Kimberly Van Meter - Deep Cover

Which meant, they had history they were trying to hide.

Rosa finished her scotch.

That wasn’t going to work.

No secrets. No hiding.

The stakes were too high to mess around with unknown variables.

She wasn’t one to knee-jerk react, but she was very good at watching and waiting. In her experience, people revealed their biases, prejudices and their dirty laundry if you were patient. All she had to do was watch and wait.

And if it turned out that Kelly and Jones were hiding something, they’d be on the first plane back to where they came from.

Rosa Ramirez didn’t mess around.

* * *

Shaine finger combed his hair, grabbed his wallet and fake ID and headed out.

There was no way he was going to sit in that apartment all night, stewing about the fact that he couldn’t shake the certainty that Poppy was in over her head in some lame attempt to prove something.

She was an adult.

And capable of making her own decisions—she’d made that abundantly clear when she’d walked out on him.

If she got herself shot again, why should he worry about her welfare? All he owed her was the same amount of professional courtesy that he would give any agent.

Undercover work was risky business.

Not everyone was cut out for it.

It wasn’t that Poppy was weak or afraid. She lacked that certain something—intuition—that guided an undercover agent and kept them from getting killed.

A good undercover agent knew when to cut bait and run and when to bluff.

Shaine could take things to the edge and stare down into the abyss without fearing a fall.

Poppy just had crazy determination and a thirst for adventure.

Hell, he’d liked that about her.

Until she’d started going undercover.

Then, he’d hated it.

Because that didn’t keep you alive.

“I can do this,” Poppy had insisted. “Lachlan doesn’t know I’m wearing a wire and he has no reason to suspect it, either.”

“The intel is bad,” Shaine had nearly shouted, wanting to grab her by the shoulders and shake her stubborn head off. “Can’t you tell that you’ve been made? Why else would Lachlan invite you back to his place even after someone recognized you?”

“I’ll slip in, grab the file and be gone. It’ll be quick. Lachlan is having a huge party. He’ll be too busy to even think about me.”

“You’re naive, Poppy. Don’t go. My gut is saying he’s luring you into a trap.”

Poppy’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t believe I have what it takes to be a hotshot like you. Well, I do. I can do this and I’m going to do it.”

The events of that night were etched in his memory, but Poppy bore the scars.

He’d thought taking a bullet would’ve cooled her jets about undercover work, but it’d only made her more determined than ever.

That’d been the beginning of the end for them.

Now it was happening all over again and he was supposed to just let it happen because now it wasn’t any of his business?

Talk about a messed up déjà vu.

But it is what it is.

They weren’t dating. They hadn’t even spoken to each other since the night she bailed.

Up until yesterday when Poppy walked into the debriefing, she’d faded like mist from his life.

So...whatever.

Shaine hailed a cab, telling the driver, “Take me to the hottest nightclub in Miami,” and leaned back to get his head on straight.

Time for a little research.

Game play level: professional.

Chapter 4

Poppy heard the door on the other side of the apartment close and she briefly perked up, wondering where Shaine was going.

They weren’t scheduled to start until tomorrow but that was the thing about Shaine, he did as he pleased and went where his gut told him to.

Which then also made her wonder why he was stepping out on his own.

Did he know something? Was he trying to get the jump on the investigation so he didn’t have to work with her?

Stop panicking, she told herself. Second-guessing every move was a rookie mistake, and if it weren’t Shaine, she wouldn’t think twice about her partner acting as he should undercover.

Forcing herself to relax, Poppy grabbed her file and started reading, committing her identity to heart.

Name: Laci Langford, 22, from Connecticut. Moved to Miami to escape the cold East Coast winters.

Major: Marketing.

Parents: Sara and John Langford, deceased. No siblings.

She perused the rest of the file, closing it as she tried to envision herself as the person described in the file.

Laci Langford...definitely sounded like a stripper name.

She’d have to remember to answer to Laci, not Poppy. Getting tripped up by a simple detail was usually the way rookies got made.

The phantom ache pierced her chest again and she rubbed at the small scar beneath her blouse.

Would she always feel as if she were running from that one event in her life?

She’d made a mistake—screwed up and paid the price.

The upside of getting shot? Poppy worked hard to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

Unlike her persona, Laci, Poppy’s parents were still alive and well.

And they’d been as unsupportive as Shaine about her decision to remain in her line of work.

“Your father is worried,” her mother had said after her father had stormed from Poppy’s house during her recovery, trying to soften the blow. “You know he doesn’t understand this job of yours.”

“He doesn’t have to understand the job. He just has to understand me.”

“Well, you know that’s always been a challenge,” her mother, Dottie, admitted, her hands fluttering as she straightened everything she could get her fingers on. “Frankly, sweetheart, we’re all a little surprised that after this incident you’re not ready to get into a less dangerous line of work. I mean, Poppy...in all the years I’ve been a nurse, I’ve never been shot at.”

Yes, but Dottie had been shit on, spit on, yelled at and otherwise abused by her patients, and Poppy had never wanted any piece of that.

“I love my job,” Poppy said firmly, holding back the wince as she shifted her weight, trying not to agitate her healing wound. The doctor said it would be weeks before she could even think about returning to work, which sounded like an interminable amount of time to her ears, but she couldn’t exactly go against the doctor’s orders.

Of course, that left her to suffer the opinions of her parents and friends who didn’t understand her job, nor did they appreciate that Poppy absolutely loved what she did.

She tried to tell herself that they meant well, but after gritting her teeth through the same conversation for the umpteenth time, she’d practically worn her teeth down to nubs.

“Of course you do, sweetheart,” Dottie said with open distress. “But some people aren’t cut out for these types of jobs. You’ve always been a delicate thing... Surely the Bureau could find a suitable desk job? Maybe a secretary position?”

Poppy glared. “Do you realize how offensive that is to me? I didn’t work my ass off to sit behind a desk.” When her mother’s eyes started to water, Poppy bit back the rest of the hot words dancing on her tongue. Her parents would never understand—and honestly, she never expected them to—so their opinion wasn’t a huge shock. But the one person she’d thought would understand...

Unwelcome tears crowded her sinuses and she sniffed them back.

Dottie seemed to understand where the tears were coming from and tried to comfort her. “You two can work things out,” she assured Poppy, but Dottie didn’t know that there was absolutely zero chance of that happening. “It was probably very scary to see the woman he loves almost die. You really need to think of how this situation has affected those who love you.”