Charade

Allison eyed her for a long moment, then nodded. “I’m glad that’s settled. Luckily, I’ve planned an op or two myself along the way, so maybe I can be of assistance.”

“That sounds great.”

“Excellent.” Her new mentor’s tone turned brisk. “Let’s get down to details, shall we?”

It was almost 3:00 a.m. before Sasha returned home and crawled into bed for a few hours’ rest. She was sure that despite her exhaustion, she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Not after the multiple stimuli that had assaulted her body and her brain that evening. The wedding and all the memories it had elicited; the encounter with Vincent the Butcher Martino; the kiss; the upcoming reunion with her father, to be followed by a daring rescue of a genetically enhanced child…

But to her surprise, she drifted into a deep sleep almost right away. As a result, when her alarm rang promptly at eight o’clock, she was more than ready to jump out of bed and take on the world.

Starting with Jeff Crossman.

She liked the idea of talking to her handler early in the morning. The air was crisp, almost biting, but clear of snow or rain. People were heading to church. There was a pure, homespun feel to the day. Nothing romantic about it, and definitely nothing sexy or obscene.

Still, it bothered her that he had sounded so good—downright rumbly, in fact—when she’d called him. And there was the complication that he had asked her to come to his private apartment, rather than the office he shared with his team members. Both locations were downtown, but Jeff had reminded her that the office building was closed, and any meeting there would seem suspicious. She had agreed, only questioning the arrangement after he had already broken off the connection.

Now she stood outside the door to his apartment and reviewed the cold hard facts, beginning with their first meeting.

She remembered that encounter vividly. She had been nervous, but also excited to embark on her lofty new project. It had meant so much to her that the FBI’s Organized Crime Unit might be able to make use of her, so that no one else had to suffer the fate of her mother and be killed by “the mob.” It was time for that brand of violence to end, once and for all.

Then she had braced herself and stepped into the office of SpecialAgent Jeff Crossman—the man who would be “handling” her. One look at him, and she had had only one thought: she had died and gone to informant heaven.

That’s how amazing he had looked to her that autumn afternoon. Like a god. Not one of the Roman deities, of course, but maybe one of the Celtic ones? She had no idea about them—her whole universe, until now, had revolved around Roman mythology, thanks to her father—but one look at Jeff Crossman’s broad shoulders, emerald eyes and lean muscles had made a Celt out of Sasha, at least for the moment.

A very short moment, as it turned out. Because once he opened his mouth, he had proven himself to be a first-class jerk.

Give the guy a break, she chided herself now. He apologized, didn’t he?

She gave a nervous laugh, remembering how hot that apology had been, and imagining what might have happened next had Allison’s roses not intervened.

Focus, Sasha! Don’t think about the kiss. Or those shoulders. Or his Summit voice. This meeting is just a formality. Your mission is to save Teal Arnett, not to get laid. Puh-leeze try to remember that. I’m begging you!

Laughing at herself again—who knew she was so weak for football players?—she raised her fist and rapped sharply on his door with her knuckles.

Chapter 4

“Hey, Sasha. Nice to see you again,” Jeff said with a warm smile.

Ignoring how adorable he looked in gray warm-up pants and an untucked white tee, his wavy blond hair still damp from his shower, Sasha handed him the box of doughnuts she had purchased from a nearby bakery. Then she strode into the middle of what appeared to be a one-room apartment. “I’m sorry for calling so early, and for barging in on your day off. But I’ve got a lot on my plate today, so thanks for seeing me right away.”

Jeff peeked into the cardboard carton. “These look good. I guess I should have brought something to your place last night.”

“You brought plenty,” she assured him drily. Then she surveyed his living quarters with exaggerated thoroughness. “I see now why you were so impressed with my apartment.”

He laughed. “Yeah, this joint’s pretty grim. But I’m making payments on a beach house in San Diego, and I spend most of my time at the office anyway, so…”

Leaving the doughnuts on the counter, he walked over to her. “You said you’ve got a lot on your plate. Starting with me, right? I agree. We need to talk about last night. So have a seat.” He gestured toward the bed. “Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I had some earlier.” Sasha hesitated, then opted for a nearby desk chair rather than the comforter that had been spread over his otherwise unmade and still-warm-looking bed.

