Slow Summer Burn: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance (4 page)

Val just grinned. He did love Thalia’s scrappy little boy, and if he made his teammate’s life a little easier by watching Jaime for an hour or two every other week, all the better.

Val pushed open the conference room door and was immediately greeted by a square jaw and a firm handshake. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thalia take a seat.

“Val Grayson? Assistant Director Jack Lawler, FBI.” Val felt the squeeze of Lawler’s large, tough hand and gave back as good as he got. “Heard from Colin that you’re my man on this particular operation. I’ve been reading some very impressive things about you.” The man’s brown eyes sparkled with wit and intelligence.

Lawler was in his early sixties, but he was in impeccable shape, with a trim build and a buzz cut that bespoke his military background. This was not a man to trifle with. Good thing they were on the same side. “I assume you mean you’ve taken a look at my file,” Val said. “Well, don’t believe everything you read, sir.” He glanced at Colin, who was standing next to Lawler. “Or everything you hear.”

Lawler chuckled. “Modesty. A good trait. Well, regardless of what you think, you come highly recommended. And call me Jack.”

“Jack,” Val agreed. Colin gave him a small nod, looking like a proud father. He turned back to Lawler, who looked no less pleased. Val had read Lawler’s file—what was available to him, anyway—and had liked what he’d seen. Top of his class at West Point, five years of active service as a decorated army officer, agent recruit at twenty-seven, career FBI ever since. Lawler was known for his integrity and his unwavering ability to complete missions.

“Shall we get started?” With a beefy hand, Colin waved the two men to the large, wooden table in the center of the room around which five other people were already seated.

“Absolutely,” Lawler responded, offering Colin the seat at the head of the table and taking the one immediately to Colin’s right. When Val first heard that the DOJ had asked the FBI to assist his agency, he hadn’t been thrilled. The DEA had enough resources to get the job done, and more federal agents would just get in the way. But Lawler’s deference to Colin might signal that the FBI was trying to work together with the DEA instead of stomping all over their operation.

Once the men were seated, Lawler spoke again. “Let’s get the intros out of the way. You all know who I am. The other members of my team with me today are Agents Carter, Ulrich, and Treat.” Each agent raised his hand as his name was called.

Colin spoke up, his compact body filling out the seat. “Here with me are Agents Grayson, Young, and Rivera.” Val raised his hand when his name was called, then watched as his colleagues Ellen and Thalia greeted the others. Ellen was a blond stunner whose beauty was only surpassed by her intelligence. You’d never know from looking at her that she’d once been one of the foremost teenage hackers in the country before she decided to use her powers for good instead of evil. She’d cleaned up her act, graduated from MIT in three-and-a-half years, and gone straight to work for the government. Regardless of her agent status, Ellen still lived by a hacker’s creed. Needless to say, Val appreciated having her on his team.

Lawler cleared his throat. “Now we’ve all read the files, so I think we can dispense with a lot of the administrative back story. The main drug corridor on the Eastern Seaboard follows Interstate 95, beginning in Miami and ending in Maine. Over the past six months, we’ve seen a lot more exotic stuff being transported, most notably mephedrone laced with prescription drugs, particularly OxyContin. It’s noteworthy that mephedrone—or bath salts—was labeled a Schedule I drug by the DEA’s Office of Diversion Control a couple of years ago and is now heavily controlled. We couldn’t figure out why so much of this stuff had been passing through Boston, and we finally realized it’s because it’s originating from somewhere nearby. The people conducting this sophisticated operation have many tools at their disposal, including the ability to branch off the corridor to less-detectible areas. Specifically, we’ve noted multiple pockets in rural areas. Star Harbor, for one.” Lawler paused to nod at Val.

Val nodded back.

Lawler continued. “We’ll use Star Harbor as an example, since we have a native in our midst. Not only is this small town well off the beaten path and not readily accessible to the highway, but the modest infrastructure and low off-season activity doesn’t seem to lend itself to heavy drug trafficking. This implies that the people using that town are intimately familiar with it.”

