Facing It (16 page)

“You did what?” The quiet fury in Jennifer’s voice lifted the hairs along Harrell’s arms and raised his own temper further. At her side in the hallway of the justice center, he stared at Senior Agent in Charge Greg Weston.

Weston shrugged as if he might be aware of their anger but remained unmoved by it. “We cut a deal with Stephen Chason. He rolls on his cronies and we provide protection until any resulting trials, with entry into the Witness Protection Program afterward.”

“You offered him immunity.” Harrell repeated the idea pounding in his head. Ah hell, Calvert would lay a gold brick when he found out about this. “You offered that bastard a goddamn immunity exchange.”

“Careful, Agent Beecham.” Distinct warning iced Weston’s tone. “Chason is willing to give us everything. Do you know how valuable that is? How many of his higher-level associates we’ll be able to prosecute? Hell, this could cripple racketeering in this area of the Southeast.”

“What about Ruthie Chason? What about her children?” Jennifer shook her head. “Were you aware he swore out a warrant against her today? That he’s trying to take those kids?”

“The situation is regrettable,” Weston conceded.

“Regrettable.” Jennifer echoed the word, her expression twisting in disgust. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“Have you put anything in writing yet?” Harrell asked, his mind jumping ahead, looking for some way to alleviate the personal disaster he saw looming.

“Legal’s working on it now.”

Jennifer glanced up at Harrell, her eyes sharp, and he nodded. He turned back to Weston. “Add a couple of caveats. He drops the custody interference charge against his wife, drops the suit seeking custody and agrees not to contest any divorce proceedings she may instigate.”

Weston sighed. “The FBI does not get involved in marital or domestic situations—”

“Sir?” Jennifer stood straighter, her voice vibrating with earnestness. “It’s not much to ask, to make those children’s lives better. Not to mention, in consideration of what Ruthie Chason provided us with. We wouldn’t be standing here now, with this case ready to break wide open, if not for her.”

Bearing a frown of consideration, Weston wavered visibly for several long moments. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, sir.” Once Weston disappeared down the hall, Jennifer turned to Harrell, her eyes shining up at him. “And thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Damn, but he liked it when she looked at him like this. It was a hell of a lot better than the glimmer of hurt she’d turned on him earlier that morning, over whether or not he was going to tell his mother about them.

“You went to bat for her.” A wide smiled curved that oh-so-kissable mouth of hers. “That’s definitely something.”

A pulsing silence fell between them and he cleared his throat to dissipate the charged tension. “We need to clear our stuff out of the house.”

She darted a look down the hall. “I can pack up for both of us. I’d really rather you stayed here to see what Weston comes up with.”

The plan made sense. “Sounds good.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a couple of hours.” She held out a hand. “Keys.”

When he laid them in her palm, she wrapped her fingers around his, sliding her fingertips from his wrist and along his hand, leaving tingling awareness in her wake. She gave him a saucy wink and walked away. He swallowed a surprised laugh and turned to seek out their supervising agent.

Less than an hour later, Weston had managed to have a small team of federal lawyers pound out the details of Chason’s immunity agreement, which gave Harrell the supreme pleasure of tagging along as said agreement was presented to Chason and his attorney.

In the cramped conference room, Harrell leaned against the wall and studied Chason. The man didn’t look like a criminal, but then in Harrell’s experience, the white-collar-crime guys never did.

Of average height, his dark hair and goatee neatly trimmed, Chason sat with his attorney, supercilious eyes darting over the men in the room. The lousy son of a bitch didn’t look dangerous. Harrell didn’t doubt for a minute that he was. Something about the guy raised Harrell’s gut instincts to screaming level.

Shit, even if Chason went into federal witness protection, with a new name and a new location, Ruthie would still have to live her life looking over her shoulder. Chason wouldn’t simply let her go that easily and sure as hell he was smart enough to manipulate the situation to allow him to get at her.

Chason’s gaze flicked to his, distaste and something akin to hatred flaring there. Harrell stared back at him, not batting a lash, not letting his expression change in any way. He didn’t intend giving the little rat the satisfaction of a reaction to that revulsion.

Harrell watched Chason’s posture and expression change as Weston outlined the terms of the agreement. Halfway though the SAIC’s spiel, Chason began shaking his head and leaned over to whisper to his attorney.

Weston ceased speaking and lifted his eyebrows. “A problem, gentlemen?”

Chason’s attorney, a prissy little man with a balding head and crooked glasses perched on his nose, folded his hands on the table. “Mr. Chason is not willing to surrender custody of his children. Nor does he wish to agree to a divorce.”

Weston shrugged and flipped the file folder closed. “Then he can spend several years in a federal prison.”

Chason’s mouth tightened. His attorney pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow. “Surely the FBI has no interest in the personal family affairs of my client—”

“You know, I’m positive the IRS would be keenly interested in seeing those ledgers,” Weston said, rubbing a thumb along the edge of the manila folder. “Lots of income Mr. Chason obviously didn’t pay taxes on. Don’t you think the boys over there would be ready to jump right on that, Agent Beecham?”

Both Chason and his attorney blanched and Harrell fought a grin. “Definitely. You know how they are about anybody cheating them out of a dollar or two.”

Still dabbing at his forehead, the attorney leaned in to confer with Chason in subdued whispers. Finally, Chason slumped back in his chair and directed an icy glower in Harrell’s direction.

The attorney folded his hands again. “Mr. Chason is willing to agree to the terms and cooperate fully.”

Harrell narrowed his eyes. Maybe he’d agree and maybe he’d cooperate, but something told him that “fully” was nothing more than a goddamn lie.