“Right. Let’s get to it then.” He sat across from her. “Obviously, I screwed up. But I swear, I didn’t come over there last night to hit on you. At least not consciously. I just felt like my apology was way overdue. You’ve been a tremendous asset. I don’t want to blow that, assuming I haven’t already.”

“We’re fine.” She grimaced sheepishly. “When I said I had a lot on my plate, I was talking about my father.”

“Oh, right.” He flushed as he jumped to his feet. “I’m such an idiot! Did you talk to him? How’d it go?”

“I didn’t talk to him yet. I’m headed there next. But…” She didn’t have to feign the confusion in her voice. “I think this is it, Jeff. The big moment for him and me. I can’t just keep ignoring him. Or ignoring the problem. So I’m going to force myself to hear him out. Talk it through. It won’t be easy. And I don’t want to rush it. So…” She took a deep breath, then blurted out, “I need some time off. From our stuff. Our business stuff, not the personal involvement. Not that we’re involved. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” He sat on the bed again, then studied her intently. “Take all the time you need. And just for the record, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“Thanks.”

“As for our personal involvement…” He gave the seat beside him an inviting pat. “Come here for a minute.”

She winced.

“I won’t bite you. Or kiss you. I just want to talk.”

She steadied her racing heart, then scooted over, sitting a safe distance from him and smiling warily. “Any chance we can postpone this till I see how it goes with Dad?”

His green eyes warmed. “It’s gonna go fine with your old man. He loves you. And you love him. Right?”

Sasha nodded.

“It’ll make you an even more valuable asset for us. Not because we expect you to inform on Big Frankie or anything, but because it’ll remove a giant unknown from the equation where you’re concerned. I’ll be relying on you even more than I have been. And hopefully I’ll be treating you better. More like an equal partner.” He edged closer. “It’s gonna be tough, because you’re so sexy. But if I want to be your handler, I can’t—well, handle you, so to speak. And I definitely want to be your handler, because I think we’re gonna do great things together.”

She could see that he had rehearsed those words—most of them, at least—and she was touched by how difficult it still seemed for him to deliver them. “I know. Don’t worry about it, Jeff. I want to keep working with you, too. Plus,” she said with a wistful smile, “we’ve got less chance than Romeo and Juliet, romantically speaking. Two different worlds and all that.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” he murmured. “We’d be amazing together. That’s the worst part of it, for me at least. I’ll definitely have to be on my guard against it. Because that kiss,” he added reverently, “is gonna stick with me for a long, long time.”

Sasha licked her lips, enjoying the forbidden thrill his words were sending through her. If it weren’t for her new mission—the need to save Teal—she might actually have argued with him. Or maybe even kissed him again.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he warned, his green eyes darkening. “I’ve been telling myself the same thing. We’re both adults. We can handle it. But that’s nuts. Right?”

“Probably.”

“I already worry every time I send you into a dangerous situation. If you were my girlfriend, I’d really go nuts.”

“Me, too.”

“You, too?” He winced. “You mean you’d worry more?”

“No. I’d be so distracted. Your voice already gets to me when you whisper instructions. Or try to boss me around.”

“Yeah?” He gave a sheepish grin. “Right in the middle of the op?”

Sasha licked her lips, then nodded. “I love it when that happens.”

“Man…” He exhaled sharply, then leaned into her, covering her mouth with his own while urging her with gentle hands to lie back onto the bed.

Sasha’s mind reeled with delight. “Jeff…”

“One kiss, then cold turkey,” he promised, his voice descending into a sexy growl. “Man, you feel good.”

One kiss.

Apparently he planned to make the most of it, because his hand journeyed almost immediately under her blouse, caressing her breasts, then expertly unhooking her bra to gain more complete access. Sasha wanted to protest, but her own curiosity was strong, and her willpower was weak, so she followed his lead, allowing herself to explore his tightly muscled chest under his T-shirt as his rough fingers sent wave after wave of pleasure through her.

This is our one chance, she reminded herself, giddy with arousal. So he’s right to make it count. Plus, you could get killed in Kestonia! Give him something to remember you by. We’ll be good after this. And meanwhile, yowza.

Inspired by his commitment to her pleasure, not to mention the hedonistic urgency as he ground himself against her, she slid her hand under the elastic of his sweatpants, then ran her fingers along the length of him, enjoying the fullness.

