Buch lesen: «Hidden Agenda»
CONFIDENTIAL MEMO
Badge No. 1197: Carrie McCall
Rank: Sergeant
Skill/Expertise: Superior investigative skills, uncanny cop instincts, innate ability to charm and disarm
Reason Chosen for Assignment: A looker with a black mark on her otherwise sterling record, McCall’s the perfect choice to play “lover” to partner Linc Reilly’s “lawbreaker” in an undercover sting designed to get her real close to the suspected rogue cop.
Badge No. 0730: Lincoln Reilly
Rank: Sergeant
Skill/Expertise: Seasoned undercover operative, disciplined and dangerous
Reason Chosen for Assignment: The best of the best, but a cop believed to have lost his way—but not his need for the love of a woman….
Dear Reader,
What better way to start off a new year than with six terrific new Silhouette Intimate Moments novels? We’ve got miniseries galore, starting with Karen Templeton’s Staking His Claim, part of THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY. These three brothers are destined to find love, and in this story, hero Cal Logan is also destined to be a father—but first he has to convince heroine Dawn Gardner that in his arms is where she wants to stay.
For a taste of royal romance, check out Valerie Parv’s Operation: Monarch, part of THE CARRAMER TRUST, crossing over from Silhouette Romance. Policemen more your style? Then check out Maggie Price’s Hidden Agenda, the latest in her LINE OF DUTY miniseries, set in the Oklahoma City Police Department. Prefer military stories? Don’t even try to resist Irresistible Forces, Candace Irvin’s newest SISTERS IN ARMS novel. We’ve got a couple of great stand-alone books for you, too. Lauren Nichols returns with a single mom and her protective hero, in Run to Me. Finally, Australian sensation Melissa James asks Can You Forget? Trust me, this undercover marriage of convenience will stick in your memory long after you’ve turned the final page.
Enjoy them all—and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around, only in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
Hidden Agenda
Maggie Price
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
MAGGIE PRICE
turned to crime at the age of twenty-two. That’s when she went to work at the Oklahoma City Police Department. As a civilian crime analyst, she evaluated suspects’ methods of operation during the commission of robberies and sex crimes and developed profiles on those suspects. During her tenure at OCPD, Maggie stood in lineups, snagged special assignments to homicide task forces, established procedures for evidence submittal, even posed as the wife of an undercover officer in the investigation of a fortune-teller.
While at OCPD, Maggie stored up enough tales of intrigue, murder and mayhem to keep her at the keyboard for years. The first of those tales won the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award for Romantic Suspense.
Maggie invites her readers to contact her at 5208 W. Reno, Suite 350, Oklahoma City, OK 73127-6317. Or on the Web at http://members.aol.com/magprice.
To tough guys with soft hearts
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 1
“Good morning. Can you tell me where I can find Lieutenant Quintana?”
The smoky voice pulled Lincoln Reilly’s attention from the Selective Enforcement Unit’s coffeemaker, a half-opened packet of sugar gripped between his thumb and fingers. It wasn’t often his mind snapped off. But it did as he took in the petite woman with a mass of copper-red hair and cool blue eyes in a face created to grab a man’s attention.
As was whatever smoldering perfume she wore.
Although he’d been out of the loop a couple of years where women’s fashions were concerned, something told him the sea-foam-green sweater and slacks that hugged her curves were up-to-the-minute in style.
The gold Oklahoma City P.D. sergeant’s badge and holstered Smith & Wesson 9mm automatic clipped to her waistband had him jerking his mind back to business.
He made sure none of the effort showed as he met her gaze, thinking she damn well didn’t look like a run-of-the-mill female cop. “Quintana’s office is there,” Linc said, angling his head. “The one with the glass panel looking out onto the squad room.”
“Thanks. So what’s it like working in the SEU?”
