1
Steward
Have you ever felt naked while fully clothed?
“Your boyfriend’s an ass,“
Mason said, his voice low. “Want me to take him out?”
I laughed despite the guilt coiled around my chest, making breathing difficult. “Ex-boyfriend. And I’m not sure that would help.”
“It’d make me feel better,“
Mason muttered and then paused, like a bomb about to detonate. “Captain Jessup will cool off—”
“I’m fine.“
My gaze returned to the massive cruise ship with RNJ Ocean Jewel across the bow, my phone still clutched in my hand.
“Clean up your fucking mess, Agent Janes.“
The words not said were louder. Or don’t bother returning.
Losing this assignment—being sent back to the FBI headquarters—would devastate me.
“He fooled all of us.”
“Don’t—“
I choked on my words. What if my mistake ruined our case? A year’s worth of progress, gone? “Don’t coddle me, mate. I’m. Fine.”
His jaw tightened. Detective Liam Mason of the Springfield Police Department was massive. Intimidating. And a minimalist. He used as few words as possible to convey his message.
And right now, his tight jaw and impressive biceps told me he wasn’t buying my crap.
I opened my mouth again, but what could I say? Finding Dale with a blond twink—he obviously had a type—was devastating, but it wasn’t the worst part.
“Are you sure about this, Stewart?“
Mason raised his hand to stop my protest. “It’s been a rough two days. And I don’t care what Jessup says, you’re not a field agent.”
“Can I tell her you said that?“
I touched my fingertips to my thumb in rapid succession—a nervous habit that helped me think. As an analyst and techie for the FBI, on loan to the Springfield Police Department, I was normally behind a screen. Yet this assignment was on board a cruise ship, where I’d spend four days surrounded by people and water. I wasn’t a fan of either.
“Stewart—”
“This is my mess. I have to fix it.”
“Your ex is a fucking idiot.“
The venom in his words soothed something in me. Mason was on my side. Always. “That wasn’t an act.”
“Fair point. Dale can rewire a house, but he couldn’t figure out his own network.”
He snorted. “You hacked his Wi-Fi.”
“Oi, mate. I was the one who set it up in the first place.“
I bit back a smile. Dale had been furiously texting me until I blocked him. He didn’t appreciate me changing the name to AWankerLivesHere. It didn’t solve anything, but it helped ease the sting of betrayal. Until I found Discord messages going back months between him and princess_with_a_P (followed by a peach emoji).
Amid the flirty messages were discussions of a more transactional nature. Money in exchange for information on Representative Andrew Carter of Missouri’s 47th district. Was this opportune, or had it been Dale’s plan all along?
Representative Carter had popped up in several high-profile SPD cases. Our subsequent unofficial investigation into him was hush-hush.
How did Dale find out? And was he using this cruise to sell information?
Mason checked his watch. “Time to go, Alexa.“
His annoying habit of comparing me to an automated bot was so normal that it released some of my tension.
I squared my shoulders. I could do this. Stake out my ex and his princess. Save our investigation.
And regain the trust of my team.
Once we were on the ship, Mason left me at the coffee bar with a reminder to blend in. Not that I needed one. But then I turned and bumped into an older woman, causing her to drop her phone.
I grudgingly joined the queue at the coffee bar. I disliked coffee. The taste. The smell.
They also had tea, but what did it matter? They were just props. A reason to be here.
I tucked my hands under my arms to stop the shaking.
Just a bloke on holiday.
Stalking his ex and his princess. No sign of them yet.
A young couple snuck kisses as they waited for the line to move, and I tried to ignore the twinge of longing.
What would it be like to have someone look at me like that? The same way Mason looked at his football-coach boyfriend.
You’re done with men, Stewart. Focus on the job.
“Dude?“
The deep voice held an edge of panic, and I spun around. He was big and muscly, with hazel eyes and a rakish smile that was there and gone. “Your shoes are on fire.”
“What?“
I stomped my feet, my heart stuttering, and glanced down. But my sequined gold loafers that completed my twink-on-holiday cover were not, in fact, on fire. I glared at him. Or tried to.
He was gone.
A woman with tired eyes, holding a squirming infant and clutching the hand of a toddler, nodded forward.
Twirling, I found the mountain man, now in front of me, smirking. “My bad. I meant to say, your shoes are fire.”
I gaped at him. “You cut in line.”
