Czytaj książkę: «Undercover Lovers»

1

CARTER SINCLAIR shifted in the leather chair and pushed his shoulder-length hair out of his face. Damn, but he longed for a haircut and a shower. For three harrowing years he’d been knee-deep in murderous, sleazebag scum, and he was nearing the end of his rope. Just hours ago, he’d been pulled off of his current undercover gig, and he could only hope the reason was the change of assignment he’d put in for.

Across from him, Assistant Director Evan Kincaid put down the phone, then flipped open a manila file folder on his desk. Carter recognized his personnel file. Hell, he’d seen it enough recently.

Kincaid peered at him over the rims of his half glasses, a portrait of the President and the FBI seal on the wall behind him. “I understand you’re looking for a new assignment.”

“Yes, sir. I’d like a permanent assignment to a field office. I’m hoping to go in as the special agent in charge.”

“Why?”

“It’s all there in my file, sir.”

Kincaid leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Humor me.”

Carter suppressed a snort. He’d been through a whole battery of psych exams, and still he had to prove himself. “I’m looking for a change in lifestyle, sir. Chasing drug dealers doesn’t hold the appeal it once did.”

“Understandable. You’ve been deep undercover for a long time.”

Carter sat up a little straighter as Kincaid continued to flip through his file. After four requests for a transfer, that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. When he’d left the Waxahachie, Texas, police department to join the Bureau, he’d longed for the chance to hunt down the criminals that preyed on ordinary folks. He’d gotten the chance, and he’d helped put away more hardened criminals than he had fingers and toes to count.

But now Carter was just plain tired. Emotionally, physically. Hell, he was so tired his fingernails ached. He either needed a new assignment or a new job. But Carter loved the Bureau, and that’s why he’d spent the last two months trying to push through this request.

He cleared his throat, and Kincaid looked up from the folder. “Does that mean the Bureau’s going to facilitate my request?” Carter asked.

Kincaid pushed back from his desk. “That depends on you.”

“Sir?”

“Have you been following the news? Celebrity blackmail?”

Carter nodded, not sure where this was going. “I’ve heard a bit about it. Some big-shot Hollywood director. A Wall Street tycoon. And a Congressman, I think.”

In truth, he’d have to have been on Mars to have missed the news. Some scumbag was selling sexual secrets. Reputations were being ruined, deals destroyed, and key political players were suddenly bending to the will of unseen blackmailers.

“They’re just the tip of the iceberg,” Kincaid said. “The high-profile victims. The ones who are willing to go public instead of succumbing to the perp who’s trying to put the pressure on. And,” Kincaid continued, “that’s why the FBI’s getting involved.”

“A case?” Carter asked, sitting up even straighter.

Kincaid nodded, then grabbed the top folder off of his in box. He pulled out a thick report and rifled through the pages. “Our information suggests that there are quite a few more victims out there—ordinary folks with a lot to lose who haven’t contacted us or their local police yet.” Kincaid put the report in the folder and slid the whole thing across the desk toward Carter.

That made sense. Carter reached for the folder and skimmed the summary stapled to the full report. Some agent holed up in a cubicle somewhere had done an excellent job of tracking down loose ends. The author had discovered a link between all the known victims—sometime within the last two years, all the victims had visited a resort just north of Santa Barbara, California. A rather interesting resort, from the looks of it. Called the Kama Resort, the place was run by a sex therapist with a call-in radio show that Carter had heard once or twice.

“It’s a sex camp,” he said, setting the file on the desk.

“More or less, yes.” Kincaid reached for the folder and returned it to its proper stack. “According to the brochure, it caters to couples who are hoping to…” He broke off, looking slightly uncomfortable as his hand twisted in the air in search of the proper word. “…to improve their, uh, intimacy. ”

Amused, Carter kicked back, stretching his long legs out until the toes of his loafers grazed the polished wood. “Like I said, a sex camp.”

“Yes, well, there you have it.”