“It’s a job.” Linc dumped the contents of the sugar packet—then another—into his coffee. It was Monday morning; he had endured a hellish weekend with people who brought back memories that ripped at his soul. With his thoughts so dark, he was in no mood for chitchat. Further, the Selective Enforcement Unit—SEU—operated in its own sphere. The squad worked autonomously, involved in undercover operations that most police employees never knew about. The redhead’s badge had gained her access to the third floor of the nondescript building that housed OCPD’s undercover units. That’s all it would get her, unless she had a legitimate need to know about personnel or operations.
“I’ll ask Quintana,” she murmured, then tipped her head at Linc’s coffee mug. “You know, that could be your problem.”
He turned to face her, noting the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. “What problem?”
“Surliness. All that refined sugar you dumped in your coffee contains a mountain of additives. You should try stevia.”
He knitted his brows. “What the hell is stevia?”
“A natural sweetener made from a plant extract.” When she shook back her hair, that wild, reddish mane slithered around her shoulders, her breasts. “I take my coffee black, in case you were planning to ask.”
“Knowing that, my day is complete.” The unwelcome stirring of his system had him feeling just perverse enough to take a sip from his mug instead of offering to get her a cup.
Apparently unoffended, she extended her right hand. “I’m Carrie McCall. Transferring from Patrol to the SEU.”
His gaze flicked to her hand while he caught another whiff of her scent that was as hot and steamy as the contents of his mug. Dammit, he had to get the hell away from her. He didn’t want a reminder of how a certain woman’s looks, voice, scent had the power to pull him in.
“Linc Reilly. Excuse me while I run out and pick up some stevia.” Turning his back on her, he headed across the squad room. By the time he reached his desk, she had sauntered—that was the only way to describe the slow, loose swing of her hips—halfway to Quintana’s office.
Linc settled into his chair, noting all conversation in the squad room had ceased. He glanced around. It didn’t surprise him to see every pair of male eyes tracking McCall’s progress.
“Who’s the babe?”
Linc shifted his attention to the cop at the desk across the aisle. In an unofficial vote of all the PD’s undercover units, Tom Nelson had won the title of worst dressed. Today’s stained sweatshirt and threadbare jeans looked disreputable, as did his dark, rumpled hair and unkempt beard. Propped back in his chair, his scuffed loafers on the desk, he held a report in one hand and a donut in the other. He had his eyes glued on the door to Quintana’s office through which McCall had just disappeared.
“Her name’s Sergeant McCall,” Linc answered. “Transferring in from Patrol.”
“Hallelujah.” Nelson pounded a fist against his heart. “About time this office got some worthwhile scenery.”
Linc raised a brow. “We’ve got two women in this unit. If Annie or Evelyn hear you, they’ll grind you into dog meat.” Linc frowned at Annie Becker’s desk. His partner always beat him to work, but he’d seen no sign of her this morning.
“Our gals are attractive,” Nelson conceded. “Just nothing like the McCall sisters.”
“Sisters?”
“You know Grace Fox? Ryan Fox’s widow?”
Linc sipped his coffee, and scowled when he found himself thinking about the additives he was consuming. “I’ve met Grace.”
“She’s the oldest. I heard the youngest sister is a few months out of the academy, but I haven’t run into her yet. If she’s as seriously gorgeous as the other two, mamma mia.”
Linc shook his head. Nelson’s looks were as memorable as a telephone pole, but that didn’t stop him from viewing himself as the department’s answer to Casanova. “Keep talking like that, you’ll get slapped with a sexual harassment suit.”
“Nah.” Nelson’s toothy grin lent charm to his bearded, gaunt face. “All I did was pay the McCall sisters a compliment.”
“Some women wouldn’t view it that way,” Linc said as he unlocked his desk and pulled out a file folder.
“Reilly’s right, Nelson.” The derisive voice coming from just behind Linc stiffened his spine. “And we all know he’s an expert in looking out for a woman’s best interests.”
Jaw locked, Linc swiveled his chair around. The detective who stood inches away was a little over six feet tall, with black hair, olive skin and deep-set eyes guarded by heavy brows.
