Undercover Heat (20 page)

“I want to move here. I want a permanent place in your office.”

She was sure the expression on her face was as shocked as she felt on the inside. She'd just discovered Quinn had cheated on her, and she still wanted to move? Their cubicles were less than twenty feet from one another, with no walls in between. She'd be forced to look at him every single day. And if she bought the house, she'd have to live with the reminders of what they had, and lost.

Before she could retract her statement, Nico said, “Good. I'd like you on my team. You're a damn fine agent, Sanders. I have plenty of work to keep you busy.”

“Maybe I'm being hasty, making this decision …”

Nico reached across the desk and tapped his forefinger on the file. “Too late. Go close the case, then talk to Quinn. I'll make a call to your director in Dallas, start the permanent transfer process.” When she didn't move, he said, “That's an order, Sanders.”

She leaped from her seat, grabbed the file, and left his office. She felt as though she were walking through fog. Everything around her appeared hazy, unfocused. She and Quinn were through, yet she'd just asked Nico if she could join his team permanently. While she could simply walk away from the house when the case was closed, she still wasn't sure she wanted to.

I can make a new life here, even if Quinn isn't in it. I'll move on. Eventually.

Keith waylaid her in the lobby, just as she was about to exit the building. “You look like hell,” he commented.

“Gee, thanks. Excuse me, Keith, but I'm a little busy at the moment.” She started to walk around him.

“Where are you going?”

She waved the file folder. “Warrant. I'm going to bust Whitney White once and for all.”

Keith began sweating. His gaze darted every which way. “Shit. I didn't think it would happen this fast. Are you going right now?”

“Yes.”

“Right. I'm going to go back to my hotel. I'll be there if you—ah!” He turned, no doubt meaning to bolt out the door, when Court appeared, blocking his exit.

He clamped a hand down onto Keith's shoulder and grinned at Kyra. “Why don't me and Keith here escort you over to the perp's house?” he suggested.

She was missing something here. It was not a coincidence that Court just happened to be there, prepared to keep Keith from bolting at that moment.

“Did Nico tell you to help me?” she asked.

Court gave her a funny look. “No. Why?”

She waved at Keith, who was quite literally quaking in his running shoes. Court was a pretty big and scary-looking guy. Not someone you wanted to run into in a dark alley. Or as you were about to skip town.

“Um, just wondering why you're offering to escort us to the perp's house, that's all.”

“Can't an agent help another agent out? I'm not confident this guy won't pull some life-endangering bullshit on you on the way over there.”

“Hey,” Keith protested, but neither Kyra nor Court acknowledged him.

“Oh. Okay. Well, let's go then.”

The ride to Whitney's house was quiet. Court was not normally a chatty person, Kyra was distracted by her own thoughts, and Keith was undoubtedly worried about his own future. When she pulled up in front of Whitney's house, Quinn's truck was in the driveway.

“Damn it.” She suddenly had no desire to walk into that house. Finding those panties in her own couch was bad enough. The potential of catching them in the act was too much to bear.

“I can't go in there.”

“It's not what you think,” Court insisted. He climbed out of the passenger seat and bodily dragged Keith from the car. “Let's go, Sanders,” he barked when she did not move from the driver's seat.

Her anger spiking, Kyra climbed out of the car and slammed the door. “I do not need this again.”

“Again? What do you mean, again?” Keith asked, his head volleying between Kyra and Court.

“Nothing.”

Keith's gaze zoned in on the truck in the driveway, and then his eyes widened. “Holy hell, is that your boyfriend's ride?”

“Shut up, Keith.”

“He's been elevated to boyfriend status?” Court asked.

“No. He's nothing status. Let's do this.” Kyra climbed the porch steps.

“I told her he would succumb,” she heard Keith say from behind her. “I'm telling you, the woman's tits are amazing.”

Kyra turned, and in one fluid movement, punched Keith in the jaw. He crumbled to the ground like shattered glass. Court whistled.

