Jamie Denton - Under The Covers

“I’m still your superior officer, Hammond,” Forbes said in that cold-as-steel voice he’d perfected as a beat cop back in the glory days of the LAPD. “This is a special situation and you’re needed.”

Blake took a deep breath and attempted to summon his trademark calm and cool demeanor. He felt as if he was fighting a losing battle as the thought of handing in his shield played on the fringes of his mind. Just the fact that he even considered walking out was solid proof he needed to get away for a while. Good cops didn’t make mistakes, or take their frustrations out on suspects. The role of good cop was as natural as breathing to him.

Lately he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” he asked, his voice filled with a composure that felt far too foreign to be realistic.

Forbes returned Blake’s hard stare with one of his own. “Yeah, Hammond. It’s an order.”

Irritation climbed up Blake’s spine and settled in his neck. He let out a long breath and rubbed at the tension. “Fine,” he said after another deep breath that did little to ease his frustration. “My airline ticket’s nonrefundable. I want to be reimbursed.” If the department was going to screw him out of a vacation, then they could damn well pay for the privilege, he thought irritably.

Forbes nodded sharply. “I’ll see what I can do about it. This is coming from the brass upstairs, so it shouldn’t be a problem. As soon as you’ve wrapped this assignment up, you can take off.”

With nothing else to say, Blake dropped onto the edge of the sofa. He didn’t like it, and the churning in his gut confirmed his suspicions. He despised being backed into a corner, but an order was an order which left him with no other option than to comply. “What am I getting into?”

Forbes circled the desk, opened a file and stood with his hands braced on the large desk. “This isn’t just an L.A. problem,” he said looking at Blake. “The word on the street is a new designer drug is hitting the West Coast. There are already reports that it’s starting to show up in the Midwest and, we can assume, moving farther east.”

“Colombians?” Blake asked. He was familiar with drug trafficking, as were all the detectives in Vice. Busting the bad guys, the small-timers and even the movers and shakers in the underworld was part of his everyday life. The only reason he and Luke had been stuck on the uptown robbery detail was that their snitch had refused to provide information to anyone other than Luke.

“Not this time,” Forbes answered, shifting his attention to the open file. “According to Ronnie Carmichael, the agent you’ll be working with, this new brand of synthetic coke is being smuggled into the States through Avalon.”

Blake leaned forward, braced his elbows on his legs, and clasped his hands between his knees. “Catalina Island?” Interesting, he thought. Southern California’s island retreat was more of a place for lovers and honeymooners than drug traffickers. “How are they getting it out?”

A knock at the door had Forbes moving around his desk. “DEA suspects it’s being brought out by chopper or run out of Avalon Harbor on the launches,” he said, reaching the door and resting his hand on the knob. “There are about twenty or more runs back and forth between Avalon and Long Beach Harbor per day.”

“Which provides plenty of opportunity for movement,” Blake surmised.

“Considering the Coast Guard has never paid a whole lot of attention to the water taxis, you’re right.”

“That could explain how the stuff’s getting out of Avalon.”

“That’s what you’re going to find out,” Forbes said as he opened the door. “And stop.”

Standing in the threshold was a woman. Not just any woman, but a breathtakingly beautiful one. Blake gazed into eyes a startling shade of brilliant turquoise and felt his heart slam into his ribs.

“I apologize for being late,” she said quickly.

She shifted her attention to Forbes, and away from that instant spark of awareness Blake would bet his badge she’d felt, too. Not only did she have the softest, sweetest voice he’d ever heard with just a trace of a Southern accent he found sexy as sin, but the slight smile canting her lips caused an adorable dimple to wink at him. “Your L.A. interchange was a little more than I expected.”

Forbes commanded her attention and ushered her into the room while Blake took advantage of her movements, allowing his gaze to travel the length of her. He had no idea who she was, but she had the kind of legs that made a man sit up and take notice, slender and shapely, like the rest of her. When it came to the appreciation of women, Blake considered himself an expert. And in his expert opinion, the curvaceous brunette was a vast improvement over the last department secretary. If this was the type of support staff personnel was placing in the detectives’ bureau, he might just stop complaining about having to ride a desk for hours at a time to deal with the endless stream of paperwork.

Her sensible, low-heeled pumps clicked sharply on the linoleum as she crossed the small office space to the pair of mismatched chairs opposite Forbes’s desk. Always the gentleman, Blake stood, hoping to gain an introduction to the petite dream come true.

A straight peach skirt reached just above her shapely knees and a soft, floral-print blouse brought out the intriguing color of her eyes. He usually liked his women tall, but he’d make an exception for the looker with a thick file tucked under her arm.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and Blake flashed her his most winning smile. Delicately arched eyebrows rose briefly, and those turquoise eyes looked him up and down without showing the slightest hint of interest, curious or otherwise, before turning her attention back to the lieutenant.

Just as well, Blake thought, even if he didn’t buy her disinterest for a nanosecond. She more than piqued his interest, but she was off-limits since the department had a strict fraternization policy that applied to all law enforcement and support staff personnel.

“Blake,” Forbes said, drawing his attention from her lethal legs. “This is Special Agent Veronica Carmichael, from the Drug Enforcement Agency. Ronnie will be your partner for the next couple of weeks.”

Blake looked from the slight grin tugging his superior’s lips to the lust-inspiring brunette and back again. Ronny was Ronnie?

“This is a practical joke, right?” he asked desperately.

No way was all that honey and sweetness an uptight, arrogant DEA agent. The few times he’d crossed paths with Drug Enforcement agents, they were hard-drinking, rough-talking, take-no-prisoners brick walls of solid muscle with a penchant for risking their thick, beefy necks. She didn’t look as if she could withstand a brisk Santa Ana wind, let alone wrestle a whacked-out dust dealer to the ground.

“I assure you, Detective,” she said, a flash of determination lining her delicate Southern accent. “I’m no joke.”

“You’re going to be my partner?” he asked carefully.

“I hope you don’t have a problem taking orders from a woman,” she said, a saccharine smile curving her lips.

“Taking orders?” he asked incredulously. “There must be a page missing from my script. Would you mind starting from the top?”

She turned to face him fully, settling her gaze on him with a level stare. “Make no mistake, Detective. This is strictly a DEA operation. We’re calling the shots. As my superiors have explained to your Lieutenant, the LAPD is being brought into this investigation merely to appease the local jurisdictional issues. Your presence is merely a token offering of cooperation.”

“Now wait a minute, Agent Carmichael,” Blake started irritably. Maybe if he wasn’t close to burnout, he wouldn’t have taken offense to her tone and haughty attitude. But he was tired, cranky and his fourteen glorious days in Hawaii had been preempted so he could baby-sit the DEA.