First Temptation (2 page)

In her peripheral vision, movement at the edge of the table alerted her to the waitress’s return, and Zoe sat back so the woman could set her meal down.

Rio glanced up. The moment he smiled, Zoe knew the waitress wasn’t the person standing there. The grin was for someone Rio knew.

Zoe cringed and sent up a silent prayer that she didn’t also know their visitor. By now, last night’s events had surely passed through the grapevine, and she didn’t want to rehash the harrowing experience. Nor did she want anything to overshadow this opportunity with Rio’s department.

Zoe cast a sidelong glance toward the man shaking Rio’s hand and focused in on a tight torso covered in a fitted black tee.

Hmm. Nice.

Very nice.

But Zoe’s fried brain couldn’t absorb any more eye candy. She was exhausted and just wanted him to go away. She rested her chin in her hands and tried to keep her eyes open.

“Hey, boss.” The man’s voice vibrated in a smooth, rich timbre that made Zoe want to close her eyes. “Looking good. How’s your girl?”

No, Zoe definitely didn’t know this man. She would never forget a voice like that. It curled through her body like the first sip of her hot coffee, tingling down her chest and spreading through her belly.

She was either really,
really
tired or this guy was really,
really
yummy.

As Mr. Yum talked to Rio, Zoe glanced up, appreciating an overall build as delicious as his abs and his voice put together, but his face was blocked by the brim of her uniform ball cap. Just as well. This was not the day to meet a hot guy—immediately after the night from hell, in a dirty, butt-ugly uniform. No makeup, hair knotted in a ball cap. In fact, if she didn’t want in on this little operation so bad, she’d cut the meeting with Rio short and meet up with him later.

“Let me introduce you to Agent Brooks,” Rio said.

Ah, shit.

God, this was
so
her standard luck with guys.

Zoe pushed to her feet, wincing at the aches. She turned on a polite smile as she extended her hand and met the man’s gaze. “Nice to—”

His looks derailed her mind like a runaway train. Mr. Yum was more like Mr. Scrumptious. Black hair, brows, and lashes. Liquid brown eyes, a warm mix of medium and lighter shades, that made her crave one of her mother’s chocolate-dipped caramel apples. And his face… His face was just…

Yeah.

The irritation in his gaze registered, and Zoe realized she hadn’t finished her sentence and he hadn’t taken her hand. Her gaze darted to Rio, whose brows were pulled in curiosity.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s been a long night. Nice to meet you.”

Scrumptious didn’t respond. But he did take her hand in a firm, dry shake. The annoyance in his eyes made Zoe want to feel nothing when he touched her, but no. His hand fit nicely around hers, the slide of his palm heating places on her body completely unrelated to her hand.

“This is Agent Walker,” Rio said. “He’s with the counterterrorism unit of the Department of Homeland Security.”

Peachy.
DHS and CBP had never been best buddies.

Zoe gave a brittle smile and pulled her hand out of the shake first. He was probably used to women drooling over him, and she’d always hated being just another salivation gland to a hot guy.

“Let’s sit down,” Rio said. “Walker, you want some breakfast?”

Walker lowered his muscular body into a chair.

Zoe looked at Rio and turned up her palms in cop sign language for
what the fuck?

Rio grinned and scraped his fingers through the hair at his temple. His expression said he found her amusing. Which was when Zoe realized who she was scolding—not one of her guys—and slumped into her seat, sure she’d already blown her chance at this assignment.

And it was all Mr. Scrumptious’s fault.

The waitress showed up with plates, and Walker eyed Zoe’s food.

“Wanna order?” the waitress asked him in a cougher’s huff.

“No, thanks.” He pointed to Zoe’s plate. “I’ll just eat what she doesn’t. That’s way too much food for a girl.”

Oh, good. He was an ass. So much easier to disregard looks when a guy was an ass. She’d seen him take notice of the rank on her uniform as soon as his dark gaze turned on her. Watched those liquid eyes take her in, sum her up, and dismiss her all within seconds. Typical of men who’d never worked with her before. But it still burned.

Zoe lifted one side of her mouth in a dry smile and salted her eggs. “Touch my food and I’ll stab you with my fork.”

