Undercover Heat (3 page)

“What are
you
doing here?” he counteracted.

Her cheeks tinged pink, and she averted her gaze to stare at the cracked sidewalk. “My parents taught me the importance of giving back to the community,” she said with a touch of defensiveness.

“Why
here
?” he asked, even as his hackles rose. Giving back to the community. He'd bet one of the warm meals Father Benedict used to feed him that she'd never had need of a place like this in her entire life. Instead of appreciating her desire to help those less fortunate, it pissed him off. He'd been one of those less fortunate, when he'd been a kid. He had every right to volunteer at the church's community center. Kyra's parents probably did it to assuage the guilt they felt because they couldn't even imagine what life must be like for those who were aided by their contributions.

“After I'd lived here a few weeks, I felt guilty, I guess. I was so used to, I don't know ...
doing
. So I asked Nico for recommendations of where I could possibly make a difference, locally. He suggested this place.” She waved her arm to encompass the church, with its weathered brick walls and sparkling, stained glass windows.

“Miss Sanders brings donations every Tuesday,” Father Benedict added helpfully.

“I've never seen you here before,” she commented.

“I usually volunteer on Saturdays.” Why the hell had he told her anything at all? He could have lied, said this was his first time, that he was just doing it because he lost a bet, or some shit like that. Something far more emasculating than admitting he was a regular here.

“But today's Tuesday.”

Again, Father Benedict answered for him. “He's going undercover tomorrow. He's one of those government types, just like you are, Miss Sanders. Anyway, he's worried he won't be able to get back here to help for the next few weeks, so he showed up today instead. Such a giving individual. Mr. Daniels has been involved with the community hall for most of his life. Isn't that right, Mr. Daniels?” He gave Quinn an expectant look. Kyra arched her brows again, and he scowled.

There went his masculinity. “Something wrong with volunteering?” he demanded, glaring at her. Challenging her.

“Not in the least,” she replied so starkly that he was tempted to let his facade slip. Just for her.

“I told him he would spoil me, if he was to start showing up on Tuesdays instead of Saturdays, since Tuesday's our delivery day,” the priest said, oblivious to the strange interaction occurring between them.

She broke eye contact first, glancing back at her car. “I'll just, ah, go get the donations I brought. I'm actually going undercover, too, but I don't think it'll be a problem to continue to volunteer,” she said, and to Quinn, it sounded as if she was giving him permission. But what she didn't understand was that he didn't even want her to know he volunteered like this. No one, besides the priest and Nico, knew. And now, Kyra.

He followed her to her car, then elbowed her out of the way so he could lift out the box of canned goods sitting in the passenger seat. “Nice ride.”

“Thanks.”

They walked side by side toward the community center. “Look, Sanders, this isn't what it looks like.”

“It looks like you regularly help out a church located in the middle of a community that desperately needs it.”

“Okay, well, maybe it is what it looks like. But it's not something I, ah, broadcast. To the rest of the guys in the office.”

“You mean when you and Court are watching the football games on Sunday afternoon, you don't discuss your latest volunteer efforts?” Her tone was saccharine. She sounded as if she was biting back laughter.

“No,” he said shortly. He was not amused. She must have sensed it, because she quickly sobered. He placed the box in the corner where he'd stored the rest of the boxes he'd pulled from the delivery truck.

“I won't tell anyone.”

He couldn't help it; he blew out a relieved breath. “Good. Now get your ass in gear and help me unload the rest of this truck so I can get the hell out of here.”

• • •

Kyra glanced up and down the street and then looked at her phone. Her new partner was already twenty minutes late. Even knowing as little as she did about Quinn Daniels, she probably shouldn't be surprised, but still, it irked her. This was her case, damn it, and she wanted it managed, handled, and closed properly. By her standards and by the book. No more screw-ups. Whether she chose to return to Dallas or not, she needed everyone in that office to know she was finally able to close this damn case.