“Does the Bureau suspect the owner?”

“Interesting question. We checked him out, and he seems clean.” Kincaid leaned back in his chair. “But at this point we just don’t know. It could be him, a staff member, a frequent guest. Hell, there might be no connection to the resort at all. The background of the extortion victims could just be a coincidence.”

“So what does this have to do with me?” Carter asked.

“The FBI’s been asked to participate in a task force. We’re working with the sheriff’s department in Santa Barbara County along with the local police department. The task force is sending in a team to investigate the resort,” Kincaid said. “Like I said, it might be coincidence, but I’m not a big believer in coincidence myself.”

“And I’m on the task force.”

“Not only are you on the task force, agent, you’re heading it up and leading the undercover team. Unless you have something else planned.”

Carter swallowed a grimace. Hell, yes, he had something else planned. A nice desk job in one of the FBI’s many bureaus. Maybe even back home in Texas. The last thing he wanted was to jump from one undercover job to another. He wanted out of that grind, and if Kincaid wasn’t willing to cut him loose, then maybe it really was time to turn in his resignation.

“Sinclair?”

Carter sat up. “Sir, I’m afraid this isn’t an assignment I can accept. I’m not interested in—”

“Working undercover. I know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, maybe I can persuade you.”

“No, sir. I’m not—”

“If you do a good job, I can guarantee you a new assignment. A field office, if that’s what you want. Your pick of location.” He spread his hands wide. “Carte blanche. But only if…” He trailed off.

“I know, I know.”

“Well? Think you can handle one more undercover job? After all, it’s not like you’ll be up to your elbows in crack addicts. Considering your background, this will be more like a vacation.”

Carter wasn’t sure about that, but he knew enough to recognize when he was beat. He might not want to go undercover again, but if he aced this assignment, at least it would be the last time. Resigned, he exhaled. “Who’s on my team?”

“You and the author of the report. You’re both scheduled to fly into Burbank, pick up a rental car and your papers from the local field office and then drive up the coast to the resort.”

“That’s it? One person? I thought you said a team, not a partner.”

Kincaid leaned back again, his chair squeaking. “Like you said, it’s a sex camp. You’ll have task force support on the outside, but you and a female agent will go in alone. You and Agent Lowell will—”

“Lowell?” Carter leaned forward. Surely, he’d heard wrong. “Not Tori Lowell?”

Kincaid gave him that above-the-rim glance. “You know her?”

A complicated question. For Carter, Tori Lowell had always meant trouble—of both the good and bad kind. Carter decided to brush it off. “We went to the academy together.”

“Then you may or may not realize that she’s been desk jockeying since Quantico. And damn good at it, too. But she’s also been itching for an undercover assignment, and since she discovered this link, we’ve decided to grant her request.” Again, he aimed that assessing glance over his glasses. “If you know Lowell, then I’m sure you know her reputation.”

“Yes, sir,” Carter mumbled.

“Good. Because I’m trusting you to keep her in line. The woman’s a good agent, but she’s a loose cannon, and since this is her first time undercover, I don’t want her playing Rambo.”

Irritation welled in Carter’s gut. “So I’m babysitting?”

Kincaid shook his head. “No. You’re just leading your team. You do your job well, and we’ll have no problem pushing through your request for reassignment.”

Carter’s hands tightened on the armrests. Kincaid could call it what he wanted, but it sounded damn close to baby-sitting to him. Either that, or blackmail. Keep the overeager agent in line and get a new assignment; fail and get sent back to undercover hell.

Not exactly his dream job.

Kincaid leaned back, looking Carter straight in the eye. “I trust this isn’t a problem?”

For half a second, Carter considered telling Kincaid to find another sucker. Then common sense caught up to him. “No, sir.” This assignment was his ticket out of his current placement, and for that, he’d put up with a lot. Even Tori Lowell.

