Chapter 15
15
DAX
Instead of opening the store back up, I spent a half an hour in Hannah’s office erasing the interior security feeds. I’d never made a sex tape before, but I had to admit, watching it back was hot as hell. The longer I watched, the more possessive I became. No one else should see Fiona this way. Uninhibited. Wild. Mine.
Because every bit of pleasure I saw flit across her face was from me.
After downloading a still shot of Fiona entering the store, I hit Delete and made the past two hours of feed disappear. If Jack had a problem with a gap, he needed to tell his woman to find workers who didn’t have exploding appendixes.
I called Nitro. “I just emailed you a photo. ”
“Okay, hang on.” I heard a roll of wheels then fingers clacking on a keyboard. He was in his office, tucked away like a bat cave. Even when he wasn’t in there, I’d never known him not to have a computer or a laptop or tablet nearby.
“Her name is Fiona,” I offered.
“You’re just raking in the ladies up there in Coal Springs. Maybe I need to check the place out.”
“This is the woman from the convenience store. She came into Hannah’s shop.” I also came in Hannah’s shop, but I left that out. “I’m guessing you’re still waiting for the report on the robbery. Start with the photo and see if you get any facial matches, then move on to her name and–”
“Got it.”
I blinked. It’d barely been ten seconds. “What? Already?”
“I’m that good.” I could hear his self-satisfied smile in his words.
“I don’t want to insult the size of your ego because I need you to keep working for me,” I muttered. I had him on retainer for whatever intel I needed dug up. If I was going to fix things for shady people, I always needed to know what I was walking into first.
“I’m that good, but I also got an immediate hit because she’s in the FBI database.”
I stared at her photo on the computer monitor. She looked like she was headed to paint pottery or something. What the fuck? “She’s a criminal? Her? She’s wearing a fucking cardigan. ”
“She looks hot as hell in it, too.”
I wanted to reach through the phone and rip his head off for even noticing, but I was stuck on the fact that she was a criminal. A frying pan to the side of the head would have been less stunning. “She literally said she stopped the convenience store robbery because he was breaking the law. That’s like calling up the IRS and telling them they gave too big of a tax return.”
It made no sense. Sure, she was a stickler. Neat and tidy. Hair and makeup perfect. Pussy bare, which meant high maintenance, but wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. With a gun and with me. She did carry a weapon. She did have the moves. She did have lady balls and didn’t break into any kind of sweat under pressure. What the hell did the FBI have on her? Tax fraud? Card counting? Embezzlement?
“She’s not a criminal,” Nitro said, breaking into my thoughts. “It’s worse.”
I popped to my feet and paced the small office. “Worse?”
“She’s Fiona Whitaker, FBI Agent, Denver field office.”