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“He arrived in Atlanta the day after the bombing.”
Was I ready for this? Yes, I was. “Where do I meet him?”
“We,” Matt stated unequivocally. “You’re not facing him without me.”
“But our business doesn’t include you,” I pointed out. What if we had to discuss classified DEA information?
“I’m not giving either of you a choice. We’re meeting here at my office. And I made it clear to him you’re under my care indefinitely just in case he had ideas you’re leaving with him.
“So, what you said to my mom …”
“About you staying with me for a while?” He smiled. “I meant every word.”
Oh, boy.
CHAPTER NINE
Matt
Matt spent the rest of his day working in the garage. After the phone call with her mom, Grace was gripped by a blinding migraine. The fractured memories of her childhood proved too much to assimilate in one morning. She nearly passed out, so he put her to bed and ordered her to rest. Of course, she argued, wanting to go through her phone list, but Matt had been firm, and he had no problem being bossy. It was in his DNA.
He had tried to wake her up for dinner, knowing she skipped lunch, although breakfast had been heavy enough, so he wasn’t worried. She opened her eyes momentarily, told him to leave her alone, turned her back on him, and promptly fell back to sleep.
Now, he slipped into her room and switched the bedside lamp to its lowest setting. Soft tones lit over her features, and Matt caught his breath. Bruising on her face was still apparent, but it did nothing to hide the beauty that had struck him from the start.
Sitting at the edge of the bed, he continued watching her, and remembered the first time they’d met three years ago.
Matt walked into the DEA conference room, already annoyed at being put under federal agency oversight. There had been complaints from the DEA about CIA stepping on its toes. A rogue CIA officer had dealings with both the Russian mafia and Colombian drug traffickers, and it was only a matter of time before the Mexican cartel was involved. It was a multi-prong, multi-agency initiative to infiltrate the Carillo Cartel and capture its kingpin, Hector Vargas. Obviously, there would be jockeying for control among the agencies, and it had become a big bureaucratic clusterfuck.
He nodded at the other occupants in the room—members of SEAL Team 3 that specialized in small town incursions—and slouched in an empty chair beside a dark-haired soldier. Most of them didn’t bother shaving their beards and neither did Matt as he rubbed his fingers across two weeks’ worth of growth. He kept a trim beard most of the time. If they were going to blend in to the small Mexican town of Loreto, they needed to look inconspicuous as much as possible.
The conference room door opened and a woman walked in. There was something about her carriage that made every man in the room sit up straighter. The first thing Matt noticed were her curvy hips molded to a tight gray skirt. His eyes went up to a starched white top which did nothing to hide her heavy tits. The buttons were fastened all the way to her neck and if her intent was to take away attention from her generous chest; she had failed miserably on that front. Matt bet every man in the room was thinking about undoing each button slowly while waiting with bated breath for her tits to spill out.
A throat cleared.
Matt’s eyes snapped to the newcomer’s face. Eyes framed behind black cat-eye glasses were glaring at him as if saying, “My eyes are up here, asshole.”
He smirked, not in the least bit apologetic, as suppressed snorts of laughter rounded the room.
“Gentlemen.” Her glare softened as she addressed the room, but it was obvious she was still irked at the lot of them. Obviously, Matt wasn’t the only one giving her fantastic body a once over. Could she blame them? “Grace Levinson. I’m your DEA handler for operation Blood Bull.” She handed out case files about the Carillo Cartel and gave a rundown of operational logistics. Matt gave the files a cursory glance because he’d already done reconnaissance for the CIA on that town and the information was probably from his own intel. Instead, he observed how she moved around the room and how the fabric of her skirt stretched across her ass. When she planted her hands on the conference table and leaned forward, he imagined pushing her all the way to the flat surface, shoving her skirt up, shredding her panties, and then fucking her from behind.
Classic librarian fantasy.
She certainly had the look going for her as he noted how her dark hair was gathered tightly in a bun. And those perfectly formed lips glossed with shocking crimson? How in the world did she think a room full of men could concentrate?
“Mr. Foster?”
He smiled lazily at her. “Matt. You can call me Matt.”
She huffed in annoyance. “Mr. Foster, you’re to continue to maintain your cover as a surfer nomad interested in moving cocaine from Loreto.”
“A beach bum? I don’t think that’d be much hardship,” Matt murmured.
“I bet,” she said under her breath.
“What was that, Ms. Levinson?”
She ignored him and spoke to the leader of the SEAL team, so Matt surreptitiously observed his new handler. Too bad they wouldn’t be working closely together, but maybe that was a good thing. Although he had some scruples about fucking people he worked with, he’d had lapses of judgement in the past, and those always ended badly. He remained unemotionally involved, just trying to blow off steam in the midst of an op, while the women he fucked became clingy.
