But where would she go? California slipped into her mind, thanks to Jake talking about it last night. How would it feel to walk along the beach at sunset without a care in the world? A ridiculous thought; she didn’t know a soul there, and how would she earn a living? But still, a nice thought.
“Elena,”—Rachael bit off the word, ‘if’—“when you get out, where will you go?”
“Oh, that’s easy, girl. I’m going to the beach. Drink piña coladas, teach my little girl to swim.”
A coincidence. Rachael grinned. “I’ll meet you there.”
“You go meet Jake first.”
“Will do.”
After goodbyes, Rachael ended the call, determined to see Jake that night. One last hurrah before she talked him into leaving, even if she had to scare him into it with stories of what Daddy had men do for him.
And not always men. Sometimes his own daughter, his little girl.
Rachael shooed away the blackbirds in her head like her mama had taught her. She showered, then spent a ridiculous amount of time going through her closet looking for something that would work for The Hideaway’s stage. Bill had said come back anytime so she was going to test that tonight. She might even get Bill to help her convince Jake he needed to leave. It was no secret in these parts that Ross was not a friendly town, and if you stayed too long, it devoured you.
Rachael’s arms prickled with goosebumps. She was actually doing this, defying her father and living the way she wanted to live, even if it was in secret for now. Her reflection in the full-length mirror smiled at her. She didn’t look half-bad in the little black dress she’d ordered a couple months ago. Paired with silver mules and some bangles, she liked what she saw and hoped Jake would, too. When she’d dressed up the day before, she’d caught Jake stealing looks at her even before they went out, and it was worth the snide remarks she’d gotten from a couple of the other guys.
Now, what to sing? Rachael looked at her bedroom reflected in the mirror and her eyes landed on the duvet cover on her bed.Could I? She went to the bed and unbuttoned the bottom of the cover. She reached inside, found the tear she’d made in the comforter, and pulled out a small red spiral-bound notebook. She leafed through pages of lyrics and musical notations while her heart sped up. Just the idea of singing her own songs made her nervous…and excited. Most of the songs reflected her hopes and fears, jabs at Daddy in verse.
Rachael bit her lip. Without giving it any more thought, she shoved the notebook into her little backpack, slipped on her shoes and went to the car.
Where she sat behind the wheel, deliberating. She had Jake’s address and phone from the HR files at work. Should she call him first or just show up? Was that too stalkery? But if she called him and he said no, she might never work up her courage again.
This is crazy. I’m crazy. There is definitely something seriously wrong with me.
But last night’s kiss. The passion could not be denied. She’d felt it through his jeans. Rachael shivered at the memory, even as it heated her up inside. He’d say yes. Wouldn’t he?
She turned the key and the engine started.Either way, it’s time to find out.
And she did, when she stopped at the traffic light in front of Muddy’s and saw Jake’s bike parked beside Hank’s truck.
Thirteen
Jake reluctantly left Rachael at her house. He reviewed and uploaded the recordings he’d made at The Hideaway as soon as he got to his apartment while listening to the mice (he hoped it was only mice) scrabbling around behind the walls. The next time Camden came through town, he’d turn the microchip itself over to him. Camden would give him extra shit over making sure the chain of custody was completely filled out on the ELSUR envelope. Jake couldn’t afford any slip-ups.
He went to bed where he tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about Rachael and their kiss, and everything that meant. The alternative was to dwell on his job, but that wouldn’t help him fall asleep, either. Jake’s boss, Natalie Giovani, would read the accompanying notes he’d just uploaded and listen to the relevant bits on the recording, then call him Saturday to review the mission’s progress—not something he was looking forward to. He’d already taken too much time and had found no evidence of the missing USDA inspector, Agent Tom Smiley, though he was building a case against Deal.
As his thoughts drifted back to the kiss, his cock went hard. Remembering the feel of Rachael pressed against his chest, the way her mouth eagerly took his tongue in, her sweet taste of vanilla, Jake groaned and wrapped his fist around his pulsing dick. He moved his hand up and down his shaft, cupping his fingers over the tip to spread the pre-cum down, fantasizing it was Rachael’s juices coating his cock. He jerked faster and harder, stroking his balls with his other hand, pausing three or four times before coming, building up the tension as he ran a single wet finger along his shaft—Rachael’s tongue in his imagination—letting the desire crest until it finally took him over the edge into bliss.
The next morning saw Jake tired and cranky, wanting nothing more than to go see Rachael and pick up where they left off, pretend everything was normal, that he wasn’t an undercover agent who had the power to save her or destroy her life. But that wasn’t going to happen unless he wanted to kiss the FBI goodbye. He was already balls-deep in hot water when Natalie assigned him to this backwater cold case instead of letting him chase down terrorists like all the good little FBI agents got to do.
He’d been written up for insubordination after how things went down with Kathleen, but did he have any regrets? Nope. She was where she belonged and that’s what counted to him, even if he’d had to bend rules to do it, and it seemed to be more important to the higher-ups to bust his balls than getting a notorious drug dealer off the streets, one responsible for kids OD’ing.
There were days like today when Jake wondered why he was even with the FBI anymore. Then he thought of what his family had been through, his mom especially, and he kept on going.
This case was supposed to either redeem him or sink him. To her credit, Natalie fought to keep Jake, and made sure he had what he needed to be successful. Jake’s current apartment was decorated courtesy of the Department of Justice, pulled straight from his agency’s undercover inventory of crap forfeited from drug dealers busted during transactions. His kitchen table once held kilos of heroin while the chairs cradled the asses of scumbags divvying it up to sell on the streets to folks who couldn’t get their oxy and had to settle for less. He didn’t even want to think about the stories his beat-up loveseat could tell. Even the forfeited truck he drove was straight out of the UC lot. Nat made sure all the requisite paperwork was filled out and filed properly—i’s dotted, t’s crossed, hair combed, teeth brushed, and put to bed after prayers.
Even better, she allowed for Camden to work the case in support, flying out to Denver and driving the rig they kept in storage near the airport, even though he had more important cases. And his partner Camden wouldn’t have it any other way.
So if Jake failed, it was all on him.
Which made his growing need for Rachael a problem and this upcoming briefing a potential nightmare.
While Jake thought about all the ways he could spin last night’s ‘date’ for lack of a better word, he made himself a peanut butter sandwich in the kitchenette. He would have loved corned beef piled high with horseradish, but he’d discovered the hard and nauseating way that the fridge kept things cold but not cold enough to actually keep them fresh. That disgusting bite into his rotting meat sandwich and his subsequent switch to shelf-stable food made him hate Ernest Deal all the more. Basically, he was paying Daddy rent for an oversized cooler good for beer and nothing else.
Jake’s laptop chimed, letting him know that Natalie was Skyping in. He sat down at the table and accepted the request.