He gave a long, low groan, then told her ruefully, “We should stop.”

“One time, then cold turkey,” she reminded him breathlessly. “Why not make it count?”

“You’re sure?”

“Mmm, more than sure.”

She began stroking him again, and he flashed a sexy smile, then reached under her skirt and up along the inside of her thigh until his fingers reached their target.

“Wait, Jeff. Let me just—” She struggled to sit up, stripped off her boots and skirt, then wriggled out of her blouse and bra. At the same time, Jeff tore off his own clothes, revealing the hunkiest physique Sasha had ever seen at such close range.

They greedily appraised one another for a few seconds, then Jeff got down to business, pulling her panties off her so that she was wearing only her pink-and-blue argyle knee socks. Then he was on her again, nuzzling her neck while reaching over to open the top drawer of his nightstand.

“Rubber,” he explained.

Sasha almost laughed out loud to see her sophisticated handler reduced to one-word grunts. Then he was kissing her again, this time between her thighs, and her laughter turned to a decadent moan as he coaxed throbbing waves of heat and energy to that spot.

She was so close—and frantic to continue—but he interrupted himself and transferred his mouth to her neck.

“Jeff…”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he promised. And it was true. His first thrust made her gasp with renewed anticipation, then he satisfied her with lovemaking so intense, it was as though they were both about to leave for Eastern Europe on a suicide mission.

As they recovered in one another’s arms, Jeff gave her a sheepish smile. “That was some kiss. Thanks.”

She bit back an embarrassed laugh. “There’s a handler joke in this somewhere, but I hope we never find it.”

“Yeah, I’m scum,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But in my defense, I’ve thought about you a lot these last few months.”

“That’s your defense?” She laughed lightly, then hopped out of bed, grabbed her clothes and darted into the bathroom. “I’ll just be a sec!”

Slamming the door behind herself, she looked into the mirror over the sink and arched a disapproving eyebrow. “Nice job, Bracciali. When you go into denial, you don’t go halfway, do you?”

It was true. She had always been so careful before taking any relationship, no matter how hot, to this level. Sure Jeff was gorgeous, and sweet, and sexy, but under any other circumstances, that wouldn’t have been enough. Not this quickly, at least.

“But you could die in Kestonia,” she reminded herself, only half joking. “The question now is, if you survive, can you go back to being just his asset? Did you mean what you said about cold turkey?”

She honestly didn’t know.

Dressing quickly, she returned to find him standing right outside the bathroom door, his green eyes warm with concern. “Are you okay? I can’t believe we did that. I kept expecting you to stop me.”

“I would have, but you’re pretty good at it.”

He grimaced. “I’d love to take credit, but the truth is, you were just in denial over the prospect of talking to your dad. Maybe looking for an excuse to postpone it. And like a jerk, I took advantage of that.”

Sasha touched his tightened jaw. “You’re overanalyzing it, Jeff. Like you said, we’ve obviously been thinking about each other that way for a long time. It was bound to surface eventually. I’m glad it did, so we can deal with it, one way or the other. After I talk to Dad, of course.”

“About your mom? Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’ll never be ready. But it has to be done. He’ll probably lie anyway, so…”

Jeff eyed her hopefully. “Maybe that’s better, right? The truth might hurt too much. So don’t push it. The less you know about his business, the better it is for you, actually.”

“His business is legitimate,” she retorted instinctively, even though Allison’s words were echoing in her head, reminding her that her father might be making an exception for the lucrative Kestonian market.

For a moment she thought Jeff was going to argue with her, but instead he just shrugged his shoulders again. “Whatever you say.”

Sasha studied his guarded expression. “Are you worried about my reconciling with him? In terms of my usefulness to you, I mean?”

“No. Not at all.” He flashed an encouraging smile. “I trust you, Sasha. Without reservation.”

“Why? Because I got you a picture of Vincent Martino’s new face?”

“Because of the way you got it for me. Not from a desire to get revenge for your mom’s murder. Just because you want their brand of ruthlessness to end once and for all. You took no pleasure in what you did last night. In fact, it hurt you to do it. I respect that,” he added softly. “But I don’t want to see you get hurt where your father is concerned. It’s not necessary. So be careful.”