Colin cut in, his baritone voice resonating throughout the conference room. “In addition to interfacing with other federal and local authorities—specifically the Coast Guard and the Star Harbor Sheriff’s Department—our agents have conducted their own investigation, and have narrowed down the list of suspects to those who have both the connections and the financial means to run an operation of this size. At the top of our list is Congressman Edward Kirkland, not least of which because he has a home in Star Harbor.”

“We have other evidence against him, too,” Val interjected. “Three weeks ago, Canadian Border Patrol stopped a man at the Route 81 crossing, south of Ottawa. Dogs were employed, and in a car tricked out with traps, they found $300,000 in U.S. currency and ninety thousand packets of laced bath salts. The guy’s passport was fake, and an administrative subpoena to check phone records revealed multiple outgoing phone calls to the congressman’s Boston domicile, clustered around the time of the crossing. The man is now awaiting trial in Canada, though we are considering a motion to extradite.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: we will use the utmost caution and discretion in dealing with the congressman,” Colin said. “No one outside of this room knows of our interest in Kirkland, except for our contact at the Attorney General’s office, and we will keep it that way. The potential for political and personal scandal is something we all want to avoid.” Colin cleared his throat. “Now, because Star Harbor is Agent Grayson’s hometown, and his brother is the local sheriff, he will lead the investigation, code-named ‘Operation Beach.’ Val, you’ll have an eight-person dedicated team at your disposal, including the agents here, and two additional specialists. You’ll also have any and all resources that you’ll need, including technology, undercover agents—you name it.”

“McCreery told me about your interaction last night,” Lawler said. “Smart to use your connections to get closer.”

Val simply nodded, relieved that they’d interpreted his dance with Cameron as a ploy to get closer to the congressman instead of what it really was: lust. Of course he’d known that she had ties to the congressman and his associates, but using her to get information on Kirkland could backfire on so many different levels, he couldn’t seriously consider that idea at this stage of the game. He cleared his throat. “As Colin mentioned, there’s heightened sensitivity in monitoring Congressman Kirkland, so we’ve been rotating that assignment. As soon as this meeting is over, we’ll loop in your agents.”

“Good,” Lawler said. “The Star Harbor angle is worrisome, as is the high profile of our chief suspect. Although the FBI is all-in, we are relying on the DEA to coordinate the operation, including making the final calls on which tactics to use to take down the drug trafficking.”

“Jack and I have worked together before,” Colin said. “We’re confident this collaboration will be a success. We know you’ll do a bang-up job on this one, Grayson. Make us proud.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.” And he would. This was an investigation with potentially broad-reaching
political consequences and there was no way he was going to foul it up.

“We have additional debriefings to attend. Agents, we’ll see you later.”

After Colin and Lawler left, Val turned to his primary team.

“We’re going to be working closely together over the next few months, so I thought we’d start out by doing detailed introductions. We’ll move on to logistics, specific assignments, and timelines. Ready?” Everyone nodded. “Let’s go.”

The rest of the day was intense, the team breaking only for a quick lunch, and it was nearly eight in the evening before they were through. “All right, everyone. We’ll meet back here at zero nine hundred tomorrow for another planning session. Any questions?” Val asked as he powered down his laptop and folded it shut. No one spoke. “Good. See you here in the morning.”

At Val’s dismissal, everyone gathered their work and packed up their bags. He knew Ellen would be heading home to her partner and Thalia would be thrilled to spend a few precious moments with Jaime before her son’s bedtime.

Val stepped out into the humid evening air, reluctant to head back to his apartment right away. His head was buzzing with ideas for the operation, making him feel slightly unfocused. And something about the warm, sultry night stirred up emotions he’d thought long buried.
No
. He needed to be honest with himself. It wasn’t work or the weather—it was
her
.

It made sense that he hadn’t zeroed in on Cameron before last night. Why would he have? She’d always seemed so distant, chatting quietly with Cole’s woman, Julie, at the LMK or fluttering around town in expensive-looking clothes. She’d ignored him, and he’d returned the favor. He’d been occupied with his own work, he supposed. It had been years since he’d focused on anything but work or his family.

