Deceive Her With Desire (2 page)

This one was promising to be huge. And Ayden wanted it. He could feel it like an addict could feel the urgency for another fix. It caused a physical ache in his gut. He wanted to bring down the guy he was chasing like nothing he’d ever wanted in the eight years since joining the DEA.

The heroin was coming in from Canada. They knew that much to be fact. They just couldn’t figure out who or where. This party at the mansion tonight promised some prime contacts. Ayden had two other teams scouting out similar locations along a thirty-mile stretch of the Maine coast. They’d bring the guy running the operation down—or die trying.

No, he couldn’t think like that. No one was dying on his watch. Not this time.

“Don’t go there, Ayden,
ol
’ boy.” He shoved the frustration into the back corner of his brain, encapsulating it with all the other painful memories he didn’t dredge up. Ayden had grown accustomed to his own voice in the last few years. He’d given up trying to psychoanalyze the reason he talked to himself. He’d come to accept it was simply a part of his personality. He was a loner.

“Focus.
You have a job to do.” He gave himself one more glance before heading into the bedroom of the rented condo to straighten up. One never knew what kind of informants might be falling into his bed this night.

Ayden had been working hard to get the little fish to believe he had a big enough operation to deal directly with the supplier. He had bogus contacts in Portland, Boston, and Philly, supposedly ready to distribute the goods. That ought to lure them in. Everyone wanted a share of the drug market in those cities. If those places weren’t big enough, he’d also come up with business contacts in New York, but that alias was flimsy at best, and he hoped it didn’t come to that.

Others, more experienced, were afraid he wasn’t ready to take on a job this big. Not after the snafu in Miami. But that had been nearly three years ago. He’d taken the transfer to the Northeast and clawed his way back into the good graces of the DEA. He
deserved
to be lead investigator. He
needed
to bring this guy down, if for no other reason than to prove something to himself.

There were so many similarities in the two operations.

Ayden was sure this cartel was somehow affiliated with the Miami outfit as well. That ill-fated mission no one talked about.
The one that had pressed him over the edge and into the bottle.
Luckily he hadn’t drowned. Instead he’d gotten help, cleaned himself up and now was stronger and more focused.
All the more reason for him to be deep undercover.
He needed to bring down the fucking bastard who had stolen everything from him and screwed up his life in the process.

But perhaps that was all just wishful thinking on his part.

Monday, he planned a meeting with his teams to go over everything they’d uncovered in the last week. He hoped by then they would have zeroed in on the guy running the show, and he’d have something solid to tell his superiors in Boston. He’d had no contact with them for a couple of days. Ayden knew, given his track record, they’d be getting antsy.

To top it all off, someone was breathing down his neck, keeping an eye on him. He sensed it like a shadow that never materialized. He had to be close if they were tailing him. If, on the other hand, he found out he was being watched by his own men, heads would roll. But his gut told him that wasn’t the case.

Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, he loved undercover work, bringing down the bad guy, keeping the drugs off the street. But he knew firsthand, it wasn’t without pitfalls.

You had to mesmerize the bad guys with a fake persona while your feet remained firmly planted in reality. He was definitely walking a tightrope stretched taut between both sides of the law. So far he’d skirted around the need to sample the goods. He wasn’t sure how long he could tiptoe around the edge of the precarious precipice before falling victim—again. Undercover work was a slippery slope of acting and real-life drama.

He loped down the stairs, grabbed a light weight jacket from the coat closet and headed out the door. There was no way he was screwing this one up.
N
ot
this time
.

Deirdre didn’t know what she’d find when she drove the forty miles from Delmont to the town of Cutler, but this posh residence overlooking the bay definitely hadn’t even been on her radar. She’d triple checked the address Emilio had given her to be sure it matched the one posted on the stone pillars before driving through the ornate wrought-iron gates and up the steep drive.

The grounds were in desperate need of care. The limbs of the maples, resplendent in the sunset hues of fall, hung precariously low over the winding driveway. Come winter, burdened with layers of ice, they would droop within inches of vehicle roofs.

Pulling into the circular drive in front of the pristine mansion, she noted the hydrangea and lilac bushes were in wretched condition and in need of pruning. The same was true of the cedar shrubs planted along the crushed-shell walk. The lawn was mowed, but showed signs of blight in several spots.

As she handed her keys of her little truck to a valet, Deirdre scrutinized the front and side gardens. It was obvious no one had mulched last spring, nor bothered to do much more than a cursory weeding over the summer. Most of the flower beds were going to seed.
Such a beautiful property.
Such terrible landscaping.
She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Emilio had said someone new had recently bought the property and the party was a sort of housewarming. Perhaps she’d have an opportunity to meet the new owner and mix a little business with her pleasure tonight. It would only take ten days, two weeks tops, for her landscaping company to have this place tucked in for the winter and ready to awaken from slumber with the first spring rains.

Automatically, she started ticking off a quote in her head. No doubt she could come in with a competitive bid. And from the size of the real estate, it appeared the owner was some corporate bigwig from Portland, maybe Boston, who could afford to pay for a big overhaul. A job like this to end the fall season could certainly make the lean winter months more comfortable.

Emilio worked as a mechanic. How he’d gotten an invitation to this fancy party with two of his closest friends was a mystery he refused to solve. He’d been purposefully vague about the details of how he knew the owner. She laughed. Hell if she cared if it promised a new client with a big wallet.