“Nice right hook, Sanders.”

“Thanks.” She turned away from the scene and used the same fist to hammer on the front door.

A flustered Whitney jerked it open. She wore a white halter top and a pair of hot pink short shorts. Her hair was slightly disheveled—not any more than a normal person, but on someone like her, it was obvious. She glared at Kyra and held the door open as she stepped to the side.

“Finally,” she snapped. “Get him out of here, please. How the hell do you put up with him?”

Huh?

A crash from another room drew everyone's attention.

“Damn it,” Whitney muttered. She stalked back through the house. Kyra glanced at Court. He was just straightening after pulling Keith to his feet. Keith's eyes were glazed and he staggered when Court walked him forward, into the house.

“I didn't hit him that hard, did I?”

Court shrugged. “All I know is I'm keeping my face away from your fist.”

Kyra hurried through the house, in the direction Whitney had just taken. Court followed, dragging Keith along with him.

They found Whitney and Quinn both in a small study tucked behind the kitchen area. Between his disheveled hair and unshaven face, Quinn could make for a damn scary Halloween costume. He wore a white tank top with sweat stains under the armpits and a pair of sweatpants that looked as if they were leftover from his college days. He smelled like urine.

He held a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a broken wine glass in the other.

“Oops,” he said. “Wrong glass.”

“You've been drinking straight from the bottle for an hour now,” Whitney said as she snatched the broken glass from his hand. “Why do you suddenly need a glass?”

“I think I'm ready now,” Quinn announced.

“For what?” Whitney asked warily.

Quinn rolled his hips in an obscene way. Kyra turned her head away in disgust, but then narrowed her eyes when she saw that Court was struggling not to laugh.

“To get it on, baby,” Quinn announced, and he performed a poor rendition of a catwalk strut as he walked over to Whitney, then proceeded to attempt to hump her leg.

Whitney wiggled out of his grasp. “Good God, is he really this vulgar all the time?” she asked Kyra. “I've watched you two. He never acts like this with you.”

“You really did watch us?”

“We both did,” Keith commented helpfully.

Whitney focused on him for the first time. She narrowed her eyes and said, “What are
you
doing here? And what happened to your face?”

Keith stepped behind Court and did not reply.

“That's invasion of privacy,” Court commented. “Another count against her. Not a big one, but at this point, the more, the merrier, right?”

Quinn took a swig from his bottle, then pulled it away from his lips with enough force that liquid splashed from the top and splattered across the front of Whitney's white top. She let out a screech of annoyance.

“You are so disgusting,” she said.

“I'm a fucking rock star in the sack, though,” Quinn replied. “Come on, baby. I'm drunk enough now that I'm willing to give you a shot. Let's go, before I pass out.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Whitney said with a sniff. “You smell like a sewer. I would never sleep with the likes of you.”

Somewhere, in the depths of Kyra's confused mind, it occurred to her that this conversation sounded as if Whitney and Quinn had never had sex before.

“But what about the panties?” she cut to the chase.

“You wanna see my panties?” Quinn asked, looking at Whitney. He started to tug at the waistband of his sweats.

Whitney held out a hand as if to stave him off. “God, no. You probably wear briefs, for crying out loud.”

“He wears boxers, actually,” Kyra interjected. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her heart. Whatever the hell Quinn was up to at the moment, she didn't care. He'd just proved that he and Whitney had not slept together. He hadn't cheated on her. “And he calls himself Mr. Happy,” she announced, too excited to care that she had an audience.

“TMI,” Court said. Keith made a strangled noise. Whitney's eyes widened.

“Take me with you to Greece,” Quinn said to Whitney.

“I most certainly will not.”

“You offered to take him to Greece?” Keith asked, sounding like a little boy who'd had his sucker taken away.

Whitney thrust out her chin and did not respond.

“Why're you going to Greece?” Court wondered out loud.

“That is none of your business,” Whitney retorted. “And who are you, anyway?”

