Spying Under the Mistletoe (Love Undercover #2) - Stina Lindenblatt Page 0,3

suspected he’s doing just that. Only now, he’s deep underground.”

“And the Feds want us to flush him out?” Landon asks. Vadik Orlov was the leader of a Russian crime family we helped the FBI with several months ago.

“That’s exactly what they want us to do. But we’re doing it through his cousin, Chloe Reinhart.”

“Chloe? Isn’t she the owner of that winery?”

“Yes, the winery that the Feds suspect she has no idea she owns. Her name is on the legal documents, but the Feds have nothing beyond that to indicate she’s ever been on the property. They interviewed the employees, and none of them have actually met her. Or at least, none of them have met the woman in the photo they were shown.

“They’re hoping she knows where her cousin is hiding, or at the very least, he’ll attempt to contact her.”

“Would he really take that risk if he believes the Feds are looking for him?” Isabelle asks.

“It’s possible. As kids, the two were close. Back then, Nikolai would do anything for Chloe and was super protective of her. The Feds don’t know why, but it’s clear there was a special bond between them. They’re hoping it’s still there, even though he has yet to reach out to her—as far as they’re aware.”

I pick up my coffee. “So they want us to do surveillance on her?”

“It’s more than that. They want someone to get close to her. Get to know her and gain her trust. But they’re also concerned for her safety. They have reason to believe one of Orlov’s enemies has issued a contract on her.

“The Feds obviously can’t put her under witness protection because then Nikolai won’t be able to contact her, and they won’t be able to nail him.”

“What do we know about her?” Jayden asks.

“She’s an elementary school teacher. Single.” Liam pushes the manila folder in front of him toward me. “And she’s about to become your girlfriend…”

2

Chloe

“There’s our favorite ray of sunshine,” Lawrence says as I approach his table in the recreation room of the seniors’ retirement residence. His voice is like antique paper—brittle but at the same time, full of wisdom.

His friends are sitting with him in the brightly lit room, as is usually the case when I volunteer here. Half the tables are filled with various groups of individuals, gossiping, knitting, or playing chess.

“I don’t suppose your little ray of sunshine brought a bottle of whiskey to really brighten our day.” Samuel flashes me a hopeful grin.

I pat his weathered hand and smile at him. “You know I’d never do that. It’s not what the doctor ordered.”

His grin transforms into a disgusted grunt. “What the hell does that kid know about medicine anyway?”

The kid he’s referring to is at least fifteen years older than me. And at thirty, I’m hardly a kid myself.

“Given that he has a medical degree on his office wall,” I say, “I’m guessing he knows a fair amount about the topic.”

The other three men snicker.

“But I can get you some yummy lemonade if you’d like.” I’m not being sarcastic. It really is delicious.

Although from what I’ve heard, it was especially popular during the Fourth of July celebrations last year, when someone spiked it with vodka, and the seniors showed everyone how to really party.

Even Mrs. Witherspoon with her walker.

Some of the residents are still talking about the conga line.

The men agree that a glass of lemonade wouldn’t kill them—but only if I’m heading that way.

I return a few minutes later with the pitcher and glasses. I fill the glasses and hand them out, then sit on the empty wooden chair between Frank and Ivan. “So, what game are we playing today?”

“Monopoly,” Ivan says on a sigh. “Why they won’t let us play poker is beyond me.”

Frank guffaws, and his belly jiggles like Santa’s does when he laughs. With his long white beard and large girth, he reminds me of the jolly old man himself. “That’s because strip poker’s against the rules. Which is why they made us stop playing it.”

I feel my eyes widen. “You guys were playing strip poker?” Now that’s something I’m glad I didn’t witness.

“Not here in the rec room. We used to sneak into Hattie’s suite and play it there.”

“We? You mean Hattie and you four gentlemen?”

“Not at all,” Lawrence says with a cheeky grin. “By the time the nighttime staff figured out we were up to no good, we’d been holding weekly strip-poker nights for a few months, and there was a fair number of