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Authors: Alexis Grant
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have to be thoroughly background-checked after she’d piqued his interest and rebuffed him persistently … until he decided that she was potentially wife material, a trophy with the background of a Dominican nun. And that’s what the DEA had given her, the background of a saint, down to the second-grade teacher’s qualifications and Catholic school foundation.
Hesitating in front of the boutique, Sage stared at her reflection in the plate glass window. There was no room in this equation for how she felt or what she wanted. There was only the case, only the mission. She hadn’t felt her body stir for a man in years. It had been ever longer since she’d been willing to tell someone what had happened to her family. Everything with Salazar was an act, an illusion just like her bogus ID. She hadn’t ever choked up thinking back on it all because someone asked, “What did they do to you?” Captain Anthony Davis was a problem—one that she didn’t have time for right now.
Sage pushed forward and swallowed hard, forcing the wet emotion that stung her eyes to burn away. Being tired didn’t matter, and she didn’t have time to bleed. After the mission was complete and the case file was closed, then she could think about what next.
She glanced around the small, airy space, glad that only the counter girl was there on her cell phone, and grabbed a few oversized white blouses off the rack. Her image from earlier in the day would be on the cameras at the mansion. A total wardrobe change was out. That might be a dead giveaway that something was awry. But a gauzy white blouse, put on over the tube dress and belted, could work. If asked, she could say she took it out of her purse when she got a little chilly from the water spray.
Sage held her long-sleeved choices against her body. Yeah, that could work. It would hide the smudges and her arm bruises, and if any dirt on the dress was seen she’d tell the truth—the boat was a bit dirty. Then she could complain about that, too. In fact, she could always say she fell into the boat, having tried to get in it with heels on, and then had to take her shoes off. Blah, blah, blah. A new plan was beginning to hatch in her sore brain.
Her mind was racing as she quickly made her purchase, put on the blouse right in the store, and hurried out of the boutique before Jeffrey returned. Without Avant Garde’s inquiring owner slowing her down, she could quickly binge shop and then get to a table to call Bruno. From there, she’d just have to wing it.
* * *
Sage picked at her shrimp Caesar salad without really tasting it. But her glass of chardonnay had been refilled twice. Fatigue clawed at her body and her mind. She didn’t immediately look up when Bruno’s hulking form cast a shadow over her table.
“The boss has been looking for you,” Bruno muttered in a deep rumble. “He’s pissed.”
“Yeah, I bet he is,” Sage replied in a flat tone, not having to feign her indifference.
“Where’ve you been? We’ve been driving all over South Beach looking for you.”
She glanced up at Bruno’s massive frame, but strategically placed a palm against her left cheek while resting her elbow on the table. Her sarcastic expression said, duh—look at the bags in the chair, asshole.
After a moment he shifted his weight and folded his arms over his barrel chest, getting the message. She went back to slowly picking at her salad.
“Listen,” he muttered with strain lacing his voice. “I know it mighta got a little crazy back at the house, but you can’t be running off right now, okay? So, what the boss doesn’t know doesn’t have to hurt anybody … and there’s no need to make a big deal out of anything.”
Feeling the immediate advantage, Sage kept her eyes on her salad as she moved grilled shrimp around on her plate. So Bruno didn’t want her to blow things out of proportion, huh.
“He’s not going to be angry at me, you know that, right? Not for removing
Hesitating in front of the boutique, Sage stared at her reflection in the plate glass window. There was no room in this equation for how she felt or what she wanted. There was only the case, only the mission. She hadn’t felt her body stir for a man in years. It had been ever longer since she’d been willing to tell someone what had happened to her family. Everything with Salazar was an act, an illusion just like her bogus ID. She hadn’t ever choked up thinking back on it all because someone asked, “What did they do to you?” Captain Anthony Davis was a problem—one that she didn’t have time for right now.
Sage pushed forward and swallowed hard, forcing the wet emotion that stung her eyes to burn away. Being tired didn’t matter, and she didn’t have time to bleed. After the mission was complete and the case file was closed, then she could think about what next.
She glanced around the small, airy space, glad that only the counter girl was there on her cell phone, and grabbed a few oversized white blouses off the rack. Her image from earlier in the day would be on the cameras at the mansion. A total wardrobe change was out. That might be a dead giveaway that something was awry. But a gauzy white blouse, put on over the tube dress and belted, could work. If asked, she could say she took it out of her purse when she got a little chilly from the water spray.
Sage held her long-sleeved choices against her body. Yeah, that could work. It would hide the smudges and her arm bruises, and if any dirt on the dress was seen she’d tell the truth—the boat was a bit dirty. Then she could complain about that, too. In fact, she could always say she fell into the boat, having tried to get in it with heels on, and then had to take her shoes off. Blah, blah, blah. A new plan was beginning to hatch in her sore brain.
Her mind was racing as she quickly made her purchase, put on the blouse right in the store, and hurried out of the boutique before Jeffrey returned. Without Avant Garde’s inquiring owner slowing her down, she could quickly binge shop and then get to a table to call Bruno. From there, she’d just have to wing it.
* * *
Sage picked at her shrimp Caesar salad without really tasting it. But her glass of chardonnay had been refilled twice. Fatigue clawed at her body and her mind. She didn’t immediately look up when Bruno’s hulking form cast a shadow over her table.
“The boss has been looking for you,” Bruno muttered in a deep rumble. “He’s pissed.”
“Yeah, I bet he is,” Sage replied in a flat tone, not having to feign her indifference.
“Where’ve you been? We’ve been driving all over South Beach looking for you.”
She glanced up at Bruno’s massive frame, but strategically placed a palm against her left cheek while resting her elbow on the table. Her sarcastic expression said, duh—look at the bags in the chair, asshole.
After a moment he shifted his weight and folded his arms over his barrel chest, getting the message. She went back to slowly picking at her salad.
“Listen,” he muttered with strain lacing his voice. “I know it mighta got a little crazy back at the house, but you can’t be running off right now, okay? So, what the boss doesn’t know doesn’t have to hurt anybody … and there’s no need to make a big deal out of anything.”
Feeling the immediate advantage, Sage kept her eyes on her salad as she moved grilled shrimp around on her plate. So Bruno didn’t want her to blow things out of proportion, huh.
“He’s not going to be angry at me, you know that, right? Not for removing
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