Illicit acollection, p.223
Illicit: A Contemporary Romance Collection, page 223
Jackson held up last night’s brandy bottle with a question in his eyes. She nodded and turned to the cupboard behind her, drawing down three glasses. By unspoken agreement, they moved to the living room, where she ensured the drapes were drawn before turning on the lights.
“Seriously,” she said as Jackson passed her a glass. “I don’t get the courtesy of a last name? You two probably know what bra size I wear.” She set her feet on the coffee table and crossed her ankles.
“I’d just like to point out that Jackson didn’t need to do any digging for that,” Victor said.
“Yes, well, that’s not my usual M.O.” she said.
“Isn’t his, either.”
“I’m gratified to hear it. But we digress.”
The men looked at each other and seemed to come to a decision. Jackson climbed to his feet.
“What’s this?” The card he pressed into her hand contained two scrawled phone numbers.
“In case you need to reach us.” He retook his seat. “The top number is my cell. The bottom one is manned 24/7 by a larger crew. Any one of them can provide help. I’d recommend you—”
“Memorize the contents, then eat the card?” She winked at Victor.
He grinned back at her. “Goes great with peanut sauce.”
“I was going to say lock it in your safe, but whatever. When you two are done with the silliness, how about we get down to brass tacks?”
“Ignore Mr. Sobersides here,” Victor advised her, jerking a thumb in Jackson’s direction. “He’s not usually this much of a stick-in-the-mud, but he’s worried for your safety.”
“I’m in jeopardy if I work with you?” Jackson had hinted at the possibility last night, so she shouldn’t be surprised. All the same, a prickling sensation drifted down her spine and she knew a sudden urge to rub her arms.
“It’s possible,” Jackson said. “We have an important task we’d like to give you. If you’re caught, best-case scenario is that you’ll lose your job.”
That, at least, wasn’t a problem. She was leaving First Faith the minute she was done being useful to the authorities. “And the worst case?”
“We don’t believe Veras is violent, but he’s working with some nasty characters,” Victor said, more serious than she’d seen him yet. “If you’re caught, they could put you in their crosshairs. Literally.”
She drew in a deep breath. “In other words, you can’t guarantee my safety.”
“Correct,” Jackson affirmed.
She swallowed, but she had already made her decision. “How can I help?”
An approving gleam entered Jackson’s eyes. “Veras has a laptop. He sometimes brings it to the office.”
She nodded. “I’ve seen it.”
“Watch long enough and you’ll notice his extreme paranoia concerning it. In almost a year of ingratiating myself with him, I couldn’t get near the thing. If it’s not in use, he locks it in a safe, either at his home or in the office. On the rare occasions he leaves it out on his office desk, it’s guarded by a locked door, Beatrice Wylie, and a security camera. Even the guards aren’t permitted to enter the executive suite except in pairs.”
Mia sat up at that. “He has CCTV in his office? Where?”
“The ferns,” Jackson said. “One of the ceramic pots has an embedded camera that looks like a hole meant for watering. But don’t worry. It’s angled to cover the desk and wall safe, which is—”
“Behind the painting of The Last Supper,” she said.
“Exactly,” Victor said.
“When I planted the voice recorder did I—?”
“No,” Victor said. “We don’t believe you got within the camera’s view.”
She sagged with relief.
“But here’s the problem,” Jackson said. “Without Veras becoming aware of it, we need to get access to that computer.”
The picture coming together was altogether different from the one Mia expected. A secret laptop, scary associates, crosshairs…
An image struck her of the heavily laden collection baskets that were passed during First Faith services. There had been a lot of cash there. Also, numerous, thick envelopes—perhaps an unusual quantity in a world with automated bank transfers. Was Veras laundering money for someone? Maybe the mob or a drug cartel? With congregants that numbered in the tens of thousands and no way to track anonymous cash donations, it would be the ideal setup.
But oh, if she was right… That would mean Veras was using all those nice, sincere people who were only looking for a better way to navigate their lives. He was listening to their troubles, promising to help protect their souls, and taking their money—all while conspiring to prey on them and their children.
What about the church’s charity work? Was that cover for something nefarious? Perhaps drug smuggling through the missions?
Thank God Mia had removed Tabby from his influence. Thank God.
She found she was on her feet, her hands clapped over her mouth as the two men watched her with grave expressions. She sat and rubbed her arms against a sudden chill.
“Sorry. I was under the impression I was dealing with a garden-variety molester.” She choked on a bitter laugh. “As if there could be such a thing.” She looked at them bleakly. “How do you guys do this?”
“We don’t always,” Jackson said. His eyes were a deep pool of sympathy.
The room fell silent as they reached for their brandy in concert.
“Where do I come in?” she asked when she could.
“We propose giving you a USB stick to upload a program,” Victor said.
“Program,” she echoed. “Like a keystroke recorder.”
“Similar,” Jackson said. “We want access to his database. Once the program is uploaded, the next time he uses the laptop to connect to the internet, we’ll be able to see the contents of his files. Then we’ll move in with the broadest sweep possible.”
This sounded close to being done, then. And she could help with the last push. “What’s the plan?”
