Page 23 of Perfect Vengeance

“Why are they unavailable?” She reached out to the table behind the sofa where he sat and plucked something silver from a crystal bowl. Her fingers made quick work of unwrapping silver foil from whatever she’d grabbed.

“They’re on other assignments. Unlike what you see on TV, the FBI doesn’t have unlimited resources.” And if SAC Morrison ever found out he was in the field against orders, without medical clearance, and all while recruiting an unsanctioned FBI cooperator, Jack would be toast.

He grimaced as he identified the shiny brown ball in Gina’s fingers just before she popped it into her mouth.

Chocolate.

His stomach lurched. Chocolate was like hemlock to his body.

“Then why not wait until they are available?” she asked between chews.

He hesitated. He’d already disclosed enough about the bugs. Discussing the existence of sealed court documents violated so many federal policies, he could get suspended without pay for a month. Then again, if he didn’t convince Gina to help him, he could kiss his investigation goodbye, and with it his only chance of nailing the Falzones for what they did to Jim Spencer.

And to so many others he’d lost count.

A nauseating whiff of chocolate blew into his face, nearly making him heave. “The court order authorizing the bugs expires this Thursday at midnight.”

“Can’t you get an extension?” Even with her mouth half filled with chocolate, it was obvious from the tone in her voice she thought he was the most brainless agent on the planet. “Or why not just get another court order for another bug? You are the great and powerful FBI, are you not? Able to leap tall buildings, stop speeding locomotives, and all that other superhero stuff?”

“Great.” He rolled his eyes. “A thief with a sense of humor.”

“You have no idea.” Her mouth curved into an impish smile that left him struggling to ignore how beautiful she was.

“There are no more extensions and no more court orders,” he growled. “Either I get this bug planted fast, or my investigation is over.”

“Okay, I get the picture.” She swallowed and headed for the love seat opposite where he sat. Her catsuit made soft swishing noises as she walked. She sat on the arm of the chair, swinging her leg back and forth. “But I still don’t understa—” Her mouth fell open. “You want me to plant the bug for you?”

“Not exactly. I’ll plant the bug, but I need your cat burglar skills to get me inside.”

“Oh, no.” She quit swinging her leg and began waving her finger at him. “I’m not about to start playing spy games for Uncle Sam.” The expression of disbelief on her face echoed her words. “I’d rather be sucked out of an airplane window at thirty thousand feet.”

Using his good hand, he reached to the small of his back and whipped out a set of handcuffs, letting them dangle on the tips of his fingers. “There’s always the alternative.”

“I’ll hire a good lawyer.” She held her head high, but her voice wavered. “Any judge who hears why I did this would only give me probation.”

“Doubtful.” He looped the cuffs over the front of his belt where she could still see them. “Charges are way too stiff, and you’d have to ID your accomplices and name the women’s shelter. As soon as you walk out the door of the courthouse, the mob will come after you and the shelter for their money. Trust me, they won’t be sympathetic to your cause.” And within a week, Gina Perot would be as dead as Jim Spencer.

His gut roiled at the image of her body floating in New York Harbor. He felt like garbage for what he had to do next. Play on her Achilles’ heel.

“Think about your friends,” he said in a low voice. “Prison doesn’t exactly cater to rich women accustomed to having their hair coiffed and their nails manicured on a weekly basis.”

Her perfect brows furrowed. The anger shooting at him only seconds ago was gone, replaced by fear. Not for herself, he was sure. For her friends. He had to admire her loyalty, but the job came first. It had to.

She slid fully onto the love seat and grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to her chest. After another minute, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “I take full responsibility for everything.” Her voice trembled. “I still won’t tell you who my friends are.”

“You don’t really have to.” He watched her fingers dig deeper into the pillow. “The visitors log downstairs in the lobby is a road map to whoever you’ve been palling around with. I can also subpoena your phone records. With or without your cooperation, in a few days I’ll have your friends’ names, addresses, where they play tennis, polo, and wherever else rich, pampered women go to spend money.”

“Please, don’t do that.” Her voice was soft, pleading. With her face still mostly in shadow, he couldn’t be certain but was she about to⁠—

He reached for the stained-glass lamp on the sofa end table and yanked on the metal beaded pull cord. Ah, hell. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He swallowed the big lump of guilt choking his windpipe. She was a thief, but unlike most, she was also a real do-gooder. Not like the usual lowlifes he busted.

To her credit, she sniffed back the tears before a single drop spilled.

There is a god.

Anger he could take. Cursing he would understand. Even projectiles—bullets and knives—aimed at his head he could tolerate.

Her waterworks affected him like no other woman’s ever had.