Deadly Pursuit (SCVC Taskforce) (2 page)

Forcing herself not to recoil, Celina shifted her imagination into high gear. It was Cooper whose tongue was now in her mouth. Cooper holding her captive while they sped down the road ten miles over the speed limit, playing a dangerous game of make-out roulette.

She forced herself to return Emilio’s ardor with her own.

Chapter Two

You’ll love this dress even more when it’s wet.

Cooper Harris wanted to hit something. Hard.

FBI Special Agent Celina Davenport—sexy siren of his daydreams as well as evil temptress of his night dreams—was sucking face with the biggest drug cartel leader in California and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Her soft voice coming through the mic as she taunted Londano to have sex with her on the beach gave him an instant headache of giant proportions. But it was the silence that followed, broken only by the sound of them kissing, that made him want to slam the wall of the surveillance van with his bare fist.

Sucker punched. That’s what it felt like.

It’s her job, idiot
.
She knows how to handle herself
.

Didn’t make him any happier. Which showed what a total sexist he really was. Sure, he felt protective about all the guys on his squad, but he never second-guessed them or their skills. He never went apeshit if they kissed a mark or led her on in order to get the information to take someone down.

Celina was female and a little one at that. Short, underweight, except for a few well-placed curves, and she had a soft, almost Southern Belle persona that totally belied her fiery Cuban roots. Push her buttons and you’d see that fire, but it took an ungodly amount of button-pushing for it to surface. He knew. Out of everyone on the SCVC taskforce, he’d managed to tweak every hot button she had at least once. Most of them he’d not only pushed, but punched into the stratosphere.

He loved it when the real Celina came out. Not the professional FBI agent she’d polished to perfection, but the holy shit amazing woman underneath. The one whose emotions rose up and took over, blasting him with her clever wit and overwhelming logic even as she flushed with anger and made gestures with her hands he’d never seen before.

Yeah.
That
was the Celina he’d fallen for.

But he couldn’t ever let her know that. How she tied him up in knots. How absolutely gone he was every time he was around her. He was her boss. Head of the taskforce.

He was also fourteen years, six months and four days older.

She was a baby. A rookie. A Feebie, for Christ’s sake. DEA agents did not play well with FBI agents.

And he was The Beast after all. His reputation would hardly hold up under the pressure if he robbed the cradle
and
got the female rookie Fed on his team hurt in the line of duty.

So he didn’t cut loose and punch the wall of the surveillance van, didn’t give into the surge of acid in his stomach. Instead, he scratched Thunder’s tiny square head and batted away the image of Special Agent Celina Davenport kissing Emilio Londano.

FBI agent Dominic Quarters’ gaze was heavy on Cooper’s neck. Fucker had the hots for Celina, too. Cooper shot him an accusatory glance. Fucker could eat shit. “What the hell is your girl doing to our op, Quarters? This wasn’t the takedown we had planned.”

“Pull your shorts out, Harris.” The shorter man eased back in his plastic chair and shrugged. The San Diego Mafia had been formed in the early 1970s by Jose Prisco. Thirty years later, his twin nephews, Emilio and Enrique Paloma-Londano took over the business. While most cartels gained international reputations for brutality and murder, the San Diego traffickers posed as legitimate businessmen. Their unique criminal enterprise involved itself in counterfeiting, kidnapping, and drug trade, but Emilio and Enrique passed off as law-abiding citizens, investing in their country’s future and earning the respect of their neighbors and the general public. The Feds wanted them gone. The DEA wanted them gone. Even the CIA thought it was a good idea. Too bad it wasn’t one of the spies he’d worked with before instead of Quarters sitting next to him. “She saw an opportunity and ran with it.”

An opportunity? That’s what this asshole called it? “She’s going to get herself killed.”

Quarters did the shrug thing again and Cooper’s hand balled into a fist. Punching Quarters would be way more satisfying than punching the van’s side panel.

The van slowed, following a discreet distance behind Londano’s car and bodyguards’ vehicle. “Perp is pulling off highway and parking approximately one-quarter klick from here,” announced Thomas, a West Point grad who’d held a high profile position with the Department of Defense before defecting to the DEA. The T-man was Cooper’s right hand man on this takedown.

Two keystrokes of Thomas’s fingers and a night-vision view of the boardwalk appeared on the screen in front of Cooper.

The surveillance van wasn’t the only vehicle in the area. A few diehard surf heads always parked near the beach overnight, only moving when the cops harassed them. There were plenty of cops in the area tonight, but none would be visible until after the sting took place, thanks to Cooper’s friendly relationship with the police units from L.A. to San Diego. They all wanted Londano out of business and they knew Cooper’s taskforce was about to do it.

“Perp is exiting car.”

Like he couldn’t see that. On screen, Londano and Celina headed to the beach. Thunder, in Cooper’s lap, whined. Cooper was petting the dog too hard. “Sorry, hot rod,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off the screen. He wanted to watch Celina. But years of intense training and experience told him to keep his attention on Londano. “Radio the other units in the area that this is going down here and now.”

Thomas made a sound of acknowledgment and began notifying their backup.

Celina kicked off her high heels and strolled into the rolling Pacific Ocean. The moon and stars lit the beach with a surreal light that even the night-vision view couldn’t compete with. Cooper could only shake his head at her stupid courage and undeniable sensuality. She glowed like a beacon.

A beacon that only reminded him he was trapped in a hell of his own making.

“What is she doing?” Done with notifying the local units, Thomas leaned closer to the screen as if he could decipher Celina’s plan by getting face to face with the video. “She gets that mic wet and it’s all over. We won’t have jack squat of a confession to bring to court.”

