Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
But my argument died on my lips as I drank him in. Even after spending the night devouring every inch of him, I still couldn’t stop staring at his perfectly chiseled body. The jeans clung to his hips, low enough to showcase the deep v-lines at his hips. My fingers twitched as I dragged my eyes over his washboard abs and up his sculpted chest.
So. Not. Fair.
“Tori, you keep eye-fucking me like that, and I’m not gonna be responsible for what I do to you.”
I laughed and raised my eyebrows. “Oh really?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bennett
I could fuck Tori all day and night, but eventually, I had to let her go, and letting her walk out of my hotel suite was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Second only to leaving her in Vegas the first time.
“Shit,” I groaned, rubbing my hand over my jaw. I just hoped to hell I was making the right decision.
For both of us.
Once Tori was gone, I called Richie’s burner phone to try and arrange the meeting. I held my breath as the phone rang and rang. If Richie bailed now, I’d be fucked. The whole sting would go down, and the case I’d spent years building would go up in flames right in front of my eyes.
No. I wouldn’t let it. Richie was going to play his motherfuckin’ part, or I’d kill him myself.
“Starr?”
My shoulders relaxed back down at Richie’s clipped tone. “Yeah. We need to talk.”
Something muffled sounded on the other end of the line. Then Richie cut back in, “What’s up?”
“I need to move this shit now. Tonight. Your guys ready?”
“What’s the rush?”
I raked a hand over my hair, feigning agitation. “I told you. I’m going to the Middle East, and I either move this shit tonight, or it’s all going south of the border. I need to get it moved.”
“Shit. Feds up your ass?”
“No. Why would they be? You know something I don’t?”
“No. Just asking. I don’t know how I feel about this yet.”
“Well, it’s time to make your move. You in or out?”
Take the fuckin’ bait, asshole.
Silence spanned over too many long-ass seconds on his side of the call before Richie answered, “All right. I’ll make it happen. Give me thirty.”
He hung up before I could consent.
He called back fifteen minutes later and rattled off a list of strict, concise instructions. There was no room for error. I was to follow his plan to the letter, or he’d bail, and I’d be stuck holding the shipment.
Once we got off the phone, I used my secure, government-issued line to call my boss with the FBI. Since the job had required me to be in deep cover, it had been several weeks since my last check-in. I briefed him on my whereabouts and the plan for the exchange.
Three hours later, I left my hotel suite with two sets of vastly different plans. And I had to follow both. Or watch the entire op burn.
At nine o’clock sharp, I arrived at Parkston’s, pulled into the valet parking, and waited on the valet.
“Shit, this is insane,” I muttered, raking my hands through my hair. My eyes snapped to the rearview mirror. I looked fuckin’ terrified. My eyes were wide, pupils dilated and so dark they looked black with worry lines around them and creased between my eyebrows. I needed to get it together. I couldn’t blow this op. It simply wasn’t an option.
For my sake, for Tori’s sake, and hell, for the sake of those who’d be affected if the mass destruction weapons reached the black market. The plan was that Richie would transfer the money. We’d go to the warehouse. He’d take ownership, and it would be done.
The only catch was that the FBI had supplied the weapons. Each one had a high-tech, undetectable to the naked eye, microscopic tracking device implanted inside so they could be tracked to whomever Richie and the Sanderson family sold them to. Once they all found their way to their new homes, the feds would move in, scooping up Richie and any of the other Sanderson’s involved in the sale, as well as the dirty gun dealers that sell them out the back door to gang bangers, drug dealers, and criminals. Most of whom would probably flip on the Sanderson’s and allow us to dismantle their entire network.
As long as everything went off without a hitch—I’d be done with the case and move on.
With Tori.
I wasn’t wearing a wire or any other communication device that linked me to the FBI—or anyone for that matter. I was going in without a net. Once the exchange was complete, I’d make my way to a secure location and call my boss. They’d flip on the tracking devices and wait to see where the weapons went.
Then, I’d drive away, with Tori in the passenger seat, and we could both start over somewhere else.