Page 5 of Of Desire And Deception

I rushed on, intent on finishing my presentation. “I wouldn’t even have to interview with Neretti. He’s got a manager at Deception who handles all the auditions. I could likely work there with Neretti none the wiser. We know he operates out of the establishment. Working there would give me access to the employee area to look around and keep my eyes and ears open for information. Somebody has to know something.”

“We’ve tried to flip the dancers before,” Madden reminded me. “Nobody was willing to talk.”

“But I wouldn’t be asking them to turn on their employer. They’d be talking to another dancer—a friend. I assure you, women talk about all sorts of shit that would surprise men.”

My female co-workers murmured their agreement when Madden looked at them, and he sighed. “This will cost money.”

“All operations cost money,” I pointed out, hoping I was wearing him down.

“I don’t know how we’d get a wire on you.” His eyes briefly skirted down my body. “Those men are fucking paranoid. They’d probably search you or have a detecting device.”

“We wouldn’t have to at first,” I reasoned. “I can go in, and if people start giving up information, I can plant a device in my purse—maybe jewelry. Something that wouldn’t draw attention after I’d been there for a while.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Madden started. “You draw up the operation specs, and I’ll take a look at it.”

“I’ve already got them, sir.” I smiled, opening a black folder and pulling out information packets to pass around the table. There was no way in hell I would give my supervisor any chance to deny my request.

“It looks solid,” Harris admitted begrudgingly, breaking the silence in the room.

Madden nodded. “I agree. I want to see you in my office after this meeting, Black.”

“Yes, sir.” I closed my laptop and gathered my things, returning to my seat while another co-worker updated us on their progress with an unrelated operation.

I wanted to squirm in my seat and glance at the clock, to will the minute hand to move more quickly, but I clenched my fists in my lap and forced myself to remain still. I kept my face carefully neutral until the meeting ended and my co-workers dispersed.

“Black,” Madden called out from the doorway. “Bring your lunch to my office.”

Thank fuck. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right there.”

I dropped my things off at my desk and grabbed a notepad in case I needed to jot anything down, then pulled my leftover Chinese food from the fridge and popped it into the microwave for a few minutes while I downed a shot of espresso. I unwrapped a plastic fork and stabbed it into the fried rice, then grabbed a bottle of water and headed down the hall to Madden’s office.

He sat behind his desk eating what looked like a butter-coated steak from a nearby restaurant, and I wondered what his salary was because I couldn’t afford steak once a month for a special night out, let alone for lunch on a Tuesday. My mouth watered, and my fried rice suddenly looked less appealing.

“Take a seat, Black.” He pointed his fork at the chair opposite him, and I lowered myself onto the cheap imitation leather seat. “Your proposal has merit. You’ve clearly done your research and are prepared to move into an undercover position. Usually, I wouldn’t put somebody new into this situation, but your performance reviews are impeccable, and your father’s influence is obvious. There are no other obligations in your life?”

“No, sir,” I answered, shoving a forkful of rice into my mouth and chewing slowly.

“I don’t like the idea of you going undercover in a strip club,” he said cautiously. “But fuck if I don’t love the idea of finally putting the Nerettis in prison where they belong. Submit the formal request, and I’ll sign off on it so we can get the ball rolling.”

Anticipating that, I pulled the folded request from my notebook. “I have it right here, sir.”

“You’re sure eager for this,” he chuckled, taking the form and looking over it before signing his name at the bottom. His face turned serious. “It’s been almost five months since Baker died.”

“I’m aware, sir.” I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding almost painfully as I worked to keep my emotions under control. My eyes closed against the memory of standing at the gravesite as his empty casket was lowered into the ground. The fanfare had been for the benefit of his family, like a black box would make people forget his body had been blown to pieces in the explosion.

“Does that have anything to do with your relentless pursuit of the Neretti family?” he asked.

“We were already trying to infiltrate the organization.” I tapped my pen against my notebook to get the violent energy out of my system. It wasn’t enough. “If anything, I’m more dedicated now to continuing the work Trey started.”

Madden nodded his head slowly. “As long as you feel your head is on straight.”

“My goals are clear, sir,” I assured him. “Eyes wide open.”

“Good,” he murmured, cutting another piece of steak and chewing. “You’ll get specifics on the operation soon enough. You can go now.”

“Thank you, sir,” I forced out, taking my lunch back to my cubicle and sighing heavily as I plopped down in my chair. Trey’s face stayed in my mind, his blonde hair falling over his brow no matter how many times he tried to shove it back. His dress shirts were always wrinkled over his muscular frame, no matter how often he ironed them. He’d been too young to die.

Was there ever an appropriate age for the reaper to claim a soul, though? My father had been nearly fifty when he was murdered four years ago while hunting a fugitive. He’d been a US Marshal and a damn fine one at that. I’d gone into the FBI because I wanted to follow in his footsteps but knew I wasn’t cut out for the same life he led, constantly on the road hunting public enemies.

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