Jackson set his glass on the coffee table. “We’ll wait until the laptop is on Veras’s desk and you’re nearby. Then we’ll create a disturbance to pull both Veras and Wylie away.”
“Like what?”
“We’re working on a scheme. In broad strokes, you’d gain entry to the room, toss something over the camera, and plug the USB into the laptop’s port. You’d have to wait until the light on the end turns green, then extricate yourself by doing everything in reverse.”
Mia thought for a moment. It sounded doable, even if her stomach had dropped to her feet. “How long will that take?”
“For the actual program to upload?” Victor asked. “No more than ninety seconds.”
“I assume you want me to carry the USB stick all the time. How, exactly?” Most maternity dresses lacked pockets, and after yesterday’s fiasco, she wasn’t keen on using her bra. She’d be worried the USB would fall out or someone would detect an unseemly bulge.
“Do you have any suggestions? Jackson asked.
It couldn’t be made into a necklace because she might need the lock pick in her cross pendant.
She held up a finger. “Hang on a sec.” She went to the bathroom and retrieved a claw-shaped hair clip. “Would this work? A lot of First Faith women use these.”
The two men exchanged glances.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Victor accepted the barrette and put it in his pocket. He climbed to his feet. “Nice to meet you, Mia.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “You’re off?”
“I am. My significant other is expecting me.”
She saw him to the back porch and watched as he slipped over the fence.
Then she turned to Jackson, who had been washing their glasses and putting them away in the cupboard. This wasn’t an act of politeness, she somehow knew. When he wasn’t hunting hardened criminals, he was a man who enjoyed performing simple domesticities.
He came to her now, shrugged his hoodie on and slid his feet into his Nikes.
He stilled her hand when she would have drawn back the curtain. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
This was theoretically true, but she would stand by her commitment, if not for the reasons driving Jackson. She had Tabby to consider, for one thing. And yes, Mia was offended by the prospect of money laundering or similar dark deeds.
But the thing which truly stung, which was stiffening her spine even now, was how Veras was betraying his congregation’s trust. All those people who turned to him for salvation and guidance. Who honored him with their hearts…
Who would she be if she didn’t do her part to end his giant con?
“Neither do you,” she said. “And yet here you are.”
“Here I am,” he agreed.
Without her consciously willing it, they had drawn close to one another in the moonlight. His voice had deepened. He was gazing at her lips like he wanted nothing more than to taste them.
There was a hum of electricity in the air as when a thunderstorm was brewing, and it found an echo in her blood. It wasn’t like her to take the initiative, but all that adrenaline needed an outlet—at least she could let that be her excuse. Not that she needed one.
She stepped in, until her breasts touched his chest, and felt the delicious friction as she rose onto her toes. She tilted her head and parted her lips.
Two big hands landed gently on her shoulders. “We can’t,” Jackson said. He retreated an inch and set his forehead against hers. He was panting.
Can’t? An odd way to put it. Departmental regulation, then? “Couldn’t you say it was necessary to persuade me to cooperate?”
One eyebrow arched. “Erotic manipulation?”
“Exactly.” They both groaned when she seized one of his wrists and slid his hand downward, until it cupped her breast.
His fingers flexed once, gently, making her gasp. Then they withdrew, accompanied by his entire body. “I can’t. I’m truly sorry but I can’t.”
“Why?” She folded her arms over her chest, trying not to let a sense of rejection consume her.
His hands plowed through his hair. “I want to. More than anything, but—”
“You’re married.”
“No.” That answer came swiftly.
“But there’s another woman.”
Something flashed through his eyes and he hesitated for the briefest moment. “No,” he said. Then more definitively, “No, Mia.”
She could feel everything in her closing down. He hadn’t made her any promises—he hadn’t lied. That would have been unbearable. But she was stupidly disappointed. Without intending to, she had been allowing a foolish hope to build and linger in her heart.
She suddenly needed to be alone. She had a lot to prepare for in the coming days, and no time or energy to invest in a blighted relationship.
She slid the patio door open. “You can go now.”
“If I were free…”
“But you’re not,” she said firmly, “so there’s nothing more to say.”
His eyes looked anguished but his voice was steady as he said, “Are you backing out? I wouldn’t blame you—”
“Is Veras still taking advantage of people?”
Jackson nodded.
“Then I won’t change my mind. Not in a million years.” She pushed him gently out the door.
This time he went without a backward glance.
16
When he knocked on her patio door the following night, Jackson was greeted by a woman who had retreated into icy professionalism. With all that was on the line, he should be thankful Mia was making it easy to keep her at arm’s length. He didn’t feel grateful.
Nor did his stomach, which had been misbehaving all evening.
“Where’s your sidekick?” Mia asked as Jackson removed his shoes.
“Engaged in other preparations. He says hello.”
“Give him my best back.”
The night before, when Mia asked about whether he was involved with another woman, Jackson had thought briefly of the Loo and how, in a sense, it would be truthful to answer yes. How it would be an easy, effective way to establish clean cop-informant boundaries.
In the next instant he’d remembered Mia’s history. He couldn’t use that tactic on a victim of bigamy. It would be beyond cruel and frankly, dumb-ass-lazy on Jackson’s part.
