"Well, tough shit. I'm in the best position right now to know what will fly and what won't. You're just going to have to lock on my phone's GPS and follow as best you can. Get in as close as you can but don't make any move until I do."
"Got it," he says resolutely. "What's the good news?"
"Lance isn't going to be present, so that's makes it easier on me and Andrea when we make the bust. But you need to be ready to put a tail on him starting now. I don't have a lot of time to talk but Simon is expanding. Going to bring in women up from Mexico that have been kidnapped. Lance is going to iron out the details on that deal tomorrow night."
"You have anything else on that?" he asks, and I can hear him typing notes on his computer as he talks to me.
"Only that Simon will be lining up buyers and that the women will come in at Antelope-Wells in New Mexico. He says they have a border patrol guard on the payroll."
"Got it. Good work. Do you need anything else from us tomorrow night?"
"Just ping my phone GPS and have a team nearby."
"You got it," he says and then after a short hesitation, "Good luck, Wyatt. You've done amazing work so far on this. You're close to bringing it all down, buddy."
"Andrea too," I say quickly, and why I'm wasting my time to make sure he knows this is beyond me.
"Pardon?" Mike asks, confused.
"Andrea has done a great job too, so far. She's a real asset to the FBI."
"I'll pass that on," Mike says genially.
"Alright... I'm out and probably won't call again unless I learn something new that changes things."
"Alright, buddy," Mike says quietly. "See you on the other side."
We disconnect, and I grab a few cases of beer. I have no clue if we're low or not, but if Lance is watching, I don't want to give him any reason to doubt my trip there just now.
When I walk back into the main area, I take immediate notice of Andrea on the stage doing her last dance of the night. I can tell by the look on her face... that sort of faraway, detached look... that she isn't even present other than in body. In fact, her eyes sweep over me as she looks around and then they keep on going. Not like the other night when our gazes locked and for several tense-filled moments, neither one of us was able to look away.
I wonder what that says about me right now? Is she ashamed of what we did? Is her soul tainted by having to go that far in her undercover work? Has she cut me out of that small part of her she keeps locked up tight so she remains protected?
I don't like any of the possible answers that come to mind, so I move along and turn my back on Andrea's erotic dance. Dumping the cases of beer up on the counter, I get a confused look from the bartender so I tell him, "Thought you might be running low."
Walking behind the bar, I busy myself with stocking the beer in the coolers, an action that is not unknown to me. When we're packed like we are tonight, I want the bartenders pouring liquor, which in turn loosens up the wallets, so I don't mind pitching in to do stuff like this.
Plus, it gives me something to do so I'm not tempted to look back up on the stage at Andrea. It's practically killing me not to, but I don't want to risk the imminent erection I know I'll get, and I don't want to have to be reminded that she's doing something very selfless to help us crack this case, even if it sullies herself in the process.
Chapter 10
Andrea
When I decided to become an FBI agent at the tender age of eight, I never really thought much about what that really meant. I was following in my dad's footsteps and because he was dead, I couldn't ask him practical advice on my career choice. Even at the wise-old age of twenty-seven, after two years with the Bureau, it never would have crossed my mind that I would be on my knees, giving my partner a blow job.
It seems absolutely ludicrous that this could be my life right at this moment, yet, here I am. Blow jobs for the greater good.
A new FBI motto.
A maniacal snicker followed by a snort slips out of me as I dress in a pair of sweat pants, my sports bra, and a loose t-shirt. I imagine Wyatt will be here soon to discuss our game plan for tomorrow night, and I'm nervous as hell because I know I didn't imagine his reaction as I was licking my lips after a job well done.
He was pissed at me.
As is my habit, I jumped in the shower as soon as I got to my apartment to scrub off the indecency of my job, making sure the heavy makeup swirled down the drain along with the metaphorical slime I was coated in. My shame in baring my body to strangers is lessening, and maybe that's due solely to the fact that I was willing to do so much more than strip to make sure my cover remained intact.