After his lousy weekend, a run-in with Don Gaines was not going to lighten his mood, Linc thought. “Don’t talk around the subject, Don. You got something to add, say it to my face.”
Gaines sipped his coffee. “I’ve made my feelings clear.”
“Crystal.” Linc didn’t add that he agreed with the man who had once been as close as a brother. He, Lincoln Reilly, had put work above his wife and in the process got her killed. “Since rehashing old ground won’t change things, I suggest you switch subjects or move on.”
Nelson’s scuffed loafers hit the floor, his wary gaze darting between both men. “I was just mouthing off about women. Talking garbage. I didn’t mean to get this thing started again.”
“This thing is ongoing,” Gaines commented, then glanced toward their boss’s office. “As for Carrie McCall, you’d better watch what you say, Nelson. She might look like a piece of fluff, but she’s got the rep of being a good street cop who can kick butt whenever it’s necessary.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Nelson muttered as Gaines turned and headed toward his desk. “Sorry, Linc.” Nelson raked a hand across his beard. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Nothing to say,” Linc swivelled his chair around. “Not your fault, Tom.” It’s mine.
As if reading Linc’s thoughts, Nelson leaned forward. “Not yours, either, buddy.”
“Yeah.” Linc’s voice remained steady while anger and guilt boiled inside him. He didn’t need a reminder of what he had carried like a ten-ton stone on his conscience every day, every night, every cursed second for the past two years. He had as good as killed Kim. Because he had not put her first, she had died horribly. If he had been a better husband, she would be alive. If he had been a better cop, he would have dug up something on the slime in the ski mask who’d kidnapped, raped and murdered her. As it was, Linc knew only what the grainy surveillance tape at the crime scene had picked up.
But he did, finally, have something, he reminded himself. After two years of searching for the white male with a snake tattoo on his forearm, the bastard had been spotted. Once. That one sighting had been enough to give Linc a place to start. He would find the slime. Find him, and make him pay.
Linc eased out a breath. The pain he’d endured since Kim’s death had taught him that tormenting himself over what couldn’t be changed was futile. So, while he waited for his partner, he opened the file and scanned the notes he and Annie had compiled on a string of murders that had begun a year and a half ago.
Unlike Kim’s, these homicides held no personal undertones. His and Annie’s interest had merely spiked when they realized six do-wrongs handled by various detectives assigned to the SEU had wound up murdered. Linc himself had dealt with four of the victims. All had been career criminals who preyed on innocent citizens and had sidestepped punishment in the criminal justice system. All had died the way Linc would have expected: ambushed and head-shot in apparent incidents of street violence. Still, his cop’s instincts had him wondering if there was something more about the killings than what appeared on the surface. He simply didn’t know.
“Reilly!”
Linc looked up, saw Quintana leaning out of his office door.
“Yeah, Lieu?”
“Need to see you. And bring an extra cup of coffee.” Quintana glanced across his shoulder, then looked back at Linc. “Black. Make sure there’s no sugar in it.”
Eyes narrowed, Linc checked the glass panel on Quintana’s office. The coppery-red flash he caught through the open miniblinds told him Carrie McCall was now seated in a visitors chair.
Setting his jaw, Linc slid the file into the drawer and locked it. Damn if the woman hadn’t gotten that cup of coffee out of him after all.
Even without looking toward the office door, Carrie McCall knew the instant Linc Reilly stepped inside. She’d felt the same sizzling awareness when she’d spotted him at the coffeemaker. She had spent a week studying his file. Learning about the man. Yet none of that had prepared her for the electric current that had zipped through every nerve in her body when she came face-to-face with her prey.
Forcing the cadence of her breathing to remain even, she told herself her reaction was to be expected. After all, she was under strict orders to get close to Reilly. Take him down for murder, if the evidence was there. He was her first undercover assignment—one that was risky at best. Dangerous at worst.
