How had this stranger managed—in less than twenty-four hours, no less—to do exactly what Director Kennedy hadn’t been able to do over the past thirteen months?
“What do you want me to do?” She sat back. “If...I’m interested. Which I’m not saying I am.”
Yeah, right. Who was she kidding? Clearly not the man sitting across from her, who was doing his best—and failing miserably—to conceal the grin that spread across his face. A deep dimple appeared as his smile grew. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her own grin from escaping onto her lips.
“I want you to do what you do better than anyone—get close to my client’s partner, Rowland James.”
“That’s it?” She tipped her head to the side and eyed him. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to this story?”
“Because there is.”
His transparent, candid nature both fascinated and shocked her.
Derek glanced around. “But I can’t go into details here.”
And there it was: the tight-lipped, possessive behavior she’d grown tired of before walking away from the agency. “Why not?”
“First, you haven’t agreed to anything yet. Second, and more important, there are too many ears.” He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “Would you go into details now, in this place?”
He’d nailed her. She’d never talk a case here—not with so many unknown people. And she wouldn’t share everything with him, even if they worked together. She wouldn’t do that again.
Not after last time.
“Fair enough. But at least throw me a bone.”
“We’ve intercepted some chatter that might or might not involve a national security breach. I can’t get close enough to Rowland to confirm or refute the chatter. My IC team is working around the clock, but they continue to come up empty. He’s a bit of a ladies’ man, and I figured...”
“You figured what? That I’d whore myself out to get information?” Lily’s face—and temper—flamed, all thoughts of Derek’s charm and sexiness gone. “Clearly you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
She got up, knocking the wooden chair against the desert sand-colored wall. Her whole body trembled with anger as she glared down at him. “Forget you found me. If you don’t, I promise you, you’ll regret it. I mean it, Derek. Don’t underestimate me. I’m not the same woman that you’ve read about in my file.”
Without another word, she stalked toward the door and slammed it on her way out.
Tuesday, September 16, 3:00 p.m.
WELL, THAT WENT WELL. Derek rubbed the back of his neck and watched Lily through the glass window until she got to the streetlight and rounded the corner, disappearing from his line of sight. He chuckled. She was going to make him work for her involvement, but he was up for the challenge. That brunette bombshell was totally worth it.
The file he’d pulled on Lily didn’t do her an ounce of justice. Not in her capacity. Not in her looks. Not in her feistiness. He’d enjoy working with this one—if he could get past that barrier she’d constructed around herself.
He reached for his phone and dialed.
“Is she in?” Director Kennedy asked without preamble.
Typical. Derek ran his hand over the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say that, no.”
“What happened?”
Throwing out the “ladies man” card with her was a jackass move. Derek should’ve known it would rub Lily the wrong way. Nothing in her file indicated that she’d ever used sex to complete a mission. At first he’d scoffed at that. What agent didn’t use sex as a weapon, even as a last resort? But after watching her over the past few months and building his own jacket on her, he imagined that aspect of her to be true.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “She might or might not have walked out on me.”
“I told you she wouldn’t be easy to bridle,” the director snapped. “The girl’s got more sass in her little finger than most people have in their entire bodies. She can’t—make that won’t—be manhandled.”
“I definitely misjudged the sass quotient,” Derek muttered. Which was the understatement of the century. Lily Andrews was a firecracker of epic proportions. He’d never seen anyone—aside from his feisty Irish mother—go from calm to boiling in a single breath. If Lily wasn’t such a vital part of his case, he would have laughed at her explosion...and enjoyed the view as she left.
But he needed her. Without her, this mission would go to hell and he’d be screwed.
“Don’t underestimate her,” the director said. “She’s your equal. Treat her as such, and she’s yours. Don’t, and she’s as good as gone.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
Kennedy sighed into the phone. “Hate to tell you this, but if Lily walked on you, you might have lost her for good.”
Derek wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easily. He just needed to regroup. “I haven’t lost her.”
“What’s your next move?”
“Circle around. Come at her from another angle.”
“Good luck, and keep me posted.”
The line went dead.
Derek tossed the phone on the table. His 67 cover within the intelligence community as a profiler with the BAU wasn’t his first choice, but he’d learned how to read people better than anyone he knew—and Derek had picked up on the tightness in Kennedy’s voice. Why? What was eating at him?
Derek scrubbed his hands over his face. He craved movement, a shift, anything that would get him closer to completing his mission and moving the hell on. After his recent experience in Seattle, Omaha lacked the adventure he thrived on.
But Director Kennedy had specifically asked for him.
Turning down a “request” like that wasn’t an option, not as a 67 agent. So here he was, landlocked in the middle of the country, spinning his wheels like a freaking hamster on a wheel, going nowhere fast. And it was getting old.
His mission in Omaha was a bit more complicated than what he’d just revealed to Lily. And when she’d asked if Kennedy knew Derek was speaking to her, he thought he’d blown it. The fifteen seconds she took to contemplate his response were the longest seconds in his life. He wasn’t there to gather intel on Rowland James alone—the director had specifically asked Derek to keep an eye on Lily—to ensure she didn’t inadvertently stumble into the crosshairs of a killer—issuing a gag order on that latter half of Derek’s happy little assignment from hell.
Simple enough, right?
Hardly.
Nothing was simple when it came to Lily Andrews. He knew what haunted her long into the evenings. What pushed her to pace in front of the tall windows of her loft late into the night. And he couldn’t blame her. Losing a partner to treason, and having no answers to the million questions whirling around, would shake even the toughest, most seasoned agent.
He’d tracked and memorized her mundane routine within a week: Keystone Café, running trail, shooting range, home. She’d switch up the order occasionally,