More shame piles on.
More guilt.
More embarrassment.
More than anything, I wish I were back home... in my little bungalow house in Pittsburgh... snuggled on the couch and watching a marathon of Criminal Minds. That show is a little out there, and isn't indicative at all of what it's really like in the BRIU, but it provides me with entertainment that I can relate to somewhat.
I want that very badly right now. I'm homesick, beaten down, and I need some type of familiar comfort.
The knock at the door has me padding softly into my living room. Before I can even detour to the couch for my gun, I hear Wyatt's gruff voice. "It's Raze."
My heart starts a mad thumping, fueled on by anxiety and the need to ease my conscience with him. I open the door to let him in, avoiding eye contact because I'm at an absolute loss as to what to say.
Wyatt walks straight into my kitchen and pulls two Diet Cokes out of my fridge. I follow him in and take the can from his offered hand, popping the top and taking a sip. Wyatt sits down at the table and kicks at the chair opposite of him. "Sit."
I pull the chair out a little further and take a seat, setting my can on the table. I notice that my soda is ice cold, which means I'm having a good fridge day, and that is one good thing that has happened to me.
I wait for him to lay into me for what I did to him, but he merely says, "I've got a tentative plan for how this will go down tomorrow. I want to discuss it with you and then hash it out. You have an excellent mind and while I have a general idea of what we should do, I really want your help in figuring this out."
I raise my eyes to his in surprise, and I see nothing but determination on his face.
No condemnation.
No anger.
Nothing but fortitude to get the job done well.
"Then let's get to work," I say as I scoot my chair forward and rest my arms on the table. This is a temporary reprieve for me, but I feel immediate relief we aren't confronting what happened in Simon's office just yet. "Tell me the basics."
Wyatt scoots forward and leans his arms on the table as well, loosely twining his fingers. "It's only going to be Simon and me taking you to the sale. No clue who the buyer will have with him, so that's an unknown."
"We should plan for there to be several," I pipe in.
Wyatt nods. "Exactly. Gomez wants to put a tracker on you, but I nixed that idea, and we'll just depend on him to follow the GPS on my phone. While I don't think Simon doubts you or me, I don't want to risk it if he chooses to search you."
"I'm fine with that," I tell him. "When will you arm me?"
"Just before the sale. They think I'm drugging you with a dose of Ecstasy and ketamine. That would make you a little loopy. I told Lance I'd drug you right after your last dance and then take you to Simon's office to wait. You should act a little buzzed, totally compliant, and in a really good mood. Our cover is that we're taking you to an after-hours party to dance."
"Sounds good," I say as I nod my head. "And how about this... put me in the car unarmed... backseat. I'll pretend to fall asleep. You make sure you're the one that has to get me out of the car... maybe just positioning yourself near the car. When you reach in to wake me up... pull me out, whatever, have a gun in your waistband for me to grab."
Wyatt gives me a small smile. "That's pretty good. Let's do that."
"So, how do you want the bust to go down?"
"We need the money to change hands. This is where a whole lot of luck will be involved. I expect Simon will want to take the cash, so I'll keep a grip on your arm while that's happening. I imagine Simon will then tell me to hand you over. That's when we need to draw our weapons."
"It would really help if we could make sure they were segregated somewhat," I muse.
"Right... make it easier for us to cover them without getting in each other's way," he finishes. "How about you create a bit of a diversion? Maybe fight with me a little before I hand you over. I'll give you a little push toward the buyer and that's the signal for both of us to draw?"
"That's perfect," I say with a respectful smile. "They'll be caught a little off guard. Only downside is if the buyer brings his own security detail. We're in the dark about this guy... no clue what type of power he has."
"That's the major unknown," Wyatt agrees and leans back in the chair, latching his hands behind his head in contemplation. He stretches his legs out under the table, accidentally kicking me in the foot.
"Sorry," he mutters, pulling his legs back and sitting back up straight in his chair.
