Chapter 8 Macy
MACY
The twinkling flicker of a lit candle dances over the pristine white tablecloth of an elegantly set table.
This restaurant is in one of the city’s most prestigious hotels.
With crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a live pianist playing a gentle melody in the corner, I can see why it has a five-star rating.
My date, Samuel, sits across from me. His eyes scan the menu as often as they appreciatively absorb the only portion of visible skin high on my thighs.
He has no idea that I’m here undercover, and I intend to keep it that way.
Sammy, as he asked me to call him when he opened the passenger-side door of his ride for me and fastened my belt, is a known gang affiliate.
His extensive criminal record indicates that he is involved in a range of illegal activities.
My aim for the past seven weeks has been to gather enough evidence to bring him down, and tonight’s date is a crucial part of that mission.
I didn’t tell Grayson about the real purpose of our date because he would have stopped me from going.
Or worse, he would have helmed my undercover sting, making the situation even more awkward.
Instead, I lied to him, saying I was going out to avoid childbirth with a vagina no one has touched in years.
Since there was a heap of honesty in my concerned expression when I fumbled out my comment, Grayson accepted my excuse.
As I glance around the restaurant, a pang of guilt hits the middle of my chest. Even while working on opposite coastlines, Grayson has always been there for me, supporting me through thick and thin.
But this is something I have to do on my own.
It is impossible to fake an interest in someone when the epitome of your type is instructing your every move via an earpiece.
The hue Grayson’s voice causes my cheeks convinces our targets that we’re seconds from a tumble between sticky sheets. Although I want Sammy to believe the same tonight, I still think it was best to leave Grayson in the dark—for now.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself for the task at hand as Sammy looks up from his menu. A wolfish smirk spreads across his face as lust fires in his hooded gaze. “Have you decided what you want to eat?”
He thinks my dilated eyes are a compliment to his needy smirk.
I’ve yet to reach the same conclusion.
I muster up a fake grin, striving to appear as flirtatious as possible.
“I’ll have the filet mignon.” After closing my menu, I set it aside.
“How about we save our dessert selections until we’ve had the chance to fully peruse the menu?
” I graze my teeth over my lower lip, hiding my wish to gag, while my eyes do the same slow rake of his body as he did to mine earlier.
“Excellent choice.” He signals for the waiter to come over before placing our orders for entrées. “We will have two filet mignons, medium rare, and a bottle of your finest red wine.”
While collecting our menus, the waiter asks, “Dessert?”
Sammy’s eyes are back on me, intense and unwavering. “We’ve not yet decided on what we want to splurge on.” His words are for the server, but his demoralizing stare is solely for me—regrettably. “Perhaps after we’ve eaten, we will have a better idea.”
He’s lying. Sammy has made his decision, and despite my plumped out midsection, he wants to eat me for dessert.
The server nods and scurries off to place our order with the chef, and I take a sip of my water, endeavoring to calm my nerves.
This is just another part of the job, I remind myself.
I can handle this. It’s just weird being undercover while my stomach wiggles excessively.
The baby is as appreciative of Grayson’s stellar cooking skills as my taste buds were when I devoured every morsel of food he served me today.
While waiting for Brandon’s reports to be completed, Grayson and I cooked, ate, and talked. For almost three hours, the weight on my chest lifted enough for me to secure an entire breath. I felt like I was living for me, not just existing to find my sister.
It’s been a while since I did that without guilt. I am confident, however, that the same man was responsible for the changeup.
As we wait for our food, Sammy makes small talk. He asks me about my interests and hobbies. I give him vague answers, not wanting to reveal too much about myself, before steering the conversation back to him, hoping to gather some helpful information.
“So, Sammy, what do you do for a living?” I use his self-appointed nickname with the hope it will encourage him to open up to me. It always works to Grayson’s advantage.
Samuel chuckles before leaning back in his chair. “I dabble in a bit of everything.” His eyes glisten with concealed truths as he runs off a list of accomplishments I’m certain he’ll never achieve. “Real estate, investments, you name it.”
