Page 9 of Undercover
“Not so much, but if it’s yours, you know. I could give it a try.”
That earned me a much more genuine smile, one that lit up his pretty face and brightened his eyes. “I’m not that picky. We could—um, okay. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll text you tomorrow?”
I really wanted his address and phone number, not just to give out mine. But I’d get there, and I had to swallow my impatience. “Sure. Got your phone?”
He pulled it out of his pocket and put in the number I recited to him, and then he hesitated and typed for a second. My phone vibrated in my pocket.
“I figured you might as well have mine too,” he said, and then tucked his phone away. “Maybe tomorrow, right? We can meet up. If you actually want to meet up with me, and you’re not just bored.” He shook his head and laughed a little. “Or that too, I guess.”
What the hell? The mixed messages coming off of this guy were making my head spin. Maybe he really had randomly bought me those books. I didn’t believe in coincidence, but at this point I simply didn’t know what to believe. Successful investigations involved holding a few different ideas in your head at once, and following each path simultaneously. Belief had almost nothing to do with it…but Gabe had thrown enough different ideas at me that I’d started to think he might be doing the unlikeliest thing of all: telling me the truth.
“Whatever works,” I said, going for casual. “Sure you don’t want me to walk you home? I hear shady guys hang out in this park. Might need a bodyguard.”
Gabe laughed, shaking his head. “Right. No, I’m good. Thanks though. Tomorrow, okay?”
And with one more lingering look at me, a look that darted down to encompass a lot more than just my face, he headed off up the hill.
“See you then,” I called after him, and got an over-the-shoulder wave. He picked up the pace, his surprisingly long legs eating up the distance.
I debated following him, but I’d done that once. He’d be listening for footsteps and keeping an eye out. Much better to let him go for now.
And the view really couldn’t be beat. Fuck, that ass. My mouth watered.
I would not be fucking him, and I’d spend as much time in a cold shower that evening as I needed to until my body got the memo.
And I’d run his phone number. That might cool me off a little too, depending on what I found.
* * *
I stared at my laptop screen in disbelief.
Gabriel John Middleton, twenty-seven years old. He had pink hair with black tips in his DMV photo, although his license told me he was blond. Five foot nine. My mind made a quick note of those stats; the only photos in my case file showing possible suspects, one from behind and one in partial, blurry profile, were of tall, dark-haired men. Gabe apparently weighed one hundred and twenty-five pounds.
And he had an adorable, mischievous little half-smile in the photo, but I had to fucking ignore that if I wanted to keep my sanity.
I’d expected a criminal record, but Gabe’s history shone as clean and pristine as a choir boy’s.
Which would have been good news if his father hadn’t owned Middleton Marine. And the last time I’d seen that name, it’d been on the top of AD Kyle’s list of companies whose facilities and boats were possibly being used to smuggle fentanyl across Lake Champlain.
The urge to head-desk hit me harder than the desk would’ve. Gabe had a connection—a clear, obvious connection—to one of my leads. But he hadn’t seemed excited about the idea of going out to party, and he’d done the confused routine so convincingly I’d been ready to take him at face value after all.
But what were the odds that he’d pick me up in a bookstore and then turn out to be related to someone I was investigating?
My computer dinged, letting me know the rest of the background check had come back.
After scrolling through it in mounting bewilderment, I sat back in the desk chair, already rubbing at my temples to try to forestall the headache I knew I had coming.
The background check had filled in a few of the blanks and given me a more complete picture: rich kid, with connections and a master’s degree in chemistry, although he’d dropped out of his doctoral program the year before. No job. No debt.
How had I fucked up so spectacularly in only one day? Nothing, nothing at all going on with this case, and I’d taken the one lead I’d had, that had dropped into my lap—no, fuck, not thinking about Gabe in my lap—and gotten the approach completely wrong. A low-level dealer or party boy would’ve been just the right target for the smarmy charm I’d put on earlier in the evening.
But the guy I had on my screen…that guy wouldn’t have the slightest interest in who I’d portrayed myself to be.
And yet he’d given me his number.
So either he thought I might be good for a little fun—and if so, why hadn’t he just taken me home with him?—or he knew I was an FBI agent after all, and he’d played me like a cheap violin. On paper, he came equipped to be a drug kingpin: rich, bored, knowledge of pharmaceuticals, access to aquatic transportation. A whole big company to hide behind, where he could launder the money, too.
And yet he’d looked up at me with those wide eyes and that vulnerable smile, and claimed to have bought me the books as a random act of kindness.