That's all it takes... a barely there touch and our business-like groove has been broken.
Our eyes lock across the table, and I can't help but blurt out. "I'm really sorry about what happened this evening."
Wyatt immediately throws a hand up to stop me. "Don't. It's done and we need to just forget about it."
"But I can't," I say quietly, and with my feelings just a bit bruised that he could so easily forget what we did. I mean... I know it was all "in the line of duty," but damn it... it was also an intimate moment for me.
Clearly not to him though.
"Look, Andrea. It happened and while maybe that wasn't the best course of action, it's over and done with. It worked... Lance never suspected us, so consider it a victory."
"A victory?" I say with an almost hysterical bark of a laugh. "I fucking violated you. I feel so damned guilty about it, and I don't--"
"Don't," Wyatt barks at me as he lunges across the table. His hands grab ahold of mine, and he squeezes my fingers so he has my attention. "Don't you dare feel guilty."
"But I took advantage of you... of the situation. The more I think about it, the more I know we should have just faked it. It would have worked. It was so unnecessary for me to do that, and you were so angry at me after that. I knew it was wrong. I knew I had violated you."
"No, Andrea," Wyatt says in a low, reassuring voice. "You can't go back and dissect your decisions. You made a split-second decision to do what you thought was best for us to maintain our covers. I'm not going to second-guess your decision, so you shouldn't either."
Oh, a wave of guilt crashes over me again, because Wyatt doesn't exactly get what's at the crux of my turmoil. Yeah, my mind might have been thinking that it was a good, tactical decision, but only I know that there was a personal element involved as well. I wanted to take him in my mouth. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to have a personal connection with him.
"I could have stopped you," Wyatt says softly, breaking into my thoughts. "But I'm a man, and you are an extremely beautiful woman whom I'm attracted to. I'm being straight up honest with you... the minute your hand wrapped around my cock, I wanted you to do it."
I blink at him in confusion, vaguely thrilled that he thinks I'm beautiful.
"Do you understand me?" Wyatt growls as he leans forward in his chair a bit more, squeezing my hands a bit harder. "I wanted you to suck me off. I enjoyed the fuck out of it, and I came harder and faster than I ever have before."
He wanted it?
He enjoyed it?
He came harder and faster than ever before?
My head starts a slight spin, and my chest swells with some weird sensation that I might say is relief and sexual tension rolled into one. I open my mouth to tell him that I wanted it to... that I enjoyed it very much.
But Wyatt isn't done talking. "Listen... we all do things whether in the line of duty or just life in general that we later find to be regretful and the only thing we can do is learn from the mistake and put it behind you. We have got to put this behind us, Andrea, and focus on this operation. Okay?"
For the first time in my existence, I curse the fact I'm a woman. Because the woman in me feels like crying for some ridiculous reason. I think it may be because he used words like "regret" and "mistake," and my silly woman sensibilities may have taken his prior words a little out of context.
He wanted it.
He enjoyed it.
He came harder and faster than ever before.
Well, of course, he was all those things. He's a man, and what man was not going to enjoy that? None of that has a damn thing to do with how he feels about me as a woman. That was all about physical release and nothing more.
So I square my shoulders and lift my chin, because yes, I am a woman, but I am also tough-as-nails Andrea Somerville and I can do exactly as Wyatt has just told me to do. I can put this behind me, learn from my silly mistake--that is, it meant nothing--and move on.
"Okay," I say firmly and with a confident smile. "It's forgotten and you can trust me... my head is in this operation one-hundred percent. Thank you for clarifying that for me."
Wyatt's eyes narrow at me briefly and his lips flatten... I guess testing the sincerity in my voice. But it was strong and clear, and he has no reason to doubt me when I say it's behind me.
As of this moment... it's done... forgotten.
Well, maybe I'll fantasize about it later after I get home to Pittsburgh, but he's right. In the grand scheme of things, we have more important fish to fry.
"So, what other contingencies do we need to prepare for?" I ask him so we can get the important conversation back on track.
