“Needed a workout,” he said evenly.
Jo went back to the report. Matt returned his attention to his open desk drawer, pushed aside a jumble of small binder clips and rubber bands, and found a thin gold wedding band. He hooked it with his index finger, then used his opposing thumb and forefinger to set it spinning in a hypnotic, gleaming whirl on the surface of his desk.
Married? Not married? What’s my angle here?
When the gold circle spun down and clattered to a stop, Jo said, “You think this’ll go down better if there’s a Mrs. Chad Henderson?”
Sometimes a ring helped. He wore it when working prostitution busts because hookers were less wary of a “married man,” as if wedding vows somehow explained trolling Craigslist for sex. The smart ones still made him strip to his skin before talking money because most cops wouldn’t go that far to throw off suspicion.
He would.
“I wasn’t wearing it for the interview,” he said as he flicked the ring into a second spin.
“Left it at home?” Jo replied.
“Possible,” he said absently.
If he wore the ring, she’d back off. No way would Eve start anything with a married man. But the stakes were too high to give her any excuse to put distance between them. Without her knowledge or consent, he had to get up in her business, her personal life, her head. He didn’t like it at all.
Do your job. She’s the most important informant in the biggest case in the department’s history, and she’s playing with fire. If the Strykers find out what she’s doing.…
Snapshots of brutalized bodies flared in his brain. To scatter them he flattened his palm over the ring, ending the spin with a thud, swept it back in the drawer, and got to his feet.
“Hold on and I’ll wire you up,” Jo said.
Standard protocol for undercover operations called for any officer involved to wear a wire, but Matt shook his head. “She had a concert-worthy sound system in there,” he said. “And she said she’d get me my shirt later. No telling who will be around when I change.” He’d have to ditch the nearly invisible Sig P239 inside his waistband before he reported for work. The Ka-bar and Kahr PM-9 would be fine on either ankle, hidden by his jeans.
Jo sat back in her chair. “So no radio, either, in what could be a long-term operation,” she said. “I don’t like it.”
He looked down at her. “You like working with someone who gets the job done.”
“There’s a fine line between results and cowboy. Grab a phone and give me the number,” she said. “Check in when you leave, too, so I don’t lose my beauty sleep, worrying about you.”
“I’m late. Tell Hawthorn,” he said, knowing his LT would be no happier with his unmonitored state than his partner. Jo knew that too, because she flipped him off. He tossed her a half salute/half wave, signed out a cell phone he’d use as Chad Henderson’s for the duration of the case, registered his call sign and location with dispatch, then headed out to protect the department’s most valuable asset, who just happened to be the first woman in years he’d felt even a flicker of emotion for.
Lock it down, Dorchester. It’s on.
Don’t miss all three sexy and thrilling novellas in the Alpha Ops series!
About the Author
Anne Calhoun is the author of a number of romance novels and novellas, including the acclaimed novel Liberating Lacey, which won the EPIC Award for Best Contemporary Erotic Romance and was chosen as one of NPR’s 100 Swoon-worthy Romances. Anne holds a BA in History and English, and an MA in American Studies from Columbia University. When she’s not writing, her hobbies include reading, yoga, and horseback riding. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, son, and rescue dog, and has recently overcome her Starbucks addiction. Visit her website at: annecalhoun.com. Or sign up for email updates here.