Force of Attraction (3 page)

“Good.” Lattimore smiled at Cole. “I'd like you to meet the team leader and your potential partner in our task force operation.”

“Great.”
Task force operation.
Not about Scott. This was about her, after all.

Cole stood up, preparing a smile of welcome for whomever stood on the other side of the door. Perhaps she was doing better in the interview than she thought, if Lattimore was prepared to introduce her to the team leader.

“Show him in, Pierce.”

One second, Cole was rising with a polite smile of welcome on her face. The very next, she was trying to control her breathing.

“Hello, Nikki.”

She knew that voice. That face. And those damned seductive dimples.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

For two years, she had engineered things so that she would never again have to be in the same room with Scott Lucca. That plan had been working just fine, right up to a second ago.

 

CHAPTER TWO

“Come in, Agent Lucca.”

While Lattimore shook Scott's hand, Cole gave in to the dozen conflicting emotions surging past her defenses. She was a police officer. She knew how to take care of herself in tense and dangerous situations. Yet, she had no idea of how to handle her reaction to this man.

He seemed taller. Or maybe it was his hair. He was no longer a skinhead, only one of the things she had hated about his undercover persona. His dark hair grew thick and tousled, as if he'd been riding his Harley without a helmet. God, how that habit had worried her. And he'd lost that prison-time, balloon-muscle physique he had deliberately cultivated their last few months together. The body beneath his dress shirt and trousers was leaner, more sinewy. Like his face.

Something inside Cole twisted with painful longing. He looked as dangerous and wild as the night they'd met.

The last time she saw him—two years, three weeks, and one huge heartache ago—he was being detained for public lewdness and suspected drug possession, and she was one of the arresting officers. Now she was being confronted with—

Task force leader?

“I don't suppose introductions are necessary, in this instance.”

“No, sir.” Cole turned back to Lattimore while her mind and body continued to react to her ex's surprise appearance in so many ways she couldn't keep up. Even worse, some of the sensations were more pleasurable than they had any right to be. That was a very bad sign.

She felt Scott move to stand behind her. “Officer Jamieson and I go way back. At least there won't be any awkward getting-to-know-you period for us.”

Cole shifted uneasily as Scott spoke. He gave off the kind of sexual energy women craved and other men envied. She felt it now, a vibe she knew too well. It said,
Pay attention, danger here
.

Cole focused her attention on Lattimore though she could feel Scott's gaze on her back like radiant heat from a fire. “Sir, Agent Lucca and I are—were—we're divorced.”

“So I've been informed.” Lattimore's knowing gaze moved back and forth between them. “That's not a problem, is it?”

“That depends.” Cole felt the embers of anger stir within her as she turned fully to confront her ex. “Why is he here?”

“We're going to be working together.” Scott hadn't moved and he didn't smile. Yet, for a moment, it seemed as if his aloof tough-guy expression shifted as he stared at her.

Once she thought she'd seen the full measure of her worth in his sea-green gaze. That's why it hurt so much when she realized her mistake.

He had let me go.

Cole did an about-face and smacked right into the back of the chair she had been sitting in. Ignoring the sharp pain shooting through her kneecap, she looked at her interviewer.

“Sorry, sir. I—ah, thank you for the opportunity but I'm not the best choice for whatever position I have been interviewing for.”

Lattimore held her in a stare just short of a disapproving glare. “I understood you had a cordial relationship.”

“I believe I said professional.”

Cole turned at the sound of Scott's voice. He offered her a sketch of a smile. “We have a professional, cordial relationship. Right, Officer Jamieson?”

Cole ignored his attempt to get her to join in his little joke, praying that no signs of her volatile emotions were on display. She would be a professional, if it killed her. “I haven't seen you in two years. If that's your definition of cordial, then we are cordial.”

She shifted her attention back to Lattimore. “If I am being interviewed for a position that would require me to interact with Agent Lucca, then I must respectfully decline.”

Lattimore frowned. “You're saying you won't consider an offer because Officer Lucca is part of it?”

“I'm saying Officer Lucca can—” Cole swallowed hard, appalled that she had allowed emotion to leak into her voice.

She squared her shoulders, resisting the urge to simply walk out. “There is a history between Agent Lucca and myself that did not end well. Future association would not improve that history. But thank you all the same.”

Lattimore rose from his seat with a sour expression. “Then we're done. Thank you for your time, Officer Jamieson.”

Cole shook the hand he offered, more eager than her interviewer to have the meeting over with. “Sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Lattimore.”

Scott hadn't moved from his position. He waited, arms loosely folded, until she was close before he spoke. “Don't you even want to hear why you were chosen to be part of this task force?”

*   *   *

“She works on paper.” Lattimore turned a world-weary gaze on Scott and shook his head. “But I doubt, in any case, that she would have been able to get close to our target.”

Scott, who managed to lounge on the hard unforgiving chair his ex had abandoned, frowned. Two minutes before, she had stormed out past him without a reply. “Why? Who's the target?”

His superior toyed with the pencil on his desk. Scott knew it wasn't nervousness powering Lattimore's fingers. It was a diversion while he calculated how much to reveal. That bland expression on his everyman's face hid a sharp and perceptive mind. He was an old hand in the bureau, and tough as nails. “Let's just say our prime target is a young, wealthy, and hip female.”

“How hip?”

“Hip-hop hip.”

Scott got a mental picture of Beyoncé, followed by one of Nikki in her unisex police officer's uniform. Okay. Big gap. But he knew something practically no one else knew about her. “What if I can bring her up to speed?”

Lattimore's eyebrows climbed to skeptical heights. “Officer Jamieson said no in terms that left no gaps between the
n
and the
o.
”

“True. But I know her. She'll want this. Give me a few days.”

