“Who is it?” Ree asked, checking through the peephole at her new apartment. Quint drew his weapon, flipped off the kitchen light and stood at the ready a few feet away from the door. Quint produced their wedding rings from his front pocket before handing one over.
“Angie,” said a female voice. She sounded college age and not much more.
Ree opened the door.
“You just moved in, right?” Angie asked. She was five feet three inches of tiny frame and thick horse-mane blond hair.
Ree folded her arms, leaned against the doorjamb and smiled. “That’s right. My husband and I are still unpacking.”
It was a tiny lie.
Angie had a dotting of freckles across her nose and an enthusiastic disposition, like cheerleader perky. She was a cutie but couldn’t be much more than twenty-two.
“I live next door with my boyfriend,” Angie said. “We’ve been here for a few months but haven’t really made any friends in the building yet. I’ve been studying for my LSAT while Brad works. My parents think my roommate is one of my best friends from college. They’d kill me if they knew I was living with Brad.”
“Where does Brad work?” Ree asked, figuring it never hurt to get the lay of the land since there was a total of four apartments on this floor. Angie must have been watching them through her peephole. They’d been careful not to say anything that could blow their cover in the garage or on the way inside the apartment.
“He’s a fireman.” Angie’s eyes lit up at every mention of her boyfriend.
“Cool job,” Ree said for lack of anything better. She’d been told she could get away with saying she was still in her late twenties, so she let her shoulders round a bit and put on a bigger smile.
“Right?” Angie said. She looked Ree up and down. “Do you work out?”
“When I can,” Ree admitted.
“The building has a great gym on the second floor. They bring in CrossFit classes and Zumba,” Angie said. “You do Zumba, right?”
“Yes. CrossFit is a little too intense for me,” Ree said, twirling a lock of hair with her index finger as she tilted her head to one side.
“Same here, but Brad is obsessed.” Angie’s eyes lit up again. She seemed like a sweetheart. “But he also likes weights. He says CrossFit is bad for building muscles.”
“I’m more of a runner,” Ree said. “If I take a class, it would probably be Pilates.”
“I love Pilates.” Angie clasped her hands together and bounced.
“Maybe we’ll take class together sometimes,” Ree said before adding, “I should get back to unpacking. I start my job tomorrow, and we have so much to do. The fridge is empty, and we haven’t had dinner yet.”
“Okay. It was really nice meeting you,” Angie said before leaning back on the heels of her tennis shoes. She waved as she took a step back.
“Same to you. And I’m serious about Pilates,” Ree said as she slowly closed the door, watching which apartment Angie headed toward. Apartment 2. Ree made a mental note that Angie and Brad lived in 72 as she closed and then locked the door.
“Looks like you made a friend,” Quint said, flipping on the light before returning his weapon to his ankle holster.
“Since Lola lives in the building and she’s twenty-five, I might run into her at the gym. She might take classes, and now I’ll have a buddy to introduce me around. I get the impression Angie is social. She’s the type who would chat up a stranger at the gym,” Ree said.
Quint nodded. “I got the same impression.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Starving,” he confirmed.
“Me, too. Shall we go grab dinner out?”
Quint nodded, then gave Ree a once-over. “We should grab a drink while we’re out.”
Ree knew exactly what he had in mind.
“It wouldn’t hurt to figure out what my new place of employment looks like,” she said with a smile. Then she glanced down at what she had on. “Just give me a few minutes to change clothes and freshen up, and I’ll be ready.”
“You look perfect in my book,” Quint said so low she almost didn’t hear him. He crossed the room to the cabinet wall and grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and one of the few collared shirts he’d brought. It was black as pitch, and her heart skipped a few beats thinking how damn good he was going to look in it.
Fifteen minutes later, they looked like a very different couple as they exited the apartment and then the building. Despite the downtown area having plenty of lights, there were shadows cast everywhere. So many places to hide in plain sight, Ree thought as the prickly feeling of being watched crept over her.
She reached for Quint’s hand and then leaned into him as she surveyed the area, pretending to take in the restaurants and bars.
