Little White Lies (9 page)

“Turn! Quickly!” Lily directed.

“This is hell, Lily, shut up!” Charley said.

Wyatt let out a small chuckle. He couldn’t imagine how the dark-haired beauty who sat across from him an hour before could both transform and learn the moves of a seasoned professional. He’d watched Candie, had an eye for all the details. Intelligence his forte, he’d positioned himself in such a way that she’d seen him, too. Her babble and his earful had been mere coincidence but one that would promote his career if he succeeded.

A few grunts, curses and screeches later, the music disappeared. He shivered at the tap on his shoulder.

“Hear anything interesting in there?” Cael leaned against the wall in much the same way Wyatt had.

“Ah … just waiting for the appropriate time to knock.” He shrugged. “You’re going to join us in Montreal, aren’t you?”

“Not that you know,” Cael said.

“You really think she can pull this off?” Wyatt met Cael’s gaze head on.

“I know she can,” Cael said as James walked up.

“Can what?”

“Become the stripper.”

“Exotic dancer.” Wyatt waved the papers as if the corrected title remained concealed within them.

“Ah, gotcha. Hot girl dancing with a pole, half naked. Doesn’t matter to me what’cha call her.” James grinned. He moved to the door, one hand on the handle. “Shall we?”

James nodded at Cael, who nodded at Wyatt, and each in turn sauntered in.

Charley slid down the shaft of silver until she met the solid surface of the floor beneath her. Fitted with a red, sequined skivvy, Wyatt noted she’d kept her body in alignment on the way down—a move much like he’d seen Candie complete.

Lily loaded a classic rock song, and Charley stood, one hand draped against the pole like one would hold a long-time lover.

A surge of desire coursed through his body. A punch to his shoulder pulled his attention away.

“Let’s watch the show.” James moved to one of the couches, pushed to the side before their arrival.

Charley gave them each a one-fingered come-hither, complete with lips and tongue, her body bent halfway, breasts hung in the skimpiest of straps.

Like James, Wyatt sat, but unlike him, he kept the whistles and catcalls to himself. He shifted with less comfort than the two at his sides.

Charley slid down the pole. She climbed again, creating patterns of movement that flowed with the deep base that rocked the house. At the top, she slid one leg up, hung perpendicular to the floor. Her toes rose higher to the point the caress they would have provided, if Wyatt took its place, sent tingles along his body.

As the music grew to a crescendo, Charley spun, a lock of her hair whipped around; she caught it between her teeth. Cael jumped up, pulled out his wallet and tucked a five under her strap. She blew an upside down kiss with her free hand that went straight to Wyatt’s lips. As Cael sat again, James pounded on the table.

Charley, with a grace Wyatt would swear he’d seen before, returned to the top, twisted her ankles around the pole and draped herself upside down, held by what looked like six inch heels.

Wyatt forced himself still.

James and Cael had earned the right to laugh and make jokes if they chose.

As the music stopped, Charley lay prone against the floor, her back arched and her legs up against the pole.

She turned to Wyatt. “You didn’t like it?”

Wyatt stared, lost in her eyes. Another punch to the shoulder proved his inability to get her out of his head would cost him. “What? No.” He shook his head in quick measure. “I mean yes. Yes, I liked it.”

“Then why didn’t you clap? Whistle or holler?” Still on the ground, her chest heaved. With each intake of breath, her breasts pressed further into the material.

Wyatt could barely control his facade. He tugged at his slacks to loosen them from his crotch. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to be professional.”

Charley shrugged. “Okay. You know? I have a new respect for women who do this for a living.” She sat up and rubbed her calf. “This is more of a workout than I would have expected.” She leaned her head back and chugged the cool water Lily passed her. Cael’s tip waved from the string at her hips.

She kneaded muscles Wyatt assumed had grown sore from the movement before she wound herself around the pole again. With one long, slender leg, her painted toes reached for the ceiling. Her body fell back so it lay as if suspended by air. Her movements reminded him of a trapeze artist: lithe, rhythmic, sensual and completely erotic, even as she stood.

“Damn, Charley,” James said.

Wyatt shifted himself again with a quick leg cross, noting James’s eyes tracking up and down as he walked to her.

She slithered closer.

“You are seriously hot.” James danced hip to hip with her.

“You like?” She ran her hands up and down her long body, enticed, aroused and invited the wrong person.

Wyatt wondered if she could feel the heat radiating from his own body. His temperature had to have skyrocketed.

James reached his hands out to capture hers and follow along as she lowered them.

“Crap!”

Charley’s abrupt pause brought Wyatt’s visual feast to a halt.

“What language does Candie speak at the club, Wyatt?”

Wyatt coughed, covered his mouth which he found hung open. He closed his eyes in thought, two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Ah—” He’d already forgotten the question.

