Undercover Engagement by Samanthe Beck

Chapter Nine

Two Advil. No, four Advil, washed down with a cold beer, during a long, cool shower. These were his must-haves. In that order. Swain pulled into the driveway and stopped short before he plowed into the back end of a red Ford Escape. Guests? Wonderful.

He parked the Bronco beside the Escape, so as not to block it in, and dragged himself to the porch as the front door swung open. A tidy little redhead with a smile designed to slay hearts came through, rolling a big, pink luggage-looking thing behind her. He grabbed the screen door and held it open, seconds before he recognized her as Chief Buchanan’s wife. “Ma’am.”

“Thank you. You must be Michael. I’m Ginny. Nice to meet you, officially.”

Which told him she remembered him from the lip-lock on graduation day. “Nice to meet you, too. Officially.” Why she’d be here, though, he couldn’t fathom. “Is everything okay?”

She cast a look back at the house, and the smile took on a satisfied tilt. “Everything is right as rain, Mr. Swain. Consider me the welcome wagon.”

He took the wheeled trunk from her, then carried it down the porch steps and around to the rear of her SUV.

“Thanks,” she said and popped the door as she got in the driver’s seat. He loaded her gear and shut the hatch.

“Anytime, Mrs. Mayor.” Walking around to the driver’s side window, he offered her a smile. “Nice of you to stop by.”

“Tyler and Ellie Longfoot are good friends. Any family of Tyler’s is family of mine,” she said, presumably for the benefit of any neighbors listening. “We want y’all to feel welcome. Come by Mane on Main whenever you need a trim. We’ll fix you right up.”

“Hey, thanks. ’Preciate it.” He backed away from the vehicle, and she reversed out of the driveway. One last exchange of waves, and she was gone.

He jogged back up the porch steps, passed through the front door, and stopped dead in his tracks. Thoughts of Advil, beer, and shower slipped right out of his mind.

Holy shit.

Eden stood in the living room, sweeping the floor. She looked…incandescent.

She spared him a glance as she swept. “I did up a schedule. The bed is yours tonight, but I get first turn in the bathroom.”

“Huh.” Her hair was different. It still flowed down to her shoulders, but now in dark, wavy layers with sun-kissed strands woven in to catch the light. A pale pink, silky-looking camisole hung from thin straps and poured over her curves like liquid, setting off skin that shimmered as if bathed in starlight. Short, wash-worn cutoffs with a threadbare patch at the pocket hung low and loose from the flare of her hips. Tan suede ankle boots with western heel and fringe hanging from the zipper pulls made her legs look even longer.

Either she sensed his inspection or expected a better reply to her schedule, but she stopped sweeping and propped a hand on the broom. “This is Ginny’s handiwork. If you think she got it wrong, take it up with Buchanan.”

He shook his head. It took a minute to find his voice. “Uh-uh. No. She got it right. Exactly right. That poor fool doesn’t stand a chance.” None of them did, including him.

She resumed sweeping. “If he’s even there tonight. But thanks. I think. You’re okay with the plan, then?”

“Yeah.” He walked into the room and sat on the arm of the sofa. “If the guys don’t hit Rawley’s tonight, we’ll still see and be seen, which is helpful. If they do show, we should try to bring them into our fold. Evolve Dobie’s fascination with you into fascination with us and figure out the right connection to make with Kenny, because two possible points of entry are better than one. Maybe invite ’em back here and share a few beers?”

“You read my mind.” She knelt to sweep the remnants of her trim into the dustpan, which ended up putting her at his feet. She smelled different. Some heady combination of jasmine and sugar. He suspected whatever product gave her skin the dewy, high-gloss finish accounted for the scent, as well as the fact that he wanted to run his tongue from the curve of her ankle to the point of her chin, tasting all curves and points in between.

“Are you hungry?”

“Huh?” Switch your brain on, Swain. “I…need a shower.” He popped up from the arm of the couch. She stood at the same time, and they ended up face-to-face, their bodies mere inches apart.

A cold shower.

“I’m going to fix myself a turkey and Swiss.” She took a step back. “I can make two as easy as one.”

His brain didn’t switch off this time. It blew clean out of his skull. He knew an olive branch when he saw one. Even so, it knocked him back. When was the last time someone not wearing a Subway uniform had made him a sandwich? He honestly couldn’t recall, but way too long, if something that amounted to simple common courtesy rocked his world off its axis. “Best offer I’ve had all day. Thanks.”

She smiled a little strangely as she walked past him into the kitchen, dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash, and stowed the broom and pan in the gap between the wall and the fridge. “Relax. It’s just a sandwich, Swain, not a marriage proposal.”

He followed her into the kitchen, reached around her when she opened the fridge, and grabbed a beer. “No need for a marriage proposal, choux. We’re already engaged.” Tapping his beer to the jar of Hellmann’s in her hand, he said, “Hold the mayo. I’ll be right back,” and scooted out of the kitchen.

