Maximum Exposure (21 page)

She sat up slowly, not wanting to wake him, and he turned on his side, burrowing into the pillow where she’d slept. She hadn’t set an alarm, she never did, but her internal clock told her she had only a couple of hours before it would be time to open the store.

She was pretty sure she had several outfits still in her office that she’d picked up from the dry cleaners, and if not, there was a whole store below she could raid.

She did keep makeup in her desk for touching up her face when she couldn’t go home before going out, and she kept the bathroom stocked with her personal toiletries.

Breakfast and coffee were easily had at the bistro across the street, meaning she could cuddle with Finn for a while before she had to get ready for the day.

Except now that she was awake, all she could think about was what they’d done last night and the pictures he’d taken while they were doing it.

They had taken exhibitionism to an extreme to which she’d never before thought to go. What she’d done in the past had been dodgy, sure, and for mature audiences only, but it had never been sexual—not for her.

Last night had been a different story. Discounting the sex, if that was possible, last night had been about connecting with Finn on a level she had absolutely no experience with.

She trusted Finn. He made her feel safe. Not once had she sensed he was using her or taking advantage. It had been a night of exposing more than her skin, of passion that went deeper than arousal.

The emotion, God…even this morning it brought tears to her eyes: what she’d felt giving herself to Finn, allowing him to capture not only what her eyes revealed, what her expression gave away, but her body, too.

Intimacy.
Had she even known the meaning of the word before Finn?

She got to her feet, left her clothes in the tangle of bedcovers on the futon, grabbed one of the blankets folded and stacked in the cube of the end table, draped it around her shoulders, and walked to the window, staring out at the Kool-Aid-colored dawn.

Finn had handled her as if she were fine china, precious cargo, a gift…every cliché she could think of. And he let her be herself without censure. He teased her about her taste in clothes, about her body jewelry, about her crazy abandon when he slipped inside her and she came undone.

He made it so easy to say yes. To everything. To dancing alone in a spotlight. To kicking her way through incoming waves. To sitting on a pedestal, as if she were a work of art. To stripping down to nothing but her shoes and making love in the middle of the boutique.

He made it so easy to talk. About anything. Her work, her family, her past. Even though she hadn’t opened up fully, talking to him didn’t come with expectations of judgment or criticism. He just listened, and if he talked back, it was to make her think.

She smiled to herself, watching the glow of the sun as it spread across the sky in oranges and yellows and near whites. Imagine. Conversations that were true give-and-take, a sharing, an exchanging of ideas.

It was incredible, this sense of having met her perfect match, a partner even—an idea she wasn’t sure either of them was ready for. How long had they known each other? Three weeks? Four?

It seemed like so much longer. It seemed like forever. And she obviously had no concept of time, because she really did need to get ready for work, but she was unable to resist a sneak peek at the pictures from last night.

Wrapped tight in the blanket, she settled in at the desk, wincing when the chair squeaked beneath her. She waited, but Finn didn’t stir, and so she booted up his laptop, hoping the operating system’s jingle wouldn’t rouse him when it played.

So far so good. She found the memory card in his camera, ejected it, inserted it into the card reader’s slot, and launched the software program to browse. She couldn’t wait to see the photos, the ones from the gallery, from the store, and, yeah, from the kiosk.

She hadn’t done more than look at the thumbnails when she knew Finn was behind her. She snuggled more deeply into her blanket, when what she wanted was to snuggle more deeply into him. “You caught me. Red-handed.”

He yawned, kissed the top of her head. “How do they look?”

“This is as far as I’ve made it,” she replied, not admitting that she wasn’t so anxious now that she wouldn’t be viewing them alone. Silly, when he’d been the one to take them. He’d seen it all already.

“I’m going down the hall,” he said, heading to his jeans, tugging them on. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She watched him go, thinking it incredibly sweet of him to give her the time alone—unless he wasn’t doing that as much as simply taking care of business.
Ah well,
she mused, turning back to the computer to scroll through the thumbnails.

