Page 37 of Of Desire And Deception

Three days and Wynn would be mine.

Chapter Twelve

I woke up replaying the previous night and kicking myself for refusing to wear a wire at work. Then, maybe I’d have something to pass along to Madden. Getting a mafia enforcer threatening to murder men would be better than nothing.

Now, all I had was my word against Cosimo’s, and he could spin it as the words of an impassioned man. Unless he followed through on his threat. Would he really kill a man in front of me, though? It was hard to tell, but he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty if rumors held true.

Pressure built below my waist, and I pressed my thighs together, willing that electric sensation away. Why the hell did my clit throb at the thought of Cosimo stabbing men through the eye because they’d watched me dance? I bet the psych evaluators at the Bureau would have a field day with that one.

I would never willingly offer up those fantasies. Some things were better left locked away in the dark corners of my mind, where they couldn’t hurt others. It was the same place I used to keep thoughts about tying Cosimo up and slicing him open with his own blade. Now, if I tried to conjure up that particular macabre vision, lust replaced violence. I didn’t need to think about riding Cosimo while he held his knife to my throat.

Something was wrong with me. Maybe proximity to my target was responsible for those feelings. Guilt by association? No, because I hadn’t committed a crime. I was not like Cosimo Neretti.

I dragged myself out of bed and to the shower, quickly washing myself before the water heater decided to crap out. Still, it turned cold by the time I got around to shaving my legs, and I was shivering when I stepped out and dried myself with shaking hands.

Every day I lived in my shitty excuse for a dwelling, my resolve to see my assignment through weakened slightly. I’d taken to using the glitchy water heater and paltry heat as a motivating factor. The faster I wrapped up my operation with the Nerettis, the faster I could return to my apartment and my soft, cozy bed.

Maybe I would take vacation time when it was all over. I could book a week somewhere tropical and sip on enough alcohol-laden beverages to forget how fucking cold it was in Chicago. I wouldn’t have to answer to Madden, and I’d never see Cosimo again.

My hand lifted to press against my aching chest. Must be heartburn. I was not missing the man when I’d seen him less than twelve hours ago. No good agent would develop feelings for a target.

I yanked on a pair of sweats and pulled on the thickest socks I owned, then layered a tank top, t-shirt, and sweatshirt on top. I’d have to suck up the cold air again when I dressed for work, but I’d stay warm for now.

My fingers trembled as I reached for my phone and dialed to check in, like Madden had instructed. Definitely from the cold and not my concern that he would question my loyalty.

The ringing seemed to last forever as I waited for the answering machine to pick up at the faux doctor’s office, then typed in my code. My palms sweat, getting clammier with each ring until another beep signaled Madden’s voicemail.

“Yeah, hi, this is Wynn Barret.” I began forcing lightness into my voice. “I need a refill of my birth control. Can it be done by Sunday night? Thanks, bye!”

I tapped my phone screen to end the call and rolled my eyes. Fucking birth control. I had an IUD. The Bureau should let women come up with the code phrases. Men didn’t know what they were doing, but at least Madden would know that I had a non-professional meeting with the target on Sunday evening.

Unfamiliar anxiety crept behind my breastbone, and a whispered cry of distress slipped past my lips. I slapped my hand over my mouth, hoping that silencing the noise would stop the nagging reality that I didn’t want Madden to know about my date with Cosimo. I wanted to keep him for myself, which was absolutely insane.

Coffee.

That’s what I needed. Caffeine would clear my mind, and I would get over the stupid notion that it might not be so bad to drown in Cosimo’s obsession with me. To let him touch and kiss me, make my body bend to his will.

I got myself a mug of coffee and slurped it without thought, swearing when it scalded my tongue and throat. There. That should dispel any positive thoughts about my target. He was a bad, bad man—a bad man who had very talented hands.

I punished myself with more hot coffee, then flung myself back into bed, groaning at the intrusive thoughts that all involved a certain homicidal mafioso. If I couldn’t rein it in, I was so fucked.

Saturday afternoon, I hopped off the bus and made my way into the mall, stopping by a food stand and treating myself to a pretzel with cheese as I meandered through the crowds. I was meeting my contact in a clothing boutique, so I stopped to window shop at several clothing stores on the way to my destination.

I wasn’t in any hurry to meet with whoever Madden was sending to the last-minute rendezvous. I doubted he’d show up at a women’s clothing store himself, which gave me a small amount of relief. He could read me better than the others on the team, and I was afraid he’d take one look at me and see my internal war about Cosimo.

The boutique came into view, and I brushed my hands off on my jeans, wiping away the last of the pretzel salt and the embarrassing sweat that had instantly dampened my palms. I was acting like a reluctant informant, jumping as another mall-goer bumped into me. It was my fault since I’d made a beeline for the store without looking where I was going. All that government training was only useful if I followed it.

Leaning my neck from side to side, I stretched, pulled my shoulders back, and got my shit together before stepping into the clothing store. Popular music nearly drowned out the saleswoman greeting me. My placating smile deterred her from helping me select clothing, and I wandered through the displays, grabbing things randomly to justify using a dressing room. Without knowing what Cosimo planned for our date, I selected everything from jeans and a burnt orange sweater to a slinky black dress so short it was impractical for a Chicago fall.

Less than ten minutes later, I caught Ramos strolling into the store and offering the saleswoman a kind yet forgettable greeting. Reaching for a winter cap, I spun toward the mirror. I pretended to try it on, giving Selena an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment before returning the hat and searching out the girl in charge.

“How many?” the saleswoman asked when I requested access to the dressing rooms.

I glanced down at my arm full of clothes and shrugged. “This many?”

She rolled her eyes and unlocked a room for me, flippantly adding, “Let me know if you need any other sizes.”

“Thanks,” I muttered as I closed the door and planted my hands on my hips, having a silent stare-down with the outfits hanging on the hook. Suddenly, none of it seemed good enough.

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