Page 48 of Mike

It would have been nice to chat, but he’d clearly had a busy day and night doing drills, so she wasn’t going to begrudge him his sleep.

And speaking of which, she needed her beauty-rest, as well. Joe went to put her phone on her bedside table when…

Snickerdoodle. She needed to text the office her findings—at least on the latest suspect—and see if the computer geniuses could get her an ID on Mr. Nugget.

She started typing out her description, and…

You know what? Spew it.

She deleted everything she’d written.

Lester hadn’t contacted her yet with intel on the previous guy whose picture she’d sussed out with the agency’s forensics artist. And the composite had been so very accurate, they should have gotten a hit on the perp almost immediately.

Even if that hadn’t happened, they would have called her to pick her brains for more info; a call she’d never received. That could only mean that Lester—the self-serving rock-smucker—was once again hording intel until he could swoop in and make the bust.

Okay. So, no Mr. Nugget for him. That data would also go to Mike’s team, and she’d frammed-well solve this one with the help of the locals.

Joe stuck her tongue out at the ceiling, a gesture she found herself making far too often.

It felt childish, but oddly satisfying.

One problem solved, but another…

She sighed.

What the flub was she going to do about her future? She’d been an agent for eleven glob-durned years. She wasn’t trained for anything else. The law degree she’d earned before getting her current job seemed like ancient history, and the last thing she could see herself doing, anyway, was practicing law or teaching. She’d shuck behind a desk. Her love was all about the intrigue and the action, most of which her agency role had provided, albeit with write-ups about her forays outside the box that probably made her look like a failure on paper.

Who would hire her if she didn’t have the stellar references she was certain Lester wouldn’t provide?

No one?

Could she go to work on her own? Maybe start some kind of investigative agency?

Joelle scoffed. She didn’t have that kind of money. Her nest-egg wasn’t healthy, due to her lack of raises and the cost-of-living which had risen exponentially during the years of her low-compensation employment. She was fammed lucky to make rent and eat.

Fruck. She turned over and punched her pillow.

The only thing she had going for her right now was her insane attraction to a man who lived on the opposite coast from her home digs. And Mike not only lived in Maine, he had deep roots here. Family. Career. Friends. There was no way he would leave any of that. And time, for Joe, was ticking. She was thirty-six years old, and needed to make up her mind where she wanted to live when the dust settled on her resignation.

How would it work out if she approached Mike with her proposition? She could hear the conversation now.

Gee, Mike. I’ve only known you for a week, but how about I cut all ties with the west coast, move here, and insert myself into your very well-ordered and established life?

Could Joe say crazy?

Yup.

All that was certain right now was that Mike had the hots for her, just like she had for him. And in that regard, she needed to get some sleep. It was four in the morning, and he’d talked about a date tonight. If she didn’t want to yawn in his face over dinner, or conk out on him if they managed to get horizontal, she needed to shut her brain off and get some z’s.

Easier said than done.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The morning of drills at the quarry seemed to take forever, and all Mike could think about as the noon hour approached was getting home and putting his plan to work. One scheme involved what he and Joelle had agreed to; that they’d pretend to be girlfriend and boyfriend in order to trap and catch Mellie and Cameron in their next act of sabotage. Of course, the big question there was, would he catch and release, or catch and prosecute the pair? He hadn’t yet decided.

The other plot Mike had cooking in his head, was that the fake relationship he and Joe were putting on for public consumption, would be used to draw an unsuspecting Joe, in. He’d be pretending to be blasé about their whole togetherness thing, but he’d be working like hell behind the scenes to make it real for as long as their physical attraction lasted. He was talking flowers, candy, fancy dinners. While Joe would believe, for a time, that he was being attentive for logistics—as well as for some naked-time together—she wasn’t slow on the uptake. She’d soon understand he was trying to sway her into seeing him as a much longer-term squeeze; an honest-to-God, more-than-physical association that had wheels.

His musings were interrupted.

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