“I don’t need a baby-sitter, due respect, sir. I am fully capable of taking care of myself.” J.J. Barnes was not happy, and she made sure her narrowed glare made that point. The barely healed scar on her right side itched and pulled. Maybe tomorrow she could compartmentalize and put the incident behind her once and for all.
Calmly seated behind his desk, FBI Associate Director Terrance “Red” Andrews didn’t seem impressed by her rhetoric. In fact, his white brows arched cautioningly in response to her tone.
J.J. immediately adjusted her attitude. Outwardly, at least. Inside, her stomach churned as waves of queasiness rocked through her. She covered by leaning forward to grip the back of the burgundy leather chair as if to argue the point.
“You’ve been reinstated to full duty, Agent Barnes. But that doesn’t solve the immediate problem.” He peered up at her over the rims of his half-glasses, his blue eyes stern and unyielding. “I would assume that after the Visnopov debacle, you’d be more…circumspect.”
“I am, sir,” she assured him. “Two weeks in the hospital and a month recuperating at home gave me plenty of time to analyze my actions. I realize now that I should have arranged for backup prior to the meeting.”
“It wasn’t a meeting, Agent Barnes. It was a beating. The government has invested a great deal of time and money in this investigation. We’d like you to stay alive until the U.S. Attorney gets in front of a grand jury. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Andrews shuffled papers around on his cluttered desk until he found a thin folder and held it out for her. “You will accept a protective detail.”
“But, sir—”
He lifted a finger, silencing her immediately. He smiled, his expression somewhere between grudging respect and utter exasperation. “Sit, Barnes.”
She readily followed the order. She was still sore from the surgery. She didn’t know much about having a spleen removed, but she guessed the fatigue that just refused to go away no matter how many hours she slept was a side effect. J.J. prided herself on her fitness. She was the reigning female record holder on the obstacle course and now she was having trouble making it through the day without a nap.
She took the folder, but she didn’t open it immediately. It was accepted practice to wait for a superior’s go-ahead before diving into anything. If she’d followed that procedure, maybe Visnopov’s goons wouldn’t have—
“I know you, Barnes,” he said, raking his stubby fingers through his thick shock of white hair. “I knew you’d balk at the idea of protection, so I came up with an incentive for you.”
Her mood brightened slightly. “Sir?”
Nodding, he pointed at the folder. “We’ve lost three critical Visnopov witnesses so far,” he began as she perused color photos of the victims. “You were almost the fourth.”
J.J. wasn’t sure how to react. She could have argued that the three witnesses killed thus far weren’t her fault. Her cover was blown the minute the first member of Visnopov’s crew was arrested. It would have been nice if the U.S. Attorney coordinated the arrest with the bureau. Given her a heads-up. But arguing—in Andrews’s eyes—conveyed a complete lack of personal responsibility and she wasn’t about to give him any more reasons to question her abilities.
“The Visnopovs are going to come after you again.”
A frisson of dread slid down her spine. She straightened her back and kept her gaze steady with effort. “I assumed as much.”
“The Marshal’s Service will handle the particulars.”
A groan escaped her lips before she could prevent it. J.J. hoped Andrews hadn’t noticed it as she flipped to the next photo, her interest instantly piqued. This wasn’t a picture of a criminal or a victim. This was an official head shot of a U.S. marshal. Turning to the back of the photograph, she read the particulars. Denise Howard, fifty-one, twenty-five years with the Service. “She’s my protective detail?”
“Not exactly,” Andrews said as she continued to examine the file.
Martin Newell, forty-nine. Lara Selznick, twenty-six, who looked more like a college coed than a federal agent. The last picture made J.J.’s heart skip. He was as handsome as she remembered. “But…” She glanced up at Andrews and said, “I don’t follow, sir. These people are—”
“Suspects in the murder of Alex Maslonovic,” Andrews explained. “We have every reason to believe that someone inside the U.S. marshal’s office is a mole. Your assignment is to find out which one of them is responsible.”
“I’M SUPPOSED TO TRY to get her killed, too?” Cody Landry didn’t bother to mask his sarcasm. Partly because he’d known the field director long enough to speak freely and partly because he was really, seriously pissed.
