Impulsively (Dante’s Nine MC #3)(42)
Author: Colleen Masters

“I could hardly believe it myself,” I reply, setting down two coffee cups on the table before us, “the whole thing felt like a bad dream.”

“If I’d been there,” Brooks goes on, shaking his head, “he wouldn’t have had any teeth left to spit his threats through.”

“Look. I know it’s hard to focus through the anger,” I tell him, laying a hand on his hard bicep, “but I need you to be clearheaded here. If we manage to take this guy down, the working over he’ll get from the feds and fellow inmates will be satisfying enough.”

“More satisfying than pounding him to a bloody pulp?” Brooks asks, eyebrows raised.

“OK. Maybe not quite as satisfying,” I allow, “but close enough.”

We put our heads together and settle on a game plan for the day. I’ll head over to the penthouse and spend some time with Kassie and Kelly, just so no one gets suspicious. During my down time, I’ll dig up as much dirt as I can on Bruno, maybe even hack into some of his accounts if I can swing it. Brooks is going to tail my crazy coworker throughout the day, figure out where he spends time when he’s not at the field office. He’s even deigning to drive a cage today, instead of his bike. Jesus. He really must love me.

As we get our stuff together and prepare head our separate ways, I muster up my courage to ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue all morning.

“Last night,” I say quickly, watching Brooks from across the room, “what you said about…you know. How you felt about me…”

“Yeah?” Brooks says, that crooked grin of his driving me mad.

“That wasn’t…just the heat of the moment or whatever…right?” I stumble on. “You really meant what you—”

“Red,” Brooks cuts me off, closing the space between us. He wraps his arms around the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. “No games. Remember? I meant what I said.”

“Oh. Good,” I smile, taking his scruffy face in my hands, “because I meant it too.”

“I know,” he grins, running his hands over the rise of my ass. “You may have been able to hide the whole undercover thing, but you’re not that good an actress.”

“You asshole,” I laugh, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. His firm lips catch mine, and his powerful jaw works my mouth open at once. I shudder with pleasure as his tongue glances against my own. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to pull away.

“We’ve got work to do,” I remind him.

“All the more incentive to bring him down as soon as possible,” Brooks laughs, glancing down at the rise in his jeans.

“You can say that again,” I breathe. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Hey, where were you last night?” Kelly asks, as I sink down onto the penthouse’s leather couch. “We missed you at the Playpen.”

“I hope that place isn’t too much for you,” Kassie says, dropping a few cucumber slices into a pitcher of water in the kitchen. “It takes a little getting used to.”

“No, it’s totally fine,” I assure her, unable to hide the smile on my face. “I, uh…spent the night at home. With Brooks.”

“What?!” Kassie and Kelly cry out in unison, whipping around to face me.

“He spent the night at your place?” Kelly breathes.

“From what Declan tells me, that’s like a fish camping out in a tree,” Kassie squeals.

“You guys are soul mates,” Kelly says, “I’m calling it now.”

“Oh my god. What if he asks you to be his old lady?!” Kassie breathes, rushing to join me on the couch.

“He’s totally going to ask you!” Kelly spouts, rushing over to my other side.

“Whoa! Hold on a second!” I laugh, holding up my hands, “I think it’s a little early to—”

“Do you love him?” Kelly asks bluntly.

“I—what—?” I sputter, looking back and forth between them.

“That’s a yes!” Kassie cries, throwing her arms around me. “You guys are in love! This is so amazing!”

“Welcome to the family, Keira!” Kelly says, joining the group hug, “I’ll make sure Brooks picks out an awesome old lady cut for you. Nothing too flashy. Classy. Like you!”

“You two are insane,” I inform them, crawling out from the pile of lithe limbs.

“You’re blushing,” Kassie shoots back, “no use denying it, Keira. You’re one of us now. And we couldn’t be happier.”

Eventually, I manage to convince the girls that we should get some work done. They run off to interview some graphic designers—which is pretty fortunate timing for my purposes. The second they’re gone, I abandon my CrowdedNest duties and set to work on my new investigation. Mitchell couldn’t care less about how I spend my time these days—he’s not even checking up. But being an active FBI agent gives me all sorts of access to personnel information, even if some of it is technically off-limits.

After some hearty technological gymnastics, I’ve unearthed quite the treasure trove of intel about one Jeffery Theodore Bruno. By the time anyone notices that I’ve accessed this information, I’ll either have taken Bruno down or been fired from the FBI. It’s all or nothing, now. All that counts is the moment at hand.

On the surface, everything about Bruno seems squeaky clean. He’s been an agent since 1990, and has always worked organized crime cases. He’s been involved in operations that have dismantled pretty impressive crime families, gangs, and cartels. This is a man who’s respected, well-liked, and trusted by the FBI, despite his temper and occasional unnecessary roughness. But once you look beyond the official record, things start to get a little less sunny.

FBI agents are compensated well enough, but no one stays in this job for the money alone. And yet, the lifestyle Bruno leads is full of indulgence and excess. He drives a BMW, lives in a ritzy neighborhood in LA, wines and dines his lady friends and associates almost every day. I have a hard time believing that an FBI agent could foot the bill for all of that without some significant help.

Looking back through the history of Bruno’s cases, I analyze how his purchases and spending habits match up with his professional life. An alarming trend presents itself almost at once. Many of his big cases involve at least one major crime family. In every case where such a family was found innocent at the expense of a rival gang or cartel, Bruno’s cash flow goes through the roof. After every such case, he blows a ton of money all at once. There’s no way those spikes are just the product of job-well-done celebrations. From where I’m sitting, it looks like Bruno is having his pockets lined by some of those friends in low places he told me about.