Her reputation was at risk.

Actually, her reputation was already in tatters, so closing the case would simply be the first step toward fixing it. The process after that, she knew, would be a long and arduous one.

That was one of the reasons she'd visited Raquel Smith just the evening before. She had cuddled Raquel's three-week-old baby girl, Aimee, and lamented the fact that she had to do this undercover assignment with Quinn Daniels, of all people.

Raquel's husband, Jorge, had asked his wife at that point, “Did you sleep with him?”

She had rolled her eyes. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, dear, I did not sleep with every single guy I worked with. It's the FBI, for God's sake. It's ninety percent male. That would be a hell of a lot of notches on my bedpost.”

“He was drunk at the bar on Friday night and hit on me,” Kyra commented. She chose not to mention her most recent interaction with Quinn. She had made a promise, after all.

Raquel made a face. “Don't do it,” she advised. “He's plenty hot enough”—she had to pause to reassure her husband no one was hotter than him—“but he has a lot of baggage and long term is the very last thing he's looking for.”

“What kind of baggage?” Kyra asked. It was best to know up front what she was getting into. She and Quinn would be living as man and wife until they were able to solve this case, after all.

But Raquel shook her head. “It's not my place to tell you, and besides, I don't really know the whole story anyway,” she added quickly when Kyra opened her mouth to protest.

The baby stirred at that point, blinking her wide green eyes for a moment before she squeezed them shut again and let out a blood-curdling scream. Raquel plucked her from Kyra's arms, and the baby immediately stopped screaming as she focused on nuzzling her mother's chest, clearly seeking something to eat.

“Don't worry,” Raquel had said as she settled the baby against her breast. “You'll be fine. I'm sure Quinn hit on you because he was drunk. He'll be a perfect gentleman while you're working together. He may be an ass otherwise, but he has a work ethic unlike anyone else I've ever seen.”

So, did that work ethic only carry over to Quinn's own cases? Being now twenty-four minutes late on the first day of their joint assignment did not strike her as terribly ethical.

She heard the sound of a gunning dual exhaust and turned her head to watch a sleek blue and chrome full-sized truck motor down the road. Slowing down at the last moment, the truck careened into the driveway and came to a lurching halt just inches from Kyra's feet. She was too stunned to jump out of the way.

Quinn climbed out of the driver's seat and ambled around the truck to where she stood, frozen to the spot. As soon as he was close enough, she lit into him.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded. “First of all, you're twenty-five minutes late. And second of all, really? Do you always drive like a freaking manic? This is an average middle-class neighborhood with lots of children. You had to be driving at least ninety when you flew into the driveway.”

Quinn lifted his hand in the classic stop motion. “Jesus. My mother never bitched at me this much in her entire life, and you managed to get all that in within thirty seconds. You aren't going to do this the whole time we're living together, are you?”

She gripped the house keys she held in her hand. “Maybe I should,” she shot back. “It sounds like somebody needs to.”

“It's a fucking assignment, Sanders,” he snapped. “Get over yourself.” He turned toward the house. “So this is it? Huh.”

She followed his gaze to the quaint bungalow with white siding and dark green trim and shutters. Red and pink tulips filled the flowerbed in front of the wide front porch. She'd been watching the house for months, initially for purely professional reasons, but eventually, she found herself fantasizing about digging in the flowerbed, decorating the living room, placing a teak bench on the front porch, complete with a green and white striped cushion so she could sit in comfort and drink a beer after a hard day's work, waving at the neighbors as they took their evening strolls.

“Is that a good huh or a bad huh?” she asked, cutting her gaze to Quinn.

He shrugged. “It's an ambivalent huh. Let's see what we're working with here.” He waved at the front door, so Kyra thrust the key into the lock, twisted, and then pushed open the door.

The living room was large and square, with a fireplace built into one wall. It opened into a small dining room and then into a kitchen that had a nearly entirely glass-walled sitting room attached, which led out onto a covered deck that wrapped around two sides of the house.