The thought had her springing up the wide, front steps in the three-inch heels. The hem of her black dress swirled about her thighs. Her thong slid seductively between her folds, sending little jolts of anticipation sliding up her spine. The music floating out the open doors sung promises of unfettered sex with some willing partner. Her thrumming body was all too eager to find that person and get on with the festivities.

The early evening air blowing in from the ocean was cool, but not unpleasant, even as the sun slipped lower on the horizon. The mild September weather was prolonging the usually short Maine summer. Deirdre inhaled a great gulp of the briny mix as she crossed the stately front porch.

“Excuse me, miss, I need to pat you down.” One of the bald twins flanking the massive wooden doors laid a thick hand on her shoulder, impeding her progress.

Deirdre threw her arms out wide, feeling every bit as naughty as the glint in the man’s hazel eyes. “Oh, what the heck, pat
away.
” What was up with the body inspection? She ventured a guess as to what roaming
hands was
looking for; weapons?
drugs
? Deirdre chuckled when his hand lingered on her ass a little longer than necessary. With a nod and a wink, he flashed a crooked smile. She might have stayed to flirt if she was into him. But his biker charm did nothing for her simmering libido, so she batted her long lashes and moved over the threshold into the throng of revelers already enjoying the evening.

The large foyer she entered was modern in its open design and burgundy walls with ivory trim. A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting soft light on the partygoers standing at the foot of the stairs and spilling in all directions. The scrolling iron banister to her right accented the blond wood and ivory paint of the stairs leading to the second floor. The railing curved gracefully at the top to flow along the hallway, continuing the open feeling of the space.

“It’s about time.” Emilio shouldered his way through the crowd. “We’ve been watching for you. Weren’t sure you were going to come.” The collar of his silk shirt fluttered as he walked toward her. Open nearly to his navel, it exposed the gold chain and St. Christopher’s cross he habitually wore. His bronzed chest was covered in silken black tufts, accenting a well-sculpted abdomen.

He gave Deirdre a hug. “I told you she’d come,” he said, stepping back and elbowing the raven-haired woman who joined them. Dressed in a turquoise wrap-around dress that left little of her assets to the imagination, the woman smiled first at Deirdre, then up at Emilio. They made a handsome couple—or would have if they both didn’t have a thing for handsome young studs.

“I knew you wouldn’t stand us up tonight.” Her friend Rachel leaned in and kissed the air on either side of Deirdre’s face.

They both laughed. The gesture had been meant as a joke. Normally, neither one of them would be caught dead in a dress or the stilettos pinching Deirdre’s toes. Saturday nights usually found them at Duane’s Bar and Grill in Delmont. Relaxed in their jeans and T-shirts, they spent the night drinking brews, eating hot wings and shooting pool with the rest of the hometown crowd. If a band showed up there might be some two-stepping or a line dance or two.
Definitely nothing this extravagant.

But Deirdre hadn’t been to Duane’s in months.

She just couldn’t face the pitiful stares and quiet whispers of her friends. She’d even been ignoring Rachel and Emilio’s invitations for weeks.
But not tonight.
This night was about finding a total stranger who didn’t know her parents or her sisters, wasn’t familiar with her personal history and didn’t want to know anything more than her name. She had every intention of bandaging that wound known as
Bri
with someone hot and noncommittal.

Rachel leaned in close. “It’s about time you allowed yourself to relax and stop mooning over that two-timing bi—”

“Rachel.” Emilio cut her off with a flick of his wrist. Stopping a passing waiter, he snagged them each a flute of champagne off the silver tray. “Tonight is about forgetting and letting go of all our inhibitions.”

“Oh, as if you ever had any, Emilio.”
Deidre laughed.

“Okay, not me, but you two.” He pointed a finger at them. “I promised you both a night of fun and fantasy. It will all be at your fingertips
if
you’re brave enough to let go and fly.” His ebony eyes sparked with mischief.

“Deirdre, I think the man just issued a dare.”

“I do believe you’re right,
Rach
.”

The three of them had been friends since grade school. They’d gotten in plenty of trouble over the years, pressing each other to break the rules. It had been a long time since Deirdre had let them goad her into doing something outrageous. But this night, she wanted to forget about the rules, forget about her ex and all the pain she’d caused her and simply enjoy whatever this night offered.

“Only a chump turns down a dare.” Deirdre lifted her glass in a mock salute, before gulping the champagne like a whiskey shot.

* * * *

Ayden hadn’t expected this many people. Partygoers filled all twelve rooms on the first floor and spilled out onto the back lawn. Between the band playing on the stage across the lawn and the voices of the milling crowd, Ayden could barely hear the guy standing next to him at the outdoor bar.

“…so she says, ‘Can I get a rain check?’”

The other three men all let out a rolling laugh.

Ayden had tuned the twit out a long time ago. His eyes swept the expanse of ocean in the distance, scanning the horizon for the running lights of boats. Before the sun had set, he’d seen a path leading down to the silver slip of sand. He
itched
to make his way down there to see if there was a boat or evidence of moorings. Tonight was strictly for surveillance. If he got lucky, he’d meet the owner himself. But this small-time dealer he’d hooked up with probably didn’t have that kind of connection, so he wasn’t getting his hopes too high.

After the thorough pat down at the door, Ayden was grateful he hadn’t been armed or wired. He’d wondered about the bouncer’s sexual orientation after the rough treatment of his junk. His last lover hadn’t been so thorough in her handling of his genitalia.

An elbow connected with his ribs.