Looking at herself engaged, uh, amorously with Finn, she realized, was a distraction with the potential to make her late, especially if he was at her shoulder while she viewed the pictures. She had to do something about her bed head and raccoon eyes from sleeping in her makeup and, ugh, she didn’t even want to think about her morning breath.

In fact, the moment she heard him coming back, she hurried to the bathroom, passing him in the hallway, all too well aware that she should’ve made the trip first thing. No man needed to wake up next to the creature from whatever horror movie she’d come from.

She found a bathrobe folded up in the small linen closet and took the time to brush both her teeth and her hair before returning to the room, pausing just inside the door and thinking she should’ve gone for the jeans and T-shirt she knew were in her office.

“Hey, I was thinking I’d get dressed and run across the street for coffee and maybe a muffin,” she said. “Would you like something?”

He didn’t look up from the photo he was leaning over and studying, and so she asked him again, keeping her distance, because if he was looking at the series of shots she thought he might be…

She could feel her face coloring. What she couldn’t figure out was why, why, with everything they’d done, she would be self-conscious now. “Finn?”

“Hey, c’mere a minute,” he told her.

Oh, this was not going well. “I need to get ready for work, and I’d really like some breakfast, so why don’t we go through the photos tonight?”

He shook his head, squinting even more at the screen, reaching toward her and gesturing her to come near. “These are the pictures I took last night of Roland and Tomás. I want you to see something.”

Frowning, she crossed the room, pushing back her hair as she leaned forward to look at what he was pointing out. “What is it?”

“Like I told you, they were unloading something from the back of the van. But looking closer, these boxes.” Using his cursor, he outlined a square at the side of the photo and zoomed in. “I’ve been through your storeroom a couple dozen times, and these aren’t the boxes I’ve seen your stock and supplies arrive in.”

He turned his head, looked up at her, his eyes seriously dark. “These look like bricks, and I can only think of one thing anyone would deliver after hours and unexpectedly that’s packaged in bricks. And it has nothing to do with building houses.”

“You’re kidding me.” She leaned past his shoulder to better see what he was showing her. “Those look like the foam packing bricks we use to protect shipments.”

“And why would your manager be meeting your courier to stock a delivery of packing bricks?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” She was getting a really bad feeling about this, especially on top of the news of Roland’s deception. “Give me two minutes to get some clothes on. I want to see exactly what’s being stored in my storeroom.”

She ran to her office, jammed her legs into her jeans, her feet into sandals. She was yanking her T-shirt over her head when she turned to find Finn at her door, watching. He waggled his brows in appreciation of her unbound breasts, and she stuck out her tongue as she covered them.

With a quick wink, Finn led her down the stairs, the sound of both pairs of their feet echoing in the empty store like the thunder of a tropical storm. Once inside the storeroom, Olivia hit the lights and headed down the center aisle of shelving units. She stopped at the far end.

If Roland was using his position at Splash & Flambé to traffic in narcotics…

It didn’t even make sense. Her boutique was a small operation and did not attract the sort of clientele she associated with the drug trade.

And even telling herself that sounded so naïve, because public figures, from politicians to entertainers, had proven time and again that even the mighty fall hard.

“Here,” she told Finn, finding the bricks that should be nothing but squares of foam shrink-wrapped in Tyvek.

Finn moved aside a roll of Bubble Wrap and a crate holding tubes of brown kraft paper, and grabbed a half dozen bricks, tossing them one at a time on the table Roland and the rest of the staff used for packing boxes for shipment and unpacking stock.

When the fifth brick hit with a thud, Finn’s gaze shot to Olivia’s before they both looked over at the evidence they had on the table. All she could do was shake her head to fight the tears, which were pure anger, threatening to spill.

“What now? Do we cut it open?” she asked, her heart beating against her ribs.

“We can. Or we can take the pictures and the brick to the authorities and let them take a look.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, felt them shaking, hated the shaking, but she couldn’t stop it. Neither could she look away.

