Impulsively (Dante's Nine MC) (22 page)

By the time afternoon rolls around, The Mayor has decided
that Brooks is his new best friend. My inherited cat refuses to budge from my
lover’s lap as we go over everything I know about Jeff Bruno, and what he might
be up to. It takes everything in my power not to giggle at the big bad biker being
colonized by an old cat.

“I can’t believe that fucker,” Brooks says through gritted
teeth. The Mayor glances up at him solemnly, as if in agreement.

“I could hardly believe it myself,” I reply, setting down
two coffee cups on the table before us, “the whole thing felt like a bad
dream.”

“If I’d been there,” Brooks goes on, shaking his head, “he
wouldn’t have had any teeth left to spit his threats through.”

“Look. I know it’s hard to focus through the anger,” I tell
him, laying a hand on his hard bicep, “but I need you to be clearheaded here.
If we manage to take this guy down, the working over he’ll get from the feds
and fellow inmates will be satisfying enough.”

“More satisfying than pounding him to a bloody pulp?” Brooks
asks, eyebrows raised.

“OK. Maybe not quite as satisfying,” I allow, “but close
enough.”

We put our heads together and settle on a game plan for the
day. I’ll head over to the penthouse and spend some time with Kassie and Kelly,
just so no one gets suspicious. During my down time, I’ll dig up as much dirt
as I can on Bruno, maybe even hack into some of his accounts if I can swing it.
Brooks is going to tail my crazy coworker throughout the day, figure out where
he spends time when he’s not at the field office. He’s even deigning to drive a
cage today, instead of his bike. Jesus. He really must love me.

As we get our stuff together and prepare head our separate
ways, I muster up my courage to ask the question that’s been on the tip of my
tongue all morning.

“Last night,” I say quickly, watching Brooks from across the
room, “what you said about...you know. How you felt about me...”

“Yeah?” Brooks says, that crooked grin of his driving me
mad.

“That wasn’t...just the heat of the moment or whatever...right?”
I stumble on. “You really meant what you—”

“Red,” Brooks cuts me off, closing the space between us. He
wraps his arms around the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. “No
games. Remember? I meant what I said.” 

“Oh. Good,” I smile, taking his scruffy face in my hands, “because
I meant it too.”

“I know,” he grins, running his hands over the rise of my
ass. “You may have been able to hide the whole undercover thing, but you’re not
that good an actress.”

“You asshole,” I laugh, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him.
His firm lips catch mine, and his powerful jaw works my mouth open at once. I
shudder with pleasure as his tongue glances against my own. It takes every
ounce of willpower I have to pull away.

“We’ve got work to do,” I remind him.

“All the more incentive to bring him down as soon as
possible,” Brooks laughs, glancing down at the rise in his jeans.

“You can say that again,” I breathe. “Let’s do this.”

“Hey, where were you last night?” Kelly asks, as I sink down
onto the penthouse’s leather couch. “We missed you at the Playpen.”

“I hope that place isn’t too much for you,” Kassie says,
dropping a few cucumber slices into a pitcher of water in the kitchen. “It
takes a little getting used to.”

“No, it’s totally fine,” I assure her, unable to hide the
smile on my face. “I, uh...spent the night at home. With Brooks.”

“What?!” Kassie and Kelly cry out in unison, whipping around
to face me.

“He spent the night at your place?” Kelly breathes.

“From what Declan tells me, that’s like a fish camping out
in a tree,” Kassie squeals.

“You guys are soul mates,” Kelly says, “I’m calling it now.”

“Oh my god. What if he asks you to be his old lady?!” Kassie
breathes, rushing to join me on the couch.

“He’s totally going to ask you!” Kelly spouts, rushing over
to my other side.

“Whoa! Hold on a second!” I laugh, holding up my hands, “I
think it’s a little early to—”

“Do you love him?” Kelly asks bluntly.

“I—what—?” I sputter, looking back and forth between them.

“That’s a yes!” Kassie cries, throwing her arms around me.
“You guys are in love! This is so amazing!”

“Welcome to the family, Keira!” Kelly says, joining the
group hug, “I’ll make sure Brooks picks out an awesome old lady cut for you.
Nothing too flashy. Classy. Like you!”

“You two are insane,” I inform them, crawling out from the
pile of lithe limbs.

“You’re blushing,” Kassie shoots back, “no use denying it,
Keira. You’re one of us now. And we couldn’t be happier.”

Eventually, I manage to convince the girls that we should
get some work done. They run off to interview some graphic designers—which is
pretty fortunate timing for my purposes. The second they’re gone, I abandon my
CrowdedNest duties and set to work on my new investigation. Mitchell couldn’t
care less about how I spend my time these days—he’s not even checking up. But
being an active FBI agent gives me all sorts of access to personnel
information, even if some of it is technically off-limits.

After some hearty technological gymnastics, I’ve unearthed
quite the treasure trove of intel about one Jeffery Theodore Bruno. By the time
anyone notices that I’ve accessed this information, I’ll either have taken
Bruno down or been fired from the FBI. It’s all or nothing, now. All that
counts is the moment at hand.

