Marie Ferrarella - Cavanaugh Undercover

Only to find herself smack up against what would have been a solid brick wall had it not moved back even as it grabbed her by the shoulders.

Heart pounding as she tried to get herself together, Tiana simultaneously shook off the hold on her shoulders and pulled out her weapon for a second time in five minutes.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, anger usurping the fear she felt.

“Someone with a gun pointed at him,” Brennan remarked, his hands partially raised out of respect for the weapon aimed at his chest.

He found himself looking even more intently at the petite redhead with wide blue eyes. But, despite her stature—was she even five two without those sexy-looking black stilts she was passing off as shoes?—she gave the impression of strength. Not the kind of outer strength that could easily lift heavy objects but the kind of inner strength that was able to move mountains.

Brennan had the impression that this redheaded powerhouse was a force to be reckoned with. And he found himself rather looking forward to that encounter.

Trained to make quick judgments, he swiftly took in the room, assessing what he saw. Sent only with the instruction to “tie up any loose ends” as a way of proving himself, he realized that he’d apparently walked into the middle of something unsavory.

“Mind pointing that somewhere else? You can point it at him,” he suggested, nodding at the body on the bed, “since you seem to have already killed him.”

The suggestion as well as his assumption took Tiana by surprise. “You think I shot him?” Pausing to review the scene, she knew how it appeared. She needed to do some quick explaining—if this man actually believed what he’d just said.

“Why not?” he asked rhetorically. “You’re the one with the gun.” As he spoke, he slowly lowered his hands, watching her intently as he did so for some sign that she’d shoot if he dropped them completely. “A woman can pull a trigger just as easily as a man—and then there’re those neat gloves you’re wearing—” he nodded at her hands “—so you don’t leave any fingerprints. Looks like you’ve got all the bases covered.” He cocked his head, as if daring her to prove his theory wrong.

“I’m cautious,” Tiana countered, referring to the plastic gloves. “But he was already dead when I came in. I found him this way,” she emphasized pointedly.

“And just how did you come to ‘find’ him in the first place?”

Tiana couldn’t tell if the man she was talking to was a cop or part of the organization she suddenly realized she needed to track down. What she did know was that he was a lot bigger than she was and she had a feeling that he was pretty quick, as well. She might have a shot at outrunning him, but then what?

If he was part of the organization that dealt in sex trafficking, he might be her best shot at finding Janie. That meant making nice with him.

How nice?

Not that, she couldn’t help thinking, being “nice” to this man would exactly be a miserable hardship, strictly speaking.

There was no doubt about the fact that the man was good-looking. Not the kind of good-looking that might be noticed peripherally in passing, but the kind of tall, dark and handsome good-looking that brought you to a jarring halt no matter what you were doing and had you staring, absolutely mesmerized by deep blue eyes that seemed to look into the most private corners of your soul.

Her mind scrambled for a plausible story. A kernel of an idea came to her. Utilizing it, she made up the rest of it as she went along.

“I have a phobia about catching something I shouldn’t. These are just a precaution.” She held up one hand as an illustration of her point. “I also like staying under the police’s radar.”

“Why’s that?”

Her eyes on his, she carefully holstered her gun. It was a gesture of good faith—one she hoped she wouldn’t regret.

“You a cop?” she asked.

Brennan laughed.

“Do I look like a cop?” he challenged, amusement highlighting a rather rugged face.

Tiana studied the stranger for a moment. He was tall, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, not to mention rather impressively dressed in a gray suit that undoubtedly set him back a bit. They were making bad guys better looking these days.

“You’ve got the jaw for it,” she quipped.

“But not the taste,” he pointed out. “Mine’s expensive,” he explained. “A cop’s salary wouldn’t begin to pay for one of my suits.” The corners of his mouth curved. “Okay, I showed you mine. You show me yours.”

She realized he was alluding to being part of the organization. Here went nothing. “I’m new in town and looking for fresh talent.”

“Him?” Brennan asked, a skeptical frown taking over his face.

Tiana laughed harshly. “Hardly. I came to talk to him because I’d heard that he was tied in to recruiting young girls.”

The handsome stranger with the good bone structure raised an eyebrow. “You like girls?”

He was baiting her on purpose, she thought. Tiana kept her cool. “My clients do.”

The raised eyebrow went up farther. “You’re a madam.”

She could hear the skepticism in his voice. This was her first hurdle and she needed to make a believer out of this man. If she didn’t, she had a feeling that her foray into this dark world to extract Janie was doomed to failure right from the start.

“Yes, I am,” she informed him haughtily. “Something wrong with that?”

“Hey, not mine to judge.” He raised his hands as if to push the entire concept away. “But you are kind of dressed understated for a madam, aren’t you?” he pointed out.

What was someone with her obvious good looks doing in a field like this? She looked too classy to be what she claimed to be. He could see her in a professional capacity—a legitimate professional capacity, not someone who dealt in flesh peddling.

But it took all kinds, he thought.

“I don’t like to stand out when I’m out among civilians,” Tiana told him.

He let his eyes travel over the length of her and could see her trying not to look away.

“Well, if you don’t want to stand out, maybe you should be wearing a bag or a sack over your head, because your looks make you a standout in any circle,” Brennan told her.

Tiana stared at him, stunned. “Are you flirting with me?” she asked incredulously.

He spread his hands wide in innocence. “Just stating it like it is.”

“In other words, you’re flirting with me,” she concluded. She noted the lopsided smile gracing his lips. Undoubtedly the undoing of a lot of women and it made him feel he could just reach out and have anyone he wanted.

Think again, she warned him silently. She didn’t trust men, especially good-looking ones. Her father had once been exceptionally good-looking, not to mention a charmer.

“You can save your breath,” she told him out loud. “I am much too rich for your blood.”

He laughed softly. “How do you know what I can afford? Maybe I’ve got a bulging...billfold,” he concluded suggestively.

Her eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve got in your billfold. You can’t afford me,” she told him confidently.

He knew this was all about how successful he was at role-playing and posing. He needed to keep his mind on the game. That was what the chief was counting on, and he didn’t want to disappoint the man the first time out.

All that taken into consideration, he admitted to himself that the woman in front of him made him itch. Itch a lot.

In a place he couldn’t afford to scratch.

It was way too risky to do anything but banter with this low-key madam.

“You’re piquing my interest,” he finally told her.