Charley’s body filled the black space that pervaded his mind. Another punch in the arm brought him from his lost thoughts.

“French and English. They try to hire bilinguals. Wait staff speak both, fluently. The dancers are mixed.” Wyatt focused on a book on the far side of the room, but his gaze returned to Charley’s each time he tore it away. “Is that a problem?”

The five fell like a feather to the floor from Charley’s attire. “No.” She bent over and caught it right before it landed—though Wyatt’s eyes found themselves riveted not to the money.

His failure to control his body’s reactions shamed him more than the heat that raced to his cheeks.

“I’ll be okay.” The softness in her eyes surprised him.

“You speak French, right?” He hadn’t thought to ask.

“I do. A little rusty, but I’ll get by.” Charley added a wink to which Cael and James both chuckled.

“You’re a moron, Charley. You speak them both fluently,” Lily said. “Time’s a wastin’. Do it again.”

“She’s right. We can chat about details and logistics on the plane.” James turned his watch toward him. “We’re wheels up in sixty or the jet takes off without us.”

“Slave drivers.” With a swish of her hands, Charley motioned them all toward the door.

Wyatt stood to follow her instructions like a good boy scout.

“Wyatt?”

He turned. “Yeah?” Cael and James stopped, too.

“Cars are waiting, guys—shoo!” Charley waved them out.

Wyatt’s heart began a dangerous thump in his chest.

Charley sidled up to him. “Do I make you nervous?”

I would be better against a sniper I can’t see.
“No.” He held his voice as flat and even as he could, his eyes direct on hers.

“Losin’ time, Charley!” James’s voice bellowed from the hallway.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lit her face. Their bodies separated by only the fabric of his suit and the tiny triangles of her costume, Wyatt’s instincts insisted he reach, touch and taste.

“Get over here, Charley.” Lily pressed the button on the stereo and Queen blared through the room.

Wyatt pointed toward the door. “I’ll just—uh—I’ll just catch up to James.”

A small giggle escaped from Lily as she stuffed supplies into a bag, and he whisked himself away.

10

The Cessna Citation swept through the clouds and cruised somewhere around thirty-thousand feet. The sun sparkled off its wings, adding warmth to Charley’s spot by the window. After the hour of practice with the silver beast, her mind buzzed, pushing toward overload from the gross amount of information she’d digested. She relaxed into her seat, her body disengaging, and hoped her mind would follow.

Next to her, Lily read, and across from them both, James and Wyatt sat. Heads together, they scoured a mound of paper-based intelligence. The six-seater could have held Cael too, but thanks to the government’s stupid rule, he’d get his own transportation. Charley refused to be without a vital member of her team.

“Charley?” Wyatt said.

Eyes closed, head against the soft leather, she didn’t move. “Yeah?”

“I have Candie booked for seven tonight—a private arrangement. Is that enough time?”

“Yes.” She breathed in and out, the movement of her chest as smooth as the tilt of the plane’s wings.

“Is there anything you’d like to know?”

He worries like he used to
. Charley opted not to let him know she understood. A bump of turbulence shook the plane before it leveled off again. “You can tell me about the club if you want.” She didn’t need more detail to be believed as Candie, but if it assuaged his own apprehension, he could run through it all again.

“Jefferson Champs is the owner,” Wyatt said in clipped recitation. “Soleil Champs is his wife and a partner. They’ve owned the club for three years, although the last year has been their most successful—at least as far as public record indicates.”

“What’s its name?” Lily asked.

“Ah …” Papers shuffled from Wyatt’s seat.

Charley couldn’t imagine that he didn’t know.
A ruse? Distraction?

“Mind Benders.”

“Unique,” Lily said.

“The club opens at five, closes at two. Four poles are strategically placed throughout the room. One report indicates sixteen women dance there daily. Dances range from five to ten minutes each with a fifteen minute break for the dancer while another takes over.”

“Holy shit!” Charley sat upright, her eyes open wide. “Ten? As in minutes?” She turned to glare at Lily. “Ten?” The longest routine she’d practiced lasted three minutes and thirty-two seconds.

Lily leaned away. “Yeah, well, I read that in one of the books I told you I brought.”

“You’re not making this easy for me.” Charley crossed her arms.

“And who, in her right mind, thought being a super secret, sexy agent with U.S. government ties would be easy?” Lily’s retort came with fire and a smile.

Charley threw herself against the back of the seat.

Wyatt motioned to his papers. “So, ah, back to the club?”

Charley flicked her hand at him, cocked her head in his direction. “Floor’s all yours.”

“Um … dancers. So, sixteen dancers, about ten wait staff—mostly women. Four bouncers, two remain at the entrance throughout the night. The club has never been cited for any violence, no drug busts, no fires or anything. By all accounts it’s a clean operation.”

“The club is just the venue, right? It’s not of significance itself,” James said.

