Page 18 of Bad Boy in Her Bed

She led him into the kitchen where she already had a tray of cookies sitting out beside a jug of lemonade, alongside cups that looked more expensive than his truck arranged in a neat line.

“Take a seat,” she ordered, bringing a plate of fresh-cut fruit over.“And tell me all about why I’m seeing your little brother’s backside plastered all over my social media.”

*

Jocelyn sat inBill Fogerty’s office, doing her best to imitate a statue while he reviewed his notes with the two deputies she would be accompanying to the final address on their list.

Although she was frequently debriefed on the legalities surrounding her work, it wasn’t often that she was privy to the details before she had her hands on the paperwork.Listening to Fogerty run through the list of companies tied to the account she’d initially been attached to was almost overwhelming.The number of businesses linked to the one person she was assigned to uncover was growing across the country, each one filtering enough money to avoid being flagged by their banks individually, but enough to bring the grand total well into the millions when combined.

“Anything we find will be reviewed by Ms.Carter before we forward the findings,” Bill announced, pulling her into the conversation.“With her help, I’m hoping we can bring laundering charges against any business operating in our jurisdiction and pass the rest onto their respective PDs.Questions?”

When he was met with silence, he tapped on his desk with his palm.“Okay then.Keep me updated this afternoon.”

Jocelyn followed the two officers to their patrol car, glancing at the name plates on their chests to refresh her memory.

Klassen and Torres.

She could remember that.

Klassen was the shorter of the two men and she stood an inch taller than him in her heels.Not much older than she was, his straw-blond hair was neatly styled, his face clean-shaven.Torres, on the other hand, towered over her.His black hair was streaked with silver and slicked back, his mirrored sunglasses hiding the impish glint in his eye she’d caught inside.

Of the two, she was hiding behind Torres if anything went south.Height aside, something about Klassen told her that he’d have no issue shoving her aside to save his own skin, and her internal compass rarely steered her in the wrong direction.

“I apologize for making you ride in the back again, ma’am,” Torres said as he opened the door for her.“Fogerty won’t let us bend the rules, or we would.”

Smiling at him, she swung her purse and laptop bag into the back and slipped onto the bench seat.“I’ll survive.But thank you.”

The men chatted comfortably for the long drive, including her just intermittently when they remembered she was behind them.Every so often their radio would crackle to life, and they’d pause to listen before continuing on, the region’s afternoon calls little more than minor complaints.

Just when she was beginning to feel a swell of nausea overtake her from the horrific condition of the highway, Torres turned north and slowed.

The smooth road was lined with acreages, each plot of land divided by tall trees intended to provide the little community with a sense of wild isolation.The houses were stunning, the landscaping she could see through gaps in the foliage seemingly plucked from gardening magazines.It was a perfectly curated neighborhood, one she felt uneasy in as Torres drove them up the long driveway of the last address on her list.

Klaussen and Torres got out, opened her door for her, and led the way to the ornately carved wooden doors of the home.Warrant in hand, Klaussen knocked on the door and they waited, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps before the door swung open.

“Trevor Drayson?”Klaussen asked, unfolding the paper in his hand when the man nodded.“We have a warrant to search these premises for documents relating to fraudulent business practices and money laundering.”

Drayson.

The name was familiar to her, lingering somewhere in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite pull it to the forefront.

The man looked to be in his fifties, his face stern as he stepped outside and closed the door tightly behind him.He took the warrant and read it over, his stony expression unwavering as his gaze lifted to hers.“Are you law enforcement?”

“No, sir.”

Opening the door, he stepped aside.“You two may enter.She stays outside.”

She waited until she was by herself before exhaling and retreating down the stairs, doing her best to appear calm and collected while Klaussen and Torres were inside.Minutes ticked by, the tension in her body rising the longer she stood in the yard pretending to play with her phone while she let her mind wander to Birch.

Or, more specifically, to Birch’s quiet plea not to fuck him over.

Because she wanted to beg the same of him, wanted desperately to hear him say he was what she believed him to be.She wanted him to promise that what was happening between them was simple and honest, something she could remember with a smile when she returned to the coast where favors were used as romantic currency.

Logically she knew there was no endgame he was using her to achieve, because he wasn’t the man she was hunting.She had no fear of him doing what her ex-boyfriend had done, manipulating her emotions and basing their entire relationship on the expectation that she would manipulate evidence.

Birch had no power backing him, no wealth to protect, no international reputation to uphold.He didn’t need a pawn in the type of games only the uber rich enjoyed.

He wasn’t one of them.

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