Authors: Tonya Ramagos
Tags: #Romance, #Erotica, #Fiction, #General, #Contemporary, #Suspense
"Then I guess the only thing left for me to ask is if there's any room for me in this new, solitary life you've built?"
Chapter Seven
Silver Springs, Mississippi
Members of the Operation Liquid Tab task team convened in the conference room of the Silver Springs DEA HQ. Most gathered around the long rectangular table in the center of the floor. Jackson preferred to stand.
He took up post by the utilitarian, blind-covered window. From there, he could easily assess each of the agents and officers involved. He hadn't worked with any of them before. Of the ten-man team gathered, he knew Tess the best, but only because of the family connection and the digging he had done into her background during the Keaton Aire investigation. She sat in one of the buttercream leather chairs at the conference table, her posture one of an easy confidence, much like she'd been in the car on the way over.
Ford Harris, lead detective of the SSPD homicide division, sat on Tess's right. His blondish-brown curls, angular face, and experienced eyes put Jackson in mind of Anakin Skywalker. He found himself stupidly waiting for the detective to wave his hand in the powerful flourish of a Jedi and declare that the force would be strong with them. Another officer with the SSPD, Colin Baggins, sat on Tess's left. Tess said the guy was working his way up from patrol cop to junior detective. With the neck and shoulders of a linebacker and a head shaved as smooth as a baby's bottom, Jackson wondered why the man didn't work his way up in the NFL.
Movement across the table caught Jackson's attention. Two officers, Mick Greer and Louis Melton, representing the Billings Police Department, sat there. Given that the club bust the task team planned would go down in the Billings jurisdiction rather than Silver Springs, the neighboring city's department had been brought in on the action.
Completing the group at the rectangular table were Martin Sprik and Harry Gosher, field agents with the DEA, already a part of Michael Cosmos's A-team and familiar with the kingpin operation.
The door to the conference room yawned open, and Special Agent Adrien Bingham stepped aside, allowing long legs, trim hips, ample breasts, and off-the-chart control to precede him into the room.
Jackson's tie suddenly felt far too tight. The zipper of his slacks didn't fare much better. Christ, he thought, Tess reminded him of Mallory. If not for the black eyes and even blacker hair, he would swear this
was
Mallory. The legs—surely they ended somewhere beneath that barely there skirt—moved purposely to the wall adjacent where Jackson stood. Feet clad in what he quickly deemed to be six-inch black stilettos planted themselves in a stance that assured perfect posture and maximum confidence.
His heart rate climbed with his gaze to the inch of bronzed flesh left visible between the waistband of the skirt and the figure-hugging studded tank. Inch-wide belts of leather closed around her slender wrists and the column of her throat. One perfect ebony brow arched over an equally assessing eye as his gaze locked with hers.
"Agent Christa Hutchens, I presume." He didn't find it difficult to sound bland and uninterested despite the level of hyperawareness pumping furiously through his veins. He had perfected the art around Mallory years ago. She used to dress exactly like this DEA agent, prancing her mile-long legs around the Waterston FBI office building in outfits set to stun.
Not Mallory
, his mental savior kicked in.
You left her safely back in Waterston
.
There, now he only needed his mind to convince his cock of that fact.
"Special Agent Jackson Graham." His name rolled off her lips like sugar and cream, a decadent combination of sex and authority. She scrutinized him in the same manner he did her, leaving no inch left unnoticed. He wondered if her panties grew wet with what she saw. Did she even have on panties beneath that barely there skirt?
What did he care? This was not the woman of his every wet dream. That role belonged to Mallory and Mallory alone.
Not Mallory
.
This is not Mallory
. Jeez, it seemed he'd be spending a great deal of his time on this assignment giving himself that very reminder.
"Good, you're already getting acquainted." Special Agent Adrien Bingham extended a hand, introducing himself. "We haven't officially met in person."
