I make a mental note to see what else I can find out about the warehouse. Maybe Tommi will know something.

Tommi.

Shit.

Rather than staying in my truck or making “casual, friendly” connections with some key people in this building, I go back upstairs to wait. Maybe I’ll learn more up there.

********

I glance at my watch again. I’ve been sitting on my ass in Tonin’s penthouse all day, hanging out with the loser pack of shitheads he surrounds himself with. Evidently, when he’s “in” all day like this, these guys just hang around in the three employee rooms while Tonin and “his girls” as they call them use and abuse the private quarters.

I’ve played Call of Duty for two hours with Henson and Stiff, played five card draw with Jakes, Jimmy and Joman (the three Js as everyone jokingly calls their attached asses) and eaten a late breakfast and two lunches with Barber, the guy who holds a senior position in the ranks of Tonin’s closest boys. He hasn’t had a drop of alcohol, hasn’t taken off his tie and hasn’t let one of us out of his sight for more than a five-minute trip to the bathroom. All-in-all, it’s been a productive day in the way of getting to know the guys, but it’s been frustrating as hell wondering about Tommi and continually having to discard mental images all damn day.

Finally at 2:30, Tommi appears in the kitchen just as I’m polishing off a second lunch of some salami and cheese on some artisan crackers with a name I can’t pronounce. The instant I see her in the doorway, my senses are on high alert. At first glance, she looks just like she did when we got here this morning–hair in a smooth, platinum wave down her back, black shirt and skirt, smoky makeup around her eyes, light, glossy lipstick on her mouth. It’s as I look more closely that I can see how pale she is, even under the subtle color of her tan. And her eyes, they look dull and lifeless. Her nose isn’t red like she’s been crying, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. She has that upset look about her. Or maybe she’s just tired. At any rate, she doesn’t seem satisfied, like she just spent the afternoon doing sex acts that she enjoys. And that makes me think she was doing things she’s been made to do.

Obviously this is what she’s accustomed to. At least to some degree. But something about the way she meets my eyes for only a fraction of a second and before she looks away makes me think this is something she never wanted me to know about. When she speaks, she addresses Barber. “I’m going to pick up Travis. One of your men can take Lance’s companion home later, as she will be staying behind when he comes to pick me up for dinner tonight.” Her voice is low and her big green eyes flicker to me again before she licks her lips and adds, “I won’t have need of Sig.”

Her request confirms my suspicion. She’s ashamed or embarrassed. And she can’t face me. Or at least she doesn’t want to.

With that, she turns around and walks away, the only sound in the room the receding clack of her heels on marble. I look to Barber who tips his head in her direction. “Doesn’t matter what she wants. Lance said eyes on her at all times. Just keep your distance.”

I nod and stand, giving Tommi a minute’s lead before I take the elevator to the garage to tail her. I don’t expect to find her waiting by my truck, but that’s exactly what I find. She’s leaning against the driver’s side with her ankles crossed and her head bowed. I take a spot beside her and just wait.

After a full two minutes at least, she speaks. “You don’t know me.”

I don’t skirt the real issue. “No. But I know you’re worth more than that,” I say, hiking my thumb toward the ceiling, toward Tonin.

“I wish I was. But life has a way of making some choices…irrelevant.”

I turn to my side to face her, leaning a hip against the truck door. “No one is that stuck.”

Finally, she lifts her eyes to mine. They’re tortured. “I wish that were true.”

Her sadness bothers me. Draws me closer. I reach out and stroke her silky cheek with the backs of my fingers. Her lips tremble open.

I’m not thinking. I’ll give you that. It’s nuts to take an undercover assignment, boast that I can handle it, and then risk it all by screwing around with the boss’s girlfriend. Yet here I am, screwing around. Luckily, she is a big part of my assignment. I need her help. And this could go a long way toward getting it.

At least (again) that’s what I tell myself.

I straighten my fingers and slide them along the side of her neck, into the thick wave of her hair. I press my palm to her skin. I can feel her pulse tapping against it, wild and fast.

She wants this. As much as I do. It’s been building between us for weeks, since I stopped to help a beautiful blonde stranded on the side of the highway.

I bend my head slowly, giving one of us time to stop this. But neither of us does. And when my lips brush hers for the first time, I know it won’t be the last.

Her mouth is soft and warm under mine, pliant. Willing. I don’t press too hard. She doesn’t back away. We just meet in the middle.

When she sighs, her sweet breath floods my mouth. It’s hard to pull away, but I do. My face is less than two inches from hers. I watch as her eyelids flutter open. The green pools suck me in. Deep, like a siren that beckons me to follow her down. Down, down, down.

“Let me take you to get your brother.” I don’t know why I offer. Or why I want her to let me.

Her eyes search mine for several long seconds and I think she’s going to agree, but she doesn’t. “No.”

“Why? I’m good with kids.”

“Travis isn’t like other boys his age.”

“I’m not sure there’s a normal standard for boys that age.”

“He’s, um, he’s on the autistic spectrum. Asperger’s. He’s highly functioning, of course, but…”

Damn, this woman never ceases to amaze me. On top of Lance and the lady in the back room, she also takes care of her brother, who is autistic. Yet she doesn’t complain, never says a word about it. Just carries the load all by herself, hidden beneath her polite smile. “Let me try.”

She peeks up at me from beneath her lashes. I can see the indecision in her eyes, like she’s been burned. Probably by Tonin, that asshole. “He doesn’t even really talk much.”

“I like the quiet.”