Stripped, page 9
“Why? Because of Walker? Because you don’t like having a woman save your ass? Is this some kind of macho garbage?”
He shook his head. “No. You know we can’t work together.”
She took a step closer to him, narrowing her eyes as he met her gaze. “So this is because we had sex?”
When Sawyer spoke, his voice was low and fierce. “You’re a distraction, Brooke.”
She ground her teeth together. “I’m a distraction? The fuck does that mean?”
He took a step closer, erasing the distance between them. Despite her anger, her nipples hardened at having him so close. It was no wonder she responded the way she did to him, given her fucked-up radar for eligible men. “It means that I need to focus on bringing down the cartel and getting justice for Ryan, and I . . . fuck, I can’t think straight around you.”
“You can’t think straight around me? That’s the stupidest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“We’ve got a problem here, and I know I’m not the only one who sees it. You can’t think straight around me either.”
Another hot flare of anger erupted through her and she let out a frustrated grunt. She actually thought she might throttle him because he wasn’t 100 percent wrong. She spun and marched a few steps away before turning back to face him. “So your solution’s to make me look incompetent? You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He stared at her, a flicker of guilt flashing across his otherwise stony features. “You went behind my back to my commanding officer and made it sound like I can’t do my job. What gives you the fucking right, Matthews? How dare you. How fucking dare you!” He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “No, for once I don’t want you to talk because I need you to hear this. I worked damn hard to get where I am and I’m not going to let anyone take it away from me. Especially a macho caveman asshole like you.” She looked away and shook her head, letting out a frustrated laugh. “I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt because I know you’re hurting, but you don’t get to take your shit out on me, and on my career. This is over the line. Fuck, over the line doesn’t even touch it. This is like setting the line on fire.” She scoffed and shook her head. “I’m a distraction. God.”
“With the shit we deal with, neither of us can afford a distraction. You can’t deny that. This is complicated, maybe even dangerous. For both of us.”
“Because we had sex.” She blew out a breath and lowered her voice. “Even though nothing can happen between us now.” She swallowed as she replayed their night together, arousal spiking through her, tangling with her anger. How was it possible to want to slap someone and get them naked at the same time?
He nodded slowly. “Because I can’t stop thinking about it, and I need my head in the game.” She wanted to throw a chair through the window. What kind of asshole had no qualms about throwing her career under the bus because he couldn’t handle how he felt about her? And what did it say about her judgment that as pissed as she was, she still wanted him?
“Then let me uncomplicate it for you real quick. There will never be anything between us, Matthews. I think you’re a selfish, self-centered asshole, and I don’t want anything to do with you.” She stepped forward and jabbed a finger into his chest, his muscles rock-hard against her fingertip. Heat flared in his eyes, and she couldn’t tell if it was anger, lust or some messed up combination of both. “I’m here to do my job, and I’m not going anywhere. If you ever try to sabotage my career again, you’ll have a hell of a lot more than distraction to worry about.”
She didn’t wait for him to answer before she turned and marched out of the captain’s office, fighting the urge to slam the door behind her.
A silence settled over the captain’s office as the door snapped shut behind Brooke, leaving Sawyer alone with his throbbing heart and raging erection. Maybe it was fucked up, but the fiery way she’d laid into him had turned him on. Then again, pretty much everything she did turned him on. Like she was his sexual kryptonite—she made him weak in ways he was powerless to resist. It had taken everything he had not to press her up against the wall and kiss her, which just proved his point that they couldn’t work together.
He’d hoped that Hill would see his side of things, but apparently going to him had been a mistake. He hadn’t expected him to haul both of them into his office. At worst, he’d thought the captain would simply ignore his request. He hadn’t anticipated this, and he couldn’t help but feel angry with himself, because he should’ve. He’d been so focused on getting some distance from Brooke that he hadn’t thought it through.