He just gazed at her with that maddening expression, part irritation, part inquiry. Finally, he turned his gaze on Rio and spoke in an undertone. “Look, buddy, I really want to get moving. Maybe Agent Brooks can move to another table and eat so we can—”

“I can hear you,” she said, overly loud. ”Your mother didn’t teach you to take turns when you were a kid, did she?”

Zoe speared chunks of scrambled eggs onto her fork and paused before putting them in her mouth, even though her stomach was suddenly ravenous at the scent of food. She made sure to meet Walker’s sexy warm gaze when she said, “This is how it works, Walker. I was here first. First come, first served. You’ll get a turn when mine’s finished. Simple, right? Something even DHS can follow.”

Rio snickered and tried to cover by drinking his juice.

Zoe made a mental note not to schedule morning appointments. She was not at her best when she hadn’t slept in nearly a day and a half.

“And since you were the one who interrupted
our
important conversation,” she continued, “feel free, Walker, to find yourself another table until we’re finished.”

Three

THIS CHICK WAS...curious.

But Taft didn’t have time for curious. He looked at Rio, who was grinning and shaking his head.

A bad feeling crept over him. “What’s up with her?”

Rio cut into his omelet with the side of his fork, then pointed at Brooks and Taft with the prongs in turn. “Agent Brooks is your partner on this case.”

A loud clank made Taft flinch and glare at Brooks. Her fork rested against the plate where she’d dropped it after, apparently, stuffing her mouth like a squirrel. Her eyes were round in shock. Eyes a bright, almost startling shade of green.

“What?” she asked, then lowered her gaze, chewed, and swallowed before trying again. “I’m sorry. What?”

Taft took another look at the woman’s uniform, his gaze sweeping the double silver bar of a supervisory agent and the single bronze oak leaf of a special operations supervisor on her collar. The insignia of both the Border Patrol Tactical Unit and the Border Patrol Search, Trauma, and Rescue Unit on her chest. The mud dirtying her uniform and the scratches on her temple and jaw spoke of very recent hand-to-hand.

But none of that suited her to this assignment. “Have you done undercover work before?”

Her gaze darted to Rio and held a moment. When Rio didn’t speak, Brooks glanced back at Taft. “No. I’ve been—”

“Look, Cordova.” He turned back to Rio. “This is your gig, and you know I respect your opinion, but I know these bastards. That’s why you asked me to come in on this—”

“So do I,” Brooks broke in, her voice a new blend of command and chill. “I’ve arrested thousands of them. Killed several. Taken billions in drugs and weapons off their backs. I know their routes, their methods, their organization. I know how they think. How they work.” She paused until Walker reluctantly met her gaze again. “I know these bastards too.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “So you
can
string a decent sentence together.”

She looked at Rio, circled her empty fork in the air. “Seriously?” Then turned back to Taft. “Why is counterterrorism interested in this?”

“If you knew these bastards, Brooks,” Taft taunted, “you’d know they’re trafficking more than drugs and weapons over the border. They’re trafficking terrorists. And if you had let me finish, I was going to say that these guys are extremely perceptive. They’ll spot the slightest glitch. I don’t doubt your abilities in the field. Cordova only works with the best. But this job isn’t about playing renegade in the dark. It’s about finesse. And grabbing Picasso is big.” He turned to Rio with his best take-pity-on-me-brother grin. “I know this is a partner-type deal, and I’m fine with that, but you know I’m not good with newbies. I’m no teacher, Cordova.

“And I’m no newbie,” Brooks shot back. “Is Picasso his real name or an alias?”

Taft sat back. “You’re a feisty little thing. I admire that. I know you do rough work at the border, and when you do your job well, you make my job easier. I just don’t want you on
this
job. It’s not personal.”

She turned fiery emerald-green eyes on Rio. Taft expected her to open her mouth and talk herself right out of a job. Rio liked spirit. But he didn’t take shit. And he knew the difference.

But she remained silent.

“Ernesto Picasso,” Rio said. “It’s his real name.”

“I’m sure she knows her shit when it comes to the border, Cordova, but undercover… Dude. You’ve been there. You know.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Rio put up a hand.

“Just cool your jets. Both of you. Neither of you may be too eager to jump on this when I finish giving you the details.”

