Chapter 17
The thick metal card burned a hole in his pants. Slipping it from his pocket, Rocco brushed his thumb over the outline of the stingray and tapped it lightly against the metal table. He shifted in the uncomfortable, rickety folding chair and squinted from the blinding white lights in the room. He’d been escorted into the tin can of an office tucked away in the bowels of the San Juan office for what felt like days ago but, in reality, had only been a few hours.
Rocco didn’t want a Plan B, but he was damn sure glad he had one. Joining a stealth group of ex-military operatives turned bodyguards seemed more like his future than taking down El Sombro on an undercover op.
He’d screwed up by kissing Jemma.
He knew it the minute he felt her respond to his lips pressed against hers. She wanted him as bad as he wanted her. But sex would ruin any chance of them working together. Which was why he’d thought that not having sex with Jemma would salvage his chances to be the UC on the op. But as the hours ticked by, he started thinking he was wrong.
The metal door to the office swung open with a loud creak. The rusty hinges grated in protest. Jemma walked inside, exuding a sensual confidence that made his cock twitch. She seemed unfazed by the intimacy they’d shared over the weekend. Her face didn’t register any semblance of the connection he felt for her. But he didn’t let that bother him. No part of him believed she wasn’t as twisted up inside about him as he was about her.
That was why, he figured, she wouldn’t choose him to go undercover.
She crossed the small room in a few short strides, four-inch stilettos clicking against the concrete floor. Rocco gripped the metal card and stuffed it back into his pants pocket.
”Didn”t mean to keep you so long,” Jemma said as she gazed at him from beneath her long lashes. Her expression was grim, a tightness in her lips as she spoke. She leaned against the table mere inches from where he sat.
The scent of cocoa butter wafted from her, reminding him of their kiss. A soothing and intoxicating smell that made him want to pull her onto his lap and shove his tongue into her mouth. The urge was strong, but he wouldn’t act on it because he was more concerned about her dour expression. She looked like she was trying to soften a blow. Let him down easy. Kill him with kindness.
Unwilling to suffer through whatever approach she would take, Rocco cut to the chase. “What’s the verdict?”
“That’s what I’m here to discover, Agent Forrester.”
“So we’re back to formalities now?” He asked, smothering his disappointment. Hadn’t they been through enough for her to let him in? Just a little.
Jemma slouched, head tilted as she regarded him. He liked it when she gave him her full attention. It gave him an excuse to indulge in her as well.
“We were back to formalities the moment you dropped me off at my hotel Saturday night,” Jemma clarified.
Rocco raised an eyebrow, then conceded she was right. Jemma would be going back to DEA headquarters in Virginia. He would be walking away from the DEA for good if he couldn’t be the UC. Going back to being an agent pounding the street to put low-level thugs in jail for a few short years no longer appealed to him.
“You’re a difficult case. My leadership team was sold on you being the best person for the undercover role until we saw this.” She handed him a brown envelope.
Rocco didn’t open it. “But it’s not their decision. It’s yours.”
“That’s right,” Jemma said.
“What have you decided?”
“I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have questions about what’s in that envelope.”
Rocco flipped it over in his hands. “Is that the only reason?”
“Yes. Kissing you doesn’t factor into my professional responsibilities. As group supervisor of Proteus, my job is to make sure every operation we manage is staffed with the best agents we have. Period. You are one of the top DEA agents, Rocco.”
“So what do you need to know?” Rocco stared into her gorgeous brown irises. “What will convince you that I can do this undercover op?”
Jemma returned his stare. He could see her thoughts, debating whether to come clean or to be cagey, playing across her face. She took a deep breath and looked away. “Honesty from you.”
“I haven’t lied to you about anything,” Rocco said.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Jemma said, “There are lies of omission. Those count. Tell me about your father, Dr. Simon Forrester.”
Her words sucked all the air out of the room. Rocco grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and yanked it from his neck.
His throat was constricting on its own.
”I read the police report,” Jemma said. “The statement of a distraught eleven-year-old child who claimed he didn’t see what happened to his father. That he didn’t know how his father had died. How Dr. Simon Forrester had been shot in the head twice, execution style.” The soft empathy in her voice was in stark contrast to her steely gaze. “It”s all bullshit. I don’t believe one word of what you told the cops all those years ago. So, I”ll make a deal with you. Tell me what you know about how your father died, and I’ll put you on this op as the undercover agent.”
Rocco couldn”t breathe. He sprang to his feet, sending the chair clattering across the floor. He moved with long strides away from Jemma. “Find another undercover agent.”
Pushing through the door, he heard it slam behind him.
A fitting sound for the end of his career at the DEA.