Wyatt blinks... once, twice... almost as if he can't believe that I'm moving on so quickly. I engage in a staring war with him, and then he clears his throat. "We need to consider the other parties may be armed."
"Nothing we can do about it but hope we get a good jump on them before they can draw," I point out.
"And hope that the buyer doesn't have anyone stationed on the perimeter we don't know about. Without Mike being able to set up ahead of time, we're going in blind."
"So this could be the end of us," I say with a grin.
I expect Wyatt to be offended over me joking in the face of potential death, but his lips curve upward. "It might be indeed. But we'll go out in a blaze of glory, right?"
"Damn... now I have that Bon Jovi song stuck in my head," I quip.
"How in the hell do you even know what that song is? You had to have been a baby when that came out."
"Too true, Mr. Observant," I say as I stand from my kitchen chair and stretch. Walking over to the cupboards, I say, "Bon Jovi was like my parents' favorite band."
Opening a cabinet door, I pull out a bag of barbeque potato chips and return to the table. Sitting down, I open the bag, take a chip, and pop it in my mouth. As I crunch on the salty, tangy goodness, I turn the bag around and Wyatt plunges his hand in to grab a handful.
"What do your parents do?" Wyatt asks, and then tosses a few chips in his mouth.
"They've both passed on," I say with a small smile. I smile because I always remember them with fond memories. "My dad when I was just six months old, and my mom just a few weeks before I graduated high school."
Wyatt swallows the food in his mouth and looks at me with somber eyes. "I'm sorry. That's tough at any age."
Shrugging my shoulders, I pull the potato chips back toward me and take another. "It was... and while I miss them every day, I'm not sad about it anymore. Time really does heal all wounds to some extent."
"Pericles said 'Time is the wisest counselor of all,'" Wyatt muses as he pulls the potato chip bag back his way.
I blink at him in surprise, because cops just don't normally go around quoting Greek orators. His eyes rise to mine, and his han
d stops halfway to his mouth with another potato chip.
"What?" he asks in confusion.
I just stare at him, my mouth slightly open in surprise.
"What?" he asks again with a smirk, but he knows why I'm looking at him this way. "I'm not really a slimy general manager of a strip club, you know that right? It's just an act."
My lips curve upward and I pull the potato chips away from him, shaking my head with a silent laugh. "You definitely have layers."
Reaching into the bag, I pull another one out and then push them away so I don't eat anymore.
"We're cool, right?" Wyatt asks.
By the serious tone of his voice, I quickly raise my eyes to meet his. "Yeah... we're cool," I assure him with a smile.
"Because tomorrow is going to be dangerous, and I want us to both have clear heads... clear consciences. Nothing to hold us down."
"I'm good," I tell him firmly. "I've got your back, and I know you'll have mine. We're going to take these assholes down."
Wyatt reaches his hand across the table, fist clenched and wrist facing down. I do the same and we fist bump in solidarity. "Yeah... these assholes are going down tomorrow."
Chapter 11
Wyatt
It's almost showtime. Andrea's last dance on the stage has wrapped up, and a feeling of immense happiness courses through me that she'll never have to do that again. I'm waiting at the bottom of the stage while she picks up her clothes. Part of this tease involved her stripping out of a man's blue, button-down shirt so she quickly slips it on and fastens several of the buttons.
She walks down the steps, giving me a short smile, which is what she would normally do, and I follow her back to the dressing room. As has been her habit, she pulls all the cash out of her garters and hands it to me. I immediately start counting it out while she pulls a liter of Diet Coke out of the small refrigerator Simon had put in for the girls and pours some into a red Solo cup.
"I'm going to get dressed," she says, and I just nod at her, keeping my head on the cash. When she turns her back on me, I reach into my pocket, pull out a small packet of paper, and peel the edges back. Keeping my eyes on her as she slips on a pair of jeans, I pour the powder within the packet in her drink. Turning away quickly, I start counting out the cash again.