More proof that he couldn’t think straight around her. Normally everything he did was careful, measured and planned, with all outcomes accounted for. But he’d been sloppy in a desperate attempt to find a way to handle his attraction to her, and it had blown up in his face. Because although he hadn’t thought it possible, he now somehow wanted her more. The way she’d stood up for herself and torn into him—which he’d deserved. The way his body responded to hers and caught him off guard.
It hit him with the weight of a ton of bricks that he could fall for her if he let himself. She was everything he hadn’t known he’d wanted. Gorgeously sexy, smart, tough. She understood the job and everything it entailed—he’d never connected with someone over work before. The thought was sobering enough to make him realize it was for the best that she hated his guts now. Since she wasn’t going anywhere, nothing could happen between them.
He pulled open the door to the captain’s office and headed toward the briefing room, trying to convince himself it was a good thing that Brooke thought he was king of the assholes. At least maybe that would help them stay on track professionally.
It felt like cold comfort.
The briefing room was almost full, and he took a seat next to Jack—who, he noticed, hadn’t shaved this morning and was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his attention glued to his phone. It was always the way with him—he’d burn hot and fast with someone until it inevitably fizzled out after a week or two. As far as Jack Ward was concerned, the scariest word in the English language was commitment, and Sawyer had to admit he could understand.
He nodded at Jack as voices swirled around them, the usual focused energy filling the room. He took a deep breath, trying to settle himself after what had just gone down in the captain’s office. The smell of coffee and Pine-Sol filled the air, and he scuffed his boot over an old stain on the carpet tile in front of him. Just as he looked up, a man he didn’t recognize sat down in the empty chair next to Brooke. They shook hands, and he offered her a wide, friendly smile as they chatted.
Something cold started to burn deep in his gut, but with a shake of his head, he pushed it away.
Whatever. It was a free country. She could talk to whoever the hell she wanted.
His eyes bounced back to her, and something hot and possessive crashed through him at the way the man was looking at her with pure masculine appreciation. His gut churned uncomfortably. Fuck, he’d thought he could shove everything down into neat little compartments, keeping one emotion, one goal, one need separate from the others. Like lures in a tackle box. But nothing wanted to stay in its place, creating a chaotic snare he didn’t know how to process.
The man held a manila folder in one hand, and he tapped it against Brooke’s knee as he leaned in a bit closer, as though telling her a secret. The sound of her laugh was like a punch to the solar plexus.
Fun times.
Thankfully, the briefing started and the captain brought them up to speed on several ongoing investigations, assigning the day’s various tasks—follow-up calls, interviews, recon. The unit-wide briefing was useful because it allowed for what the captain referred to as “cross-pollination.” The criminal world—especially the world they dealt with—was small, and often one case was connected to another. Being aware of what the others were working on, of what leads they had, sometimes led to a break in something else.
So Sawyer was surprised when the captain dismissed everyone except him, Jack, Amelia, Brooke, and Prince Charming. Who, Sawyer noticed, also had a detective shield around his neck and couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Brooke.
The captain nodded at the newcomer. “Everyone, this is Detective Adam Jensen from Vice. The information he has is sensitive and confidential, and at this point, need-to-know.” Sawyer nodded, suddenly understanding the cleared-out room.
The detective stood, and Sawyer found himself sizing Jensen up. A little over six feet, fit. Short, dark brown hair. Clean-shaven. The kind of nose that looked like it had been broken a couple of times, but the bastard was good-looking enough that it didn’t seem to matter. Early thirties—probably around the same age as Brooke. No wedding ring. Sawyer immediately disliked him. Jensen glanced around at the team. “Ward reached out to me asking if I know anything about those funky pills y’all found in the storage unit.”
“Do you?” asked Sawyer, the two syllables coming out gruff and low.
Jensen seemed unfazed. In fact, a cocky smile spread across his face and he tapped the folder against his palm. “It’s your lucky day, because hell yeah I know what they are.” He pulled a picture of the rainbow-colored pills from his folder and tacked it to the board. “This, my friends, is called Tantrik.”