But that hint of vulnerability he’d seen—now
that
was something that spoke to him. Those bottomless violet eyes, a stunning mix of blue and purple, seemed to invite him closer. The way she’d trembled in his arms, tiny shivers radiating through him, just brought it all home. He knew she’d unravel when he kissed her.
Damn
, he wanted to kiss her! Despite her obviously worldly lifestyle, she radiated an aura of innocence.

He hadn’t seen innocence in a long time.

But he was from the other side of the tracks—so far away, he might as well be in a different universe. In Cameron’s world, just having money wasn’t enough. To belong, you needed prestige and an old family name. He’d done his research. The Endicott fortune had come
from timber and steel over a century ago, and Clarissa Endicott had a massive trust fund when she met Frederick Stahl, the first-born son of another privileged family that had gotten its riches through real estate and finance. The Stahls had four homes, nine automobiles, one helicopter, and Lord knew how many servants to manage everything.

The more he thought about it, the more their differences in social status rubbed him raw. Although he knew he was good enough to serve his country on top-secret matters of national security, the fact that he might not be good enough for Cameron Stahl burned him up inside.

Thalia had been focused on other things. She’d taken him aside during one of their breaks to talk about his “party guest” and straight-up told him—without mentioning Cameron’s name—that she would make a great confidential informant. She would, of course, but aside from the ethical issues of getting her involved, he actually wasn’t sure where her loyalties lay. The last thing he’d want to do is to tip her off and then have her run to tell the congressman he was under investigation.

And truth be told, one of his biggest concerns was the effect that would have on how she felt about him, because there was no doubt that he wanted her. Wanted to be the man who deserved her.

And getting her tangled up in his investigation could only be a recipe for disaster.

Chapter 4

“I need an ibuprofen,” Cameron muttered as she dragged herself home. It was barely nine, but her feet hurt, pressed into her stylish, pointed-toe shoes. Fashion shouldn’t have to mean pain. Why couldn’t they invent gorgeous shoes that felt as good as they looked? It was easy to concentrate on something other than her feet. Everything else hurt, too—her head, her eyes, even her hands.

After a doozy of a meeting with Hermione Alcott, during which she’d displayed no fewer than seventeen bolts of fabric to the older woman who was contemplating a new chaise lounge for her Palm Beach home, Cameron and her staff had begun their summer inventory at the Newbury Street boutique. It was shaping up to be a grueling event. Hours of cross-referencing items, coupled with the fact that this year was the first they’d done everything electronically, had
taken its toll on her mind and her body. In the long run, it would be worth it to have everything digitized, but in the meantime, it was utterly exhausting work. Things would go more smoothly tomorrow, but right now, all she wanted to do was to curl up and sleep.

Three more blocks until she reached home. She rubbed her right temple with her fingers, which did nothing to ease the throbbing in her skull. Some good music on her stereo, a long soak in her large bathtub, and some scented candles would do wonders. She hoped.

Next Monday she planned to be in Star Harbor to oversee inventory on the second boutique. It would be similarly demanding, but even the thought of being on Cape Cod lifted her spirits. She couldn’t wait to see the little town this season, though she knew it would be a long few days of work. Plus, there was nothing like being right on the water. Her place in Boston was wonderful, but she had grown to love her little cottage by the sea in Star Harbor, especially falling asleep to the sound of the waves crashing onto the shore.

A lone car drove by, its tires sounding hollow against the paved road.

Safety-conscious despite the fact that her neighborhood was one of the nicest places in the city to live, she withdrew her house key from her pocket and held it firmly in her hand. The metal key felt solid and secure. For a brief instant, Val Grayson’s long, strong body flashed in her mind. The picture was unsettling.

A few minutes later, she reached her brownstone on Marlborough Street. Energized by the fact that she was almost home, she briskly climbed the thirteen stairs that led to the front stoop, opened the door, and stepped inside.

As soon as she locked the door, her cell phone buzzed in her handbag.

Quickly, she answered. “Cameron speaking.”

“Cameron, hello. It’s Junior.” She winced, realizing he probably had expected her to call him. “I haven’t talked with you for a few days. How are you doing?” He spoke in his usual calm, smooth, and educated style.