It was as if things would be worse if she did, that everything she’d worked for in her life would explode in front of her if she then looked back. “I can’t believe this.”

“It’s your call, sweetheart,” Finn said, stepping close enough to wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze.

She leaned into him, took a deep breath. “Leaving everything alone and having someone come here would be best. Right? Let them see what we’ve touched and what we’ve found?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Finn said, nodding, just as a key sounded in the back door.

They both looked down the corridor as light from outside spilled in. Roland walked through the door, punched the security code into the alarm panel, then stopped, looking up as if surprised that the lights were already on.

And then he stiffened. And he turned. And he looked down the aisle in which she and Finn stood.

Finn stepped in front of her protectively, but Roland didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t gesture. He did nothing at all Livia could take as a threat. In fact, he seemed more than anything to be considering his options, and then he sighed, as if resigned.

At Roland’s first step toward them, Finn pulled his cell phone from his waistband. Livia watched him punch in 911 before ordering Roland to stay where he was.

“Don’t make the call. This isn’t what you think,” said Roland. He held up both hands as he approached. “I can explain.”

“You can explain to MDPD as soon as they get here,” Finn told him, bringing his phone to his ear.

“I’m DEA,” Roland said. “Put down the phone.”

Livia’s head came up, her heart roaring in her ears. Had she heard right?

“You’re who?” she asked on top of Finn’s “Do what?”

But before they could get any further, another key sounded in the back lock. The door opened, the alarm beeped, and Carmen walked into the storeroom.

At this point, he couldn’t say what was deliberate and what was instinct. He did know that his training and experience had kicked in the moment he’d realized what was going down, kicking out everything unrelated to Operation Bebé Bust.

He’d stored the product under Tomás’s watchful eye, and then he’d made immediate contact with his task force, giving them the names, locations, and dates of what was to follow—intel they had been mighty glad to receive and had set out to verify.

Roman figured he’d passed some test, which left Tomás feeling chummy and chatty. Or else he was being tested again to see who he might be sharing the possibly false information with. Since he hadn’t been instructed to act on what he’d learned, what he’d shared and with whom were moot. Not that any of that mattered to Finn or Livia now.

Roman sighed. “I know it’s hard to take in—”

“Hard to take in! Are you kidding me?” Livia said, pacing her office while Roman faced her, his butt parked against the front of her desk.

Behind him, Finn was on the phone to the task force superiors, who would no doubt chew Roman’s ass to the bone when they got hold of him or when this case was over, whichever came first.

“Don’t you guys usually let people know when you’re going to infiltrate or whatever?” she asked, then shoved her hands into her hair when Roman gave her an eye. “Okay, okay, but you know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry it had to be the way it was,” Roman said, glancing over his shoulder as Finn hung up the phone and made his way around the desk. “But with a staff as small as yours, we couldn’t risk the possibility of a leak.”

She turned her attention to Finn as he dropped into one of the guest chairs, braced his elbows on his knees, and looked up into her expectant face. “Well?”

Finn nodded. “He’s legit. The op’s on the up-and-up. No details, of course, but he’s not the bad guy.”

“So what now?” Livia asked, still pulling at her hair and turning her attention to Roman.

“Basically, business as usual,” Roman told her.

She finally let go of her hair, then moved to sit in the twin to Finn’s chair. “How am I supposed to do that knowing what’s sitting in my storeroom?”

“You’re not the only one who knows,” said Roman. “Just remember that. You’re still Roland’s boss—”

“Oh, great. Not only is my gay manager hetero, he’s undercover DEA.”

“Livia, listen,” Roman said as she collapsed, looking for all the world as if she’d never move again. “Things are no different today than they were yesterday. You’ve been going about your business with me here and with the drugs in the storeroom for a while now. You’ll do the same today and tomorrow and for however long it takes to put this op to bed.”

She looked up sharply. “How long is a while? Were the drugs already here when you started? Because, God, what? You’ve been here a year at least?”