Carrie kept her attention centered on Lieutenant John Quintana, sitting at the tidy desk in front of her. SEU’s commander was a toughly built, compact man in his mid-fifties who gazed at her with serious, dark-brown eyes. The stark bareness of the office walls and nondescript tan miniblinds at the window were in direct contrast to Quintana’s starched white shirt, red tie, blue blazer and gray slacks. He looked comfortable and competent. By all accounts, Quintana was an experienced, solid supervisor who commanded the respect of his troops.
Carrie understood that—it had always been vitally important she earn the respect of her fellow officers. But if Quintana knew the real reason she’d been placed in his unit, his esteem would not be among the things she earned.
Although her shoulders were as stiff as wire, she kept her expression relaxed as she smiled at Quintana. “I’m looking forward to working in your unit, Lieutenant. After more than five years in patrol, I’m ready for a different type of police work.”
“You’ll get that here.” Quintana glanced up, then gestured at chair beside hers. “Reilly, have a seat. Linc Reilly, this is Carrie McCall.”
Turning her head, Carrie watched the man stride toward her. Six foot four, powerfully built, yet rangy and lean. His hair was pitch-black, edging toward renegade length. He had a sharp-cheeked face with a street-smart look about it and the exotic golden eyes of a tiger that no woman drawing breath would overlook. Including her. That lean, rangy body was clad in snug, worn jeans, and a red fisherman-style sweater, its sleeves shoved up to reveal muscular forearms.
The man made an impressive package. A dangerous one, too, if he was the cop who’d coolly executed six people.
“Your coffee,” Linc said. “Black. No additives.”
“Thanks.” Because of his earlier refusal to shake her hand, she set the cup on the lieutenant’s desk and offered hers again. “Pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Reilly.”
He kept his eyes on her face as his fingers engulfed hers. “Likewise, Sergeant McCall.”
She might as well have touched a lightning bolt, Carrie thought, as an electric shock flashed through her system. It took every bit of her willpower not to jerk from his hold.
Telling herself she would deal later with her overall brainless reaction to the man she was here to investigate, she forced a cool smile. “That errand you mentioned you needed to run must not have taken you long.”
His fingers tightened, as did his smile. “Not long enough.”
Since he made no move to loosen his grip, she had to tug her hand from his.
Quintana frowned. “You two know each other?”
“Met at the coffeemaker,” Linc replied, and turned. “Did you need me for something other than beverage delivery, Lieu?”
Quintana stabbed a finger toward the chair angled beside Carrie’s. “Have a seat.” He waited until Linc complied, then asked, “What’s the status of the crackdown on The Hideaway?”
Carrie sensed Linc’s hesitation. She didn’t have to wonder why—when she received her assignment, she had done her research. Selective Enforcement was an undercover unit that worked closely with Intelligence and primarily targeted career criminals. Their work was sensitive and could adversely impact numerous investigations—even get people killed—if information leaked. By necessity, SEU operated as a highly compartmentalized unit. The cops assigned there were even closemouthed with each other. Officers who were friends might not know the specifics of what each other was working on. And certain questions that fell outside the need-to-know area automatically generated suspicion. Good detectives were habitual, generic snoops, but this unit called for cops who were very localized snoops. Which meant Carrie was going to have to be careful in how she ferreted out the evidence she’d been sent there to obtain.
Seconds ticked by before Linc said, “Annie and I will make our first visit to The Hideaway tomorrow night. I’ll write you a status report on everything that’s been done so far.”
Quintana shook his head. “Give me an oral report. Now.”
Linc slid Carrie a look, then remet his boss’s gaze. “Like we planned, guys from Intelligence have been watching The Hideaway’s parking lot. They’ve photographed employees and customers, compiled a list of tag numbers off their vehicles. When I get the list, I’ll have dispatch run twenty-eight checks off those tags. Once they give me the name of each vehicle’s registered owner, I’ll have background checks on each name run through the CCH and NCIC,” Linc continued, referring to the department’s Computerized Criminal History and the National Crime Information Center computers. “That’ll give Annie and me an idea of the people we’ll be dealing with at The Hideaway. From that, we’ll firm up our final plan on how to play the assignment.”