“What can you tell us about it?” asked Amelia, leaning forward with her forearms braced on her thighs.
Jensen smiled, clearly not minding being the center of attention. Sawyer squinted at him. “Ready to love me? Because you’re gonna love me.” He winked at Brooke, who smiled back at him. He tapped the photo. “Tantrik is a combination of the street drug ecstasy and a controlled pharmaceutical—nonnarcotic—called sildenafil. It’s used commercially as an erectile dysfunction drug.”
“So it’s like ecstasy for your dick?” Brooke asked.
Sawyer ground his teeth together. Why did Brooke have to say “dick” in that sultry voice of hers? Why?
Jensen pointed at her. “Bingo. The idea’s that you take it, trip balls, have sex for hours and stay hard. I mean, if you need a drug for that sort of thing.” He bounced his eyebrows in a way that implied he didn’t. Brooke laughed, pink spots appearing her cheeks.
Sawyer couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to punch someone so badly.
“So you obviously got your hands on some,” said Amelia, gesturing at the board. “If you know what it’s called and the breakdown.”
Jensen nodded. “Yeah. Which brings us to—” he reopened his folder and pulled out another picture “—Exhibit B. Also known as Exhibit Be Glad This Isn’t You.”
Sawyer sat forward in his chair, studying the picture, unsure what, exactly, he was looking at.
“Wait,” said Jack, somehow managing to arch an eyebrow and squint at the same time. “Is that a . . .” He swallowed thickly. “Is that a dick?”
Jensen tapped the picture. “And circle gets the square.”
They all let out a collective disgusted groan. The equipment in the picture was lumpy and engorged, with the skin shiny and tight. The skin had broken in a few places, leaving traces of pus and blood behind. The head was an angry-looking purple. Sawyer frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Jensen continued. “This is what happens when you overdose on Tantrik. This sad-looking joystick belongs to a college kid named Chase Anderson. When he showed up in the ER, he told the doctor what had happened. The doc filed a vice report, which is how we got our hands on the rest of Anderson’s supply and saw firsthand the damage it can do.”
“Is the kid okay?” asked Brooke.
“Physically, yeah. The doctors were able to drain the excess blood and then treated him with medication. He’ll heal. But I think the poor dude was pretty scared.”
Jack and Sawyer both nodded sympathetically. “So, where’d he get it?” asked Jack.
“His girlfriend bought it for him, thought it’d spice things up. There’s a club in Midtown called the Manhattan Ballroom.”
“MBR,” said Sawyer. “Is this at all connected to the Baracoa cartel? We caught someone from the Desperados guarding a storage locker where we found bags full of Tantrik. He copped to running security for the cartel.”
Jensen shrugged. “That’s as good a lead as any. We haven’t been able to get hard evidence—sorry, no pun intended—that it’s coming from them, but given that they pretty much run the drug scene in this town, and you found a bunch in a storage locker connected to them, there’s an extremely good chance this drug is theirs.”
“Did this Anderson kid say who sold his girl the pills?” asked Brooke.
“We pressed him for dealer specifics, but he didn’t know anything. When we talked to the girlfriend, she admitted she’d bought it from a dancer there, but wouldn’t give up more than that.”
The captain nodded. “Thank you, Detective Jensen.” He turned his attention to the four of them. “This could be our in to the cartel. Ward and Perez, stay on the Desperados—you’re making good headway there. Matthews and Simmons, this is yours. This is an undercover, need-to-know op, and the objective is simple: infiltrate the dealers to find the suppliers. If the suppliers are the cartel like we suspect, we’ll have a shot at taking them down.”
“One other thing,” said Jensen, his mouth twitching with a suppressed smile. “The Manhattan Ballroom is a strip club.”