He looked over at Finn, found him waiting for the same answer, and gave the only one he could. “As many questions as I know you have, you’re on a need-to-know basis only. And that’s one of the things you have no need to know.”

“Dammit, Roland. Roman. Whoever the hell you are. How can you say that?” Livia cried out.

Roman pushed off the desk, prompting Finn to push out of his chair. “I know you don’t like it. I also know it’s going to take time to digest. Until it does, things have to remain status quo.”

“He’s right,” Finn said. “A change in routine is a sure sign something’s off. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times. Someone gets spooked, and the whole investigation goes south.” He dropped to his haunches in front of her, took hold of her hands. “You don’t want your courier or anyone else to think there’s anything wrong.”

She grimaced as another thought hit her. “By anyone else you mean Carmen.”

“Carmen, yes,” Roman said. “But the street value of what’s in your storeroom is of interest to people higher up the food chain than Carmen or Bebé.”

“Does Carmen know?” Finn asked, standing to face him.

Roman thought back to the day Carmen had stepped between him and Tomás on the sidewalk outside the boutique. They’d been arguing then about blips in delivery schedules. Roman as Roland had threatened to blow the lid off the whole operation if Tomás didn’t stick to his word.

Whether or not Carmen knew the full extent of what her boyfriend was involved in, she knew enough to argue with him on Roland’s behalf.

“Let’s just say that she’s not an innocent bystander,” said Roman. “And, if I don’t get to work, she’s going to be wondering what’s going on.” Though he suspected she’d already figured it out. “Are you going to be okay? Can you do this?”

“Yes, yes,” said Livia. She waved him off. “I’ll shower and dress and be down in an hour. You can handle things until then, yes?”

Roman nodded. “Carmen and I will be fine. I’ll tell her you panicked over a shipment you thought had been lost. And that you’ll be bringing us breakfast to show your appreciation for our holding down the fort so often lately. How’s that?”

Livia snorted. “Sounds like blackmail to me.”

“Then my job here is done,” Roman said, heading for the door, waiting until Finn gave him a reassuring nod before walking out and closing the door behind him.

He leaned back against it for several long moments, not only catching his breath but also searching for anything he could find of Roland before going downstairs.

Christ.
He did not need this shit, especially after Jodi bailed on him last night.

He’d been livid when she’d answered his call and told him she was two hours into the drive. If she didn’t want him following her, fine. And in retrospect, it was a good thing he’d come in early this morning rather than late.

What a fucked-up nightmare that would’ve been: McLain and Livia bringing in the MDPD and blowing a year’s worth of work, which, he was beginning to think, would never pay off.

He got that Jodi didn’t want him to put her into protective custody and thus risk losing his job once the truth of his breaking cover was ferreted out. It probably would’ve made him feel all warm and fuzzy if it didn’t make him so goddamn mad.

And he was getting mad again standing here reliving it, so he forced himself to act like he lived for work and work was waiting, and oh boy, it was time for work!

“Christ,” he grumbled to himself as he stormed down the stairs. He really was gay.

“Where’s Livia?” Carmen asked, waiting at the bottom and pouncing when he hit the landing. “What were you doing in the storeroom with her and that guy when I got here?”

He brushed on by. He was ready for work! “I guess she had a nightmare that she’d lost a special order and came down to dig for it once she woke up.”

Carmen dogged him from the staircase to the kiosk. “She slept here?”

Roman rolled his eyes toward the second floor. “He’s sleeping here, so…”

She shook her head as if that explained nothing. “It still doesn’t make sense. Why would she be looking for a special order in the shipping area?”

“Ask her yourself, precious. She’s bringing us breakfast soon. I am dying for a muffin.”

“What is wrong with you?” she asked, frowning as if a root canal was in her imminent future.

“Wrong?” He gestured expansively. “The sun is shining. The DVDs of last season’s
Project Runway
are shipping.
Ugly Betty,
too. We get to wear the best clothes and buy them at near cost. How could anything possibly be wrong?”

And then he prayed for a lightning bolt to put him out of his misery, because he was at the end of his rope with this job.