Under The Covers. Jamie Denton Ann
didn’t buy her disinterest for a nanosecond. She more than piqued his interest, but she was off-limits since the department had a strict fraternization policy that applied to all law enforcement and support staff personnel.
“Blake,” Forbes said, drawing his attention from her lethal legs. “This is Special Agent Veronica Carmichael, from the Drug Enforcement Agency. Ronnie will be your partner for the next couple of weeks.”
Blake looked from the slight grin tugging his superior’s lips to the lust-inspiring brunette and back again. Ronny was Ronnie?
“This is a practical joke, right?” he asked desperately.
No way was all that honey and sweetness an uptight, arrogant DEA agent. The few times he’d crossed paths with Drug Enforcement agents, they were hard-drinking, rough-talking, take-no-prisoners brick walls of solid muscle with a penchant for risking their thick, beefy necks. She didn’t look as if she could withstand a brisk Santa Ana wind, let alone wrestle a whacked-out dust dealer to the ground.
“I assure you, Detective,” she said, a flash of determination lining her delicate Southern accent. “I’m no joke.”
“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