Sawyer and Brooke’s eyes met, and he thought he saw the tiniest flicker of panic in hers. He’d been about to say something comforting and reassuring—hopefully—but then Jensen continued speaking. “A male strip club.”
Brooke threw her head back and laughed. Sawyer felt frozen to the spot, unable to fully process what he’d just heard. Aside from Brooke, who was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, everyone stared at him.
He shrugged. He’d do whatever it took to bring down the bastards who’d killed Ryan. “Fine. I’ll get myself hired at the club.”
The captain nodded. “That’s the plan. If you can’t get hired, we’ll reevaluate, try to find another way in.”
“I’ll get in,” he said, feeling a clawing pressure inside his chest. He didn’t want to do it, but it was the only way to try to make things right. “I’ll make it work.”
“And what about Brooke?” asked Jack. “I’m just trying to figure out how she can still work with Sawyer and back him up if he gets in.”
“Easy,” said Jensen, once again winking at Brooke. “Stripper groupie. You go every night, watch, hang out in the audience, pretend you’re his biggest fan. Stay close and see what other connections you can make.”
The smile slid off her face. Sawyer felt smugly satisfied that she wasn’t laughing anymore. But then something else chased away the smugness, something he couldn’t quite name. His stomach churned at the thought of having to strip and dance in front of Brooke, night after night. Brooke, who he couldn’t have. Brooke, who hated him.
As much as he hated the acronym FML, he had to admit that this really felt like an FML moment.
The captain nodded. “Any questions?” Everyone shook their heads. “Let’s bring these bastards down. Dismissed.”
Everyone murmured in agreement, filtering out of the room and leaving Sawyer and Brooke alone.
Before he could say anything, she’d already pushed up out of her chair. “Maybe your stripper name can be Karma.”
She turned and left the room, leaving Sawyer wondering how his entire world could’ve gone to such shit in the span of only a few weeks.
Chapter Six
Brooke had hoped that as the day progressed, she’d start to feel a little more . . . certain of the task ahead of her. But with each passing hour, all she felt was foggier and foggier. She was supposed to be Sawyer’s backup under the guise of a stripper groupie? How was she going to watch that every night, knowing he was (a) completely off-limits and (b) an asshole?
And that was assuming that he’d (a) go through with it instead of coming up with an alternate plan, and (b) even knew how to dance in the first place.
As she followed him down to the parking garage, she couldn’t help but think that this entire mission had unmitigated disaster written all over it.
Sawyer stepped into the small office and peered at the board where the keys to the various vehicles they had access to were kept. Even through the smudged windows, she couldn’t help but stare at him. He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, and her eyes went to his arms. He reached up to take a set of keys and she felt an appreciative curl of heat low in her belly. It was like his muscles had muscles, popping and flexing fluidly as he moved. A set of keys disappeared into his massive hand and he emerged from the office, heading toward a vehicle without waiting to see if she was with him.
Right. The whole asshole thing. She stared at his toned butt as they walked, and so to compensate, she replayed their earlier conversation—the one where he’d tried to throw her under the bus and get her booted from his team because she was a distraction. As though he was so attracted to her that being around her was a challenge.
Yeah, well. Maybe she could relate to that. A little. Maybe.
But it didn’t matter, because he was both her partner and a jerk, and if he thought he could just walk all over her and run things his way, he was sorely mistaken. New to the team or not, she wasn’t his lackey.
“Keys,” she said as she came up beside him, matching her stride with his. She held her hand out, palm up.
He kept moving, glancing over at her as though she’d just asked him if he believed in aliens. He slowed as they approached a newer model Mustang, shiny black. “I’m driving.”
She scooted around in front of him and planted her butt against the driver’s side door handle. “Keys.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, making her mouth water, as always, and stared at her. “And you think you get to drive because?”
She shrugged and then jerked her thumb at the vehicle behind her. “Because this one’s a bit more sophisticated than the Flintstones car. You know how to start it without scrambling your feet on the ground?”