I fake bewitchery. “Sounds fascinating. You must be very successful.”
Samuel smirks, loving the attention. “I do all right.”
As he continues bragging about his accomplishments, my thoughts drift back to Grayson.
I’m not solely conjuring up his cocky attitude.
It is my understanding that he would be furious if he knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t risk him interfering with my investigation.
This case has been solely mine for months, and I need to see it through—even if it means giving birth and attending a debrief with Markwell on the same day.
Our food arrives, and we commence eating. The chef nailed the filet mignon, but I can hardly taste it. I am too focused on the task at hand. I need to get Sammy to talk, to slip up and reveal something incriminating.
If I can do that while still seated at this table, I will take it.
Regretfully, my confidence slips with each passing second. Samuel is practically inhaling his food. I’m not even sure he is chewing. That’s how eager he is to take our date elsewhere.
While pushing my vegetables around my plate, I try again to get him talking here instead of in one of the many rooms above us. “Do you have any big plans for the future?”
Samuel raises a brow, intrigued by my question. Or is it frustration? “Why do you ask?”
I shrug before taking another bite of my steak. “Just curious. You seem the type who always has something in the works.”
He chuckles, pleased by my flattery. “I have a few projects in the pipeline right now.” His tone is conspiratorial. “But I can’t reveal too much just yet.” He winks at me, and I smile, hiding my disappointment with a nicety he doesn’t deserve.
I need more than a gigantic ego.
I need something concrete that paints him as the villain his extensive file portrays him as.
As the evening wears on, I feel increasingly uneasy.
Samuel is dark and brooding, yet also charismatic.
He could woo any lady out of her panties, but even if I weren’t looking at him through the eyes of an agent, I would still see something sinister lurking beneath the surface of his rugged exterior.
I can see it in his eyes and the way he watches me.
It is like a predator sizing up its prey.
Right before I ask another question, trying to postpone Samuel’s umpteenth suggestion that we take our “dessert” elsewhere, his phone buzzes.
He glances at the screen, his expression darkening. “Excuse me for a moment.” He pushes back his chair with force, stands, then heads toward the restroom, his strides urgent.
As he leaves, my mind races with possibilities as to what could be so important that he left in limbo what he is confident is a surefire one-night stand. This could be my last chance to gather evidence while surrounded by enough people to keep the fiery situation modestly contained.
After pulling out my purse, I throw a handful of bills onto the space where the bill would usually sit, and then I slip out of my seat and follow Samuel, keeping a safe distance.
As I approach the restrooms, I pick up his deep timber in a barrage of many. It’s low and urgent. He’s still talking to his caller, and from the sound of it, it isn’t a friendly conversation.
“I told you to handle it.” Samuel’s tone is cold and menacing. “I don’t care how you do it; get it done!”
I press myself against the wall before inching closer, needing to bridge the distance to ensure the microphone I wired into the underwire of my bra picks up his conversation.
My heart strums against my ribs when my efforts pay dividends only seconds later. “I don’t care about your reasoning. When the expiration date arrives, she is disposed of.”
She. He said she. Not a product or an item. She.
I roll my shoulders back, loosening my cleavage’s hold of the mini microphone before attempting to dig it out of its hiding place, worried my frantic pulse will interfere with the audio.
As the microphone replicates the annoying boob-jabber all underwire eventually becomes, Samuel steps out of the restroom. His eyes narrow when he sees me mingling at the entrance of the men’s washroom, but I put on a smile and act natural.
“Hey.” I tickle his broad chest with my nails while inappropriately moaning. My cleavage is even more dangerous now because of my dig, and it keeps Samuel’s brows only half fettered. “Is the coast clear?”
His eyes flicker with recognition, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. “No. The only stall is being used.” I grow weary of my covert operation going bust when he finally speaks the truth instead of dropping numerous hints. “But I have a room at this hotel we can use.”
