Under The Covers

“You’re going to be my partner?” he asked carefully.

“I hope you don’t have a problem taking orders from a woman,” she said, a saccharine smile curving her lips.

“Taking orders?” he asked incredulously. “There must be a page missing from my script. Would you mind starting from the top?”

She turned to face him fully, settling her gaze on him with a level stare. “Make no mistake, Detective. This is strictly a DEA operation. We’re calling the shots. As my superiors have explained to your Lieutenant, the LAPD is being brought into this investigation merely to appease the local jurisdictional issues. Your presence is merely a token offering of cooperation.”

“Now wait a minute, Agent Carmichael,” Blake started irritably. Maybe if he wasn’t close to burnout, he wouldn’t have taken offense to her tone and haughty attitude. But he was tired, cranky and his fourteen glorious days in Hawaii had been preempted so he could baby-sit the DEA.

He took a step toward her. She didn’t so much as widen her gaze in alarm. “I’m nobody’s token anything,” he said, reluctantly admiring her attempt to establish territorial boundaries early in the game. “You’re in my sandbox now, honey. That means we play by my rules.”

“The name is Special Agent Carmichael. You may call me Veronica, but I prefer Ronnie,” she said, slipping a length of bobbed, sable hair behind her ear to reveal a pair of small gold, heart-shaped earrings. “In the future, I suggest you select one as a form of address as opposed to honey, sweetheart, doll or babe. If remembering my name is too difficult for you, then might I suggest you simply refer to me as Special Agent in Charge. It’d be a shame to have your sterling record besmirched with a sexual harassment complaint.”

Blake glared at the sexy half-pint agent and counted to ten. Then kept going until he hit thirty-five. He’d never been prone to losing his temper. His skill for sweet-talking the toughest suspects into giving him the goods was legendary in the department. He’d always had a way with women, and the fact that the Southern belle in a badge seemed immune to his equally legendary charm, chafed. Nothing would have given him more satisfaction than to tell the department brass what they could do with their half-baked ideas about partnering him with an arrogant little DEA agent with more sass than smarts. The only thing that kept him from following through was the she-put-you-in-your-place smirk on Forbes’s face. That and, despite being in need of a long vacation, he loved his job.

“I was just starting to fill Blake in on the case,” Forbes said, motioning to the chairs in front of his desk.

Blake waited for Ronnie to sit before taking the remaining chair for himself. She gave him a bland look, then sat primly on the edge of the cracked vinyl. She placed the file beside her then smoothed her delicate, manicured hands over her skirt. Then, crossing her feet at the ankles and tucking them to the side in a perfect display of ladylike, finishing-school training, she turned that interesting gaze his way.

“Our preliminary investigation has revealed the primary activity to be in one of the island’s most exclusive resorts,” she said, folding her hands demurely in her lap. “For the past six weeks, we’ve had two agents in place working as employees of the resort.”

Blake propped his foot over his knee and leaned back into the chair, still bristling over her haughty I’m-in-charge speech. “Why the need for another agent?” he asked. Avalon wasn’t a large island, and in his experience with the DEA, they liked to do things their way, and without the assistance of other law enforcement agencies.

The phone on Forbes’s desk rang and he picked it up, waving at them to continue.

“We know where the drugs are being manufactured and suspect the resort as a means of transportation,” Ronnie said quietly, reaching for the folder. She pulled out a half-dozen glossy black-and-white photos and handed them to him. “We don’t know who is involved. Unfortunately, our agents’ positions in housekeeping and the resort bar haven’t allowed them to develop any concrete evidence.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Blake finished, examining the photographs. He didn’t recognize any of the suspects’ names or faces, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have records, something he planned to look into as soon as this meeting was called to an end. “I assume we’ll be going in to obtain that evidence,” he said, handing her the photographs.

Her smile was brief, causing that adorable dimple to wink at him again. “Exactly. Agents Anderson and McCall are working full shifts as employees so their time has been limited. Unfortunately, this particular resort plays to high-profile types and, as I mentioned, is very exclusive. They operate under a strict policy that doesn’t allow employees to frequent the resort during non-work hours. Because of that, Anderson’s and McCall’s activities have been severely disabled.”

“What makes you think we’ll have any better luck?” he asked her.

Forbes hung up the phone and smiled pleasantly at Ronnie. “If you’ll excuse me, Special Agent Carmichael, I have a meeting upstairs to attend.”

Blake frowned. None of the detectives in his squad would ever call the lieutenant a touchy-feely kind of guy, and the kind, grandfatherly smile he cast in the pint-sized agent’s direction struck Blake as almost comical. “Feel free to use my office for as long you like.”

Ronnie slipped the photographs back into the file and flashed Forbes a charming grin. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

After crossing the room and opening the door, Forbes turned his attention to Blake. “Be prepared to depart for the island tomorrow morning,” he said, using that commanding “I’m the boss” voice Blake was used to hearing. “Carmichael will fill you in on the rest.”