But by the time he realized his error, Mia had chosen to retreat into frosty dignity. Now there seemed no point to reopening the conversation when the end result would remain unchanged.
Mia stuck out her hand and looked at him expectantly.
Did she expect him to hold it? Guess they were going to have to have that boundary discussion after all.
“Well? Do I get to see it?” She looked at him like he was a few bullets short a round.
Oh, right. The USB. The primary reason for this visit. Feeling sheepish, he dug in his pocket.
“Looks pretty good,” she said when the barrette lay in her palm.
Jackson had to agree. The hinged spine of the clasp concealed the body of the USB. He showed Mia how to depress a small lever to expose the active end which, of necessity, protruded slightly.
“Here’s the light that’ll turn green when the program finishes uploading.”
“Simple enough. Let’s see how it looks.” She spun on her heel and disappeared down the hall, into her bedroom.
After a moment, Jackson ambled after her. He needed to man-up. Act casual. Had she been anyone else on his team, he wouldn’t think twice about watching her familiarize herself with her equipment.
He propped his shoulder against the door frame. Rather than stare as she fixed her hair in front of a standing mirror, he let his gaze roam around the room, ignoring the looming presence of the queen-sized bed.
As with the rest of the house, her bedroom was neat and clean, filled with furniture castoffs that bore Wylie’s signature and gave little hint of Mia’s personality.
She had all her possessions in storage, and he suddenly wondered what he’d find if he went poking around. Not that he would. Did she eat off china or Corelle dinnerware? Did she favor sleeping shorts or fancy nightgowns? All the mysteries of Mia that he had no right to be mulling while they were colleagues, working to put Veras behind bars.
Mia brushed her hair until it shone and released the scent of lilacs he remembered from the Away House. She scooped it up in the clip, fussing until a few tendrils curled in front of her ears.
He felt dizzy from her fragrance, and when she tilted her head to the side, he wanted nothing more than to bend and nibble the place where her neck met her shoulder. All these months after their wild coupling and it was crazy, but he could still taste her on his tongue—honey-sweet, salty, and with an erotic perfume that came directly from her skin.
He thrust his hands in his pockets and took a step back, away from temptation, as she finished her toilette.
She turned to him. “What do you think?”
He nodded his approval. “You’re already halfway to looking like a Sweet Mary. This’ll help even more.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Sweet Mary? Should I ask?”
He shrugged. “We have a bunch of slang concerning First Faith. Nicknames. That kind of stuff.” He probably shouldn’t be telling her this, but it was nice to meet her eyes and not be frozen out.
“Like?” She sat on the edge of the bed to listen. He tried not to notice how it made her breasts bounce.
“We don’t tend to call Veras by his nickname, but when we do, he’s the BJCV.” At her raised eyebrows he said, “Big Jesus-y Conman Veras.”
She laughed appreciatively.
“Have you met Brownlea yet?”
“Last week, before he left for the conference.”
“Know how he’s sort of round and has that reddish skin and the white, curly hair?”
Mia nodded.
“We started off calling him Old Testament, but because of his shape, and because I mostly work with idiots, that turned into Old Testicle.”
Far from being shocked, her laugh was dirty and dark. Jackson grinned back at her.
“What about Beatrice?” she asked.
“She doesn’t have a nickname. We actually like her. No—” He paused. “Like is too strong. We respect her.”
Wylie could be gruff, judgmental, and horrifically old-fashioned for Jackson’s tastes. But she worked harder than most on practicing what she preached. She’d done a lot of work with victims of domestic violence and took young mothers under her wing. She had devoted her life to First Faith.
No way she knew what Veras was up to. In fact, when they finally arrested Veras, Jackson couldn’t wait to see Wylie tear a strip from his hide.
“Have you noticed most of the women at First Faith have a certain look?” he continued. “We call them Sweet Marys. The ones Veras sleeps with are Burning Bushes.” Or, as one of the guys sometimes called them, Supplicunts. But Jackson doubted Mia would appreciate that piece of vulgarity. She’d probably glare and demand to hear the male equivalent—a fair point since it didn’t yet exist.
“You’re awful,” Mia said, half admiringly.
“Gallows humor. Price of admission to the job.”
Now that she was looking at him with favor again, it was time to bring this around to business.
“We’re thinking we’ll be ready to go next Wednesday,” he said. “If you’re still on board.”
Her smile vanished and she visibly sagged. “Can’t it be sooner?”
He pricked his ears, suddenly alert. “Any particular reason?”
“Not really.” She shrugged and seemed to be evading his eyes. “It’s hard to explain but I’m just tired of not being me. Plus…the longer I have to wait, the more nervous I’ll get.”
“You’ve been doing this for six months,” he reminded her gently. “A few more days won’t make that much difference.”
She mumbled something under her breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. You’re right.” She heaved a sigh and bounced once more on the bed. “So what’s the plan?”
The team had tossed around a number of ideas, considering everything from a bogus fire alarm to having a drone buzz the office, to having a construction crane break a window on the far side of the building. In the end, all those plans had been rejected for being too unpredictable, expensive, or dangerous.