He stared across the table, meeting the other man’s calm, even expression. As always, George Avery was immune to Cody’s temper. “Nobody’s supposed to get killed. Besides, it isn’t like she’s a civilian,” George pointed out. “She’s a highly trained federal agent.”
Cody knew all about J.J. Barnes. She was one of those women who sometimes crossed the line between being assertive and being a bitch. They’d been at Quantico together for a three-month course, and J.J. had done everything in her power to prove she was equal, or better, than any man there. He felt a smile twitch his lips. The only problem was that no one—male or female—could ever mistake J.J. for anything other than a woman. She had a sensuality that couldn’t be hidden by any amount of attitude. In a word, she was hot, and she’d shot him down at every turn.
“She’s very…competent,” Cody allowed.
His cautious tone elicited a smirk from George. “I’ve seen her file. She’s gorgeous.”
“If you like ’em tall, blond and leggy.”
George laughed aloud. “As I recall, you do.”
Cody sighed before taking a pull from his bottle of beer. Why did it have to be her? “You do remember I’m scheduled for a thirty-day leave, right?”
George nodded. “I was hoping you’d postpone. This is important, Cody. The A.G. told the FBI. Then someone in the FBI blew her cover and nearly got her killed. This ruse is the only way the feebs think they can flush out the leak.”
“Since when is it our responsibility to clean their house?”
“Since blowing her cover cost us three protectees. Like it or not—and I don’t—we’re in this together and dangling J.J. Barnes out on a limb is our best chance at finding the leak and making sure the rest of the witnesses live long enough to testify against Visnopov and his crew.”
J.J.’s face loomed in Cody’s mind’s eye. “She’s very smart, George. I’m guessing it will take her about a minute to figure out that she’s being used.”
“Her boss says different,” George insisted. “He concocted some story about her investigating us.”
“I’m not your guy for this,” Cody argued, finishing his beer as he started to rise. “I’m going home. I’ve got four nieces and nephews I haven’t met yet and another brother is getting married. I’m not missing another family event.”
“We can work around that,” George insisted. “You can take J.J. and the team with you.”
Cody froze. “You want me to take a woman with a target painted on her forehead around my family? I’ll pass, thanks.”
George stood so quickly that his chair tilted backward before crashing against the bar’s scuffed wooden floor. Reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket, he produced a rumpled sheet of paper. “I’ve arranged for a safe house outside of Jasper. It’s perfect, Cody. You can kill two birds with one stone.”
Cody rolled his eyes at the inappropriate choice of words. “I’m taking my time off, George.” He slapped a couple of bills on the table. “I’ve earned it, requisitioned it, filled out all the forms in triplicate and, by God, I’m taking it.” He gave his boss and friend a pointed look and said flatly, “Alone,” before he turned and headed for the door.
He knew Avery would follow him even without a backward glance. Grabbing his jacket from its hook, he shoved open the wooden front door and allowed the crisp November air to hit his face. His SUV was parked beneath the lone flickering street lamp near the back of the parking lot.
He listened to the chorus of city sounds coming across the Potomac. The buzz of traffic and shrill horns emanating from an unending ribbon of headlights only solidified his determination. He needed out of D.C. for a while. Needed to see the stars and hear the quiet waiting for him in Montana. He was a fish out of water in the east. No, not just the east—in a city, surrounded by throngs of people and…things. It seemed as if every square inch of land was occupied in some fashion. Even vacant lots were fenced, and the fences used as bulletin boards. The air smelled of exhaust and the briny polluted river that edged the nation’s capitol.
Yanking open his car, Cody instantly spied the envelope on the driver’s seat. He knew what it was.
George arrived a few seconds later, huffing out labored breaths that condensed into temporary clouds. “Your flight leaves in the morning. She’ll be waiting for you in Helena along with your team.”
On principle, Cody refused to open the envelope. “I said no, George. Doesn’t that matter?”
“Not so much,” he replied, placing a hand on Cody’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. “You can either have a working vacation or no vacation at all.”
Annoyed, Cody tossed the envelope onto the passenger’s seat. “Thanks, that’s kind of like asking me to pick my favorite Menendez brother.”
George’s hand lingered, then fell away as Cody locked his gaze on him. At least his boss tried to look apologetic.