The door closed and they were alone. Ronnie cleared her throat, making Blake wonder if she was more nervous than she appeared. Not that her demeanor would so much as hint at anything but ladylike calm, he thought. A more erotic image tripped through his mind, one that would have Ronnie Carmichael’s cultured Southern charm slipping…right into his arms.

“The agency needs someone inside and allowed free rein of the island,” she said, dragging his thoughts out of the bedroom and back to their conversation. “Our primary objective is to determine how the drugs are being moved through the island, as well as ascertain the key players.”

“I understand DEA wanting to avoid jurisdiction problems, but you’ve already got two agents on-site hampered by resort policy. What makes you think we’ll have any more luck?”

She lowered her gaze, her dark sable lashes sweeping downward. “Because we’ll be going in undercover,” she said, without looking at him. “Only not as employees.”

The knot of tension returned and tightened, and he rubbed the back of his neck to help ease it. “But why me?” he asked, his voice filled with caution.

She smoothed her skirt again. “Your lieutenant explained you were the only officer he could spare…that fit the profile.”

Blake frowned again. That twisting in his gut made a return visit, too, causing a riot among his insides. “Profile?” he asked, slowly lowering his hand. “What profile?”

Ronnie sighed and looked at him, her turquoise gaze intense. “I’ve read your file, Detective. Your experience in this area is well documented, and while there were other detectives with more experience, you are available and you fit the profile.”

His frown deepened. “What profile?” he demanded a second time.

“You’re thirty-one, right?”

“So? What does age have to do with an interdepartmental investigation?”

She tilted her head to the side, and regarded him skeptically. “Your lieutenant didn’t tell you, did he?”

The churning increased, igniting a ball of fire in his gut that had him reaching into his pocket for the roll of Tums he’d starting carrying two weeks ago. “Tell me what?”

She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Detective, the resort under surveillance is Seaport Manor.”

He shrugged and reached into his pocket. The name meant nothing to him.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her hesitation had his suspicion mounting. “Seaport Manor is a honeymoon retreat.”

His hand slipped over the roll of antacids. “I’m still not following you,” he said, refusing to jump to the wrong conclusion.

“We’re going undercover, Detective. Tomorrow morning we board the Island Express, a water taxi which will take us to the quaint island resort and deliver us directly to the private dock of Seaport Manor, where we have two weeks to gather as much evidence as possible. We are registered under the name St. Claire, one of Savannah, Georgia’s oldest and most prominent families.”

His hand tightened over the roll of Tums. “We are registered?”

“That’s right, Detective,” she said with a brisk nod. “Blake and Veronica St. Claire will be spending the next two weeks at Seaport Manor as newlyweds.” She flashed him a saucy grin, and a victorious light brightened her turquoise eyes. “Welcome to Operation Honeymoon. Babe.”

2

RONNIE FLASHED the too-polished and too-gorgeous-to-be-real detective a grin filled with satisfaction as his arrogance faded. Her own grin dimmed when his raven-black eyebrows collided over narrowed, pale gray eyes.

“Find yourself another cop to play house,” he said, angrily pushing out of the chair. “I’m not interested.”

Her smile disappeared completely. There was no other cop, and she had her assignment. Because of jurisdiction, she’d been forced to partner herself with the LAPD, rather than one of her own, for which she was secretly grateful. The last thing she wanted was to play loving wife to the very men who’d made her life a living hell the past three years. A fact that confirmed she should’ve followed her own dreams rather than attempted to fulfill a prophecy she’d never asked for, nor wanted.

She shifted in the chair as he reached for the door. “I’m afraid you have no choice,” she said, grateful when the firm tone she tried managed to stop him from leaving. “While your department has been more than cooperative, you know as well as I do that deep budget cuts have left your division operating with the bare minimum. You’re the only officer available. And I’ve been guaranteed—”

He spun to face her, his frustration-filled gaze connecting with hers. “I really don’t give a damn what you’ve been guaranteed.”

“Look, I’m sorry you’re not happy about the assignment, but there isn’t any other way.” She didn’t like him glowering down at her, so she stood and rested her backside against the desk. If he’d been standing in front of her, he’d still tower over her by a good ten inches, but at least she’d equaled the playing field…somewhat. “With employees being banned from Seaport Manor during their off-hours, we need undercover operatives on the inside that have the freedom to come and go as they please. And it is a honeymoon resort. If we went in as singles, we’d be suspect from the moment we stepped off the launch.”

He let out a long breath filled with impatience. “You really think people are going to believe we’re newlyweds?”

She gave him a brief smile, in hopes of placating him since they hadn’t exactly started out on the best of terms. “From what I’ve read about you, Detective, you’re very good at what you do. I’m sure you’ll provide a convincing performance.”