Quintana nodded. “How many visits you figure it’ll take to pile up enough citations to raid the place?”
“Five or six, depends on what we find once we’re inside. We need enough violations to shut the place down permanently. Hopefully, Annie and I will have everything we need so the raid can go down before Thanksgiving. I can’t promise that, though.”
“Sounds good, Reilly. Except one thing.”
“What?”
“Annie’s no longer working with you on this. McCall is.”
Linc shifted his weight. “Look, Lieu, we know from my informant there’s lots of illegal activity at The Hideaway. Some we’re only guessing about at this point. My partner and I have to observe the violations, identify who’s doing what, then write up nightly reports. Anything inaccurate listed in the arrest warrants, any screw-ups during the bust could mean the entire case gets tossed. We also have to be careful how we interact with The Hideaway’s customers and employees—most who probably don’t know the definition of ‘upstanding citizen.’ Annie’s good, she’s got experience at all aspects of this kind of operation.”
“I agree with you, Reilly.” A frown drew Quintana’s dark brows together. “Thing is, Annie’s snagged an assignment to the new Homeland Security task force. Captain Vincent called me at home this weekend to let me know.”
Linc ran a hand through his hair. “How long will she be gone?”
“As long as the task force wants her. You’re teamed with McCall, starting with The Hideaway operation. Bring her up to speed so she’ll be ready by tomorrow night.”
“You’re the boss.” Linc’s expression might have remained impassive, but his tone rang in Carrie’s ears like cold steel.
Quintana nodded, then locked his gaze with hers. “McCall, I had a talk with Captain Vincent. He’s studied your file, says he has confidence in your abilities. Which means he doesn’t put much stock in what that patrol cop’s wife accused you of.”
Heat surged into Carrie’s cheeks while her internal defenses snapped up like a drawbridge. Although the department leaked like a sieve, she had hoped her former lieutenant—who knew she’d been an innocent victim of circumstance—had managed to keep the damn incident under wraps. Apparently not. Great.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Linc angled his head toward her. Carrie didn’t have to look at him to feel his intense scrutiny. Which made her cheeks burn even hotter.
“I assure you, Lieutenant, that woman’s accusation was unfounded. I did nothing inappropriate.”
For Carrie, the knowledge that the wife of one of her fellow patrol officers had stormed the chief’s office to make her unfounded accusations was a continuing cause of mortification. And because her pride was still raw, she added, “I take my work seriously, Lieutenant. The last thing I would do is engage in on-duty lip-lock sessions in the back seat of some patrol car.”
Despite telling herself not to, she glanced at Linc. He stared back at her. Noncommittal. Cop face. Unyielding.
Quintana tapped a pencil against his desk in a sharp staccato rhythm. “McCall, the bottom line here is that the mayor’s office has gotten calls from a citizen wanting this crackdown on The Hideaway. That makes it high profile. Lots of media and political attention at the end. Anything gets screwed up, some—maybe all—of the people we collar walk. That happens, there’ll be hell to pay. It won’t go over well if inappropriate action on some cop’s part screws up this operation.”
Carrie’s nerves tensed. Working an attention-getting case while it was imperative she maintain a low profile was the last thing she needed. But she had orders to get close to Reilly, and The Hideaway was his case. She had no choice.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Lieutenant.” Years ago she’d gotten involved with another cop. When that relationship ended in disaster, she’d made it a rule to avoid romantic entanglements with all cops. As far as Carrie was concerned, that rule was set in stone.
“Good.” Quintana plucked a key off his desk then stood. He moved around the desk, handed Carrie the key as she rose. “We had a man retire last month so you get his desk. He cleared out his paperwork, but I’m not sure what supplies he left. You need anything, get with my secretary. Evelyn’s got paperwork you need to fill out.”
