Undercover Connection

It didn’t matter. They’d both tacitly known from the beginning as partners they’d never date each other, and neither had ever thought to ask the other about their love life.

She had to draw some dignity out of this situation.

“At least we did the expected,” she said. “I guarantee we were watched. Oh, and by the way, Ivan Petrov controls the venue. But Natasha really runs the models. She gives the assignments, and she’s the one who hands out the paychecks.”

Wolff looked at her. “You’re going to have to be very careful. From all that I’ve been told, she’s been with this enterprise from the beginning. She may be almost as powerful as Kozak himself. When Natasha got into it, she wasn’t manipulated into sex work. She used sex as an investment. She came into it as a model, slept with whomever they wanted—and worked her way up to Kozak.”

“I am careful,” Jasmine told him. “I’m a good cop—determined, but not suicidal.”

“I’m glad to hear it. So, this is all as good as it can be,” Wolff said, shaking his head. “What matters most here tonight is that we’ve lost Smirnoff, our informant. And we’ve still got to somehow get into this and take them all down. We have to take Kozak down, with all the budding lieutenants, too. My position with this group is pretty solid—the Bureau does an amazing job when it comes to inventing a history. But the fashion show is over. The opening is over. The club will be closed down for a few days.”

“I’ll have an in, don’t worry. The last words from Natasha this evening had to do with us all reporting in tomorrow—for one, to return the clothing. For another, to find out where we go from here.” Jasmine hesitated.

“They haven’t asked you to entertain anyone yet?” Wolff asked.

“New girls get a chance to believe they’re just models. After that, they’re asked to escort at certain times, and, of course, from there...”

“We’ll have this wrapped up before then,” Jorge assured her.

“And if not, you’ll just get the hell out of it,” Wolff said.

“You don’t have to be protective. I’ve been with the Special Investigations Division for three years now, and I’ve dealt with some pretty heinous people,” Jasmine told him.

“I’ve dealt with them, too,” Wolff said quietly. “And I spent this afternoon up in the Everglades, a plot of godforsaken swamp with a bunch of oil drums filled with bodies. And I’ve been FBI for almost a decade. That didn’t make today any better.”

“I’m not saying anything makes it better. I’m just saying I can take care of myself,” Jasmine said.

She really hadn’t meant to be argumentative. But she did know what she was doing, and throughout her career, she’d learned it was usually the people who felt the need to emphasize their competency who were the ones who weren’t so sure of their competency after all. She was confident in her abilities—or, at least she had thought she was.

With this Fed, she was becoming defensive. She hated the feeling.

“Guys, guys! Time-out,” Jorge said.

Wolff stood, apparently all but dismissing her. “I’m heading back to my place. Most days, I’ll be hanging around a real art shop that’s supposedly mine. Dolphin Galleries.”

He handed Jorge a card, then turned to look at Jasmine. “Feel free to watch out for me. In my mind, no one cop can beat everything out there. We all need people watching our backs. I’m more than happy to know I have MDPD in deep with me.”

His words didn’t help in the least; Jasmine still felt like a chastised toddler. What made it worse was the fact he was right. They did need to look out for one another.

She wanted to apologize. They had met awkwardly. She wasn’t brash, she wasn’t an idiot—she was a team player. But despite his words, she had the sense that he was already doubting her.

“I’ll be hanging as close as I can,” he said. “The woman managing the shop, Katrina Partridge, is with us. If you need me and I’m not there, just ask her. I trust her with my life.”

He didn’t look back. If he had done so, Jasmine was certain, it would have been to look at Jorge with pity for having been paired with her.

When Jacob was gone, she strode to the door and slid the bolts. She had three.

“Jerk!” she said. She turned back into the room and flounced down on the sofa.

“Not really. Just bad circumstances,” Jorge said, taking a seat beside her. “I, uh, actually like the guy.”

She looked at him. “I don’t dislike him. I don’t really know him.”

“Could have fooled me.”

She ignored that. “Jorge, how did it happen? We were all there. The place was spilling over with cops. And someone shot and killed Smirnoff—with all of us there—and we don’t know who or how.”

“They were counting on the place being filled with cops, Jasmine. Detectives will be on the case and our crime scene techs will find a trajectory for the bullet that killed him. We do our part, they do theirs. Thing is, whoever killed him, they were just the working part of the bigger machine. We have to get to the major players—Kozak, whoever else. Not that the man or woman who was pulling the trigger shouldn’t serve life, but...it won’t matter.”

“No, it won’t matter,” she agreed. What they needed to do was find Mary. She nodded.

He took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re just thrown. We weren’t expecting to take them all down tonight.”

“We weren’t expecting Smirnoff to get killed tonight. I—I didn’t even know he’d gone to the FBI!”

“I knew but couldn’t tell you. And I didn’t know that Smirnoff would be killed before I had a chance to loop you in. I’m sorry—I put you and Wolff both in a bad position. At least you didn’t shoot each other. You know you’re resenting him because he had you down.”

“He did not have me down.”

“Almost had you down.”

“I almost had him down.”

“Ouch. Take a breath,” Jorge warned.

She did, and she shook her head. “I worked with a Fed once.”

“And he was okay, right? Come on, we’re all going in the same direction.”

“He was great. Old dude—kept telling me he had a granddaughter my age. Made me feel like I should have been in bed by ten,” Jasmine said and smiled.

Jorge arched his brow at her.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “I resent the fact he almost had me down. But really, I almost had him, too.” She squeezed his hand in return. “How come we never have discussed our love lives and this stranger knew more about you than I did?”

“’Cause neither of us cares what our preferences are, and we work well together—and we enjoy what we’re doing. And Wolff for sure had all of us checked out before agreeing to work with us. He’d need to know our backgrounds and that we’re clean cops. Also, you’re a workaholic and even when we’re grabbing quick food or popping into a bookstore, we’re still working.”

“Not really,” she told him. “Honestly, not until this operation.”

He nodded. “Mary,” he said softly.

“Jorge, I’m so afraid she’s dead.” She paused. “Even more now. Do you have any details about the oil drums they found today? All I’ve seen is what has been on the news. Captain Lorenzo was even with the cops doing the interviews at the show, but I didn’t get to ask him anything. Obviously, I did my best to be a near hysterical model.”

“You were terrific.”

She laughed. “So were you.” Jasmine tried to smile, but she was searching out his eyes.

“Mary wasn’t in one of the oil drums,” he said.