As I smile at him, my eyes gleam with fraudulent lust. “Lead the way.”
We ride the elevator to the top floor in silence, and the positioning of Samuel’s hand on my lower back steals any chance of updating Grayson on my current location.
Usually, I update my handler on my whereabouts every five minutes during stings like this.
Since Grayson isn’t aware of my mission, I’ve kept my contact more sporadic.
Although he replied to my arrived-at-the-restaurant-in-one-piece text forty-five minutes ago with a thumbs-up emoji, I have no way of updating him on the dramatic turn my investigation has taken.
It’s for the best. He’d demand that I stand down, and when I refused, he’d arrest Samuel before I could get anything useful out of him.
I can’t let that happen. This is the only solid lead I’ve had in months.
“The penthouse of the Aurelia Hotel.” My voice drips with envy, and its high volume ensures my colleagues won’t face any issues deciphering my last known location if I’m found dumped in an industrial waste bin tomorrow morning with my fingers removed and my stomach barren of my child.
My steps into the penthouse suite aren’t as determined as I would like them to be. I can’t stop recalling the horrible procedures the latest female victims in this state endured before someone discarded them, and I am suddenly worried I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Someone stripped those ladies’ babies from their wombs, and I have an inkling that Samuel had something to do with that.
The penthouse suite presents itself in a way you’d expect every fuck pad to appear.
The mood is dark and sexually charged. A pricy bottle of wine rests in an ice bucket next to a large king-size bed.
Soft ambient music plays from the speakers above my head, and chocolate strawberries sit on the desk, which is as bulky as the rest of the furniture.
I move toward the bathroom, faking a wish to freshen up. “I won’t be a minute.”
Even if my contact forces Grayson to arrest Samuel, I owe it to my unborn child to defuse a possibly dangerous situation. Furthermore, this hotel is a thirty-minute drive from my apartment. I am bound to get something out of Samuel before Grayson arrives. I’ll make sure of it.
Just as I’m about to enter the bathroom, Samuel seizes my wrist and tugs me back. I reach for my gun when our bodies violently collide, but leave it in its mini holster when Samuel’s lips crash into mine half a second later.
He isn’t calling out our date as fraudulent.
He is attempting to swoon me.
He would have a better chance if his mouth didn’t taste like garbage. The flavoring of the filet mignon isn’t potent enough to overtake the horrible tones of stale cigars and cheap liquor.
Inching back, I act breathless from his disgusting kiss. “Just a minute. A girl needs to prepare before being mauled like that.”
My falsified flattery fluffs out Samuel’s groin, and the gap it forces between us exposes another horrifying fact.
A red dot is lighting up Samuel’s temple.
It is the obvious kill shot of a skilled marksman.
When Samuel’s focus shifts to my exposed neck, too impatient to let a girl think, much less give consent, I shoot my eyes in the direction the sniper light is coming from.
My heart launches into my throat when I spot the steely blue eyes of Grayson staring back at me. He’s lying in the oversized tub in the bathroom, peering down the scope of a weapon that will leave Samuel without a brain cell when its bullet rockets through his skull.
Many thoughts whistle through the gallows of my overworked head, but only one sounds on repeat. How did Grayson find me so fast?
Anyone would swear the first thing he did when I left was bring up every morsel of information about my date. He’s acting like a neurotic ex, and it does wild things to my insides that Samuel’s attention could never replicate.
Although my insides are tap dancing, it doesn’t change the facts. I need intel, and I needed it yesterday.
While moaning like I haven’t noticed how much spit Samuel has left on my neck, I silently plead for Grayson to give me professional courtesy, to acknowledge that I’m as good an agent as he is.
I have what it takes to bring Samuel down, even more so now that Grayson is here, handling the situation.
I just need him to have faith in me, to believe in me as I have always believed in him.
Although Grayson’s expression doesn’t alter, the fact that Samuel’s hand makes its way to my breast without incident announces his decision. He trusts me, and I trust him, and the knowledge is addictive enough to make me giddy.