“Yes.“
At my outraged squawk, his smile widened. “Let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a…tea?”
“First off,“
I said, pulling myself up to my full height. It didn’t help. He was several inches taller than me. “Drinks are included. And assuming I drink tea is a stereotype—”
“You don’t drink tea?”
“Not the point,“
I snapped. “You cut in line.” I couldn’t seem to get past that.
He folded his arms and his biceps popped. “Worth it.”
“Worth it?“
I tore my eyes from his massive arms to his rugged face. He was grinning. Cheeky git.
He leaned closer. “Does that vein in your temple always pulse when you’re angry? And your cute little growl—that one right there.”
I cut off the noise I didn’t realize I was making. “Stop harassing me.”
“In the US, we call it flirting.”
My rebuke caught in my throat. He was flirting. With me? “Why?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Not sure. The word was first used in 566—”
“Who are you?“
The question was mostly rhetorical. My next one was not. “And what are you playing at?”
His hazel eyes twinkled with amusement. “Glad you asked.“
The line shifted, and he moved forward, his eyes never straying far from me. “Roscoe Thomas.” He held out his hand.
I ignored it. “Does this usually work?”
His laugh sounded sincere in a way that much of our conversation hadn’t. As if he were surprised. Pleasure zipped through me. I did that. But why did I enjoy it so much? He tilted his head. “Are all Brits this sassy?”
“Are all yanks this arrogant?”
He shrugged, still grinning. “I blame our ancestors. Winning the revolution over a tyrant king set the tone for all future—”
“Can I help you?“
a crisp voice asked, and Roscoe turned to the woman behind the counter.
We’d reached the front of the line without me noticing. Solid police work, Stewart.
“Yes, thank you.“
He leaned closer and her prickly edges softened. I had no doubt he was using that smile on her. The one that melted your insides. “I’d like a caramel latte with oat milk.”
I tried to focus on the sugary treats in the display case rather than the negativity on repeat in my head. This man used flirtation as a weapon to get whatever he wanted. He’d never actually been interested.
“Sweetheart?”
My head jerked up. His intense hazel eyes were on me.
“Did you still want tea?”
Behind me, the toddler whined. It wasn’t the mum’s fault that Roscoe was a wanker. I bit my tongue and glanced at the menu. “Chai tea, please.“
My eyes drifted back to the display case. “And the apple crumble.”
The woman gave Roscoe one last appreciative smile, and then we were hustled to the side to wait.
“Chai means tea,“
Roscoe said, leaning closer. His warm spicy scent was intoxicating. “So you basically ordered tea tea.”
Heat crawled up my skin. “Is that so?”
“According to Spider-Man.”
This man was impossible. I crossed my arms and glared. “What are you doing?”
His mouth quirked up. “Making up for being rude?”
I didn’t respond. If he was asking it as a question, he didn’t deserve an answer.
Once I had my drink, I moved to a small table, not caring where Roscoe ended up. My phone beeped. Mason wanted an update. I glanced around, but there was no sign of Dale or his friend. I typed out a message.
“Miss me?”
My head jerked up. And up. The mountain man grinned at me.
I squashed the surge of excitement. I was a well-trained FBI agent. I didn’t have time for distractions. No matter how rugged and sexy they were.
Still, Mason had said to blend in. What better way than sitting at a table with another person?
Roscoe dropped into the seat across from me, and I focused on my tea and apple crumble instead of his smug smile and…lord. The man’s thighs were enormous. Thick.
He chuckled. At me? Something on his phone?
To get the answer, I’d have to look up, and I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction. But this was my job.
His hazel eyes crinkled in amusement. “Sweetheart—”
“Stop calling me that.”
He smiled like he’d won something. “If I had your name…”
“Was that a crack about my shoes? Earlier?”
His grin softened. “I’d been trying to get your attention for five minutes.“
He leaned closer, arms on the table. “And those are nice shoes.”
He was teasing, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. Our eyes caught, and the moment stretched into something charged.
My phone buzzed, and I grabbed it like a lifeline. Mason. I’d forgotten to hit send on my message.
I wasn’t on holiday. I had a job to do, and it didn’t involve this mountain man or his pretty words.
Excited voices caught my attention. A group had gathered near the counter. When the crowd parted, my stomach dropped.
Representative Andrew Carter.
The main target of our unofficial investigation. And he was on this ship.