“Uh … well, right, but, there is something else.” Wyatt tapped the edge of the papers and folders as if to align them.

“What do you mean, ‘something else’?” The muscle in James’s jaw worked as if he chewed an overcooked steak.

Wyatt shifted, crossed and uncrossed his legs.

Charley’s entire body tensed. “Ditto that.”

Lily nudged her, sniffed the air.

“I smell a rat, too. Speak. Now, Wyatt.”

“Everything I’ve told you is true,” Wyatt said.

“Wyatt?” Charley tapped her foot against the floor as her grip on the armrest grew tighter. “What else is there to tell?”

“Watch the seat there, Charley.” Lily’s hand laid on top of Charley’s for a brief second.

“Candie is our in, but her information is not our only objective.” Wyatt took a deep breath.

Before Charley could comment again, her stomach flip-flopped with the plane’s descent. She turned back to Wyatt where he sat, stiff within his seat. “What is our ultimate goal then?”

• • •

In the bright sunlight, Montreal’s dense forest of glass reflected in the water at its edge. Traffic ran through streets at a busy pace, though on the outskirts, trees grew for miles. The plane banked, turning a circle toward the airport.

Wyatt realized he’d have one last chance to convince his key player. “Char—”

“Secondary missions are a breach of contract, Wyatt.” She didn’t even glance in his direction.

She baffled and tantalized him—a chameleon of emotions he didn’t know how to read. Less than eight hours remained to complete the project. Wyatt had been promoted up the ranks because he followed the rules. His commander told him not to divulge all details unless desperate.

Dammit. I need her.

Rubber met pavement before the plane taxied to the private FBO. It rolled to a stop with an abrupt push forward.

Wyatt had yet to come up with a proper argument. As Charley put it, he had failed to inform her of a part of the program.

They all straightened at the knock on the door.

“Did someone know we were coming?” Charley asked.

Taxiway crew responded only to the captain—another government agent assigned to Charley’s plane. Once an aircraft found its position, ground crew either waited for the passengers to deplane or moved back to their work.

“Only those required by FAA rules would know, “ Wyatt said.

He and James both laid hands on weapons hidden at their waists. Wyatt knew James had no direct affiliation with the FBI, but he’d secured equal clearance through Cael and Charley. Wyatt moved forward to unlatch the door and released the steps.

A Canadian official stepped up to them. His dark blue uniform identified him as Law Enforcement. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to return to your point of origin,” he said, his voice authoritative.

“I’ll handle this,” Wyatt mouthed to James, with an accompanying look to Charley. “I’m sorry, officer, but we’ve been authorized to land.”

“There are no authorized planes at this FBO today.”

Wyatt withdrew papers from his suit jacket. “Will this do?” He passed them to the officer, but turned away.

Charley tapped her toes against the floor of the cabin and her fingers along her thigh.

Wyatt turned back as the man spoke.

“We’ll have to confirm these. Please remain within the plane with the door closed. Do not re-engage your engines.”

Wyatt returned to his seat, two hands against the sides of his head.

“Why are we being held?” Charley asked. “I thought the U.S. and Canada had a customs and immigration agreement?”

Wyatt blew out a breath of frustration. “They do. This guy is D.E.S.—drug enforcement. My only thought is that private planes are piping in or carrying out drugs.”

He and James exchanged glances.

“Why do you guys keep looking at each other like that? And what were the papers you gave him?”

“Standard U.S. customs documentation,” Wyatt said. “They should identify us as well as the plane. They may ask to do a search, though.”

“So? Why is that a problem?” Charley asked.

Wyatt turned to James.

Charley threw her hands up into the air. “All day it’s been one thing after another! Either tell me what’s going on, or I’m going to have our captain turn us around just like those guys ordered.” Her finger angled its way to Wyatt.

He stretched his legs, swatted and pulled at his trousers. “There are a few items they might question. My gun is restricted, but I do have paperwork as well as the Authorization to Transport. My bigger concern is the supplies we have and the hardware for our … observation.”

“Supplies?”

“We have drugs, truth serums, among other items, in case we need them. We—” The maternal disapproval she aimed his way sent shivers along his spine.

Charley shrugged. “So, we’re visitors, and I have medical issues. Easily explained. For the hardware, well, that’s business.”

Yet another flip of her on-off switch. Wyatt shook his head, waved her off in agreement, but huffed out a breath before he continued. “We’re on a tight schedule.” A quick glance at his watch caused the other three to do the same.

The knock on the outer shell of the plane brought them all back to attention. The same officer greeted them as the door opened.

“You all are free to disembark,” the officer said. “We apologize for any inconvenience the additional time has caused you.” The officer handed Wyatt the paperwork with a nod, turned and walked away.

“Easy as that?” Lily asked.

