Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(21)

We turn up the path to my condo building, my eyes focused on keeping my steps in line with his unhurried ones, to appear as relaxed. And I begin playing out scenarios inside my head. Scenarios no normal woman trying to pick up a guy would think of.

I doubt he’s armed, given he was out jogging and a gun would weigh him down. Plus, I’ve never seen any guns lying around on coffee tables in his home. Maybe he’s got a knife. It would have to be a small one, though, and I can buy some time if he pulls it on me, until the cover team gets here.

I should be able to restrain him with some difficulty, if he tries to force himself on me, for the simple fact that he won’t expect that I know how to fight back.

I don’t read him as that type of guy, though.

I read him as the type of guy who’s going to stroll into my condo, make small talk for ten minutes, ask for a tour, and then strip off his clothes in my bedroom, assuming the leg was just an excuse for my invitation all along.

This is where I have to do things that fit into the “gray area,” of my job, to keep my cover, and the case, going.

Like, if he tries to kiss me, I may have to kiss him back.

Sneaking a glance at that mouth right now—curled up at the ends in a perpetual, slight smirk, glossy from a fresh drink of water, and surrounded by the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow to match the caramel-brown hair on his head—I’ll admit it would be far from the worst thing I’ve ever had to do. Nervous flutters begin to tickle my stomach.

And then his phone rings.

All at once, his demeanor changes. His face turns grim, a glimmer of panic flying through it. Taking backward steps away from me, he reaches into his pocket. “Listen, I have to take this call.”

No . . . “Go ahead. I can wait.”

“Maybe we can connect some other time?” His steps are hurried as he moves away, a low murmur of “hey” touching my ears. He doesn’t look back. Not even once.

I fight to keep the frustration from showing on my face as he disappears down the path to his building.

Stanley lets out a tiny playful noise and then licks my cheek.

I give his head a scratch. “You tried, buddy. We all tried.”

I don’t know what else to do.

“Warner said you were in after the last meet,” Sinclair’s deep, gruff voice fills my ear. Almost an accusation. “What happened?”

I wasn’t expecting a phone call from the assistant director tonight.

“I thought I was. I just need more time. I’m getting somewhere but it’s going to take more time.” Other cover officers get months—sometimes years!—to form relationships before people begin breathing down their backs. Me? Two freaking months! Less, technically, because the first few weeks were for case prep.

“If we don’t have something solid to bring back to the judge, he’s not going to extend the warrant. He was already being a tight-ass about granting it the first time around.”

“12 took that phone call,” I blurt out, desperate to get him off my back so I can think.

“You know better than that,” he mutters with irritation.

I do know better than that. I silently chastise myself for saying something so stupid to a high-level FBI superior as I head to the window, Stanley nipping at my heels.

“Your cover?”

“Still intact.”

“Good. I’ll start looking over the agent files. Maybe I can still salvage this case . . .” Sinclair’s words fade out as my eyes land on Luke, walking toward the adjoining bathroom in his bedroom. His bare ass in full view.

“Holy . . .” slips out, heat stirring through me as I admire his sculpted back. He’s a criminal, he’s a criminal, he’s a—

“What’s wrong?”

I feel my cheeks flush. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Special Agent Cortez could pass for your sister. You’ll introduce the two of them and then step back. She’s a bit older but one hell of an experienced undercover. Never failed.”

My full attention snaps back to the phone call. Special Agent Cortez? Who the hell is that? And why is Sinclair using words like “fail” and “step back”? My arrest record is great. And screw experience! My competitive streak comes out in full force. “I’m close. Just another few days. If you bring her in now, it may cause more harm than good.”

“How’s that?”

“He’ll pull back altogether, not wanting to cause friction between sisters.” I cringe as the words come out of my mouth. Even I don’t believe them.

“Oh, come on, Clara . . .”

“Just give me another week or two.” I’m borderline pleading now. Not good. This guy’s not going to hire an agent who begs.

“The Bureau’s dropped a ton of resources into this operation. I’m battling internal department feuds over my strategy. There’s no more room for failure, do you understand?”

“Got it. I’m close. I really am.” I press “end” just as my forehead hits the wall, a heavy groan escaping me. “I’m not going to fail,” I promise myself, peeking across the way again in time to see Luke disappear to the right. I assume, into the shower.

I dial a new number.

“Yup.” That’s how Warner answers the phone, whether he’s working or not.