The Thing About Love by Julie James
“Yes.”
After a moment, she pointed. “I think your Waco file is toast.”
He glanced down and realized he’d clenched his fist tight enough to crumble the debriefing report. Nice. He set the mangled papers on his tray tables.
“The Columbia field office doesn’t have any female undercover agents who could handle the assignment?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational. “Or . . . the Charlotte office? Atlanta? Is Chicago handling all the undercover assignments now, or just the ones where we send in our agents to be attacked by armed sexual predators?”
She cocked her head pointedly.
Fine. Perhaps that had been slightly sarcastic.
“Given the delicate nature of the assignment,” Jessica said, “they were looking for an undercover agent with significant field experience. Apparently, my name was at the top of the list.” She held his gaze, no hesitation. “And I’m glad it was. I want the assignment. This guy preyed on a woman who’d just been beaten up by her boyfriend. It was his job to protect her, and instead he took advantage of her in one of the worst ways possible. So now I am going to do my job. And I’ll make sure this piece of shit never carries a badge again.”
Seeing her blue eyes flash, John felt a warm feeling spread across his chest.
Well. Tough to argue with that.
He took a moment before answering. The man in him didn’t like the idea of her being in a position where she might have to let some asshole expose himself to her or touch her. But the agent in him knew there wasn’t anyone in the FBI better suited for the job. He’d seen Jessica in action, after all.
She would play this piece of shit like a fiddle.
“If this guy somehow gets you pinned down before backup arrives, use that leg breach you liked so much at the Academy. That’s a good move—it almost even worked on me. Almost,” he emphasized.
When her lips curved, he frowned. “What?”
“You’re cute when you’re protective,” she said.
He snorted at that. “I’m not being protective. I’m simply giving you professional advice, one colleague to another.”
“Ah. Well, thank you for that, then.” She turned back to her laptop—her break was over, apparently—and started typing again.
As John watched her work, something compelled him to speak. “Maybe I’m being a little protective.”
She looked up from her computer to meet his gaze. Suddenly feeling like he’d admitted more than he’d intended, he shifted in his chair. “Mostly because you make very questionable footwear choices.” He nodded gruffly at her high heels. “You’ll break an ankle chasing a bad guy in those things.”
She smiled. “When’s the last time you heard of a white-collar-crime agent getting in a foot chase?”
Fair enough.
25
On the way to the hotel, Jessica called Leavitt to check in.
“It’ll be just three of you today,” the Jax agent informed them, his voice sounding through the car’s speakers. “Apparently, Blair told Morano he could sit this meeting out.”
Jessica exchanged a look with John, who was driving. “That’s a surprise.”
“Morano was disappointed to miss it. I think he was hoping for one last chance to break out a ‘cherries jubilee,’” the Jax agent joked.
After they hung up with Leavitt, Jessica mused over this newest information. “Do you think Blair is trying to cut Morano out of the loop?”
“Possibly. Blair thinks we’re planning several more investments in the city. He’s gotten comfortable with us,” John said. “Why give Morano twenty percent of the bribes when Blair can work with us directly? That just cuts into his own profit.”
Indeed, that sentiment seemed to be confirmed when they met Blair a few hours later, at the restaurant site.
“Did I tell you the Land Use Committee would come through, or what?” Blair asked as he strode through the front door of the abandoned bank.
John extended his hand, greeting the mayor with a grin. “For the record, I never doubted you. It was all Ashley’s idea to split the payments.”
Playing her part, Jessica threw him an irritated glance before turning to Blair and shaking his hand. “We’re thrilled the problem could be resolved so expeditiously. Thank you, Mr. Mayor.”
“All in a day’s work.” True to form, his eyes skimmed over her pencil skirt and short-sleeve white shirt. “And I think it’s time you started calling me Patrick.”
Leaning against the teller counter, John cocked his head as if just realizing something. “Where’s Morano?”
“He had another commitment, a dinner with one of his clients,” Blair said with a dismissive wave. “He sends his regrets.”
Knowing this was a lie, Jessica watched for any changes in Blair’s body language or demeanor. “Sorry he couldn’t make it.” She threw out a little bait to see if he would bite. “But I think the three of us can manage well enough without him.”
An opportunistic gleam entered Blair’s eyes. “I couldn’t agree more.” He eyed the briefcase that rested near John’s feet. “Assuming you don’t have any surprises for me today.”
“No surprises here.” John reached down and grabbed the suitcase, then handed it over to Blair. “Twenty-five thousand in cash, as promised.”
After taking the briefcase, Blair looked between Jessica and John, as if debating whether to unzip it and count the money. Apparently trusting them by this point, he let the briefcase fall to his side and gestured to their surroundings instead. “When do you start renovations?”
“Hopefully in a few weeks,” John said. “We already have the plans drawn up, so the next step is finding the right general contractor.”
“Have you given any thought to what your next project in Jacksonville will be?” Blair asked Jessica.