“I know this is a tough break, Cody. But it’s necessary. The Visnopov case is a top priority.”
“I get that,” Cody snapped, also knowing full well that his sense of duty was about to rear its ugly head.
“Drugs, money laundering, prostitution, guns, numbers, extortion—they’re a one-stop shopping crime empire,” George continued. “We need all the remaining witnesses alive if the U.S. Attorney has a hope of getting convictions. That includes J.J. Barnes. She gathered a lot of information during her two years undercover and they know it, thanks to the leak. They need her dead and they’ve got inside help.”
Shrugging away from George, Cody slipped inside the car. “I should quit, George.”
“But you won’t.”
“But I should. I definitely should.”
J.J. WAS HAVING a bad day. No, make that a horrible day. And a long one. She’d spent two hours in a small, private room at the airport in New York under the watchful eye of U.S. Marshal Denise Howard. The marshal wasn’t exactly an interesting traveling companion. In fact, the woman was aloof, almost to the point of rudeness. During the required preflight waiting period in New York, the leg from New York to Chicago, the two-hour layover in Chicago and now, fifty-seven minutes into the flight to Helena, Denise had been practically mute.
J.J. was far from thrilled with this assignment, but she had a job to do. One that would be much easier if Denise had a few social skills.
Shifting in the confining seat, J.J. angled to study the woman. She looked like a marshal, thanks to a drab navy pantsuit and simple white blouse. There were deep concentration lines at the corners of her brown eyes, traces of coral lipstick on her mouth, and a swipe of some peachy shadow on her lids—barely enough to qualify as makeup. She smelled of soap and peppermint and, most of the time, her attention was fixed on the financial page displayed on the laptop she’d set up on the tray table.
“How’s the Dow?” J.J. asked. She didn’t really care; she was just desperate for conversation to cut the boredom.
“Weak,” Denise answered without looking up.
Matching your interpersonal skills. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
Her comment earned her an annoyed glance from Denise. “We’ll be landing soon.”
“Not soon enough,” J.J. insisted.
Denise huffed as she closed the laptop, stowed it in her briefcase and eventually slipped out of the seat. A fairly easy task for Denise, who couldn’t have been more than five-four. J.J. was a good five to six inches taller and still stiff and sore from her surgery. Navigating the narrow space between the seats was nothing short of an athletic achievement.
Like the two earlier times, Denise followed her up the aisle and watched diligently as J.J. closed the door and slid the latch. The strong smell of cherry odorizer didn’t exactly make her queasy stomach happy. A minute later, as she washed her hands, she felt the plane begin to descend at the same time the Return to Seat light began to flash.
Denise began to rap on the door. Apparently the woman was as patient as she was friendly. “Be right there!” J.J. called.
She checked her reflection, combing through her hair with her fingers, then reached down to check the phone and weapon holstered in identical ankle straps tucked into her socks and hidden by the legs of her slacks. Traveling with a U.S. marshal had allowed her to bypass the security measures that would easily have detected the gun. Her status as an FBI agent had allowed her to wave off Denise’s attempt to pat her down.
“I wouldn’t have made that mistake,” she muttered.
“How much longer did you say this would take?” Denise called from the other side of the door.
J.J. unlatched the door, emerging to find Denise and a flight attendant giving her dirty looks. She quickly moved through the one-quarter filled plane and found her small seat. Again, she twisted and sidestepped her way back into position before sitting and fastening her lap belt. “It would have been nice to fly first-class,” she commented when her knees hit the seatback in front of her.
“Budget cuts,” Denise remarked. “We’ll wait until all the passengers deplane, then proceed to—”
“I know the drill,” J.J. interrupted.
“The DIC will be waiting at…”
J.J. found it perversely funny that the acronym for Deputy-Marshal-In-Charge so closely matched her opinion of Cody Landry. Of course, the word she was thinking had an extra letter and wasn’t something she’d say aloud, but the mere thought made her smile. Probably for the last time. She was dreading the notion of seeing him again.
Thirty minutes later, she realized why.
THE MAN SWAGGERED! Aside from John Wayne—who was paid to swagger—what kind of man swaggered?
Cody Landry. Tall, dark, handsome Cody Landry.
