Page 23 of A Very Un-Shakespeare Romance
“It was a big compliment, wasn’t it?” she said, her lips twitching at the memory.
“One of my best moments was when a man ran into a lamppost as I was walking out of Quincy Market,” her partner added, readjusting her thick black sunglasses. “Between your looks and your Miss Confessor profile, you’re a shoo-in to get some useful information.”
She sure hoped so. She had to trust in her skills. Adults had told her their secrets since she was a child, sensing both compassion and a safe space. She had more confidential informants than anyone else in her division because of it. In truth, knowing things no child should have known at her age had helped her. The undercover female FBI agent who had infiltrated the cult her mother had joined had done the rest. Brie Thierry was the FBI agent who had inspired her to join the Bureau. She was the FBI officer that Lily Meadows wanted to be.
“Why don’t you run into the ocean and then pretend you have a cramp?” Sheila suggested, reaching into her beach bag for a bag of pistachios. “Robbie just handed Cassidy back to Tim. We know his protective instincts are high. He’d surge into the surf and save you, and then you’d be all wet and slick in his arms as he carried you safely back to shore. Then he’d lay you down and hover over you in all his masculine glory and likely put his hands on your poor little calf. Batting your eyelashes could seal the deal.”
She suddenly felt sick. God, the job sometimes was too much. She spotted the football they’d been throwing roll into the ocean with the surging tide and float off. “How about I just go get their ball?”
Sheila snorted with laughter. “Make sure to use both your hands, Summer. It looks awfully big.”
Chuckling to herself, she jogged up the shoreline and darted into the surf as the ball floated past. Untangling the seaweed clutching the pigskin, she felt the sand give under her bare feet as the tide went out again. As a child, she’d always feared this moment. Maybe it was because she’d already understood how dangerous life could be when the ground under you started to shift and change. There was nothing to hold on to. She’d learned to navigate that feeling well, and she was smiling as she left the waters.
She had this.
Robbie was watching her when she turned with the football in hand. She looked back at him, knowing Sheila was right. This was another opportunity, an opening. She could jog over to him, giving him a good view of her bikini-clad body. But he’d proved he wasn’t a man who could be so easily swayed by a flash of ass. She’d read his file over a dozen times, looking for insights into his personality, the drivers anyone undercover looked for to tip things in their favor. He was divorced, she knew, and unlike many cops, he hadn’t remarried right away. In fact, he hadn’t remarried at all in the past five years. That suggested he’d gotten a tough lesson about law enforcement—that it often didn’t mesh with family life. Still, family was clearly critical to who he was.
He wouldn’t be looking for an easy score. He’d be looking for an equal, someone who could challenge him. She drew back her arm and let the ball fly. In her previous career as a teacher, she’d played with plenty of balls during recess. She was a good athlete—hadn’t she set a record for running up Radar Hill at Quantico during her FBI training? As an FBI officer, she’d been part of team-building exercises involving flag football and softball. She threw a damn good spiral.
His look of shock as he caught the ball against his chest pleased her. Even at thirty yards away, she noted the way his brow lifted, amused. She let her smile coast over her face, and this time, it wasn’t her fake cover smile.
Then she turned around to walk back to Sheila, and if she let her butt sway more than it needed to, well, that wasn’t part of her cover story either.
She had just found her strategy with which to hook Robbie O’Connor.
CHAPTERSEVEN
A quiet househad never sounded so good.
Robbie cocked his ear, savoring the peace. At least there was one upside to getting up early. First thing every morning, he went online to his account on the encrypted messaging service Internal Affairs had set up for him and his partner to use. There was still no message from his partner. He knew it was only going on five days since he’d arrived at the gym to pick up the girls, but he was restless.
Robbie tried to tell himself that was a good thing as he closed his IA-issued laptop. But no break in the case meant they weren’t any closer to getting Tara cleared and her and the kids reunited and safely home. Surely the Kellys weren’t laying low. It wasn’t their MO. When you fucked with a Kelly, someone got hurt. Bad hurt.
Pushing those dark thoughts away, he pulled on his running shoes and tiptoed over to the next room to check on Reagan and Cassidy. Cracking the door, he noted they were still asleep in their beds, Miss Purrfect spooning the baby in the playpen. The cat lifted its head and bared its teeth as if he were an intruder. He made a face back. He didn’t even want to know how the cat had gotten into the playpen. Likely used its demon-like claws to climb the netting. He let himself out before the cat could give one of its nasty hisses or growls and tiptoed down the stairs.
All that mattered was the kids were asleep as dawn’s fingers spread across the sky, after yesterday’s exhausting, patience-testing day filled withwhat can we play next?andhow many more days until we see Mom again?
Truth be told, hecould suck it up and play more girly games—anything from fixing Barbie’s tangled hair to using shot glasses as baby teacups for a tea party, with the stuffed bear and rabbit sitting at the table with their beady little staring eyes. Yes, he could take even that freak show.
But he couldn’t take the Mom question.
Because he didn’tfeckingknow when they’d see Tara again, other than at the end of the two weeks. Tim, true to his usual positivity, had told him to be grateful they hadn’t asked anything about their dad yet. After that honest-to-goodness slap in the face, he’d stewed about what to say if the topic came up. Tara had done a good job before she’d left, but he might need to tell them not to go off with the father if hewereto show up—not that Robbie expected that. Scotty was on the run from the Kellys. He was probably in ano questions askedmotel swigging his favorite beer, hoping to, at best, keep his fingers and toes.
The uncertainty of the whole situation was driving him nuts.
And so was all of Billie’s harping about having a drink with their next-door neighbors. For two days, his brother hadn’t stopped talking about Clarice’s famous margaritas, or how it would do them good to get out of the house for an adult evening after being in Kiddieville all day. Of course, Billie had already secured Tim for babysitting. Bully for him.
“Morning,” Tim called as Robbie entered the rosy-lit kitchen. His little brother was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like usual at the early hour, since his shift at the retirement home started at five a.m. “I’ve already had a walk on the beach. It’s going to be a beautiful day.”
Robbie grunted in response. Every morning his eyes tracked to the stupid saying in a matted heart frame behind the cozy white plank table:This Kitchen Is Seasoned with Love.Every morning it made him want to puke. He thought about what kind of saying they could frame at the precinct.This Breakroom Is Splattered with Blood.Now that would be funny!
“You sound like your normal cheery self,” Tim said, pointing to the fresh coffee in the corner of the massive black granite countertop. “Grab a cup before I tell you what I found this morning.”
Every cell went on alert. “What did you see? Sketchy guys on the beach? Someone weird drive by? Tell me.”
Tim put his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. “Nothing dangerous. You might get a little freaked out though. Ah…Miss Purrfect decided to use your shorts in some kitty defecation ritual.”
“What?”