It was only when he’d stepped out of Kincaid’s office, the full brief clasped in his hand, that he realized the extent of what he’d agreed to—he and Tori posing as husband and wife at a sex camp. A sex camp.

Sighing, he headed down the hall toward the elevator. He needed to get out of the building before he did something stupid like walk into Kincaid’s office, throw the file on his desk and tell him to find some other agent to lead the team.

But no, there were a hundred reasons for him to take this assignment, and only one reason to walk away.

And surely that reason had changed over the last three years. Despite what Kincaid said, she couldn’t still be the same ultra-competitive, smart-mouthed, sexy-as-hell woman he’d sparred with at Quantico, could she?

As a man, Carter had been attracted to her from the first day they were assigned to the same class. Tori was brilliant and ambitious, and her academy achievements had pushed Carter. He owed his success at the academy to their pervasive competition.

But while she might have all the makings of a smart and intuitive agent, she’d also been a wild card, and if Kincaid was right, she still was. The daughter of a highly celebrated undercover agent, Tori had made no secret of the fact that she intended to follow in her father’s footsteps and that she’d do anything to get there.

Dating while at Quantico was discouraged by the powers that be, but not forbidden, and Carter had been entranced enough to go against protocol. Almost daily, Carter had asked Tori out for coffee or to grab a pizza and some beer at the Boardroom, the bar located above the cafeteria at Quantico. She’d repeatedly turned him down cold. Repeatedly, that is, until the week before graduation. When he’d asked her then, she’d accepted.

Carter blew out a breath, his body tightening as he remembered the way she’d looked that night. She’d worn a black dress and, though he’d seen her in jogging shorts, there was just something about a woman in stockings and heels. He’d taken her into Alexandria for dancing, and they’d worked up quite a sweat, each trying to go a little bit longer, a little bit harder, than the other. They’d cooled off afterward with vodka tonics. Not that Carter had really cooled off. Just the opposite, in fact. Simply being near Tori seemed to ignite his blood to near boiling.

Apparently Tori had heated up a bit, too. Because by the time they reached the dorms, neither one could keep their hands off the other. God, he’d been desperate for her, and he’d pinned her in the circle of his arms right under the stairway leading to her room.

She hadn’t protested, either. Her arms had slipped around his neck, and her lips…He sighed with the memory. Oh, the taste of her lips.

He’d moved closer, breaking the circle of his arms so he could touch her, stroke her body under that slinky, sexy dress. She’d moaned, her breath soft and hot against his ear. He remembered his head spinning, not only from the alcohol, but from the knowledge that this woman—this woman he’d been competing with during their entire tenure at Quantico—actually wanted him as much as he wanted her.

His mouth had explored hers, his hands stroking her silky soft shoulder, then down lower to trace the curve of her breast. She’d moaned, and the sound had acted on him with as much force as if she’d dropped to her knees and taken him in her mouth. He’d pulled her closer, wanting more, wanting everything, and knowing they should go inside one of their rooms but unwilling to do anything that would take her out of his embrace.

She’d leaned back, and their eyes met. At first, her mouth had curved into a smile, but then she’d frowned. Her eyes had widened, and she’d jerked backward. “I have to go,” she said.

She might as well have slapped him. Carter had been too stunned to move. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

With increasing urgency, she’d pressed against his arm. “I have to go.”

She broke free and ran down the hall, then up the stairs, her footsteps echoing through the corridor. He turned, instinctively looking around to see if anyone had witnessed her odd behavior. Nobody. The halls were completely empty.

It was only after the echo died that he realized what must have happened. It had all been a ruse. Their final tests were coming up, and so far he’d managed to pull ahead of her in every area. The Bureau didn’t formally rank its graduates, but everyone still knew who had the top spot. Right then, it was Carter. But Tori wanted that spot. Wanted it bad. And, damn it, apparently she even wanted it enough to try a little seduction to throw him off his game. He didn’t know why she’d run. Maybe she’d chickened out. Or maybe that was her game plan all along—get him hot and then get out of there.

