, looking up as if surprised that the lights were already on.

  And then he stiffened. And he turned. And he looked down the aisle in which she and Finn stood.

  Finn stepped in front of her protectively, but Roland didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t gesture. He did nothing at all Livia could take as a threat. In fact, he seemed more than anything to be considering his options, and then he sighed, as if resigned.

  At Roland’s first step toward them, Finn pulled his cell phone from his waistband. Livia watched him punch in 911 before ordering Roland to stay where he was.

  “Don’t make the call. This isn’t what you think,” said Roland. He held up both hands as he approached. “I can explain.”

  “You can explain to MDPD as soon as they get here,” Finn told him, bringing his phone to his ear.

  “I’m DEA,” Roland said. “Put down the phone.”

  Livia’s head came up, her heart roaring in her ears. Had she heard right?

  “You’re who?” she asked on top of Finn’s “Do what?”

  But before they could get any further, another key sounded in the back lock. The door opened, the alarm beeped, and Carmen walked into the storeroom.

  Thirty-seven

  Roman’s Monday night meeting with Tomás was supposed to have been about an exchange of information—not a delivery of product. Tomás had told Roman last Friday that he had details on the next delivery, and that he’d get in touch early in the week.

  That was all Roman had expected when he’d met with the man last night, after his late Sunday instructional phone call on when and where they’d hook up. That was all. And maybe deep down he’d purposefully kept from Tomás the information about McLain staying in the room upstairs.

  At this point, he couldn’t say what was deliberate and what was instinct. He did know that his training and experience had kicked in the moment he’d realized what was going down, kicking out everything unrelated to Operation Bebé Bust.

  He’d stored the product under Tomás’s watchful eye, and then he’d made immediate contact with his task force, giving them the names, locations, and dates of what was to follow—intel they had been mighty glad to receive and had set out to verify.

  Roman figured he’d passed some test, which left Tomás feeling chummy and chatty. Or else he was being tested again to see who he might be sharing the possibly false information with. Since he hadn’t been instructed to act on what he’d learned, what he’d shared and
with whom were moot. Not that any of that mattered to Finn or Livia now.

  Roman sighed. “I know it’s hard to take in—”

  “Hard to take in! Are you kidding me?” Livia said, pacing her office while Roman faced her, his butt parked against the front of her desk.

  Behind him, Finn was on the phone to the task force superiors, who would no doubt chew Roman’s ass to the bone when they got hold of him or when this case was over, whichever came first.

  “Don’t you guys usually let people know when you’re going to infiltrate or whatever?” she asked, then shoved her hands into her hair when Roman gave her an eye. “Okay, okay, but you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be the way it was,” Roman said, glancing over his shoulder as Finn hung up the phone and made his way around the desk. “But with a staff as small as yours, we couldn’t risk the possibility of a leak.”

  She turned her attention to Finn as he dropped into one of the guest chairs, braced his elbows on his knees, and looked up into her expectant face. “Well?”

  Finn nodded. “He’s legit. The op’s on the up-and-up. No details, of course, but he’s not the bad guy.”

  “So what now?” Livia asked, still pulling at her hair and turning her attention to Roman.

  “Basically, business as usual,” Roman told her.

  She finally let go of her hair, then moved to sit in the twin to Finn’s chair. “How am I supposed to do that knowing what’s sitting in my storeroom?”

  “You’re not the only one who knows,” said Roman. “Just remember that. You’re still Roland’s boss—”

  “Oh, great. Not only is my gay manager hetero, he’s undercover DEA.”

  “Livia, listen,” Roman said as she collapsed, looking for all the world as if she’d never move again. “Things are no different today than they were yesterday. You’ve been going about your business with me here and with the drugs in the storeroom for a while now. You’ll do the same today and tomorrow and for however long it takes to put this op to bed.”

  She looked up sharply. “How long is a while? Were the drugs already here when you started? Because, God, what? You’ve been here a year at least?”

  He looked over at Finn, found him waiting for the same answer, and gave the only one he could. “As many questions as I know you have, you’re on a need-to-know basis only. And that’s one of the things you have no need to know.”

  “Dammit, Roland. Roman. Whoever the hell you are. How can you say that?” Livia cried out.

  Roman pushed off the desk, prompting Finn to push out of his chair. “I know you don’t like it. I also know it’s going to take time to digest. Until it does, things have to remain status quo.”

  “He’s right,” Finn said. “A change in routine is a sure sign something’s off. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times. Someone gets spooked, and the whole investigation goes south.” He dropped to his haunches in front of her, took hold of her hands. “You don’t want your courier or anyone else to think there’s anything wrong.”

  She grimaced as another thought hit her. “By anyone else you mean Carmen.”

  “Carmen, yes,” Roman said. “But the street value of what’s in your storeroom is of interest to people higher up the food chain than Carmen or Bebé.”

  “Does Carmen know?” Finn asked, standing to face him.

  Roman thought back to the day Carmen had stepped between him and Tomás on the sidewalk outside the boutique. They’d been arguing then about blips in delivery schedules. Roman as Roland had threatened to blow the lid off the whole operation if Tomás didn’t stick to his word.

  Whether or not Carmen knew the full extent of what her boyfriend was involved in, she knew enough to argue with him on Roland’s behalf.