She hated that her heart tensed at the first sight of him. Intellectually she knew it was nothing more than a chemical reaction, coded into her DNA. He was a gorgeous guy, so it made perfect sense that her body would react to him. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Or the brilliant smile he flashed. Or his eyes that were the color of chocolate. Or the lock of thick, jet-black hair that had fallen across his deeply tanned forehead, making her positively itch to reach out and tuck it back into place.
This is not starting out well, she thought as she extended her hand and willed herself not to moan when his fingers closed over hers.
“Agent Barnes, we meet again.”
J.J. frowned. “We’ve met befo…” She allowed the question to trail off, paused three beats, then feigned an oh yeah, now I remember moment. “Right. Quantico a few years ago for that document course, if I’m remembering correctly.”
His smile slipped fractionally and he released her hand. “It was a twelve-week course on surveillance technology, actually.” Another woman and man appeared as if on cue. “This is Deputy Marshal Martin Newell and—” he paused while J.J. shook the man’s hand “—Deputy Marshal Lara Selznick.”
Cody was trying to get a read on J.J. And not succeeding all that well. It seemed that all his mind wanted to process was the fact that she was even more stunning than he remembered. Her blond hair was longer and looked as if she’d recently run her fingers through it. Because of her height, he could look almost directly into her eyes. Her incredible eyes. They weren’t blue or green, but a blend of the two colors that didn’t seem possible in nature.
His cool professionalism nearly slipped when he noticed the faint remnants of a bruise on her right cheek. As far as he could see, it was the only visible reminder of the beating she’d taken at the hands of Visnopov’s goons.
“We’ll be exiting at air cargo,” he explained, pointing the way. It took everything in him not to put his hand at the small of her back to guide her as he would have any other woman. Any other woman who wasn’t a) a feeb, b) a total tight ass, and c) ruining his first vacation—and homecoming—in six years.
And d) she hadn’t even remembered him, he thought as he walked beside her. Well, hell. This was going to be really special.
Not.
Per their training, the deputies surrounded her as they moved through the public area of the terminal. “Our location is approximately—”
“May I stop at the rest room?”
Ignoring Denise’s groan of displeasure, Cody nodded and steered everyone toward the detour. Lara and Denise entered the rest room with J.J., leaving Cody and Martin to guard the lone entrance.
“She’s a looker.”
“She’s an assignment,” Cody reminded Martin. “And believe me, beneath that pretty exterior is a very unpleasant person.”
Martin shrugged. “Seems nice enough.”
“Just wait. Agent Barnes has issues.”
“With looks like that, she could have scurvy and I wouldn’t care.”
Cody glanced in Martin’s direction. “Aren’t you married, old friend?”
“I’m only lusting in my mind, Cody. That’s not prohibited in the marriage vows.”
“Should I call your wife and ask her?”
Martin shook his head. “Let’s keep it between us men for now. No need upsetting my woman.”
Of course J.J. chose that moment to emerge from the rest room. She immediately tossed both men a scathing look.
“Don’t get yourself in a knot,” he warned J.J. as they continued toward their destination. “We were just making small talk.”
“About the ownership of women?” she replied with an angry dose of sarcasm. “That’s illegal, Deputy Marshal Landry. You should have read that somewhere by this point in your career.”
“Call me Cody,” he replied easily, determined not to bait her further. “Martin was referring to his wife.”
“In a demeaning and archaic fashion.”
Cody blew out a breath. “I think that’s an issue you should take up with him.” He quickened the pace toward the black SUV he’d parked twenty long yards ahead.
“You’re the…DIC. Isn’t it part of your job as team leader to keep sexist references out of the workplace? Under all federal and EEOC guidelines regarding inappropriate content it’s your responsibility—”
“Give it a rest, J.J.”
“I’m only pointing out that what may seem like an innocent comment between men often is a highly offensive—”
He cut her off by raising one hand and opening the back door of the vehicle with the other. “No one was trying to be offensive to anyone.”
“Intent isn’t the point,” she argued, apparently refusing to get into the car until she’d made her point. Again. “Technically speaking, I could make a formal complaint. You could be investigated, possibly punished in some way.”
Cody rolled his eyes. “Technically speaking, J.J., I’m already feeling punished. Now get in the damn car.”