No, they'd spoken only once on the phone just before Jackson left Waterston. He knew the DEA agent had been working closely with Jackson's best friend and Mallory's brother, Cameron Stone, for some time now. He also knew DEA Agent Adrien Bingham was gloriously out-of-the-closet gay, a fact that secretly amused the hell out of him every time Stone brought up the guy.
"Stone has been keeping me well versed of his dealings with you." Something glided through the DEA agent's eyes at that. Curiosity? Apprehension?
The agent's tone revealed neither. "He's done the same for me where you're concerned. He's spoken very highly of you."
Either Jackson's senses were off or that was a bolt of jealously darting after the other indefinable specks in the agent's eyes.
"Then it appears we're even."
Bingham released Jackson's hand and moved to the head of the conference table, where he settled the briefcase he'd been holding and popped open the combination locks. "We still haven't received any transmission from our boys in Cambodia." His gaze flicked meaningfully at Jackson as if wanting him to offer something to the contrary.
"Agent Stone has been in contact with my office," Jackson informed the group. He had spoken with his friend personally during his short flight from Waterston. "Communication was brief. However, we learned that he and two of the three FBI agents with him made it out of the raid alive."
"You lost a man in this, too." DEA Field Agent Martin Sprik shot Jackson a grim look.
"At least one," Jackson confirmed. "The status of our agent undercover is still unknown. As is that of your team leader," he added, shifting his attention to each of the men with the DEA before daring another glance at Christa Hutchens.
Her sinfully devilish eyes dropped, but not before Jackson saw the glimmer of tears. He thought he saw the same sparkle in Agent Bingham's eyes when he met the man's gaze again. "US Navy SEALs Team Six is in place to carry out their mission. Escape and evasion tactics were put into place before our guys infiltrated Phay's compound. It is believed that Agent Cosmos will follow this plan to get him and the hostage or hostages out safely at the extraction point at 1730 hours."
"That's at 5:30 a.m. CST, our time," one of the Billings PD officers elaborated unnecessarily.
"That's correct." Jackson nodded. "Until then, all teams have been ordered to hold off on any form of search and rescue. Once the SEALs are in possession of both their objective and Agent Cosmos, they will rendezvous with the other teams at the designated safe house until further instructions."
"In other words, we're in for another long night." Harry Goshier frowned.
"In a number of ways. We have our own assignments to deal with here, gentlemen," Bingham reminded the room at large, pulling a small stack of papers from the briefcase. "Take one and pass them around, please." He handed them to the Billings PD officer on his left and placed his hands on the table in front of him, not bothering to take a seat. "The report you're getting is a copy of the fire investigator's preliminary findings from the super-lab fire down at the docks. I thought I would share the little evidence that has been obtained to erase any lingering doubts of what kind of shit we're up against here."
"I doubt many of us need a reminder." Ford Harris mumbled his two cents. He didn't give his copy more than a cursory glance before tossing it on the table.
Jackson knew the man had already come up against the drugs they were after and the kingpin they were looking to take down in the worst way when his girlfriend, Rayne Jasper, fell victim to one of Phay's men.
"Nevertheless," Bingham said, meeting each gaze in the room in turn. "We need our full attention concentrated on stopping those we can neutralize on our turf. They've spread their party of fun across the bridge." He addressed the Billings officers with that statement. "In a coordinated effort with both police departments and this office, we've already put a sting in motion. Agent Hutchens feels she is close to uncovering the intel necessary to get us to the head of the operation here."
At the mention of her name, Christa Hutchens pushed away from the wall and slowly began to pace the room. "The BDSM community is a tight-knit group. You don't have to like it, but you do need to understand it before you can get even a toe inside its walls."
"And you understand it." Colin Baggins sat back in his chair and crossed his beefy arms.
A devilish smile unfolded on the agent's face, one that again reminded Jackson so much of Mallory he found himself stifling a groan. "Oh, I both like it and understand it, Detective Baggins. The clubs I frequent in Billings, Club Vixen included, are packed with members who know me, know what I do, and turn the other cheek. Once you're part of a pack the way I am, known to be a dominant part of the lifestyle, it is believed you will remain that way no matter the cost."