Keeping to his pre-Eden ritual, he ditched his boots and dirty clothes in the laundry room, but he left his boxers on in deference to her presence. He settled for two Advil from the bottle stowed in his shaving kit, washed them down with the beer, and washed a working Saturday’s worth of sweat and grime off in a lukewarm shower. He skipped the shave, ’cause Saturday, and chose a pair of night-out jeans and a white T-shirt. Guys had it easy, thank Christ. Feeling better, all around, he strolled out to the kitchen to get his sandwich—and another surprise. Eden sat at the small kitchen table, one thick sandwich on a plate in front of her, another in front of the empty chair. A bowl of potato chips sat in the middle. She nibbled on one. Apparently, they were dining together.

He headed to the fridge. “Whatcha drinking, choux?”

“Water.” She held up her glass. “I’m good.”

He tossed his empty into the bin under the sink, filled a glass of water for himself, and took a seat. “How was your day, dear?”

She flashed him a ha-ha smile and bit into another chip. “Got my hair did. Added to my wardrobe.”

“Nice work if you can get it,” he teased and dumped a handful of chips onto his plate.

Her expression sobered. “Not sure my father would approve of me making it a lifestyle.”

“That why you became a cop? Make Daddy proud?” He kept his voice light, but in truth, he wanted to know.

“No.” She took a bite of her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, and he wondered if that was her way of shutting down the conversation. But instead, she sipped her water and went on. “I mean, I hope to make both my parents proud, but that hinges less on my career choice—assuming it’s not pole dancer, which, at the moment, feels uncomfortably close—and more on how I live my life. They raised me to set goals, work hard to achieve them, to know right from wrong and take the side of right even when it’s not easy. If I’m a good cop and it fulfills me, they’ll be proud.” Picking up a chip from her plate, she pointed it at him. “What about you?”

Well, shit. He hadn’t really meant to get into his deal. Around a bite of sandwich, he said, “Damn, that’s good.” Which it was.

“Thanks. Don’t dodge the question. What inspired your law enforcement career?”

Okay, whatever. He didn’t see the harm in swapping stories. “Not my parents. My mom split before I could pull up my own britches. You met my father. I think you understand what he is. Making him proud hasn’t been a priority in my life since I was seventeen and my attempt to earn his pride landed me on the wrong end of the law, right alongside him.” It had also landed him in the hospital with a broken arm, broken hand, and two broken ribs. That his father hadn’t fared a hell of a lot better hardly mattered. “Some people took poorly to being swindled out of hundreds of thousands of dollars in a real-estate development scam, and, unfortunately, knowing how to quit when he’s ahead has never been Romy’s strong suit.”

“But you were a minor, at the mercy of a patently unfit parent…”

“Yeah, yeah. Chill, choux. They didn’t throw the book at me.” Though the way she automatically took to his defense, with fury in her eyes at the thought of him being dealt with unjustly, put a strange hitch in his pulse. “Someone with some sway took an interest, and I got…I guess you could call it a ‘scholarship’ to the Marine Corps as soon as I turned eighteen.” He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

Her lingering frown suggested she knew he was leaving out quite a bit of history. He took a big bite of his sandwich to discourage questions, but all she followed up with was, “How long were you in?”

“Six years. Special team. Special projects.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

She threw a chip at him. “I’d like to see you try, cooyon.”

How the hell could he hold anything back from such a woman? And why the hell? It really wasn’t a big secret. “I was tired of working covertly. I sort of liked the idea of wearing a uniform out in the open and planting roots in one place as myself instead of bouncing from hot zone to hot zone as whatever persona Uncle Sam ordered me to assume. I know, right?” he acknowledged when she tipped her head and raised her brows. Cruel irony, ending up on an undercover operation straight out of the gate. “But once this assignment ends, I’ll get what I’m after. There might be more undercover jobs here and there—it’s a sprawling county—but it won’t be a regular thing.”

Eden wiped her hands on her napkin and tossed it on her empty plate. “Sounds like the sooner we conclude this assignment, the sooner we both get to move on to what we really want.”

“True.” Except that right now, he really wanted to work this op with her. He stood and took their plates to the sink and began rinsing them. “But in the meantime, the fringe benefits of this assignment are pretty damn good, choux. Doncha think?”

“Working construction? Living in a one-bedroom dump?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “I got me a ten-plus bride-to-be, making me sandwiches and doing my laundry.”

“Doing your laundry? That’s not in my job description.” In the other room, a phone rang. Hers. She strolled out of the kitchen on those best-in-class legs, boot-fringe a-swingin’. “Don’t push your luck, Swain.”

But he would. Yeah, he probably would, because just like Romy, he never knew when to quit.

…

“Have you murdered him yet?”

Her KDOCJ roommate didn’t know the specifics of the assignment, but Natalia Alvarez knew Eden had been partnered with Swain for a cross-agency operation.

“Not yet, though there have been many close calls.”

“How long have you been at it?”