Once the papers were signed and Chason was in protective custody, Harrell listened as Weston outlined his plan for Chason’s security detail. Harrell nodded but inside, his nerves were crawling. Jennifer would have a fit once she heard this plan.

At the door, he shook Weston’s hand. “Sir, I’m going to help Settles finish clearing our things from the house here. I’ll fill her in as well. We should be back in Atlanta tonight.”

Weston nodded. “Very good. The two of you take the weekend and I’ll expect you in my office Monday morning.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Jennifer didn’t answer her cell and the phone had already been disconnected at the Charleston house. Harrell caught a cab and was relieved to see their rental car still in the drive before the massive brick Tudor. The downstairs was empty and he jogged up the stairs, muted anticipation jingling under his skin.

He found her in the master bedroom’s huge walk-in closet, moving clothing to open suitcases. She hadn’t heard him and he momentarily considered walking up behind her and sliding his arms around her, trailing his hands up her stomach to her breasts, nibbling at her neck. His dick stirred to life at the mental images. Then he remembered how much she didn’t like being startled and how good she was at takedown techniques, decided he really didn’t want to end up flat on his back and reconsidered.

He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Hey.”

At his voice, she glanced around and a pleased smile spread over her face. “Hi. I thought I was meeting you back at the justice center.”

“I got through first and there really wasn’t any reason for me to hang around over there. Thought I’d come see if you needed help.”

“I’m almost finished.” She waved at the near-empty closet. “But you can definitely help load the car. There was more here than I thought.”

“Because you’re obsessed with clothes.”

She sent him a look of mock outrage. “I am not. Well, maybe just a little.”

“Maybe just a lot.”

“Load the car, Beech.”

He chuckled and hefted two of the cases to do as he was told. When he returned, she was zipping up the final suitcase. He paused in the doorway. “Chason agreed to Weston’s terms.”

Her head came up, eyes lighting up. “Really?”

“The warrant’s already been vacated.”

“Thank God for that.” Fingers curled around the countertop, she leaned against the island in the center of the closet. “Does Ruthie know yet?”

“No. Weston and I thought you might like to tell her.”

“I would. Thanks.”

“Chason’s gone into protective custody. They’ll move him to a safe house in north Georgia tonight.” Harrell cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “We’re half of his security team. We’ll swap out duty with Edgewood and Banning.”

A moue of distaste twisted her features. “You mean we have to live with the bastard?”

“We’re on a forty-eight-hour rotation.”

“Great.” She threw up her hands. “I can’t wait.”

“There is good news, though.”

She fixed him with a wry look. “Really? Do tell.”

“We’re off until Monday.” He rested a shoulder against the jamb.

“Okay, that marginally makes up for having to spend time with that son of a bitch.” Her exaggerated pout struck him with unexpected humor and he chuckled. Her expression relaxed into a grin. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You are.” He made himself stay where he was, made his body stay relaxed, despite the way he seemed to damn near buzz with awareness in her presence. Before had been bad enough, but now that he’d made love to her, kissed her and held her in his arms, the absolute need he had to touch her was frigging scary.

Her chin tilted. “So what are we doing this weekend?”

The assumption they’d spend their off time together warmed him and he was damn grateful she’d broached the subject. It had been uppermost in his mind, but letting her see how much he needed her was asking for a swift kick to the nuts later.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. “What do you want to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Shopping sounds good.” She pushed away from the island and approached him with a sultry, rolling walk. Instead of stopping before him, she strolled by him, sliding a finger across his chest as she did so. “I think I’m in need of a little black nightie.”

“Really.” His body reacting to that mental image, he closed his eyes for a moment before he went after her.

He caught up with her in the bedroom and slid his arms around her from behind. Her back hit his chest and he could feel the vibration of her soft laugh. He nibbled at her neck, easing his palms up her stomach to cup her breasts.

“Do you know what it’s been like,” he whispered, his gaze trailing to the big king-sized bed, “having to sleep with you in that damn bed and not touch you?”

“Yes.” She turned in his embrace, her eyes burning. Grasping his tie, she backed up and pulled him with her, until the bed hit the backs of her thighs and she sat on the foot, scuffling with his tie. “I don’t want slow and lots of foreplay this time, Harrell.”

He shrugged out of his jacket, letting it hit the floor. “What do you want, babe?”

“I want you.” She tossed his tie aside before hiking her very Bureau black skirt up and shimmying out of a pair of very non-Bureau teal panties. “Hard and inside me, making me come.”

Hard he had covered. The other two he fully intended to remedy in short order. He freed the top couple of buttons on his dress shirt and tugged both it and his undershirt over his head. Jennifer slipped out of her blouse, revealing a very brief bra the same teal as the panties she’d discarded.

He reached for his belt and she slid up the bed to rest against the bank of pillows. Her gaze locked on his, she spread her thighs and slipped one hand between her legs, touching and teasing herself.

“Hurry,” she murmured, one slender finger circling and dancing over her clit. God, much of this and he’d come out of his skin. He fumbled his belt free, managed to unfasten his slacks and lower his zipper without doing himself bodily damage. She let her head fall back, a moan slipping from her damp lips, and the visual zinged through his brain, along his nerves, straight to his already straining dick.

He shoved slacks and boxers down together, letting them gather around his thighs as he sheathed his erection. Finally, he lowered himself between her wide-spread legs. Moving her hand aside, he ran a finger along her swollen clit and below, testing, finding her already wet and open and ready.

For him.

She moaned again at his touch and shifted her hips in a restless movement. With his free hand, he tugged the lace cups of her bra downward. Drawing one hard nipple between his teeth, he positioned himself and thrust inside her. The hot, wet clasp of her body around his was unbearably tight, unbelievably exquisite. He tensed and stilled, fighting off an urge to plunge toward an early completion.