  “Let’s just say that she’s not an innocent bystander,” said Roman. “And, if I don’t get to work, she’s going to be wondering what’s going on.” Though he suspected she’d already figured it out. “Are you going to be okay? Can you do this?”

  “Yes, yes,” said Livia. She waved him off. “I’ll shower and dress and be down in an hour. You can handle things until then, yes?”

  Roman nodded. “Carmen and I will be fine. I’ll tell her you panicked over a shipment you thought had been lost. And that you’ll be bringing us breakfast to show your appreciation for our holding down the fort so often lately. How’s that?”

  Livia snorted. “Sounds like blackmail to me.”

  “Then my job here is done,” Roman said, heading for the door, waiting until Finn gave him a reassuring nod before walking out and closing the door behind him.

  He leaned back against it for several long moments, not only catching his breath but also searching for anything he could find of Roland before going downstairs.

  Christ. He did not need this shit, especially after Jodi bailed on him last night.

  He’d been livid when she’d answered his call and told him she was two hours into the drive. If she didn’t want him following her, fine. And in retrospect, it was a good thing he’d come in early this morning rather than late.

  What a fucked-up nightmare that would’ve been: McLain and Livia bringing in the MDPD and blowing a year’s worth of work, which, he was beginning to think, would never pay off.

  He got that Jodi didn’t want him to put her into protective custody and thus risk losing his job once the truth of his breaking cover was ferreted out. It probably would’ve made him feel all warm and fuzzy if it didn’t make him so goddamn mad.

  And he was getting mad again standing here reliving it, so he forced himself to act like he lived for work and work was waiting, and oh boy, it was time for work!

  “Christ,” he grumbled to himself as he stormed down the stairs. He really was gay.

  “Where’s Livia?” Carmen asked, waiting at the bottom and pouncing when he hit the landing. “What were you doing in the storeroom with her and that guy when I got here?”

  He brushed on by. He was ready for work! “I guess she had a nightmare that she’d lost a special order and came down to dig for it once she woke up.”

  Carmen dogged him from the staircase to the kiosk. “She slept here?”

  Roman rolled his eyes toward the second floor. “He’s sleeping here, so…”

  She shook her head as if that explained nothing. “It still doesn’t make sense. Why would she be looking for a special order in the shipping area?”

  “Ask her yourself, precious. She’s bringing us breakfast soon. I am dying for a muffin.”

  “What is wrong with you?” she asked, frowning as if a root canal was in her imminent future.

  “Wrong?” He gestured expansively. “The sun is shining. The DVDs of last season’s Project Runway are shipping. Ugly Betty, too. We get to wear the best clothes and buy them at near cost. How could anything possibly be wrong?”

  And then he prayed for a lightning bolt to put him out of his misery, because he was at the end of his rope with this job.

  Thirty-eight

  After learning the truth about Roland Green earlier in the day, Finn had had every intention of vacating the room at Splash & Flambé Tuesday night and heading home for a few to play catch-up.

  He’d packed up his things and stored his electronics in the Jeep’s lockbox, intending to grab a bite to eat. But he’d ended up taking a shower first, then crashing on the futon, instead of hitting a drive-through for a burger before hitting the road.

  He figured waiting out rush hour made more sense than contributing to the mess. He just didn’t count on his nap lasting six hours—which was why he was still there at midnight to smell the fire.

  He hadn’t slept much the night before, having spent most of it wrapped up, naked, with Olivia, so his body was obviously making up for lost time. And since six hours was about his limit anytime he closed his eyes, well, he was just lucky it was, or he would’ve been toast.

  Literally.

  As it was, he was double-checking that he hadn’t left anything in the room that he�
��d need before he got back when he heard an explosive bang, followed closely by the squealing of tires. By the time he got to the window, the vehicle was gone…and the flames were just getting started.

  Getting out was his first instinct. Saving anything he could of Olivia’s stock was his second. Somewhere in there he knew he needed to call both her and 911.

  He dashed into her office and grabbed her laptop, then dialed 911 from the top of the stairs, pulling the neckline of his shirt over his mouth and nose and reporting the fire while he made his way to the first floor.

  Once he reached the bottom landing, he didn’t think of anything but getting himself out and saving his life. The smoke was rolling in thick waves down the hallway from the storeroom; the stench would soon ruin the fabrics of the clothes the fire hadn’t already destroyed.

  He vaulted over the landing’s railing, hitting the hardwood floor below in a crouch. By now, the smoke was obscuring the rows of lights left on overnight along the far side of each of the stores.

  Finn knew where the front door was, but there was just enough panic hitting him that it wasn’t only the smoke that was making it hard to breathe. He could hear the roar of the flames behind him, feel the heat, sense the integrity of the building beginning to give way. Above him, behind him, creaks and groans and loud popping bangs punctuated the roar of growing fire.

  Aided by the streetlights, he found the front door. It was locked, as he’d known it would be, leaving him to consider whether to break that glass or the panes in the display window. Either way, it was throw himself or something solid through. He was already holding Olivia’s laptop….

  He cast a quick glance side to side. He’d seen a heavy lockbox beneath the counter of the kiosk, but he didn’t have time to go back.

  Jerking clothes from racks would take too much time, and the racks looked too flimsy, so he gambled, holding the laptop like a Frisbee and spinning it at the door.

  He ducked as the glass shattered. Then, knocking away the remaining shards, he burst out onto the sidewalk, feeling something slice his arm on the way.