He sighed. A damn shame. For a moment there, he’d thought they’d actually connected. He should have known better. Tori was too competitive by half. If anyone ever connected with her, it would be a damn miracle. He’d only wished she had run out on him before he’d got a major hard-on. Because all he’d had to look forward to that evening was a long, cold shower.

At the elevator, Carter sighed as he pulled himself out of his memories. He’d been her nemesis back then, and knowing Tori, she still had it in for him. At the very least, Tori was going to be less than enthusiastic about partnering with the man who—at least in her mind—stole her number one ranking in firearms, physical training and the classroom portion of their academy training.

He stepped onto the elevator, his mind reeling. Not that he was still interested in Tori. He got enough excitement in his job. She might have once been roll-in-the-sheets material, but nowadays, Carter’s interest in women leaned toward the more stable variety.

Swallowing a snort, he shook his head at his foolishness. No matter how he felt about her now, the truth was, he’d spent his days and nights at Quantico with a permanent hard-on, courtesy of a woman who drove him completely nuts and who probably never wanted to see him again.

A woman who was now his partner. A woman he was supposed to keep out of trouble.

The elevator doors slid shut, and he pressed his forehead against the cool metal.

Damn. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

“EAGLE’S NEST, this is Redbird. I’m in place.” Special Agent Tori Lowell ducked behind the Dumpster in downtown Hogan’s Alley, ignoring the repulsive odor of rotting food and who knows what else and waited for Murphy’s reply to register in her earpiece. She didn’t have long to wait.

“Roger, Redbird.” A burst of static, then, “Hatchlings, the rest of you give me an update.”

“Bluebird here. In place. No action.”

“Sparrow. Same here.”

“Seagull. Someone’s coming. Hang tight.”

Tori monitored the conversation through her earpiece, adrenaline pumping through her veins. The area behind the Dumpster stank to high heaven, and she longed to get out and see what was going on. But her orders had been firm—on this routine training mission, she wasn’t to do anything but observe unless she was given a direct order.

She sighed, resting her forehead against the rusty metal. How the devil was she ever supposed to prove herself if her superiors never gave her the opportunity? Carter Sinclair had been working in the field since they left the academy. Apparently, his career hadn’t suffered from their little liaison that night at Quantico.

She tightened her hand around the barrel of her gun, struggling to control her temper. She was just as good an agent as Carter—maybe even better—and yet she’d been locked inside an office building. Her superiors told her it was because she was good at research, and her mentor in the Bureau—an overprotective family friend—backed up that assessment.

But Tori didn’t believe it. She was too good to be chained to a desk. Which meant the only explanation was Carter. She’d made a mistake and had agreed to go out with the super-sexy agent. And then, when the wine and the moonlight had gotten the better of them, she’d succumbed to heaven in his arms.

She sighed at the memory. Oh, God, it had been heaven. At least until they’d been seen. She’d never discovered who their witness was, but she’d seen him in the shadows, watching her and Carter. He must have reported them; there was no other explanation. Her little tryst with Carter was reported to the higher-ups, and Carter, being a guy, still landed the primo assignments. Tori, however, got stuck in FBI hell.

It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t fair at all.

Bang! Crack!

Shots fired. Tori pressed her back against the brick wall, one hand on a pile of empty paint cans for balance. Her whole body tingled as she fought the urge to leap out and see what was going on.

Stay put, stay put, stay put. She repeated the mantra in her head, hoping the order to engage would squawk in her earpiece. More than anything, she wanted to get off the research and analysis grind. Technically, she was a field agent, but it was a rare day when she actually got to go out in the field. No, one little mistake, and she’d been stuck pushing paper in Investigative Services Division. She was good at the research, good at the analysis, but, damn it, she hadn’t joined the FBI to sit at a desk.

Her father had been an amazing undercover operative. Legendary, even. True, he’d hardly ever been around, but that was only because his work had been so important. When he’d died, Tori and her mom had just about died, too. From that moment on, Tori had wanted to fill her dad’s shoes.