“I'm with them,” he said, pointing at Kyra and Quinn.

“Why are you with him, Keith?” she demanded.

“You asked this guy to go to Greece with you? I thought we were going to Greece together.”

“You went to the FBI behind my back.”

“I
am
the FBI,” Keith retorted.

“Then what the hell are you doing with me?”

“I'm not doing anything anymore. You don't want me, so I told Kyra everything,” Keith announced.

Kyra watched as it all came together for Whitney. She knew she was trapped.

The woman's gaze darted every which way, then she determined her best escape was through Quinn, who was the only person between her and the back door. Unfortunately for her, his drunkenness had been an act, and as soon as she tried to run, he snagged her around the waist and had her wrists in cuffs before she even had the time to let out a string of curse words.

“I assume you have the warrant?” he asked Kyra, all business and clearly not drunk in the least.

“Colored water?” she guessed, nodding at the Jack Daniels bottle.

“Flat Coke.”

“I have the warrant.”

He gave Whitney a little nudge. “She's all yours.”

It probably wasn't appropriate to grin like a damned fool while booking a criminal, but Kyra couldn't help it.

It was nearly midnight when they finally returned to the house they'd shared for the past month. Kyra headed straight to the couch and dropped wearily onto it. It had been an incredibly long evening, but she and Quinn hadn't yet talked about anything personal. Everything had been about work. They actually made good partners, because when it came down to the wire, they were both able to put the personal crap on the back burner and focus on the case.

Now, though, it was time to deal with all the personal crap. She had to apologize to Quinn for not trusting him, for instantly assuming the worst when she found the thong Whitney had planted in the couch. Then she planned to tell him about her conversation with Nico. Whether she and Quinn could work out their personal issues, she had made her decision. She was staying in Detroit.

“I'm going to shower. I can't even stand myself right now,” Quinn said. He had doused himself in deer urine, which Court, who was a hunter, happened to have in his truck. The two of them had devised the plan for Quinn to show up on Whitney's doorstep, drunk and smelling disgusting, just in time for Kyra to show up with the warrant they knew Nico had been working on. It had worked exactly as planned, according to Quinn.

She watched as he disappeared into the downstairs bathroom. Then she sighed and closed her eyes, feeling almost too tired to stay awake for the talk that she knew they needed to have.

When she surfaced from sleep, it was because Quinn had slid his arms underneath her and was lifting her off the couch. As he carried her through the house, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed. I suppose makeup sex has to wait until morning?”

“Makeup sex?”

“Yep. Remember our conversation about fighting? Every argument has to end with makeup sex. It's a requirement. Actually, it's a requirement to pick a fight with me once in a while, just so we can have makeup sex. Good job, by the way, Sanders. This one was a doozy.”

He laid her on the bed and proceeded to divest her of her clothing.

“You aren't mad?”

He paused in the act of pulling off her sock. “If I say yes, will I get makeup sex tonight instead of tomorrow?”

She giggled. “You're incorrigible. And I can't believe you just used the word
doozy
.”

He tugged at the towel that had been wrapped around his waist. When it dropped to the floor, she saw that Mr. Happy was clearly hoping to get lucky.

“When you look at me like that, it causes me to think all sorts of awesomely lewd thoughts.” He climbed onto the bed, crouching on all fours, looking down at her. She lay on her back and stared up at him. “Can we have makeup sex now?”

“Don't you think we should talk? I mean, I accused you of cheating, and you told me you didn't, and I didn't believe you, and—oh …” Her speech ended on a gurgle when he dipped his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth.

He released the nipple with a popping noise and peered into her face again. “I assume you no longer believe I cheated?”

She shook her head. He took a moment to lave at the other nipple. She threaded her fingers in his hair to try to hold him there, but he pulled out of her grasp so he could look at her again.

“And you believe I never will, ever, right?”

She nodded. He bent his head and nibbled at her ear for a moment, before stopping to look her in the eye. She made an impatient noise and he grinned.