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Authors: Julie James
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immediately hit him with the standard litany of questions.
Do you carry a gun?
(Yes.)
Do you have it on you right now?
(Yes.)
Can I see it?
(No.)
How many people have you arrested?
(Probably less than expected; undercover operations take time to carry out.)
You work undercover? Cool! What’s that like?
And so on.
Finally, he made his getaway twenty minutes later. He decided to walk around the house instead of going back inside, thinking it would be his quickest escape route. He immediately shucked his suit coat as he followed the paved walkway past the swimming pool and guesthouse, and into a more secluded garden with an elegant three-tiered fountain.
Sitting on a bench, tucked away from the rest of the party, was Sidney.
She jumped and stood up, clearly startled by his arrival. For a split second, he felt bad for intruding, thinking perhaps she’d overheard the gossip and had come out here to get a short break from the party.
But then she spoke.
“You again,” she said.
“Me again,” Vaughn drawled in return. As if it was
his
fault they kept crossing paths at this party. If he had his druthers, he and The Cantankerous Miss Sidney Sinclair would go their separate ways and—
wow
, the V-neckline of that dress dipped enticingly lower than he’d realized.
Focus, Roberts
.
“I was just leaving,” he said.
“So I gathered.” Her gaze fell on the jacket he’d thrown casually over his shoulder and held with one hand. “You must’ve been roasting in that thing.”
“Occupational hazard.”
She looked confused. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s considered poor form for an FBI agent to have his gun exposed in public,” he explained.
“Oh.” Her eyes traveled down to his right hip, where he carried his Glock. “You must have to get creative when wearing a swimsuit.”
With anyone else, Vaughn would’ve said that was a joke. But with Sidney, he couldn’t quite tell. He cocked his head, trying to get a read on her, and looked her over.
It was that damn sleeve of her dress. Suddenly, he found himself fighting the urge to reach out and tug it up over her shoulder.
Or tug it lower, perhaps
?
Their eyes met over the soft, ambient lights of the fountain.
“You said something about leaving?” she asked.
Right. “Enjoy the rest of your party, Sidney.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away, the sounds of the string quartet fading in the distance.
Six
AFTER WORK ON Monday, Vaughn met Huxley and Cade in the state-of-the-art gym located on the second floor of the FBI building. They were in the second week of their triathlon training program, which meant they’d added a fifty-minute run on the indoor track to their usual weight-lifting workout.
They fell into an easy groove during the run, talking mostly about Officer Pritchett and Co.’s smuggling ring. Because Cade was in the special prosecutions group at the U.S. Attorney’s Office, the division that handled corruption cases, he often served as a consultant on any legal issues that arose during Vaughn and Huxley’s investigations.
“We met with Batista last week,” Vaughn said to Cade as they began their fourth lap around the track. “He agreed to set up a meeting with Pritchett and wear a wire. He’ll tell Pritchett he knows a guy who needs a few things moved from point A to point B. That’s where I come in.”
“What’s your name this month?” Cade joked, referring to the multitude of identities Vaughn had assumed over the years as part of his various undercover operations.
“Mark Sullivan. Gun buyer. Drives a Hummer H3, wears expensive suits, and carries a Kimber 1911 handgun,” Vaughn said.
“No clue what that is,” Cade said.
“Let’s just say, it’s a gun with swagger.” He took his tools very seriously when working undercover.
In the locker room after their workout, Cade and Huxley asked about the engagement party, both of them having met Simon on several occasions.
“You should’ve seen the place,” Vaughn
Do you carry a gun?
(Yes.)
Do you have it on you right now?
(Yes.)
Can I see it?
(No.)
How many people have you arrested?
(Probably less than expected; undercover operations take time to carry out.)
You work undercover? Cool! What’s that like?
And so on.
Finally, he made his getaway twenty minutes later. He decided to walk around the house instead of going back inside, thinking it would be his quickest escape route. He immediately shucked his suit coat as he followed the paved walkway past the swimming pool and guesthouse, and into a more secluded garden with an elegant three-tiered fountain.
Sitting on a bench, tucked away from the rest of the party, was Sidney.
She jumped and stood up, clearly startled by his arrival. For a split second, he felt bad for intruding, thinking perhaps she’d overheard the gossip and had come out here to get a short break from the party.
But then she spoke.
“You again,” she said.
“Me again,” Vaughn drawled in return. As if it was
his
fault they kept crossing paths at this party. If he had his druthers, he and The Cantankerous Miss Sidney Sinclair would go their separate ways and—
wow
, the V-neckline of that dress dipped enticingly lower than he’d realized.
Focus, Roberts
.
“I was just leaving,” he said.
“So I gathered.” Her gaze fell on the jacket he’d thrown casually over his shoulder and held with one hand. “You must’ve been roasting in that thing.”
“Occupational hazard.”
She looked confused. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s considered poor form for an FBI agent to have his gun exposed in public,” he explained.
“Oh.” Her eyes traveled down to his right hip, where he carried his Glock. “You must have to get creative when wearing a swimsuit.”
With anyone else, Vaughn would’ve said that was a joke. But with Sidney, he couldn’t quite tell. He cocked his head, trying to get a read on her, and looked her over.
It was that damn sleeve of her dress. Suddenly, he found himself fighting the urge to reach out and tug it up over her shoulder.
Or tug it lower, perhaps
?
Their eyes met over the soft, ambient lights of the fountain.
“You said something about leaving?” she asked.
Right. “Enjoy the rest of your party, Sidney.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away, the sounds of the string quartet fading in the distance.
Six
AFTER WORK ON Monday, Vaughn met Huxley and Cade in the state-of-the-art gym located on the second floor of the FBI building. They were in the second week of their triathlon training program, which meant they’d added a fifty-minute run on the indoor track to their usual weight-lifting workout.
They fell into an easy groove during the run, talking mostly about Officer Pritchett and Co.’s smuggling ring. Because Cade was in the special prosecutions group at the U.S. Attorney’s Office, the division that handled corruption cases, he often served as a consultant on any legal issues that arose during Vaughn and Huxley’s investigations.
“We met with Batista last week,” Vaughn said to Cade as they began their fourth lap around the track. “He agreed to set up a meeting with Pritchett and wear a wire. He’ll tell Pritchett he knows a guy who needs a few things moved from point A to point B. That’s where I come in.”
“What’s your name this month?” Cade joked, referring to the multitude of identities Vaughn had assumed over the years as part of his various undercover operations.
“Mark Sullivan. Gun buyer. Drives a Hummer H3, wears expensive suits, and carries a Kimber 1911 handgun,” Vaughn said.
“No clue what that is,” Cade said.
“Let’s just say, it’s a gun with swagger.” He took his tools very seriously when working undercover.
In the locker room after their workout, Cade and Huxley asked about the engagement party, both of them having met Simon on several occasions.
“You should’ve seen the place,” Vaughn
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