"They're smart enough to hold you where they can keep watch over you rather than push you away," Jackson commented, drawing her attention to him. "By letting you in, they can track your moves if necessary, keep abreast of what you know, ensure that you aren't coming after them."
She considered him for a long, thoughtful moment. "You're half right, Agent Graham. They think they can do all of that. I'm not quite as loyal to them as they believe, however, not when so many friends, so many of the people I've sworn to protect are falling privy to this drug."
"You're taking quite a risk, putting your whole lifestyle at stake." For a moment it seemed they were the only two in the room, squaring off despite the length of the conference table that now stood between them. She'd stopped just short of reaching Bingham's side, while Jackson never left his stance beside the window.
"I'm doing my job," she countered. "There are others in the scene who want this dealer taken out of our midst. Because it’s a female, others are more hesitant to band against her. She's playing on that advantage, of being a woman, to draw her victims in, to get them addicted so that they will spread her poison further. Add to that the fact that she is associated with Phay's cartel, with a seemingly endless supply of assets at her disposal, and we are facing a nasty trader in any lifestyle."
"Fair enough." Her passion and belief more than her words appeased Jackson. He even felt a quick admiration growing for her. In a few short minutes, she proved herself an agent he could work with, one dedicated enough to do what she must, determined enough to see it through no matter the cost.
"The real risk I'm taking, Agent Graham, is working with you." Her statement stole over the room, bringing down a heavy silence not broken even by an audible breath.
Jackson simply stared at her. He was used to walking into investigations and being made to feel less than wanted. It stopped bothering him long ago. He had learned to confront the cold shoulders and irate attitudes with a steady, uncaring one of his own. He crossed his feet at his ankles, folded his arms over his chest, and leaned against the wall at his back. Leveling a gaze on her that he knew would come off as relaxed and cool as his pose, he said, "I didn't ask to be assigned to this case, Agent Hutchens. As a matter of fact, your agency requested that I be sent in to offer my assistance."
She planted fisted hands on her hips and met his gaze with a steely one of her own. "Have you ever been dominated by a woman, Jackson?"
Her use of his first name didn't escape his notice. Neither did the quickly stifled chuckle from the conference table from Tess, the minx, who no doubt heard her own words being thrown at him a second time just as he did.
"I'm sure I will have no problem in pretending that I have," he answered, and, when inspiration struck, he added, "Master."
The grim set of her lips faltered the slightest fraction, almost twitching in a smile. "They should've sent someone else. Don't they know how easily identifiable you are in this town? I knew who you were the second I stepped through that door."
"Jason is known in this town. Not me."
"Oh, and you don't look just like him. Gee, here I thought you were identical freaking twins."
"Hate to say it, but the lady has a point," Sprik droned. "What's the difference in one of our guys going in and him? I thought we called in the feds because we needed someone who wouldn't be pegged as local."
"We called in the feds to make Christa's stance more believable when she brings in someone she supposedly met while vacationing on the West Coast a few months ago," Bingham acknowledged. "I've already considered the possibility that Jackson might be recognized given his connection to the Keaton family and his brother Jason." He straightened, unbuttoning the sleeves of his baby blue button-down shirt to roll them to his elbows. Like Jackson, the agent apparently found it suddenly hot in the conference room. "Some alterations to your appearance should do the trick."
That’s exactly what Jackson already thought. He could change his clothes, perhaps add some glasses or colored contacts, and use a box of hair dye. Those were, after all, the easiest changes to make someone look completely different.
"No problem. I'll get the supplies as soon as we wrap up this meeting."
"Uh-uh, boy toy." Christa sashayed over to him, hips swinging and eyes simmering. Jackson actually felt the heat and authority coming off her in waves before she reached the end of the rectangular table. "
I'll
get what you need, and then I'll show you precisely how to wear it."