Lattimore seemed to consider it, for three seconds, before shaking his head. “We don't have much time. The series of canine competitions we hope to insert our undercover operation into begins in just three weeks. We can't train a green agent to play against type, bring her up to speed on the technical aspects of the competitions, and set up sufficient covert surveillance in that space of time.”

“She won't be surveillance. That's my job. You need a female agent who can believably compete on the dog competition circuit. As you know from the department research, there aren't half a dozen females in law enforcement East Coast division who've had experience. Nikki has. She's here. She's ready. As for her appearance? She's a woman. Change her clothing and hair, you change her attitude.”

Lattimore's lids lowered. “You'd trust her with your life?”

“Yes.” Scott didn't allow himself to think before he spoke. He knew the truth would come out. “She's what you need. Let me prove it.”

Lattimore laughed, as if astonished he was going to give in. “She hates your guts.”

“I noticed.” Scott shrugged. “So when she pulls off what I'm thinking of, it will be proof she's got the acting skills as well as the canine skills to go undercover.”

Lattimore's gray eyes turned into ice chips. “How badly did you hurt her?”

“It wasn't like that.” Scott knew Lattimore was thinking of the awful record of law enforcement personnel whose marriages blew apart because of issues stemming from physical abuse. “Our marriage was collateral damage from my time undercover.”

Lattimore turned and stared out his window so long Scott began to think he was dismissed. When he turned back, his face was grim.

“Don't lie to her about the risk. Or the likelihood of failure.”

“No, sir.”

“And don't think I won't change you out for another team leader if that's the only way to get her agreement. You are right in that her skill set is the priority. DEA has other K-9 drug teams.”

“Yes, sir.”

Scott was on the other side of the door before allowing himself to consider how he thought he might convince Nikki to let him near her, let alone close enough to make other people believe they were a couple who shared the love of competition in the canine arena.

 

CHAPTER THREE

“How did you get my address?”

“You forgot this yesterday.” Scott held up the deputy's hat she'd left behind in Baltimore.

Cole stared at him through the storm door of her home that separated them. “Leave it by the door.”

Instead, he twirled it around his finger.

Cole folded her arms, unimpressed by the smile beneath his reflective shades. He had caught her just as she returned from night patrol or she wouldn't have bothered to open the door.

Scott whipped off his shades and pocketed them, then reached for the door handle. “I've come to tell you about our task force.”

Cole didn't move to open the door. There was something very intimidating about looking her ex in the eye, even with a locked door between them. Force of personality. Scott had it in spades.

“Why don't you just tell me from there?”

He slid a finger along the length of the door handle. “If you're nervous about being alone with me I can wait while you call a fellow officer for backup.”

“That won't be necessary. Hugo.
Hier!
”

From deep within the house Scott heard guttural growls followed by deep otherworldly barking that would not have been out of place in a horror movie. Two seconds later, a huge shaggy black canine appeared and struck fist-size paws on the glass of the storm door at chest level. Scott stepped back instinctively, despite the barrier between them. Crap. Nikki's K-9 partner looked like Batman in a black bear suit.

“Hugo.
Platz.”
Cole used German, the official language for canine instruction for most police K-9 teams nationwide. That way Hugo would know he was on the job.

Hugo immediately dropped prone at her feet but his ears remained pricked forward, his doggy body trembling at full alert for her next command.

Cole smirked as she looked up at Scott. “You still think talking is a good idea?”

He met her hostile gaze through the now smudged glass. “Is that an invitation to enter?”

She watched him for maybe four seconds longer. “Stay there.” She turned away from the door, taking the fuzzy Dark Knight with her.

She was gone a while. Two years ago he would have been banging on the door in irritation after thirty seconds. He'd learned a few things since then. To distract himself, Scott pulled out his cell phone and checked his mail.

She seemed surprised to find him still waiting when she returned but she didn't say a thing. She simply unlatched the door before swiftly stepping back.

Scott remained in the foyer as he gave her living area a thorough perusal. No dog. Then he saw the gate across the kitchen entry at the far side of the room. Hugo must be behind those bars. Big-ticket item on his list of possible concerns accounted for.

The living area was small. Neat. He didn't recognize a single stick of furniture or see any other evidence of their married life. Nothing to remind her that she had once been part of an “us.” That realization stung as his gaze came to rest on her. Had she really left
them
behind, or was she still running from memory, just as he had done?

Nikki had put enough distance between them so that she could maneuver, if necessary. She had also stripped off her windbreaker but she had not removed her weapons belt.

A frown tugged his brow as Scott dropped her hat into a nearby chair. Did she really think he presented a danger to her in any way?

He watched her check him out, as if he were a suspect. He was wearing his favorite pair of jeans, so faded and worn and frayed at the cuffs they looked like he lived in them, which he pretty much did off duty. His faded Redskins T-shirt hugged his torso, making it difficult but not impossible to conceal his badge and gun. As he watched, her gaze paused fractionally to check for telltale bulges of weapons in all the usual concealment places.

Fine. If that's the way she wanted to go. He assumed an at-ease posture and returned the inspection.

She wore a fitted dark blue T-shirt with her police department insignia. The dark cargo pants tucked into her tactical boots emphasized both her narrow waist and female hips. Her sun-streaked light brown hair was pinned up in a messy ponytail that left loose strands to frame her face.

At first glance, a man might not think of her as a babe. Oh, pleasant enough, with those big hazel eyes and so full lips, but vulnerable, not at all law-enforcement material. He knew from intimate experience that there was another woman just under the calm exterior Officer Nicole Jamieson showed the world. That woman could kiss like it was the last kiss at the end of the world and make a man okay with that, because she was there with him.

Yet when she looked directly at him, as now, that level law enforcement gaze from beneath her brows came across as forceful and defiant, yet compellingly female in a way that still got under his guard and messed with his mind without permission.