I check the screen. Unknown number.
“Shit, it might be Alex.” Josie takes it from me. “Josephine Bright speaking.”
“Ms Bright,” Agent Pilkin’s voice is brisk, professional. “I’m calling about your offer. I’ve spoken to my people, and we’d like to arrange a meet to discuss the terms.”
Josie puts the phone on speaker so I can hear.
“Define discuss.”
Josie’s switch to badass professional is so quick I’m worried I’ll get whiplash. Her expression shutters, her shoulders rolling back as her professional mode kicks in.
Christ. I told her I love her, and now I’m watching her prove exactly why. She’s magnificent—beautiful, confident, calm.
Mine.
“We’re interested enough to coordinate a joint operation. We’ve been building a case against Caruso for years. Your evidence could be the final piece we need.”
“And our conditions?”
“Full immunity for your people. Protection if needed. The Bureau takes down Caruso and his leadership; your people stay out of the official records.”
Josie and I exchange looks. It’s more than we expected.
“What’s the timeline?” Josie asks.
“We can have teams in position within seventy-two hours. We’ll need your surveillance footage, your intel on the warehouse layout, and complete cooperation during the operation.”
“You’ll have it,” I say. “But my people stay clear of the raid itself. This is your show, Agent. We’re just providing the opening.”
“Understood. I’ll be in touch with coordinates for the evidence handoff.”
The line goes dead.
Josie lets out a breath. “That was faster than I expected.”
“They want Caruso badly.” I pull her back against me. “And thanks to you, they’re going to get him.”
“Thanks to Steel. He’s the one who cracked their security.”
“Steel got the footage. You got the FBI to actually use it.” I kiss her forehead. “We make a good team.”
“We do.” She tilts her face up, inviting a real kiss. “Now take me home. We have seventy-two hours before everything goes sideways, and I intend to spend at least some of that time in bed with you.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The ride back to the clubhouse is torture.
Josie’s hand rests on my thigh—her newly freed hand, pale and slightly weak but functional—and she keeps tracing patterns that inch higher and higher with every mile.
“You’re playing with fire,” I warn her.
“Maybe I want to get burned.”
“Josie—”
“Eyes on the road, Mr. President.” Her fingers brush dangerously close to where I’m already hard for her. “Safety first.”
“You’re going to pay for this.”