On the surface, everything about Bruno seems squeaky clean.
He’s been an agent since 1990, and has always worked organized crime cases.
He’s been involved in operations that have dismantled pretty impressive crime
families, gangs, and cartels. This is a man who’s respected, well-liked, and
trusted by the FBI, despite his temper and occasional unnecessary roughness.
But once you look beyond the official record, things start to get a little less
sunny.

FBI agents are compensated well enough, but no one stays in
this job for the money alone. And yet, the lifestyle Bruno leads is full of
indulgence and excess. He drives a BMW, lives in a ritzy neighborhood in LA,
wines and dines his lady friends and associates almost every day. I have a hard
time believing that an FBI agent could foot the bill for all of that without
some significant help.

Looking back through the history of Bruno’s cases, I analyze
how his purchases and spending habits match up with his professional life. An
alarming trend presents itself almost at once. Many of his big cases involve at
least one major crime family. In every case where such a family was found
innocent at the expense of a rival gang or cartel, Bruno’s cash flow goes
through the roof. After every such case, he blows a ton of money all at once.
There’s no way those spikes are just the product of job-well-done celebrations.
From where I’m sitting, it looks like Bruno is having his pockets lined by some
of those friends in low places he told me about.

I jump a foot in the air as my cell starts ringing.
Snatching it up, I’m relieved to see Brooks’ name on the caller ID. I swipe to
take the call, clutching the phone to my ear.

“Anything interesting?” I ask.

“Very,” Brooks replies over the line, “I trailed him from
the field office, all the way to some shitty apartment complex on the far side
of Vegas. He was making a little visit to a girlfriend of his. And you’ll never
guess who she is.”

“You’re right, I won’t,” I reply, “so tell me.”

“It was Belle Taylor,” Brooks says, “from the Devil’s
Playpen.”

“Belle?!” I exclaim, baffled, “The one Tyke is smitten
with?”

“The very same,” Brooks goes on, “and I’ll say this, she did
not look happy to see him. I heard him screaming from inside her place, and I’m
pretty sure she’s down at least one lamp. Something shattered in there—”

“What else did you notice?” I press.

“He went in with a pretty thick envelope,” Brooks tells me,
“and he sure didn’t have it when he came out again.”

“You think he was paying her?” I ask, pacing around the
penthouse.

“That certainly seemed to be the case,” Brooks says. “I had
to ditch him after he left Belle’s place. Got the feeling he’d start to notice
me if I kept on him.”

“Good. Better to cut your losses,” I nod. “Shit, Brooks. If
he’s paying Belle for sex, he can take the Playpen down for prostitution in a
heartbeat. He’ll bring the whole operation tumbling down.”

“Let’s hope the Wraiths vet their girls better than that,”
Brooks says.

“But if he wasn’t paying her for sex,” I muse, “what the
hell could he have been paying her for?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Brooks says, “but I bet this
asshole will be at the Playpen tonight. Maybe he’ll give himself away if we’re
there to catch him.”

“He’ll flip if he sees me at the Playpen,” I reply. “He made
it pretty clear that stepping foot on his turf will be bad for me.”

“Then don’t let him see you,” Brooks urges. “Besides, I’ll
be there. He’s not expecting you to have backup. You’ll be safe, Red.”

“Huh...” I say, pausing in my frantic pacing. “This is what it
feels like for someone to have your back.”

“You know it,” Brooks says. I can hear him grinning over the
line. “So, what do you say? Want to try and catch a rat at the Playpen
tonight?”

“Let’s do it,” I say.

“I’ll come and get you,” Brooks replies. “Shit. Is it wrong
that I’m kind of having fun with all of this?”

“See you soon, you crazy bastard,” I laugh, and hang up my
cell.

I can feel my heartbeat pounding through my entire body.
It’s the feeling I always get when I’m hot on the trail of some criminal or
other. Only usually, I’m only tracking my targets through pages of code and
internet transactions. This shit with Bruno is real. By all rights, I should be
scared shitless to take him on, and I’m sure I would be, if I were going it
alone. But for the first time in my professional career—and my life, really—I
have a partner. And that feels pretty damn awesome.

The sun is just beginning to set over the teaming neon
village of Las Vegas when Brooks and I set off in search of the truth once
more. It’s so strange to see him behind the wheel of a car, rather than on a
Harley. But I have to hand it to the man—the cage he’s driving does nothing to
impede his sex appeal. Tonight, he’s rocking black jeans, a white tee stretched
tightly over his pecs, his Dante’s Nine cut, and a pair of weathered steel toe
boots. His dark brown curls tumble artfully across his brow—a look I’m sure a
thousand city boys would pay good money to mimic. His green eyes are gleaming
with anticipation and intention, his inked muscles straining for action. It
takes everything in my power not to demand he pull the car over and have me in
the back seat.

The sizzling sidelong glance Brooks shoots my way tells me
that I’ve cleaned up pretty nicely myself. I’m in full biker chick regalia
tonight—daisy dukes, tiny white tank, big sexy hair, full face of makeup, and
sky-high stiletto boots. I figure I’ll blend in with the natives this way, make
it less likely that Bruno would notice me. And it doesn’t hurt that Brooks is
totally into it, either. I return his look with a mischievous smile.