“How about tacos?” Quint asked, squeezing her hand. The move shouldn’t be as reassuring as it was. He realized what she was doing, and this was his way of acknowledging it. He lifted their clasped hands and pressed a tender kiss to the back of hers. The move sent a sensual shiver skittering up her arm.
The watched feeling returned.
“That’s not a fair question. Always tacos,” she teased, trying to force lightness she didn’t feel.
Quint guided them across the street to a corner restaurant. The place was small and crowded. They got in line just inside the door to place their orders when Quint tugged her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. She turned her face to the side, to the glass door and wall of windows, and scanned the area to see if anyone had followed them. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that no one seemed to have, except for the eyes-on-her feeling she’d had on the way over.
The line moved inch by inch.
“All I can say is these better be the best tacos I’ve ever had in my life,” she warned as her stomach growled.
Quint dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her lips, and she got lost in his masculine scent for just a few seconds as she looked into those sapphire-blue eyes of his. Eyes like those should be outlawed. She could stare into them all day. And night, a wicked little voice in the back of her mind added. The voice was up to no good, and that was exactly what would come of her falling for this agent...no good.
Still, standing here, she couldn’t help but be under his spell while his arms looped around her waist, holding her so close she could feel his heartbeat as it raced against his ribs. A little piece of her hoped she was having the same effect on him as he had on her.
Both seemed to realize touching that hot stove would set the whole house ablaze. For one moment, Ree couldn’t help but think how incredible it would be to dance in the flames if only for a little while.
And then she recognized a face from Quint’s file. The midtwenties male stepped inside the restaurant and moved behind a group of three people so they blocked Ree’s view of him. It dawned on her that Quint had been on the bust that had killed his partner, Tessa Kind, and the two of them were currently chasing the same group down. What if Quint was recognized?
QUINT FELT THE exact moment every single one of Ree’s muscles tensed up. Her body, flush with his, gave her away. She looked up at him with those emerald green eyes that made him lose his train of thought, and then subtly nodded her head toward the door.
He shifted to the left as they took another step closer to the order counter. Music thumped, giving the feeling they were already in a nightclub. This place must make amazing tacos to have a constant line at nine thirty on a Sunday night.
Ree moved to the beat. With her body against his, concentrating on anything else took effort. He took another step backward at her urging. They were getting close enough for him to turn around and check out the menu that was above the pair of order takers. As he turned, the profile of a male from the past came into view.
Quint pressed his hand against Ree’s back, tapping his fingers and giving a slight nod as he turned, turning his back to the male. Quint couldn’t put a name to the familiar face. It had to be in his files back at the apartment, locked in the tackle box that was still in the back seat of the truck that had been assigned to the case.
This was going to bother him until he got back to the files. Was Mystery Guy associated with Constantin? Could Quint somehow get a picture to jar his memory later? As it was, the guy’s profile was familiar, but Quint could be reaching. Ree had locked onto the Mystery Guy first. Had he followed them into the taco joint? Did he recognize Quint from the bust?
Ree cleared her throat and pressed a hand to Quint’s chest.
“Honey,” she said, urging him to move another step toward the order counter. They’d decided on their last assignment that “honey” was acceptable but “babe” was fingernails on a chalkboard to them both. They’d detailed out the rules of engagement. They’d shared information about each other, like the fact that her favorite color was blue and her second-favorite color was green. They’d decided to call each other by their rightful first names in public and he’d had documents made up with the last name Matthews. He just realized he’d forgotten to give her wallet to her. His had the credit cards and his driver’s license, but hers was a different story.
Quint’s turn to order would be next, so he spent a minute studying the menu before deciding on two number threes. Ree went with two brisket tacos. They ordered a pair of beers before being handed a buzzer and told to step aside. This whole scenario was a lot like ordering at Starbucks, minus the pager. He didn’t take it as a good sign they needed one in the first place.
Taking the couple of steps, he glanced over his shoulder. He located the trio but not Mystery Guy. Quint’s gaze flew to the glass door as it was closing behind a male figure leaving the line.
He bit back a curse and the urge to follow. Instead, he tugged his “wife” against him, her back to his chest, and whispered, “He’s leaving.”
She reached for his hand and then squeezed. The implication that this guy got what he wanted—confirmation he’d found Quint—loomed in the air.