“Actually, yes. We’d like to switch things up, conceptwise—we’re thinking about a farm-to-table neighborhood bistro that’ll bring in a big weekend brunch crowd. Something upscale, where the menu changes every week depending on the season and what’s fresh in the market. I have this idea for a rotating special of gourmet scrambled eggs. Maybe pancakes, too. The kind of place that people keep coming back to because the food is great and they’re curious to see what the chef has on the menu—but that still feels approachable and relaxed.”
“Gourmet scrambled eggs and pancakes? Sounds very metropolitan.” Blair considered this. “I like it.” As he moved closer, his tone turned teasing. “Just don’t forget the grits, Ashley. Jacksonville may be a big city, but it’s still Southern at heart,” he drawled.
She smiled. “Grits. Got it.”
He paused, looking her over. “We should talk more about this project the next time you’re in town. Maybe over dinner?”
With six years of field experience as a special agent—the last several of which she’d focused on undercover cases—Jessica had learned the value of paying attention to nonverbal cues. And right now, without even saying the words, Blair was telling her something quite interesting.
Dilated pupils. Increased blink rate. A slight flush to his skin that indicated an elevated pulse. The way he’d begun to speak a little faster ever since he’d lied about Morano. All of which led her to believe that the mayor was either afraid or excited about something.
And she highly doubted he was afraid.
“I’d like that. I’ll call your office to set that up,” she said.
Blair pulled his cell phone out of his suit jacket. He touched the screen a few times, and then Ashley’s phone began to ring inside Jessica’s purse.
“Call that number instead. It’s my private cell.” He winked, then ended the call and stuck the cell phone back into his jacket. “Until next time, then.”
He extended his hand. When Jessica took it, she felt his thumb brush deliberately over the top of her fingers.
“Until next time,” she echoed.
Blair turned to John with a more disinterested air. “Dave.” He briefly shook John’s hand in good-bye, then turned and walked out the door.
John waited several moments, until they could be sure he was gone. “He’s up to something.”
Jessica thought back to the opportunistic gleam she’d seen in Blair’s eyes. “Yes, he is.”
• • •
At the rendezvous spot, Leavitt and Todd were in such a celebratory mood, Jessica half expected them to break out a bottle of champagne right there.
“And that, my friends, is a wrap,” Leavitt said, as Jessica and John climbed out of their rental car.
Todd shook both their hands heartily. “Well done.” He flashed them a wide grin, a departure from his usual reserved demeanor. “I’ll be drinking the good whiskey tonight.”
Jessica chuckled at that. She’d had a few long, intense cases herself and knew what a relief it was when they finally came to an end.
High on adrenaline and victory, the four of them went through the play-by-play as Jessica and John handed over their mics.
“Who came up with the scrambled eggs idea?” Leavitt wanted to know.
“That was all Jessica,” John said.
Todd pointed at her. “When you gave Blair your pitch, I turned to Leavitt and said, ‘Hell, I want to eat at this restaurant.’”
Thunder boomed ominously above them.
“The sound of Blair’s demise,” Leavitt whispered faux-dramatically, getting another laugh from all of them.
“Speaking of which, when do you anticipate you’ll make the arrest?” Jessica asked.
“We have a few odds and ends to tie up, and then the U.S. Attorney’s office will want to review everything,” Leavitt said. “But I know they’re as eager as we are to get the ball rolling. I can’t imagine it would be more than a few weeks.”
The sky flashed with lightning as drops of rain began to fall.
“I think that’s our cue.” Todd shook both their hands, thanking them for their assistance with the case. Leavitt followed suit, promising to touch base by the following Monday if they hadn’t yet moved forward with the arrest.
Jessica and John made it to the car a few seconds after it began to downpour. She scrambled into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut as rain battered the car.
“For chrissakes,” John muttered.
Running her fingers through her damp hair, she looked over as John reached for the buttons to adjust the driver’s seat, his knees practically touching his chin.
“Perhaps you might consider moving the seat back before you exit the vehicle?” he asked, a touch dry. “Just once.”
She tried hard not to smile as his seat slowly inched back. “I told you, I’m happy to drive all the time, Agent Shepherd.”
After his seat was finally in position, he started the car. She cocked her head, curious about something. “Why didn’t you tell Leavitt and Todd you made HRT?” He’d had the perfect opening, when Leavitt had made the comment about calling them the following Monday.
“That tends to be a long conversation. People want to know about Selection, they have questions about NOTS . . . it’s a whole thing. I don’t have time for a whole thing tonight.”
“Big plans?”
John put the car in gear to head back to the hotel, the look in his eyes heated enough to fog the car windows. “Very big plans, Agent Harlow.”
26
It was a little after eight o’clock by the time they reached the hotel grounds. Because of the storm, John decided to skip the valet and park as close to his room as possible—no way were they making that walk from the lobby in this downpour.
