lips.
Charley’s need to move diminished. As she passed Wyatt on her first round, she noted the strength of his shoulders—how their width made her want to touch them, to run her hands along their plane. She drew her hands into fists at her sides and released. Repeated.
I’ll do it for you. I won’t even ask questions.
She hustled away from Wyatt before she came to rest in her original spot.
“Okay. Now.” Charley’s hair fell from her clip.
Wyatt’s head shifted as his gaze stayed on her.
Recognition?
She shook the thought away. “What you’re asking isn’t a mind-boggling activity. It’s a search for information. Go in and get the details, get out. End of story. What isn’t written in your FAQs?” Charley pointed back toward the folders they held. “Please tell me why you need me for this.”
“Because we were told you can look and act the part.” Sheila’s eyes exclaimed their disbelief.
“Riiiiiight.” Charley leaned against the back of a chair. “Because I’m the only woman in the FBI who can pole dance?”
9
How she’d look the part, Wyatt didn’t know. He gauged her height at no more than five foot eight at best. As she’d walked, he’d watched. Long legs took strides twice the length he’d expected, and stirred memories he couldn’t find. Puzzles like her had pushed him to the FBI.
“Go on.” Charley jerked him from his thoughts.
The cadence of her voice drew him in. He couldn’t place her origin—a skill for which he’d become known in his eleven years; hers had a unique pace.
Sheila cleared her throat, but Wyatt retook control. “I’ll take it from here, Sheila.” He nodded.
She returned the same.
“We’ve managed to gather some intelligence already, through Candie.”
James smirked. “The skivvy-dressed blonde in the photo?”
“Yes.” Wyatt’s own grin snuck through, though he’d tried to refrain. Candie, as he knew, had a reputation as a busy-body. Luckily for him, he’d been in her circle when she blabbed. “She’s a dancer … in a club.”
“Where?” James asked.
“Montreal.”
“Out of your jurisdiction,” Charley said.
“Yes.” Wyatt stared into her eyes before shifting his own away.
Years of ingrained training had taught him not to stare, but he’d found it hard not to get caught in the gaze of a beautiful woman. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a shade of black like that of her curls; they fell from a band holding them away from her face. When lights shined and reflected against them, a silvery blue shimmered in the highlights.
Wyatt returned his thoughts to the project. “We need a private organization to go into the country and acquire a piece of information.”
“What she didn’t hear before or what she didn’t tell you, you mean?” Charley asked.
“Yes.” His boss had assured him about the team, but Wyatt’s doubts grew.
He knew the beauty of being privatized gave them flexibility. Overseas, across borders, and into places the government wasn’t allowed to step, they could go with immunity.
“Is she an operative?” Cael asked.
“No. Innocent bystander. About a month ago, she overheard a conversation. After a few too many drinks, she started sharing.”
“With whom?” Charley cocked her head.
“Me.” Wyatt mirrored her tilt. As he did, he remembered the same move—a habit of a girl’s in a relationship long since over.
“I think I got this now. You need us because this scenario plays out very close to, but across the border from, the great U S of A. You need me because of the way my mind works and my ability to … ah … dress appropriately.”
“Yes.” Wyatt shook his head. “I have to ask, Ms. Randall. I’m sure you’ve noted our subject’s height?”
“I have.”
“How do you propose we account for a four-inch difference?”
“We’ll handle that,” Lily said—quiet until that point.
Wyatt noted she’d jumped in before Charley, but Cael’s lips twitched. Does he understand how
Charley’s need to move diminished. As she passed Wyatt on her first round, she noted the strength of his shoulders—how their width made her want to touch them, to run her hands along their plane. She drew her hands into fists at her sides and released. Repeated.
I’ll do it for you. I won’t even ask questions.
She hustled away from Wyatt before she came to rest in her original spot.
“Okay. Now.” Charley’s hair fell from her clip.
Wyatt’s head shifted as his gaze stayed on her.
Recognition?
She shook the thought away. “What you’re asking isn’t a mind-boggling activity. It’s a search for information. Go in and get the details, get out. End of story. What isn’t written in your FAQs?” Charley pointed back toward the folders they held. “Please tell me why you need me for this.”
“Because we were told you can look and act the part.” Sheila’s eyes exclaimed their disbelief.
“Riiiiiight.” Charley leaned against the back of a chair. “Because I’m the only woman in the FBI who can pole dance?”
9
How she’d look the part, Wyatt didn’t know. He gauged her height at no more than five foot eight at best. As she’d walked, he’d watched. Long legs took strides twice the length he’d expected, and stirred memories he couldn’t find. Puzzles like her had pushed him to the FBI.
“Go on.” Charley jerked him from his thoughts.
The cadence of her voice drew him in. He couldn’t place her origin—a skill for which he’d become known in his eleven years; hers had a unique pace.
Sheila cleared her throat, but Wyatt retook control. “I’ll take it from here, Sheila.” He nodded.
She returned the same.
“We’ve managed to gather some intelligence already, through Candie.”
James smirked. “The skivvy-dressed blonde in the photo?”
“Yes.” Wyatt’s own grin snuck through, though he’d tried to refrain. Candie, as he knew, had a reputation as a busy-body. Luckily for him, he’d been in her circle when she blabbed. “She’s a dancer … in a club.”
“Where?” James asked.
“Montreal.”
“Out of your jurisdiction,” Charley said.
“Yes.” Wyatt stared into her eyes before shifting his own away.
Years of ingrained training had taught him not to stare, but he’d found it hard not to get caught in the gaze of a beautiful woman. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a shade of black like that of her curls; they fell from a band holding them away from her face. When lights shined and reflected against them, a silvery blue shimmered in the highlights.
Wyatt returned his thoughts to the project. “We need a private organization to go into the country and acquire a piece of information.”
“What she didn’t hear before or what she didn’t tell you, you mean?” Charley asked.
“Yes.” His boss had assured him about the team, but Wyatt’s doubts grew.
He knew the beauty of being privatized gave them flexibility. Overseas, across borders, and into places the government wasn’t allowed to step, they could go with immunity.
“Is she an operative?” Cael asked.
“No. Innocent bystander. About a month ago, she overheard a conversation. After a few too many drinks, she started sharing.”
“With whom?” Charley cocked her head.
“Me.” Wyatt mirrored her tilt. As he did, he remembered the same move—a habit of a girl’s in a relationship long since over.
“I think I got this now. You need us because this scenario plays out very close to, but across the border from, the great U S of A. You need me because of the way my mind works and my ability to … ah … dress appropriately.”
“Yes.” Wyatt shook his head. “I have to ask, Ms. Randall. I’m sure you’ve noted our subject’s height?”
“I have.”
“How do you propose we account for a four-inch difference?”
“We’ll handle that,” Lily said—quiet until that point.
Wyatt noted she’d jumped in before Charley, but Cael’s lips twitched. Does he understand how
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