who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself? This is dangerous, Poppy.”
His condescension scraped against her nerves. “It kills you that I’m on this team, not because of my qualifications, but because of our history. If anyone can’t let go of the past, it’s you,” Poppy said.
“Honey, I let go a long time ago,” he disagreed. “I just don’t feel like dying because you don’t know what you’re doing. There’s an art to going deep cover and I don’t think you have what it takes.”
Poppy resisted the urge to snap back. He was baiting her purposefully.
What an ass.
“Well, thankfully, you’re not in charge and it wasn’t your call. I’m here... Get used to it.”
Shaine shook his head as if he wasn’t going to waste more time arguing and she was glad. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her cool and the last thing she wanted to do was give Shaine any kind of valid reason to have her tossed from the case.
They arrived at the apartment fourplex, a gray building with nothing charming or exciting about it, and walked around to the back where the two apartments they were to occupy were situated.
From a defensive standpoint, the place was deceptively secure, which was why it was owned by the Miami DEA office as the newest safe house used for informants needing a place to hide before their testimony.
There were also hidden cameras in the narrow alleyway that fed into the four apartments so no one could sneak up on anyone inside.
No more words were exchanged as they each disappeared into their apartments.
Poppy set her suitcase down and took a minute to compose herself.
Damn it.
Around Shaine she devolved into someone she swore she’d never be.
Surveying her new living environment, she saw it’d already been decorated to reflect the tastes of someone much younger, which was the part she was playing.
Shabby chic, repurposed furniture, a thrift-store sofa and a few picture frames featuring people she didn’t know were placed here and there.
This operation was costing a pretty penny.
Everyone expected results.
“So failure isn’t an option,” she murmured to herself as a reminder. “Time to get your game face on.”
Suddenly a door, which she’d assumed was a closet, opened and Shaine walked in.
“What the hell?” she exclaimed, not expecting Shaine to walk into her living room.
“Adjoining rooms,” he explained, surprised himself.
“Is there a lock?” she asked. The last thing she wanted was Shaine Kelly traipsing through her living room as if he had the right.
“Looks similar to a hotel room door.” He showed her how to lock it and then exited again. The sound of him locking the door from his side made her exhale. Had she actually been holding her breath?
Okay, so it made sense to have an adjoining room, for safety purposes if the DEA was housing someone who needed protection, but she could take care of herself.
Poppy grabbed her suitcase and went to the bedroom, finding more shabby chic, girly stuff—stuff for someone who was stuck between wanting to be an adult and still wanting to be a kid.
But she supposed that was pretty much what some college girls felt like.
Not that she had.
She’d been more than happy to leave behind all that crap.
Opening her closet she saw clothes already chosen to match her cover story.
Poppy lifted a skimpy shirt from the rack and frowned at how barely there it was.
Sure, she could pull it off, but it’d been a long time since she’d purposefully worn something so revealing.
Shaine’s earlier comment about the one-piece bathing suit came back to poke at her. Okay, so she preferred tailored suits to string bikinis and microminis. Sue me.
Poppy liked to leave something to the imagination, but there was no hiding the goods in these outfits.
“Good Lord,” Poppy murmured in faint distress as she pulled a tiny dress from the closet. A tight, formfitting number with a cutout where her cleavage would show, she wondered how she was supposed to wear a bra with this thing.
Or underwear for that matter.
Even a damn panty line would show.
Oh, well.
Her new motto was, “When in Miami...do as the party girls do.”
Time to make some friends.
Rosa Ramirez was Miami born and bred and she’d made it her business to clean up her beautiful city.
When the opportunity came around to take down El Escorpion, she didn’t hesitate, but in truth, this operation had been a long time coming.
And she wasn’t blind to the fact that if a certain senator’s daughter hadn’t gotten herself doped up on Bliss and put on life support from her last party, taking down that piece of shit drug dealer wouldn’t have gotten so much attention.
But Rosa never looked a gift horse in the mouth.
The operation was in play and she was going to see it succeed.
But she had a bad feeling in her gut about some of the people involved.
Mainly Agent Kelly and DEA agent Jones.
Now, she hated to think one of her own might be dirty, but El Escorpion had a long reach and a deep pocket.
Times are hard, people slip.
All it takes is once.
One agreement to look the other way for a handful of cash and you were hooked.
Cash was a persuasive bargaining tool.
Rosa had seen too many good agents get caught up in bad shit because the allure of quick cash was too hard to ignore.
She poured herself two fingers of scotch and nursed it while reading the personnel files of both Kelly and Jones.
Both were exceptionally nice to look at—something Rosa hadn’t been graced with—not that it mattered to her.
Rosa was the job and the job was her.
And she was good with that.
But
