I’ll be staying here for the weekend with my friend Josie, who needs to settle in and get established in her new position. Josie ‘handles’ things for people.”
“All right. We should be okay for now. But I do want to check on the latest update.” She didn’t like putting the cart before the horse, but what else could she do? They were stuck here with Armond until they could produce a plan of action.
So they both went to work, sending cryptic messages and waiting for even more cryptic replies. Soon they had enough of an update to give Armond a fresh report.
“We could tell him the truth,” she suggested on a read-my-lips whisper, her mind whirling.
“Excuse me?”
If this hadn’t been so serious, she would have laughed at the comical shock on his face. “We tell him it’s been handled. Which it has. We can inform him we’ve called our contacts and he’s safe as long as he does exactly what we tell him to do.” She started tapping away on her burner again. “I’ll even call some of my other confidential informants to make sure we have the right information.”
“And?”
“And we show him why we need to focus on keeping him safe. We can’t go after whoever did this if we’re babysitting a paranoid Mafia boss. We need to move him to another location.”
Connor relaxed again. “That’s a good point. If the locals and the FBI can keep his name out of this for now, we can search for the real killer, and if we find that person, we’ll have them both in a corner.” He glanced toward the door. “And an added bonus—we get to live.”
Josie crossed her arms. “Armond has to trust us with sensitive information, so we need to really make this work.”
“I can handle him,” Connor replied. “He’ll come around if I keep working on him.”
She saw the confidence in his eyes. “You sure are smug for someone who walks in two worlds. You expect the man who probably wants you dead to trust you?”
“I’m trying to be low-key and relaxed for the camera.” He moved close. “So far, we’ve been whispering, but maybe we should act a little more lovey-dovey for the tiny red button embedded in that beautiful woman’s necklace.”
She didn’t dare turn to look at the stone-faced interpretation of a woman draped in robes. The one he’d mentioned earlier. But she scratched her ear and mouthed I don’t see how being lovey-dovey can help us.
He flashed his classic charmer smile. “I don’t know. Just smile and pretend you like me, and who knows, maybe you will one day.”
She grimaced and then laughed. “Too late for that. Why don’t we continue to pretend we’re putting our heads together to figure this out?”
“We are doing that.” He tipped his forehead to hers, then stood back. “I like literal interpretations.”
Shocked at how much that brief contact had zapped her awareness, she asked, “Is that your secret-handshake kind of thing?”
“That’s my staying-alive kind of thing. I have to be a carefree drifter who has a new woman on his arm every night. You need to be my latest conquest.”
Josie didn’t want to think about that, and she didn’t want to acknowledge the hum of curiosity and chemistry his words provoked. Now was not a good time to explore that little tug she’d felt earlier. “Don’t count me in on that list.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing that. Not in reality. Right now, however...”
“We pretend.”
“Yes. Hard as that might be for you, we need to ramp up the sizzle that Armond will expect. If he thinks we’re close, he’ll be distracted, and that will crack his famous armor.”
Josie conceded yet again but her heart shouted a warning. Connor’s explanation was so smooth she felt the kiss of silk moving over her skin. She was supposed to be professional and courteous while she gave Armond a show? “The sizzle? Like bacon on a hot griddle?”
“Exactly.” His eyes lit up into a shimmering blue-gray as he turned and tapped out a text report. “We might end up liking each other yet.”
“Don’t get your hopes up on that,” she retorted. But she still felt the warm imprint of his touch after she said it.
* * *
Connor paced, his mind clicking with ideas. He was used to taking care of himself, but now he had Josie to think about. True, she was a trained agent, but his last FBI handler had been a tall, strapping fiftysomething family man. Big difference.
Of course, Josie Gilbert would tell him to drop the protective-male persona. She gave off so many hostile vibes he was surprised he hadn’t been burned by electricity by now.
Just one more thing for him to deal with—a bitter female FBI agent. Bitter? Or just determined to prove her worth after that little dustup in Dallas?
Connor certainly could understand that concept, since his now-dead mother had been a hard-core, bitter working woman. He didn’t mind that so much, but being around Josie only made him want things he couldn’t have. He’d been on his own for too long now to think about normal, mundane things such as dating or dancing or settling down. He would never admit it, but he liked working with the feds on the good side of the law. For a change. He did the same things that he’d always done, but now he used his experience and talent to help bring in criminals. That gave him a bit of redemption, at least.
He wondered about Josie. What drove her to be so structured and buttoned-up? Had she believed she’d come from a normal, peaceful family or had she known early on that something was off with her successful father? Had she grown up in a small town with the white picket fence and the whole cheerleader, high-school-prom persona? Probably. Until it had all come crashing down.
That crash and burn would explain her need for justice now.
He’d have to find out so he could see inside her head. Sure, he’d found her file and...studied it, but some of the things that had transpired in Dallas were on a need-to-know basis. Probably to protect her identity. Connor wanted the real Josie to show up.
But right now, Louis Armond was waiting in his office for an update. So Connor planned to give him one.
“Are you ready?” he asked Josie.
“Ready, set, go,” she retorted on a close whisper. “We’ve covered every angle, including a thorough email report to Sherwood. If Armond asks for my credentials, we give him a rundown. If that doesn’t work, we give him the phone number.”
“And he’ll call and get a glowing report on your services.”
“Everything is in place,” she whispered. “We’re on our own unless we give the fail-safe signal.” She adjusted her black leather jacket. “And I’m not talking Mother’s Day here, Randall.”
“Why don’t you call me Connor?” he suggested, hoping to crack just a tiny edge of that chip on her shoulder.
“Why don’t you just lead on?” she replied.
But
