Unauthorized Affair (Unauthorized #1)(8)

Hunter’s eyes never stopped moving. He saw one of his possibles, the big guy with the long hair and the cowboy hat, enter and sit down. And he was still wearing his cowboy hat and jeans. Briefly Hunter wondered if the guy was going to try to run the physical agilities test in those jeans. Because that would immediately disqualify him from undercover work for sheer stupidity, in Hunter’s mind. But no, he sat on one of the bleachers and took his hat off and his jeans off, revealing track shorts underneath. And he still looked like a cowboy. Good.


Hunter moved on, searching for his other possibles. The petite chick with the tattoos. The redneck guy with the thick accent. And of course the surfer girl with the pink hair. His heartbeat quickened a little at the thought of her. She looked almost perfect for the undercover operation they had cooked up this time around. But looking perfect and being perfect were two different things. If she passed today he would have to take a good look at whether or not his interest in her was strictly professional— or if there was more to it.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself. Of course there is more to it, *. Admit it, he growled inside his own mind. He remembered when he’d first seen her walk into the auditorium at the Civic Building. She’d made it with just five minutes to spare and had to rush to sit down in the very back row. There’d already been at least 800 people sitting in their seats, their pencils sharpened, their eyes glued to the sealed pamphlets, waiting for the proctor to tell them to break the seal and start. Hunter had watched her walk in, moving with a quiet grace that said athlete. Her long, pink hair had immediately drawn his eye. It was a dark pink on the top, but lightened towards the tips. It lay easily over her shoulders, framing her pretty face perfectly. She had looked young, delicate, and intensely feminine. Hunter had watched her enter and sit down and realized he was staring. And then he had realized that he was getting hard. He shifted in his chair, amused, irritated, and even a little grateful. He hadn’t responded to the mere sight of a woman like that since he was a teenager. In fact, it had been so long since he’d shown interest in any woman he’d begun to wonder if there was something wrong with him. The only women he seemed to meet anymore were cops, criminals, and lawyers. And not one of them had interested him in … he thought back. Had it really been 4 years? He had a ton of excuses. He’d been pulling 12 hour shifts for years, and by the time he got home all he wanted to do was relax. But this woman, there was something about her, something about all those yards of pink hair, that made him think of things … naughty things he would like to do — his thoughts broke off as he realized his body was responding to just the thought of her now. She wasn’t even here that he could see. Damn.

Sgt. Foley dropped his clipboard in front of his zipper and walked stiffly away, reciting the prime numbers backwards from 300 to 1 in his head, calling himself a dirty old man with the rest of his brain. A stupid, dirty old man. That woman was probably 21 years old. 10 years younger than him. And he very well could be her boss in the next few days. He needed to get a handle on himself. Just because he was attracted to her was no reason to go and blow what could be the biggest bust the undercover program had ever been tasked to investigate. If it went well, they would have evidence enough to put dozens of criminals behind bars. Maybe even some of the larger fencing operations. Maybe even some of the dirtbags behind the fencing operations. Wouldn't that be sweet? He hated what Westwood Harbor was turning into. He hated the steady influx of criminals looking to turn an easy buck. He hated that three rival big bosses, one from the Mexican mafia, and two from L.A. Street gangs, had set up shop in Westwood Harbor and routinely held up cargo freighters and semi trucks moving through the city, shooting anybody who got in their way as a message. They sold the goods, then used the money to bring in drugs and weapons. The goods themselves were generally moved out of Westwood Harbor, and he had no control over what happened then. But some of them stayed here, and that’s what he was interested in. He also was very interested in busting the lowly criminals who had tried and failed to sell their stolen goods to the big boss. If he could get enough of them to give up information on the big bosses, he could secure a conviction. Foley dreamed about that. Dreamed about setting up a case strong enough to put these oxygen-thieves behind bars for good. And if he didn’t act fast, if his department wasn’t able to make an example out of someone, and quickly, Westwood Harbor would soon be overrun with crime, like LA. Maybe even like Oakland someday. Foley had seen it coming for three years, and there had been nothing he could do about it. But now, with the Chief’s approval, he had put together a plan that had minimal risk for the recruits going undercover, and maximum potential to slice a gaping hole in the organized crime operations. A hole he hoped would bleed until it drowned those in charge.

Hunter’s hand holding the clipboard fell away from his front. He no longer needed it. His jaw was set in determination and anger, a common combination for him these days. Thinking about how crime was overtaking the city he was born in always brought out that mix in him. He threaded his way through the invariably young applicants and their supporters, dimly aware that testing was about to start. He needed to take his place near the finish line so he could get the names of his possibles if they passed.


And that’s when he almost ran into her. He’d weaved right to avoid a man who was stretching in his path, and the woman with the pink hair materialized in front of him, heading the other way. Too shocked to say anything he moved left, trying to get out of her way. She also moved that way, trying to get out of his. Up close, she was even prettier than he remembered. Her skin was clear and light, contrasting perfectly with her dark eyelashes and eyebrows in the way that only true blondes could pull off. But she wasn’t blonde. She was pink. And even as his brain was thinking this inane thought, he moved the other way, trying to allow her to pass. But she moved too and then she giggled, revealing a genuine and gorgeous smile. She apologized and took his arms, then turned them both so that he was on the side he wanted to be on and she was on the side she wanted to be on. She laughed again and walked on without sparing him another glance. His arms tingled at her touch and his nose sniffed, trying to hold on to the delicate, flowery scent she left in her wake. He watched her walk away, then realized what he was doing. Mentally he pushed himself forward, heading towards the finish line. She’d passed the written test. She was here. And he was a goner. If they used her, he’d have to let his partner handle her because he couldn’t trust himself to do it. But did he trust Sadler to do it? To 100% keep her safe?