She hoped she had what it took, but she really didn’t know. Tori had always been good in the classroom, but the real world was untested and, frankly, that made her nervous as hell. She’d always been among the best, but what if she wasn’t any more? The thought was sobering. She needed to prove herself, to live up to her father’s standards. And she’d do whatever she had to.

But so much was working against her. She was a woman in a man’s world. True, there were more female agents in the Bureau than ever before, but that didn’t mean the women didn’t have to work harder to get to the same place.

Her every attempt to get an undercover assignment had been foiled, and she’d spent the duration of her FBI career with her butt in a chair and her eyes on a computer monitor. The work was interesting, no doubt about that, but it wasn’t the same as going undercover. So far, her efforts had hit a brick wall, and she was angry at herself for helping to put that wall in place. She’d been attracted to Carter from the day they’d met. And, considering the many times he’d asked her out, that attraction was reciprocated.

She’d given in against her better judgment, and she’d been paying the price for years.

Now, though, she had a real chance. Follow orders, do the job and—hopefully—get the transfer. She held her breath, waiting for the order to engage.

Unfortunately, her earpiece remained stubbornly silent.

The alleyway, however, wasn’t nearly as quiet. Pounding footsteps broke the stillness. Someone running. And a voice shouting for him to halt and put his hands up.

Closer…closer…

She could apprehend him. She was in position. She could do it. All she needed was the go-ahead.

But still nothing in her headphone. Damn.

“Eagle’s Nest, this is Redbird. I’ve got a bead on the perp. Do I have the go-ahead?”

A burst of static hit her ear. “Negative, Redbird.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it, her body thrumming like a live wire from the pent-up energy.

Instinct and training told her to go ahead and do her job. Common sense told her to follow orders and sit tight.

The perp pulled closer, near enough that she could hear his breathing. Damn Murphy! There wasn’t any reason she shouldn’t get this guy.

She heard him right there on the other side of the Dumpster. Her hand closed around butt of her gun. Stay put, stay put.

In an instant, she changed her mind, reaching for one of the empty paint cans. Her field of vision was limited, but she pulled her arm back, and when he passed, she heaved, hitting him square between the shoulders and knocking him to the ground. “Hands behind your head,” she yelled as she pulled her gun, still staying behind the Dumpster.

On the ground, the perp groaned and locked his fingers at his neck. Mentally, Tori patted herself on the back. She’d got him. And she hadn’t disobeyed orders. Not technically, anyway.

Special Agent Travis Murphy, his hands shoved into the pockets of his FBI parka, lumbered toward them, then bent at the side of the perp. “You okay, son?” Considering Murphy wasn’t treating the guy as a hardened criminal, Tori assumed the training exercise was over.

The guy sat up, rubbing his back. “Fine, sir.”

Murphy nodded, then patted him on the shoulder. “Go get yourself checked out. She got you pretty hard.”

The perp—an agent Tori didn’t recognize—shot her a decidedly dirty look. “Yeah, she did.”

She shrugged, trying to look innocent and vindicated. Her eyes met Murphy’s. “I got the perp. Sir.”

“You disobeyed a direct order.”

“No, sir. I stayed behind the Dumpster and I—”

“Damn it, Lowell, don’t split hairs with me. That’s not a game you want to be playing.”

She sucked in a breath, biting back her automatic retort about the whole point of training ops being to train agents to take action, not sit back like meek little bunnies. But she knew what his response would be—Hogan’s Alley was a fake town set up just for this kind of thing. The FBI had strict rules about the scenarios that went down there. Yada, yada, et cetera and so forth.

She pulled her thoughts to the present, where Murphy was still chewing her out.

“How the hell am I supposed to evaluate your fitness for the field if you can’t even follow a simple instruction? Not to mention that you probably dislocated O’Henry’s shoulder.” He sighed, his ruddy face coloring even more than usual in the summer heat.