Apparently, however, everyone else staying at the resort had the same idea. He took the closest spot he could find, which wasn’t saying much, and then grabbed the gift shop umbrella they’d stashed in the backseat earlier. Small and lime green, it was hardly an awe-inspiring weapon against the current elements.
“Stay here,” he told Jessica, as rain cascaded over the car’s windows in thick sheets. He pushed the door open and got the umbrella up, then climbed out of the car and strode around to the passenger side.
He opened her door and held out his hand to help her out of the car. Huddled close together under the umbrella, they made a run for the door through the driving rain.
Once inside, they both grinned as they assessed the damage. He was essentially soaked from the shoulders down, and Jessica hadn’t fared much better; most of her left side and the lower half of her body were wet, her clothes clinging to her.
That part he didn’t mind.
They hurried through the frigid, air-conditioned hallway, and he unlocked the door to his room. She made a beeline for the temperature control panel on the wall and shut off the air-conditioning. Apparently still not warm enough, she opened the door that led out to the covered balcony and let the humid, ocean-scented air fill the room.
John headed into the bathroom to grab a couple of towels. While there, he quickly shed his clothes and shoes, everything except his boxer briefs, and hung them over the shower door to dry.
He came out of the bathroom to find Jessica leaning against the balcony door frame, gazing out at the rain and the ocean. Her hair was wavy and wild from the humidity and she was bare-legged, having ditched her shoes and skirt.
She looked lost in thought as she worked on her shirt, her fingers toying idly with one of the buttons.
When she noticed him standing there, she smiled. “Towels. Good idea.”
He walked over and handed her one. “What were you thinking just then?”
For the barest second, he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of something he couldn’t quite read in her eyes—but then it was gone.
Her tone was light as she dried off her legs and feet. “I was thinking how unfair it is that you get even better looking when wet, while I look like I’m trying out for an eighties glam rock band.” She set the towel on the nearby chair, next to her skirt.
Closing the gap between them, he stood facing her in the balcony doorway. He reached over to brush a lock of hair out of her face—hair that, if he was being totally honest, was doing some pretty strange things right then and seemed to be getting bigger and wider by the minute. And yes, her makeup had run a little, her blue eyes smudged with black eyeliner and mascara. She even had a small smear of it on her right cheekbone.
But still.
“You look beautiful,” he said huskily.
Her expression softened, and then she blushed, appearing momentarily unsure what to say.
He ran his thumb gently over her bottom lip. “I can see the self-deprecating quip just hovering here, begging to come out.”
She smiled at that. “You know me well.”
Yes, he did.
He lowered his head and kissed her. Slowly at first, but then her lips parted eagerly and he wound his tongue around hers, wanting more. Impatiently, he shifted her to the side—never breaking the kiss—and used one hand to slam the balcony door shut, giving them privacy.
Pinning her back against the balcony door, he slid one of his legs between her thighs and began unbuttoning the rest of her shirt. She was already breathing harder, and he was right there with her—after spending the last ten hours playing it cool for the sake of their assignment, he was glad to finally drop the façade.
He pushed the shirt off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She sank her fingers into the back of his hair and touched her tongue to his in a slow, erotic kiss that had his cock straining against his boxer briefs.
The woman always had driven him crazy with her mouth.
Cupping her ass in his hands, he lifted her up. Given their thirteen-inch height difference, it was e
As the full length of his erection pressed against her, she inhaled unsteadily. He pulled back from kissing her and saw the unabashed desire in her eyes.
Seeing that made him feel . . . things. Dangerous things.
“Take off your bra,” he said in a low voice.
She unhooked the front clasp and slid the straps off her shoulders. She didn’t say a word as the bra fell to the floor, but with the daring way she held his gaze, she still managed to make the gesture look saucy.
He sucked the rosy tip of one of her breasts into his mouth, relishing the sound of her ragged breathing as he teased her with his tongue.
“John,” she moaned.
There it was again, his name on her lips, in that throaty voice that drove him fucking wild. Backing away from the door, he carried her over to the bed and set her down.
She watched with obvious appreciation as he shed his boxer briefs.
“Lay back,” he told her.
Heat flashed in her eyes as she stretched across the bed. “You’re a little bossy tonight.”
“I can make it a lot bossy, if you prefer,” he shot back.
He climbed onto the bed, moving alongside her for a long, heated kiss. His hand trailed down her breasts and stomach and kept going, disappearing into the waistband of her underwear.
She sucked in a breath when he slid a finger inside her. As he stroked her in a slow, smooth rhythm, her nipples tightened and she arched against his hand.
“Does that feel good?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He added a second finger and then brushed his thumb against her clit. She gasped and spread her legs a little more.
Heat coiling in his abdomen, he sat up and yanked open the nightstand drawer, where he’d stashed a box of condoms earlier. As he pulled one out of the box, Jessica climbed onto his lap, straddling him.
Seeing her playful, naughty look, he slid his hands down to cup her round, perfect ass. “You need to take off this underwear.”