She looked at the digital clock on the rickety spindle-legged nightstand. “Twenty-four hours, give or take.”

Alverez’s throaty laugh rippled over the line. “Mija, my money’s on you.”

There was some new note in her friend’s voice. Maybe happiness or satisfaction? Her new job must be agreeing with her. “It probably shouldn’t be,” Eden admitted. “He’s actually really good at what we’ve been asked to do. That part I can handle. But he’s also cocky as shit, as you know, and a loose cannon. And a slippery bastard.” She lowered her voice, even though she’d heard Swain go out to the porch a few minutes ago. “I can’t turn my back on him.”

“Hmm. Remember Taser Day?”

Taser Day—when the cadets Tased each other so they would gain the experience of Tasing someone, as well as the knowledge of what it felt like to take a jolt. A five-second hit felt like five eons of electrified hell, as every scream, sob, and curse to fill the air that afternoon had attested, but it had nonetheless been a highlight of her time at KDOCJ. Smiling, she replied, “Best day of basic.”

They’d drawn names to determine who they Tased. Alvarez had drawn her name, and Eden had counted herself lucky, because her roommate gave her a clean shot—both prongs embedded, one shock, an agonizing bout of temporary paralysis, and it was over. Normally she would have gained no pleasure from inflicting pain on a classmate, but the gods had smiled on her. She’d drawn Swain. He’d tried to get out of it by mentioning to their instructor that he’d been Tased before, but the instructor had simply said, “Great. You know what to expect.”

He had known, judging by the way he’d locked his jaw, kept the rest of his body loose, and dropped to the ground with one low, stifled groan. No screaming. No cursing. Not even when she remembered their pat-down exercise and gave the trigger a tiny second pull. At the end, he rolled over, looked at her, and said, “Was it good for you, too, choux?”

“Fantastic,” she’d said, handed the instructor the Taser, and walked away.

“As much as I enjoyed sending fifty thousand volts into Swain, I’m grateful I got you,” Eden said. “You stepped up, did the deed, and stepped down. People all around us were effing it up—one probe in, no probes in. Redo, redo. Redo. Nobody wants that.”

“I know,” Alvarez replied. “Carson drew my name. He missed completely on the first try. Prongs bounced off me on the second. On the third, he finally got a good hit and was so excited he forgot to take his motherfucking finger off the trigger. I swear I flopped around like a fish out of water for ten full seconds before the instructor karate chopped the Taser out of his hand.”

“He was so into you, Nat, and so intimidated. That’s why he screwed up. You were taken, at the time, but he looked at you the way a thirsty man looks at a long, cold drink. He wanted to get after you. I’ll bet his hands were shaking the whole time. What’s Carson up to these days? Do you know?”

“He’s engaged. To me.”

“Oh. My. God!” She surged up from the bed on a wave of honest excitement for her friend. “Congratulations! I can’t believe you let me blabber on about my pathetic life. Nat, that’s awesome—”

“It’s one of the reasons I called,” her friend said, and now Eden knew what put that satisfied note in her voice. “We’re really, really happy, and I’m bursting to tell everyone. But I also wanted to see how you were doing and what you’d be doing next May.”

“Wow. You’ve already set the date?”

“May tenth. Will you stand with me, Brix? Once you’ve Tased a girl, she’s earned a place in your wedding party.”

Her heart swelled. “I’d be honored. You’re going to make a beautiful, kick-ass bride, Alvarez.”

“I’d better, since I’m going to have beautiful, kick-ass attendants. I’ll send details as we pin them down. My big sister, Kiana—you met her at graduation—?”

“I remember.”

“She’ll be in touch about stuff, too. Bridal shower, bachelorette party.”

“That’s going to be off the chain. I can’t wait.” Yet she felt like a baby deer, taking wobbly steps. This was life beyond the op, she realized. She’d been so deep in the here and now she’d sort of forgotten a real world existed outside the assignment.

“It will, indeed. Bring your southern-ho wardrobe, mija. You’ll need it.”

“For you? Anything.”

“Hey, Eden?”

The tentative note in Alvarez’s voice had her smile fading. “Yes?”

“I want to tell you something. You might not like it, but I think you should know.”

Uh-oh. Whatever Nat wanted to confess, she was probably better off not knowing. She lowered herself to the bed. “Um, okay.”

“I didn’t draw your name on Taser Day.”

Okay, that came out of nowhere. “I don’t understand—”

“Swain drew your name, and he asked me to trade with him.”

Her stomach sank. “Why? Why would he do that?”

“I teased him and told him he was a sexist pig with no chance of surviving a career in law enforcement if he didn’t have the guts to Tase a woman. Aggressors come in either sex. He shook his head and said he didn’t care if I’d drawn a male classmate or a female classmate. Mija, he just didn’t want to Tase you.”

The walls of her chest constricted. “Why?”

Several beats of silence met the question. Finally, Nat replied, “Only Swain knows the answer. You’ll have to ask him.”