Fiore suite with amenities described as a deep-soaking tub and shower for two. His credit card had taken a beating, but there was always the slim chance the FBI might reimburse him. Provided he didn’t get fired for running off to Atlantic City with an informant.
Ciara made a beeline for the bathroom and cooed in delight. “It’s amazing ,” she called out to him as he dropped onto the king-sized bed.
Their things were still back at the other hotel, so his possessions were currently limited to the severely wrinkled suit he had on, a few credit cards, his cell phone and the small piece in his ankle holster. He hadn’t even worn his shoulder holster today, figuring he wouldn’t need it and it would be too damn hot. Now he missed its weight.
“Why don’t you see if you can find the necklace?” he called back to Ciara, digging into his pocket for his cell phone.
Ciara shouted something back to him, but he couldn’t make out the words over the sound of water rushing into the tub. When the door to the bathroom clicked shut, he figured whatever she said must have been in the affirmative.
Nate turned the cell phone over in his hands. He needed to call his superiors. Now that he knew Ciara wasn’t a crook. Or at least he thought he knew.
Images of her flashed in his mind. Ciara smiling up at him, her black eyes twinkling. Ciara naked and writhing in the dunk tank. Ciara pressed against him, begging for more as his mouth explored hers.
Was he getting too emotionally involved? Nate winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d made out with her in a taxi, for fuck’s sake. That was a textbook mistake. Would he even know if she were crooked?
What had been proved really? She’d jumped naked into a dunk tank. She’d told him the necklace was here. But he didn’t have any confirmation of that fact. So why did he believe her now? Why did she suddenly feel so much more trustworthy?
He needed to stop thinking with his dick and get his head back into the game. To think about the case, not how quickly he could get out the condom stashed in his wallet.
Nate dialed the office, hoping for a bracing dose of perspective.
A fellow agent picked up his boss’s phone on the third ring. “Cutter,” he barked.
“Sam. It’s Nate Smith. Is Roberts there?”
“Nate. How’s the leg, man? We were hoping to see you in the office this week.”
“The leg’s fine, but I don’t think I’m going to make it into the office. I’m in Atlantic City with Ciara Liung.”
“The psychic? No shit? A psychic in Atlantic City. Why didn’t I ever think of that? You playing roulette? Letting her pick the numbers and shit?”
“Sam, I’d really like to talk to Roberts.”
“The bossman, eh? You can try the cell, but I wouldn’t expect him to answer it. He’s out chasing leads on the Monaco crisis.”
“It’s about the Monaco thing, actually.”
“Yeah? Did you know some chick named Karma’s called the office fifteen times about you and that Liung chick? She sounds pissed as all hell.”
“Yeah, I’ll deal with her later. About the necklace…”
“Your psychic chick find it already? That’s great, but I wouldn’t expect a lot of backup anytime soon. Unless you’ve got something hard. Everyone’s out rattling cages trying to shake something loose so we don’t end up with a fucking international incident. I pulled the short straw to stick around here and sort through the crazies on the tip line. You would not believe some of the messed-up shit people call in.”
“Cutter,” Nate began irritably.
“You want me to add your psychic chick’s tip to the pile? Where’d she say it was?”
“A hotel safe in the Borgata. Atlantic City.”
Cutter snorted into the phone. “Sure it is. Wanna trade caseloads? I’ll take all the ones involving casinos and strippers, and you can have my slimy assholes in back alleys. Seem fair?”
“Just tell Roberts to call me,” Nate said.
“Y’okay, Smith. You got
Ciara made a beeline for the bathroom and cooed in delight. “It’s amazing ,” she called out to him as he dropped onto the king-sized bed.
Their things were still back at the other hotel, so his possessions were currently limited to the severely wrinkled suit he had on, a few credit cards, his cell phone and the small piece in his ankle holster. He hadn’t even worn his shoulder holster today, figuring he wouldn’t need it and it would be too damn hot. Now he missed its weight.
“Why don’t you see if you can find the necklace?” he called back to Ciara, digging into his pocket for his cell phone.
Ciara shouted something back to him, but he couldn’t make out the words over the sound of water rushing into the tub. When the door to the bathroom clicked shut, he figured whatever she said must have been in the affirmative.
Nate turned the cell phone over in his hands. He needed to call his superiors. Now that he knew Ciara wasn’t a crook. Or at least he thought he knew.
Images of her flashed in his mind. Ciara smiling up at him, her black eyes twinkling. Ciara naked and writhing in the dunk tank. Ciara pressed against him, begging for more as his mouth explored hers.
Was he getting too emotionally involved? Nate winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d made out with her in a taxi, for fuck’s sake. That was a textbook mistake. Would he even know if she were crooked?
What had been proved really? She’d jumped naked into a dunk tank. She’d told him the necklace was here. But he didn’t have any confirmation of that fact. So why did he believe her now? Why did she suddenly feel so much more trustworthy?
He needed to stop thinking with his dick and get his head back into the game. To think about the case, not how quickly he could get out the condom stashed in his wallet.
Nate dialed the office, hoping for a bracing dose of perspective.
A fellow agent picked up his boss’s phone on the third ring. “Cutter,” he barked.
“Sam. It’s Nate Smith. Is Roberts there?”
“Nate. How’s the leg, man? We were hoping to see you in the office this week.”
“The leg’s fine, but I don’t think I’m going to make it into the office. I’m in Atlantic City with Ciara Liung.”
“The psychic? No shit? A psychic in Atlantic City. Why didn’t I ever think of that? You playing roulette? Letting her pick the numbers and shit?”
“Sam, I’d really like to talk to Roberts.”
“The bossman, eh? You can try the cell, but I wouldn’t expect him to answer it. He’s out chasing leads on the Monaco crisis.”
“It’s about the Monaco thing, actually.”
“Yeah? Did you know some chick named Karma’s called the office fifteen times about you and that Liung chick? She sounds pissed as all hell.”
“Yeah, I’ll deal with her later. About the necklace…”
“Your psychic chick find it already? That’s great, but I wouldn’t expect a lot of backup anytime soon. Unless you’ve got something hard. Everyone’s out rattling cages trying to shake something loose so we don’t end up with a fucking international incident. I pulled the short straw to stick around here and sort through the crazies on the tip line. You would not believe some of the messed-up shit people call in.”
“Cutter,” Nate began irritably.
“You want me to add your psychic chick’s tip to the pile? Where’d she say it was?”
“A hotel safe in the Borgata. Atlantic City.”
Cutter snorted into the phone. “Sure it is. Wanna trade caseloads? I’ll take all the ones involving casinos and strippers, and you can have my slimy assholes in back alleys. Seem fair?”
“Just tell Roberts to call me,” Nate said.
“Y’okay, Smith. You got
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