Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,16

whatever mid-range wine is listed on the menu.”

“Riesling? That’s your favorite white wine?” It’s not one I remember being part of the Enchanted Springs inventory.

She nods.

“What about red wines?”

“Syrahs.” Another wine that isn’t part of the Enchanted Springs inventory. “But I’m more of a white-wine girl.”

You would think if you owned a winery, you would favor the wines you produce.

So maybe the Feds are right, and she really is clueless about the winery in her name.

“Do you do your own taxes?” I ask.

“That’s kind of an odd question to ask someone you haven’t known for long.”

“Maybe tax talk turns me on.”

That makes her laugh. “How can anything to do with taxes turn anyone on? I mean, I get it if you’re an accountant, tax season might possibly make you horny. But for most people, that’s not the case.”

Whiskey gets off his bed and limps toward me.

“Stay,” I tell him in my SEALs tone.

He doesn’t listen. He just looks at me, head cocked to the side, and keeps hobbling forward.

Chloe crouches next to him and scratches behind his ear. This causes him to stop and flop onto his side, a happy puppy grin on his face.

“But to answer your question,” she says, “no, I don’t do my own taxes. A family friend has been doing them for years. Math isn’t my thing, so I’m happy to hand everything over to him during tax season.”

Whoever’s filing them knows about the winery Chloe isn’t aware she owns. And the person might know a lot more about her family’s dark side than she’s aware of.

And this includes the truth when it comes to Nikolai.

“My accountant retired a few months ago, and I’m looking for recommendations.” The lie forms easily on my lips. “Is your family friend accepting new clients?”

“I’m not sure. I can ask him if you want.”

“That would be great. Assuming you’re happy with him, of course.”

“I can’t say I have any complaints. The IRS hasn’t been knocking on my door, so I guess he’s doing a good job.”

I walk to the kitchen. “So we’ve established you like Riesling and Syrahs, and you don’t do your own taxes. That’s probably more than I know about most of my dates.”

She laughs, stroking Whiskey’s fur. “Yes, we’re definitely getting into deep territory. But that’s more than I know about you. All I know is that you used to teach high school math, and you’re now a substitute teacher and a puppy foster father.”

I remove the chicken breasts from the fridge, along with the other ingredients I’ll need to make dinner, and set them on the counter. “I also play hockey whenever I can.”

When it comes to going undercover, the closer you can keep to real life, the easier it is to maintain your story. You’re less likely to slip up and say something that will give away that you’re not who you’re claiming to be.

“Are you on a team?”

“Yep. We play in a competitive adult league. We all grew up with aspirations of playing in the NHL, but then reality didn’t quite pan out that way.” All that is true. But what I’m not going to admit is that we’re all in the same field when it comes to our careers.

My teammates are comprised of FBI agents, cops, and former military who still work at keeping the bad guys at bay, including one who’s a prosecutor.

“Kiera’s husband used to play hockey. She and I went to his games all the time and cheered the guys on. They were really good.”

“He doesn’t play anymore?”

“He died last year, around the holiday season. He went skiing with some friends, lost control, and hit a tree.”

That sounds familiar. “Stephen Ashdown was her husband?”

She nods. “You knew him?”

“Not very well. He was a great player, and as far as I could tell, a nice guy.”

“He was a very nice guy. Sweet. A real romantic. Those guys are a rare breed.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. “You saying I can’t be a romantic, too?”

Because if that’s what she’s saying, she’s not too far from the truth.

I’m about as romantic as the next guy.

Chloe shrugs. “In my experience, most guys aren’t that way.” She pauses fussing over Whiskey; he whimpers, begging for more. “You’re too adorable for words,” she tells him.

“I’m not used to being called adorable, but I’m sure my masculinity can handle it,” I say on a laugh.

She looks up from Whiskey and shakes her head, a grin on her lush lips. “Adorable is definitely not how I would describe