“I’ll see her first thing.” Carrie accepted the key, then picked up the foam cup of coffee she had yet to sample.
“Reilly, point out the empty desk to McCall.”
“Sure.” If he had a problem being harnessed with a new partner, it didn’t show in his face as he stepped back to let her pass out of the office ahead of him.
The squad room was a long rectangle, with a row of grime-streaked windows high up on one wall that let in the gloomy November sunlight. Metal desks stuck out from the walls like boat slips; those placed in the center of the room butted up against each other, front to front. All desks had identical telephones, computers and ancient rolling chairs.
Carrie noted the room’s backwash of noise changed to a murmur when she stepped into view. She sensed eyes watching her while she followed Linc through the maze of putty-colored desks. Any cop new to a unit was a subject of curiosity. In normal circumstances, she would have had to prove herself before she could expect anything other than surface acceptance. That wouldn’t happen here. She’d be yanked from the SEU the instant she ferreted out the evidence that Internal Affairs needed to file charges against Linc Reilly.
If the evidence even existed.
Linc paused at a metal desk as run-down looking as all the others. The nearby wall held a cork bulletin board loaded with yellowed fliers, notes, cartoons and bureaucratic memos.
“This is it,” he said, then flicked his gaze to the cup in her hand. “Guess you didn’t want coffee after all.”
“You’re right, I didn’t.” She sat the foam cup aside and met his gaze. His golden-brown eyes looked a little harder than the floor beneath her feet.
“Look, Reilly, I’m sure you’ve got major concerns over taking on a new partner while you’re involved in a high-profile investigation.”
A muscle in his cheek jerked, but his eyes stayed level. “That sums it up.”
“Your concerns are understandable,” she persisted. “I don’t have delusions of grandeur. I’m not supercop, out to prove how good I am at taking down bad guys. The bottom line is, I’ve never worked undercover. I want to learn as much as you’re willing to teach me. All I ask is that you give me a chance.”
“Fair enough,” he said, his expression impassive.
“Hey, Reilly, you got a call on line three.”
The voice that had Linc glancing across his shoulder belonged to a dark-haired detective with a scraggly beard who sat at a paper-piled desk on the far side of the squad room.
“Put it on hold,” Linc said, then looked back at Carrie.
“After I take this call, I’ll introduce you around the squad. Then I’ll head to Intelligence to get those photos and tag numbers from The Hideaway. I’ll drop the list of car tags off at dispatch. The run should be ready by early afternoon. We can get together then and I’ll bring you up to speed on what we’ve got so far.”
“Thanks, Reilly.”
“Don’t thank me, McCall.” He smiled now, a quick, powerful strike. “You screw up, I’ll be right there in your face.”
“I don’t plan to screw up.”
“Then we shouldn’t have a problem.”
The usual hubbub of ringing telephones, raised voices, rattling coffee cups and clicking computer keys restarted when Carrie settled at her desk. She kept Linc in her sights as he headed across the squad room. His sure, determined walk sent the message he was a man who possessed total confidence in himself and his abilities. Since she was still puzzling over her own reaction to him, she could attest to the power of his physical presence.
Taking a deep breath, she shifted her thoughts to another aspect of the man. Other officers had told her that in a pinch, he was fearless, the type of partner they wanted next to them when there was trouble. It was rumored Reilly could be as ruthless as the dopers, robbers, gang members and killers who had it in for the cops.
Nothing wrong with that, Carrie conceded. Sometimes a cop survived solely because he was as hazardous as the scum with whom he dealt. Problems surfaced when that ferocity pushed a cop to dole out his own form of justice. Became a self-appointed death squad. An avenger.
Had the vicious murder of his wife transformed Reilly into one of those cops? Had the pain and trauma—and no doubt, the guilt—he had suffered transformed him into a rogue who had become judge, jury and executioner?
Before leaving the SEU, Carrie would know the answers to those questions.
Der kostenlose Auszug ist beendet.
