Deadly Little Secrets Page 0,28
his mind. He needed to coast back to cooler territory for now. “So Agent Sexy, what did you find out with your little undercover adventure?”
“Now I’m Agent Sexy? I think not.” Her verbal dismissal of the moniker puzzled him. “I’m just praying I wasn’t Agent Oh-So Obvious.”
That made him laugh. “No, I’m not sure anyone caught on, not even your friend’s date. How’s she know D’Onofrio?”
“Long story.” He heard the rustle of clothing and immediately pictured her undressing.
Biting back a groan at the thought, he said, “I’ve got time.” He’d listen to the sexy purr of her voice for hours.
“I don’t,” she laughed. “Saturday or not, I’ve got work. Tonight gave me about four more reports to write.”
“Sounds…dull.”
He liked her laugh, low, feminine, and husky. “Pretty much. So why did you want me to call, other than to tell me you liked my shoes?”
That snapped the picture of her in nothing but the strappy black shoes, stockings, and a smile back into his mind. Oh, yeah. This one got him in the gut. Not what he needed, or wanted, but sometimes, life threw you an interesting curve.
“Well,” he drawled. “I was hoping for a bedtime story, but you won’t give. What about a tale of undercover work, instead? What’s the lead?”
“Not at liberty to say, Mr. Bromley.” She made his name sound like a caress, and it was killing him. One minute she was being an agent, flirting a bit awkwardly; then she turned that hot voice on and said his name that way. Two parts of one woman, like she was out of practice, or trying not to be interested. Either possibility was a puzzle. He loved puzzles.
“So, Anastasia…” He treated her to some of her own medicine, letting her full name roll off his tongue like a caress. “What do you want from me? Intel? More lists?”
“How did you know my name’s Anastasia?” More rustling of fabric, then he could hear her sit up and her voice changed.
“It’s on your card,” he answered truthfully, frowning. What made her suddenly wary? “Problem?”
“No, no, it’s just—” She hesitated.
“Just?”
“Did you do a run on me, Gates?” The words came out in a rush. “A deep search?”
He frowned. “I did a standard run, got your general information. You know most of your data’s blocked, thanks to your job. Deep search past those blocks is illegal.” He waited for her to agree, which she did. “I read the article you wrote on data mining. Excellent information there, by the way,” he added. “Made sure you worked for who you said you worked for. That’s about it. Why? Is someone running deeps on you?”
“Someone did. The night after I set up our meet.” She muttered something else he couldn’t catch, so he asked her to repeat it. She sighed, but did so. “I said, I don’t know why I’m telling you that. Or why I believe you when you say it wasn’t you.”
“Hard to say.” He smiled into the darkness, relaxing a bit. “But I’m an honest guy. I only lie to the people I don’t like.”
“Hmmmm.” She was back to flirt mode. “So, you like me?”
He laughed when she squeaked a bit. She must have realized how it sounded. “I do, I really do,” he mocked the infamous Sally Field acceptance speech line. “Seriously. I do like you. I’d—” He hesitated, unsure. It had been so long since he’d even considered dating.
“I’d?”
In for a penny, he thought, bracing himself to do something he hadn’t done in a long time. An eternity. He couldn’t even explain to himself what motivated him, but he said, “I’d like to ask you out.” When she didn’t speak for a moment, his gut clenched. To break the tension, he added, “Ana, not Shirley.”
She laughed, and he knew she’d agree. He grinned. Now for the interesting part. “So, can you do that, working on a case, or do I have to get a writ or a special exception or something from a judge?”
They bantered back and forth for a bit, even talked about the art case, but eventually agreed on dinner the following Friday. That would give him long enough to work it out with Dav’s schedule. There was nothing on the schedule next Friday, but if he didn’t put a word in, he’d be on duty.
“Get some sleep, Agent Anastasia,” he said, wishing he could think of a reason to keep her on the phone that didn’t involve art, or the case or anything remotely akin to work.
“Thanks,