“Well then. See?” Charley walked through the door. “If you want to talk to me Wyatt, come and get me. Otherwise, I’m getting a drink and going home.”

“She’s not going to make this easy, is she?” Wyatt asked.

James shook his head. “We’ll hang back until you’ve convinced her, or she gets back on and we fly away.”

Wyatt rushed after Charley. He caught her before she passed the cars he’d rented. “Charley!”

She stopped, bag in hand and turned toward him.

He held his spot on the tarmac. “Wait, please.”

“What? More excuses? More stories? Lies? Do you guys do anything on the up and up?” Anger burned through her questions.

“I’m not allowed to share everything.”

“Do you think I care?” Charley walked up to Wyatt and poked him in the chest. “My team is my responsibility. We don’t make compromises for that, Wyatt. For many, many and very good reasons.”

He sighed, resigned to the potential that the entire activity would blow up in his face. “I’m sure you care—”

“Took you long enough. I do care. I care about my country, the people in my country, and I believe in my government. So far you’ve asked me to gather intelligence in a titty-bar and are still withholding what else you want me to do.”

“I know.”

“You have to tell me before you hire me, Wyatt. I’m a free agent. The government doesn’t own me like it does you.”

She hit him where it hurt with the last, as he too believed in his country and government. He’d just chosen to work for them and follow their orders, whereas she had flexibility.

Wyatt reached his hand, palms up, toward her. “Can I tell you what else we need then?”

“Please do.” She put her hands on her hips—the same stance he’d seen her hold when flanked by her team.

“The two guys that Candie met trade information. We believe what they told her is a small piece of an international operation beyond the U.S. and Canadian borders. We need the information, but secondary to that, we need to interrogate one of them without their knowledge.”

“Why is this such a big deal? This is nothing new. Drugs. Money. Whatever. I get details for people all the time by playing their role. What is so different about this that you couldn’t tell me?”

“Their group targets and sells children,” he said. “It’s—”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” The horror in her eyes turned to pain and moved to anger before he could expand.

As she stared back at him, he’d have sworn her eyes changed color, but she moved out of his shadow and dropped her gaze before he could confirm.

“I’ll do whatever you need.” She walked away.

• • •

Charley walked straight to the red car, whipped open the passenger door and slid into the seat.
Why hadn’t he just told her? Do James and Lily know?
James would. Cael too. It would break Lily’s heart.

She watched as Wyatt walked back to the plane and James stepped out. Lily followed, Wyatt right behind her again.

“Who thought to rent a Porsche?” Charley asked when Wyatt fit himself into the driver’s seat.

“Ah, that was my idea, actually.” He adjusted dials, mirrors and the seat itself.

“Why? Or is that top secret, too?”

He shrunk back in his seat. “No, not a secret. I have a fondness for fast cars and take every opportunity I can to drive them.” He remained silent for a moment. “Sorry, Charley.”

Charley’s laughter broke the tension-filled day. “Not you, too? Isn’t that expression old and outdated?” She held her smile in place as confusion spread through his. “Oh! You didn’t say it as a joke.” She waved the thought away.

Wyatt’s expression turned lighthearted with a baby of a smile. “No, I didn’t, but I get it now. I’m apologizing for not telling you sooner. And—” He kept going before she could interrupt him. “—I also want to thank you for agreeing to the assignment.” He moved to the ignition; the car roared to life. “Ready?”

She nodded.

“Ears on?” he said into the air.

Charley scanned for a mic or speaker but found none. Wyatt pulled out a miniature walkie-talkie radio and shook it at her before he tucked it into his pocket again.

“Ears on.” James’s voice came through from the sedan behind them. “Let’s get moving.”

“Why do you get the Porsche?” Lily’s pout came through as clear as James’s voice.

“’Cause I’m the one getting naked,” Charley told her before Wyatt could address her with any formality.

“I’ll give you a ride if you want, Lily.” Wyatt drove through the gates of the airport and headed toward the city.

Charley turned to him. Strength combined with kindness. He’d grown so much—not that she wouldn’t have expected that. The little changes made the difference. His face held a day’s stubble—more than she’d remembered he could produce before. More assured of himself, too. She valued loyalty over most other characteristics, and in that, he had not changed.

“Southwest on Boulevard Roméo-Vachon to Chemin de la Côte-de-Liesse.”

Like James, Lily, Cael and Sophie, Charley would put her trust and faith in Wyatt.

The Mercedes followed the Porsche through the streets—a caravan no one would recognize given their spread. As Wyatt drove, Charley played tourist. Given the four-o’clock hour, cars, taxis and buses inched through and trudged their way up and down each city block, keeping traffic at a near stand-still.

Wyatt slammed the breaks in response to those ahead of them.

“This is why I like life in our rural town.” Charley noted the majority of the clubs had French names—at least they kept to their locale.