Taft let out a frustrated breath. He was ready to get going. This Brooks snag was just a pain in his ass. If he could just push her over the edge… He eyed her, then her plate. Just because he could, Taft made a stealthy grab for a piece of bacon and sat back.

“Hey—” she started, then pressed her lips together and glared at him.

He grinned with the bacon between his teeth, and her lips twisted into a reluctant, irritated smile.

Well, that had backfired, and he found himself smiling back.

“The smoke shop sits between an alley that leads to the parking lot and another store,” Rio said, cutting another piece of omelet. “The owner of the other shop has a brother doing time in Donovan State Prison. It took a lot of circus moves, but we got her to turn the store over to us for at least three weeks to use as a base for surveillance in trade for lightening the brother’s sentence.

“We’re using two agents because someone will have to be conducting surveillance of Fumar and someone will have to be working the store.”

Taft glanced back at Brooks as he chewed her bacon. If he had to get stuck with her… “Can you run a cash register?”

She rolled her eyes right back to Rio, her jaw clenching.

“Walker,” Rio said. “I’m not finished.”

He shrugged. Swiped half of Brooks’s English muffin.

She picked up her fork and fisted the handle, holding it over her plate with a go-ahead-make-my-day glint in her eye.

Taft laughed. At least she had a sense of humor. If nothing else, he’d get some entertainment value out of annoying her.

“Because of the nature of the store, you’ll have to work as a team,” Rio said, killing Taft’s idea of relegating Brooks to shopkeeper. “The cover is for
a couple
taking over new management of the shop.”

“Why?” Taft didn’t try to hide his disdain. He was so
not
going to
couple
with Brooks.

Rio picked up his coffee and sat back in the booth. He took a long sip and met both their gazes in turn.

“Because it’s an adult store,” he said, then clarified. “A sex shop.”

Surprise made Taft bust up with laughter, interrupting Rio. “Sorry, dude. Sorry. God, I love this job.” He gestured. “Go on.”

“And since we need two agents to run the op,” Rio continued, “a heterosexual couple seemed like the most believable scenario.”

Oh, yeah. That partner thing.

“Also,” Rio said, “Picasso evidently has a thing for porn. Specifically live porn. He gets off on watching couples get it on and would be attracted to a young, hot couple running a sex shop. If we’re lucky, if it’s played right, he could go to inspect the tunnel, see the shop, see you two—or the agents running the shop—and walk straight to us.”

Taft sat back, took a big bite of the English muffin, and chewed around a lingering grin. He glanced at Brooks. Her mouth was open, her face drained of color.

He chuckled and slid a purposeful, hot glance over her face and chest. It took effort. Nothing turned him off more than a woman in uniform. “Now I
know
you’re not going to work out for this assignment.”

“What,” she said, her voice ice cold with warning, “does that mean?”

Taft glanced at Rio. He was watching closely—to see how they’d work together, Taft knew. Which was perfect. He was going to send Brooks over the edge. Then maybe he’d get a hot partner he could authentically
get it on
with.

He leaned over and glanced beneath the table, then sat up with a heavy sigh. “Baby, you couldn’t sex yourself up enough to fit into a store like that if you worked at it for a month.”

Her fork hit the plate again. But this time it hadn’t fallen. She’d thrown it. “Oh, you don’t think so?”

“Okay,” Rio broke in, “hold on—”

“Nope,” Taft said to Zoe, ignoring Rio. He shoved the rest of the muffin into his mouth. “I know so.”

She slid sideways out of her chair and stood. Instead of storming out like he expected, she held his gaze and rolled her shoulders in a slow shrug. The oddly sensual move made her jacket fall off her shoulders. But the look in her eyes was what hinted that Taft was about to eat his words. As unfathomable as that still seemed.

The jacket moved down her arms in a smooth slide until it reached her hands, where she fisted the fabric and tossed it onto the chair without looking away from him.

Taft slouched back and waved his fingers in a bring-it gesture. “Gonna give me a lap dance, Agent?”

“In your dreams, Agent.” She lowered her hands to her duty belt and stroked the leather. Her fingers were long and slender. The scraped knuckles seemed out of place. Slowly, purposefully, she unlatched her belt and dropped all her cop crap to the empty seat beside hers.

Taft’s gaze rose from her slim hips, evident now without all the weaponry covering the great curves. She swept off her ball cap and shook out her hair.