The pager went off. They made their way to the pickup counter. Ree took the pager and then set it in the basket with others as a smiling kid who couldn’t be a day over eighteen handed them a tray.
Ree thanked him as Quint grabbed their dinner tray, then followed her to a table outside and on the side of the restaurant in a space sectioned off for restaurant guests. It was warm out but not unbearably hot for a change. Quint set the tray down. Ree pulled their taco baskets off the tray and set them up with their beers before Quint took the tray to its return spot on top of the garbage can next to the exit. He used this as an opportunity to skim the area for Mystery Guy.
He was nowhere in sight.
“Damn,” Quint said, returning to the table.
Ree gave a slight nod before picking up a taco. She cleared her basket in a matter of minutes and stopped talking in the process.
“You really must have been starving,” he said to her.
“I wasn’t kidding earlier.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him as she wiped her mouth clean. He probably shouldn’t let his gaze linger on those kissable lips of hers. Frustration at the missed opportunity to get a good look at Mystery Guy had Quint tied up in knots.
If his cover was blown on the first day, he couldn’t let Ree walk into that bar alone tomorrow night. Mystery Guy had no doubt seen the two of them together. If this guy was related to the case, life just got a whole lot messier for Quint and Ree.
“I feel like I might have seen Mystery Guy before in your files,” Ree said.
“We can check when we get home,” Quint offered.
Ree nodded.
“Ready?” he asked as she finished the last sip of her beer.
“Sure am,” she said, pushing up to standing and gathering her trash. Disposal was easy. Their table was taken almost immediately.
“Did you like your dinner?” she asked, leaning into him as he put an arm around her shoulder.
“No taco has the right to taste as good as those,” he quipped with a forced smile, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Ree laughed, and the sound was almost musical.
Quint needed to shake off the gloom-and-doom feeling before it took hold. A strong mindset was the most important asset he could bring to an undercover operation. Mystery Guy might have been a random person who’d decided against waiting too long for tacos no matter how good they were. It wasn’t a crime to leave a line he’d barely been in. If the same guy turned up at the bar, Quint would grab Ree and explain the situation. As it was, checking him against the photos in the file could wait.
Besides, she’d already picked up on the guy and would be watching out for him. She’d realized something could have been up with the man.
The Houstonian NightClub, HNC, was a five-minute walk from the taco restaurant, so roughly eight minutes from home. Driving Ree to and from work would leave them less exposed, but it was too close and would cast suspicion if anyone was paying attention.
Music could be heard thumping from halfway down the block. HNC took up two levels. A staircase to the left and above the bar was made of some kind of material that looked a lot like glass. A couple of guys sat strategically at the bar below, occasionally glancing up to check out the ladies in short skirts who were on the stairs. Sexist jerks.
Quint was more than a little relieved for Ree that she wouldn’t be subjected to another uniform like the one at Greenlight on their last case. He did note, however, that the waitresses were attractive. The bartenders were drop-dead gorgeous and seemed to be the attraction. There was a mix of men and women behind the bar, mostly the latter. Waitresses wore less clothing than barbacks. They had on the same tuxedo shorts, but theirs fell higher on their legs, and the unbuttoned tuxedo shirt barely covered their breasts. There must have been a workout requirement to be a waitress, because they all had abs most would kill for. They also had tiny waists and larger-than-normal breasts. Some were blondes and others varying shades of brown, but HNC definitely had a type for their personnel.
A bar covered an entire wall to the left. There were tables and sofas almost like he’d seen in five-star hotels. To the right was a dance floor with an extensive lighting system that would rival any concert he’d ever been to. Guys were dressed in every variety of black shirt possible, and the women were glammed up, full makeup and hair, and looking like they’d just walked off a runway or red carpet. The median age for the women was thirty. Meanwhile, the men averaged higher. There was a mix of distinguished gray-haired men with women who looked like supermodels on their arms and youngish, newer-money men. New money always wore the most bling. The best way to tell how much money an older guy had was by how expensive his watch was. This place could be a showroom for Rolex. The women looked like they were in one of those reality shows about who could marry a millionaire.
And at the far end of the bar...Mystery Guy.