Tori licked her lips, the truth fighting with her pride. On the pride side, she knew—she just knew—she’d done the right thing, made the right call. If she hadn’t thrown that can, the perp would have gotten away. The robbery would have gone down, and the FBI would have no one in custody.

On the truth side, Tori knew she’d disobeyed a direct order. In her mind, though, so long as none of the good guys got hurt, following orders wasn’t anywhere near as important as catching the bad guys. Too bad no one had asked for her opinion.

“I’m sorry, sir. It was an instinct, sir.”

“Bullshit. Quit trying to be your father, Lowell.” He bent his head to look at her over the rim of his glasses. “This is going in your file. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any choice.”

Tori’s heart sank even as her ire bloomed. She managed to catch his sleeve before he turned away. “Travis!”

The frown he shot her was anything but amused.

“I mean, Agent Murphy.” She lowered her voice. “Give me a break here. I’ve been pushing a computer since I joined the Bureau. I want to get out in the field. I want an undercover assignment.”

“Then do the job you’re assigned and earn it.”

“Earn it? I earned it at Quantico!”

He glared.

Tori squared her shoulders. “What about the report I turned in last week? Those blackmail incidents.” She started counting on her fingers. “The senator, that real estate developer and even that movie director. There’s a connection there. Did you read the report? And those are only the ones we know about. Someone’s running a scam out there. If I could only get out to—”

“Damn it, Tori. Your job is analysis, and you do a damn good job of it.”

The words came out harsh, but after a few moments, the older man’s face softened, and she recognized the familiar features she knew so well. Travis Murphy and Tori’s dad had been best friends at the academy and had worked closely together after that. When Mark Lowell had died, Uncle Travis had stepped in, watching out for Tori and her mother.

Now, she had to wonder if he was regretting being as good a role model as he’d been. Maybe if Travis hadn’t doted on her so much, she wouldn’t have followed in his and her father’s footsteps. After all, it wasn’t too late to take that accounting job at one of the Big Eight firms.

She stifled an unladylike snort. Not damn likely.

“I may be good at it, sir, but I didn’t sign up to work a desk. I have a degree in accounting, remember? I walked away from the desk job option. I joined the Bureau—”

“To be an undercover agent. Like your dad.” His eyes were sad, remembering. “I know. And I suppose I can’t protect you forever. But you’re not going to make it to the top by bending the rules.”

Her dad had bent plenty of rules, but Tori knew when to keep her mouth shut. Instead, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. It was only while she was counting that Murphy’s words sunk in. Slowly, she opened her eyes, hoping she wasn’t setting herself up for more disappointment. “What do you mean, you can’t protect me forever?” She drew in a breath. “Am I getting an undercover assignment?”

The thin line of Murphy’s mouth remained firm, but he nodded. “Yeah, kid. It looks like you are.”

Tori’s breath caught in her throat. “What? When? With who?” Her words tripped off her tongue, and it was all she could do not to shake Murphy and have him spill the entire story right then.

He held up a hand, laughing. “Hold on. You’re scheduled for a full briefing in about an hour. Right now, all I know is that you’re investigating the allegations in your report. And you’ll be working with one of the guys from your class at the Academy.”

“Doug Leyman?” she offered, suggesting one of her study buddies.

“Carter something,” Murphy said. Tori’s stomach twisted even as she wondered why Carter’s name would be unfamiliar to Murphy. Considering how much it had affected her career, surely her little tryst with Carter was legendary within the Bureau by now.

But Murphy looked genuinely clueless. “Carter Simmons, maybe?” he said.

“Sinclair,” Tori corrected. For years, she’d lived with the Carter mistake hanging around her neck like an albatross, and now this? She looked Murphy in the eye, wondering if the universe wasn’t playing some cruel joke on her. But he didn’t look to be joking, and she exhaled, standing up straighter and meeting his eye. “The agent’s name is Carter Sinclair.”