without a camera handy.
Holy hell! He and Toby had completely overlooked the obvious. Her Canon Rebel wasn’t the only camera in her possession. She had to have a hidden one, as well, which meant she probably still had more pictures of Jackson than those they’d already seized .
Son of a bitch! Where was the goddamn thing?
Sifting through his memories of her, he hunted for the kind of items that disguised miniature recording devices—something like a watch, an ink pen, or a hair clip.
What about her necklace? Dangling between her delectable melon breasts, where he’d love to bury his face, it had caught his eye on more than one occasion. While the stone in the pendant varied, the setting was always the same—a tear-shaped bail with a scroll-pattern at the top, inlaid with a diamond chip. Only, he’d bet his next paycheck that wasn’t a diamond chip; it was a fucking lens .
He threw an arm over his eyes. The pendant explained so much, like how she always seemed to stand with stiff shoulders and glide as she turned, like a jewelry box ballerina. He’d mistakenly assumed that she was flaunting her wares to her admirers, but it wasn’t that at all. She’d been aiming her camcorder.
Christ, he had to take the thing away from her before she ruined his investigation .
Only, Ike would never agree to that. He knew exactly what kind of plan Ike would want to execute: Send Toby over to catch Lena unawares. Toby could grab her after work on her way to her car and rip the necklace off her throat. End of story.
All Jackson had to do was share his revelation with Ike, and it would be over .
He teased his ear bud out of his pajama pocket. In the bathroom, Corey had just turned on the shower. Jackson could give Ike a quick call. He knew Toby would be more than glad to address the situation.
On the verge of dialing the team lead, Jackson hesitated. He pictured Lena struggling in Toby’s grasp. The mental image evoked both jealousy and reluctance. He didn’t want Toby touching Lena . The thought of Toby bruising her or, worse yet, charming her like some dashing bandit, left a bitter taste in Jackson ’s mouth .
So, what now, Stonewall? demanded a voice in his head that sounded just like Toby’s.
I’ll take care of it myself.
No sooner did the thought cross his mind than the neon sign for Artie’s flickered and went out. On Sunday nights, Lena closed at ten. If he wanted to catch her before she left, he needed to get over there ASAP .
Rolling out of bed, he scribbled a note to Corey on the same scrap of paper that held his interview time. Be right back .
He hoped to God Corey wouldn’t blow the whistle on him for breaking curfew. Leaving the note on the book his roommate was currently reading, Jackson jammed his feet into his sneakers, pulled on a dark T-shirt, and let himself out.
Chapter Eight
Floodlights at either end of Artie’s kept Jackson hemmed behind the dumpster. His heart beat out a primal rhythm as he waited like a panther for Lena to leave the store, which should be any minute now. A moment ago, he’d overheard the locks at the front of the store scrape closed, which meant she’d be leaving via the delivery door at the rear of the store where the sabotaged surveillance camera had yet to be fixed .
Conscious of the anticipation zinging through his veins, Jackson realized he was blatantly defying orders for the first time in his life. While the ramifications made him nervous—who in his right mind would want to piss off Ike?—the physiological effect was highly stimulating.
Insane amounts of endorphins and adrenaline ricocheted through his body . No wonder it was human nature to defy the rules. What had obedience gotten him in the past but a shit-load of responsibility and a miserable, neglected wife, anyway?
It wasn’t like Ike wanted Lena Alexandra toting around a hidden camera with images of his undercover agent on it. In seizing it himself, he’d save Toby the trouble or,
Holy hell! He and Toby had completely overlooked the obvious. Her Canon Rebel wasn’t the only camera in her possession. She had to have a hidden one, as well, which meant she probably still had more pictures of Jackson than those they’d already seized .
Son of a bitch! Where was the goddamn thing?
Sifting through his memories of her, he hunted for the kind of items that disguised miniature recording devices—something like a watch, an ink pen, or a hair clip.
What about her necklace? Dangling between her delectable melon breasts, where he’d love to bury his face, it had caught his eye on more than one occasion. While the stone in the pendant varied, the setting was always the same—a tear-shaped bail with a scroll-pattern at the top, inlaid with a diamond chip. Only, he’d bet his next paycheck that wasn’t a diamond chip; it was a fucking lens .
He threw an arm over his eyes. The pendant explained so much, like how she always seemed to stand with stiff shoulders and glide as she turned, like a jewelry box ballerina. He’d mistakenly assumed that she was flaunting her wares to her admirers, but it wasn’t that at all. She’d been aiming her camcorder.
Christ, he had to take the thing away from her before she ruined his investigation .
Only, Ike would never agree to that. He knew exactly what kind of plan Ike would want to execute: Send Toby over to catch Lena unawares. Toby could grab her after work on her way to her car and rip the necklace off her throat. End of story.
All Jackson had to do was share his revelation with Ike, and it would be over .
He teased his ear bud out of his pajama pocket. In the bathroom, Corey had just turned on the shower. Jackson could give Ike a quick call. He knew Toby would be more than glad to address the situation.
On the verge of dialing the team lead, Jackson hesitated. He pictured Lena struggling in Toby’s grasp. The mental image evoked both jealousy and reluctance. He didn’t want Toby touching Lena . The thought of Toby bruising her or, worse yet, charming her like some dashing bandit, left a bitter taste in Jackson ’s mouth .
So, what now, Stonewall? demanded a voice in his head that sounded just like Toby’s.
I’ll take care of it myself.
No sooner did the thought cross his mind than the neon sign for Artie’s flickered and went out. On Sunday nights, Lena closed at ten. If he wanted to catch her before she left, he needed to get over there ASAP .
Rolling out of bed, he scribbled a note to Corey on the same scrap of paper that held his interview time. Be right back .
He hoped to God Corey wouldn’t blow the whistle on him for breaking curfew. Leaving the note on the book his roommate was currently reading, Jackson jammed his feet into his sneakers, pulled on a dark T-shirt, and let himself out.
Chapter Eight
Floodlights at either end of Artie’s kept Jackson hemmed behind the dumpster. His heart beat out a primal rhythm as he waited like a panther for Lena to leave the store, which should be any minute now. A moment ago, he’d overheard the locks at the front of the store scrape closed, which meant she’d be leaving via the delivery door at the rear of the store where the sabotaged surveillance camera had yet to be fixed .
Conscious of the anticipation zinging through his veins, Jackson realized he was blatantly defying orders for the first time in his life. While the ramifications made him nervous—who in his right mind would want to piss off Ike?—the physiological effect was highly stimulating.
Insane amounts of endorphins and adrenaline ricocheted through his body . No wonder it was human nature to defy the rules. What had obedience gotten him in the past but a shit-load of responsibility and a miserable, neglected wife, anyway?
It wasn’t like Ike wanted Lena Alexandra toting around a hidden camera with images of his undercover agent on it. In seizing it himself, he’d save Toby the trouble or,
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