“Perfect time of year for this assignment,” Quinn commented as she followed him outside onto the deck. “That the neighbor?” he asked, nodding at the house positioned directly behind this one the FBI was renting for their assignment.

The yards were separated by a fence, but there was a gate built into it, so friendly neighbors could easily pass back and forth. The neighboring house, with its brown siding and black shingles, was larger and had significantly less yard space.

“Yes,” she responded. “Did you read the file?”

“Yep. Tough break.”

Kyra knew what was in that file by heart—and what wasn't.

“I was so close to closing the case.”

“When I read it, my first thought was that she had inside information. It's the only thing that would cause her to flee when she did. Is that what you surmised?”

She sucked in a breath. That was exactly it. “I had my suspicions, but I could never prove anything,” she said carefully.

“What did your director say?”

“The evidence was inconclusive.” Her voice was utterly devoid of emotion.

“Huh.”

“What does that mean?”

Quinn shrugged. “Nothing. Oh look, there's our neighbor. Wave, honey.” He plastered a fake smile on his face and wrapped one arm around her shoulders as he waved with his other hand.

A woman stood on the deck in the yard directly behind them, holding a glass of red wine in one hand. She had bleached blond hair styled into a sort of bouffant and wore a red suit with a short, tightly fitted skirt and red stiletto heels. She waved back but made no move to walk across the yard to greet them.

“That the perp who's been stealing hard-earned dollars from Dallas's upper echelon? The queen of Ponzi schemes?”

“Yes. And from Detroit's elite now, it would seem,” Kyra said. She was distracted by the feel of his arm around her shoulders; she didn't trust Quinn not to hit on her again. “Why are you hugging me?”

“We're married. Newlyweds. Don't newlyweds like to hug each other?”

“I suppose,” she grumbled. “Listen, we need to establish some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?”

“Yes. Between us.”

“We need to establish ground rules?”

Was he making fun of her? She wasn't sure, but she persisted anyway.

“This case, these living arrangements, it's just the job. Do you understand what I mean?”

Quinn twisted his head and cocked one dark eyebrow. “Aren't you worried our neighbor can hear you?”

“No. She's, like, fifty yards away. I'm serious, Quinn. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I'm not sure what you mean specifically, but if you are trying to explain that this is just a case and we are going to be playing house for hopefully a very short period of time, I'm pretty sure I get it.”

“Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. After Friday night, I admit I was a little worried.” She laughed nervously.

“What happened Friday night?”

“You don't remember?”

He shrugged. “Saturday morning, I woke up with a woman in my bed and I don't even remember how she got there.”

Great
.
He took my advice
. For some reason, it irritated her.

“Okay, forget it, then.”

“Not a problem,” Quinn responded, and then he said, “Let's see if we can get her to come over and say hi.” Before she could ask how he intended to do that, Quinn used the arm around her shoulder to pull her close. He twisted his body so they were suddenly face to face, and then with a lazy, teasing grin, he dipped his head, closed his eyes, and kissed her.

Kyra was so shocked at his behavior, she immediately put her hands against his shoulders and tried to shove him away.

“This isn't very newlywed-ish of you, baby,” he mumbled against her lips.

She twisted her head to the side. “Stop it,” she said, her voice coming out almost like a hiss.

He stopped trying to kiss her, but he did not release her from his grip. “I'm not much of an expert on the subject, but I'm pretty sure newlyweds like to kiss.”

“They do, but that doesn't mean you and I have to do it.”

“Aren't we newlyweds?”

“We're pretending, you asshole.”

“She's coming.”

“What?” Kyra gave a small yelp and twisted in Quinn's arms to watch the neighbor—her case—pick her way across the lawn in $200 heels.

“She's coming over here because we were kissing?” she said in disbelief.

“Curiosity, I'm sure. Maybe she's into threesomes.”