They all watched Londano plant his feet in the sand and observe Celina with a predatory posture that made adrenaline burn in Cooper’s veins. He set Thunder on the van floor, littered with empty disposable coffee cups and torn candy wrappers, and stood up as best he could. The van ceiling was higher than most to accommodate their equipment, but still not tall enough for his large frame.

“That’s what you get with rookie Feebies,” he said, moving to the back of the van.
One step closer to Celina
. “I’m going in before she winds up shark meat.”

Quarters and Thomas protested. Cooper ignored them. Raising the hood of his sweatshirt, he jumped out onto the pavement. Good thing he’d worn his boots instead of his running shoes. They’d hurt a lot more and leave an unforgettable impression when he kicked Celina’s butt back to Quantico.

Chapter Three

An ocean wave hit her and Celina sucked in her breath. The water was freezing. If only she had on her wet suit instead of the gauze dress.

But everything was in place. Dumb and Dumber cruised the side streets while their boss watched her from the dark deserted beach. He was waiting for her to drench herself in the ocean and reveal what only his mind had imagined. She wondered if he would try to take her right there under the stars, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let things get that far. The high wall of rock and concrete behind him did exactly what she’d told him it would. It shielded them from the traffic on the street above, while giving her the opportunity to arrest him quickly and quietly.

Another wave drove into her thighs and rolled up to her waist. With her back to Emilio, she pulled the jeweled pin out of her cleavage and carefully brought it to her lips. “Billabong, this is Switchfoot. Initiating beach cleanup in three. I repeat, initiating beach cleanup in three. Over.”

She had no way to know if Cooper received her message clearly over the sound of the waves, but he was nearby along with the rest of the cleanup crew. They’d been waiting for her. Cooper had shown himself at the traffic light to let her know everything was a go. She hadn’t talked to him in almost a month, only received small signs here and there that he and his taskforce of agents from the Southern California Violent Crimes Division were getting her packages and watching her back. Her assignment had been straightforward: Get the proof needed to put Emilio and his cartel out of business for good. Bring him in alive.

And don’t get killed.

Like
that
wasn’t obvious.

A rookie Feebie, known in FBI vernacular as the FNG or “fucking new guy”, Celina had joined Cooper’s elite group of agents before a random encounter with Enrique Londano’s girlfriend had landed her inside the mafia the SCVC and Mexican officials had been trying to infiltrate for four years.

Celina had stumbled into their private circle quite literally by accident. Danita, the girlfriend of Emilio’s twin brother, Enrique, had found Special Agent Celina Davenport photographing whales, her hobby, on a whale-sighting expedition and asked Celina to photograph her and her group of friends. The situation had given Celina the chance to buddy up with the young, naïve woman whose picture was contained in a blue folder on Celina’s desk at FBI headquarters in Carlsbad. It hadn’t taken more than a few compliments for Celina to convince Danita she was destined to be a model. Celina Mendez, the photographer, found herself the newest member of Danita’s social club before the boat returned to shore. Emilio and Enrique ran an art gallery that covertly laundered money and was always looking for fresh, cutting edge artists to fill its walls. Within days Celina had attracted Emilio’s attention.

And the entire Southern California task force working on the San Diego Mafia case had cheered.

Cooper had been both pleased and worried. She could either nail this guy and prove his taskforce’s worth or completely ruin their chances of ever stopping the elusive Londanos.

Wanting more than anything to prove her value to the team and to Cooper, Celina threw herself into the assignment. She would end Emilio’s cartel, and in the process, impress the hell out of Cooper.

With her phones bugged, her email monitored, and one of Londano’s men watching her day and night, Celina had become ultra paranoid. She’d only risked delivering evidence against Emilio to Cooper twice, packaging the proof they needed in pictures sent to fictitious customers, but apparently it was enough. She’d gotten the go ahead to arrest Emilio in the form of a red surf board appearing in the window of the local surf shop by her apartment. That was her signal from Cooper to bring it home.

Celina took a step deeper into the water. Dominic Quarters, her FBI superior on assignment with her for this sting, had insisted on a verbal confession tonight, but Celina knew they didn’t need one to nail Emilio, and he was too suspicious of everyone and everything. No way was she blowing this mission. Not only would the Londano operation get off scot-free, the taskforce would never get close to the brothers again. Any type of leading question about their black market business was sure to tip Emilio off and blow the takedown.

Time to take the plunge
. The salt water would cripple the mic and make the dress stick to her breasts, but there was no backing out now. This was the moment she’d been planning for two months. This arrest would rocket her into FBI stardom and secure her place on Cooper’s team. The poor little girl from Miami was about to show everyone exactly what she was made of and what she could do.

Running the next minute through her head, Celina walked further into the ocean and braced herself against the sharp push and pull of the cold water. The water and sky blended into one immense black wall, dotted only with stars. The full moon hung low, its shadow reflecting in the ripples of the ocean.

Still conscious of her audience, Celina raised her arms to the sky, dropped her head back, and let the ocean carry her on the next wave. God it was cold.

But she was tough. Too tough to let a little cold water get in the way of her plans. Too tough to let Londano see her shaking, not from the frigid Pacific Ocean but from nerves.

Sufficiently wet, the dress clung to her breasts. Celina made her way back to the shore.

She had no gun, no weapon. Emilio was a black-belt in karate and carried his gun at all times, although he rarely used violence himself. He was wearing his suit jacket to conceal the weapon hanging under his left arm. The muscles he constantly worked in his private gym gave him a seventy-pound advantage.

But Celina had the element of surprise and could win a wet T-shirt contest hands down. As the water turned loose its hold on her legs, she scanned the beach that was still empty before locking her sights on her quarry. Under the moonlight, his heavy gaze rested on her breasts. Emilio was thinking with his dick at that moment instead of his calculating brain, and that’s exactly what she was waiting for.