“Thanks.” She smiled gratefully. “Did they arrest Vincenzo yet?”

“We’re still working on it. By the time you check in with me next, it should be done.” He cleared his throat. “How long are you thinking? A week? Two?”

She nodded. “At the most. If I need longer than that, I’ll call you.”

“Call anyway, day or night, if you need to talk. If it gets rough…” He hesitated, then pulled her into a bear hug. “Don’t let my sex-maniac routine scare you off. I can be a good friend. I hope you don’t need one, but if you do, call me.”

“I will.” She wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed gratefully. He felt so big and strong and safe, and once again she wondered how she could possibly pull off the rescue in Kestonia without him whispering encouragement and advice into her ear.

“Hey.” He tilted her chin upward with his fingertip. “Is something else bothering you? Other than the manhandling and the date with your dad?”

“No,” she murmured. “But I’d better get going or I’ll lose my nerve. And as for the manhandling, well…” She stepped back, then admitted, “I may have lied about that cold turkey business.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a brilliant strategist, right? So while I’m visiting Dad, try to strategize a way you can be my handler and my manhandler. Okay?”

“Sasha—”

“I’ve got to go.” She grabbed her coat and purse off the chair and strode to the door, afraid to turn back toward him, even to say goodbye. Something inside told her that if they made eye contact now, she’d be back in his arms for the rest of the morning, and there wasn’t time for that.

Not now, because she needed to rescue Teal.

And maybe not ever.

But she wasn’t ready to concede that yet.

Spoiled Mafia brat, she accused herself with a rueful laugh as she dashed down the three flights of stairs to the street, then hailed a cab to take her to her childhood home for the first time in almost eight years.

She would have loved to surprise Big Frankie, but security at his two-story brick house was too tight to allow a strange vehicle to approach without someone noticing, so she instructed the cab driver to pull right up to the front curb, then took a moment to compose herself.

To her amazement, the emotion that was causing her hands to tremble was pure excitement untainted by dread. Was it possible she was really ready to face him? Or more likely, had Gianna’s wedding gotten to her so much that the little girl in her needed to touch base with her daddy—to pretend that nothing had come between them?

The house was set back a good fifty feet from the street, and Sasha knew she was being watched. She could be intercepted easily before she reached the porch despite the lack of fencing around the property. There were always men in the apartment over the garage, visiting, plotting or just catching a few winks. And her father was almost certainly sitting at his desk, which was positioned in front of a huge bay window that looked out on the street. In warmer months, he could usually be found in the backyard, tending his fruit trees and garden. But in winter, he practically lived at his desk in the den.

Pulling out a compact, she checked her makeup, and was amused at the flush that lingered on her cheeks from her encounter with Jeff. Not exactly the first look she wanted her father to see after so many years. He was a pretty good judge of human nature, and he’d want to know who the man was, the same way he had demanded to know about every boy she had ever spoken to in Chicago and Arizona during her teenage years.

Probably not the right time to tell him that you’re hot for an FBI agent, she teased herself as she applied a light dusting of powder to her otherwise radiant glow. Then she winced, remembering that that wasn’t half the story. She was an FBI snitch in her own right. What would her father say about that? Subdued, she paid the driver and sent him away, then turned back to the house just as the front door opened and Big Frankie Bracciali stepped into view.

At fifty-five, his hair was the same vibrant shade of blue-black as Sasha’s, without a hint of gray. Still he looked a little older, she realized in surprise. Strong as a bull, yes, and commanding as ever, but there was something a little different behind his deep brown eyes.

It wasn’t age that had changed him, it was sadness. She knew that because as soon as she lifted her hand in a halfhearted, vulnerable wave, the years dropped away, and his expression became almost celestial with love and relief.

“Dad…” She bit her lip, then raced toward him, throwing herself into his arms, shocking herself even more than him with the intensity of her display.

“Mio Dio,” he whispered into her hair as he crushed her to his chest. “Is this true? Are you here?”

“I’m here,” she assured him, laughing and sobbing all at one time.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her a few inches away, enough to stare down into her face as he demanded frantically, “You’re not dying, are you?”

Laughing again, Sasha sandwiched his cheeks between her palms. “Of course not, silly. Do I look that bad?”

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