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“I know enough.” He let confidence fill his voice. “For one, a seasoned agent like you would never have let me get the drop on you if this was an authorized op.”
Her eyes widened fractionally before she masked it.
“It’s okay, I’ve been there,” he said gently. “Sometimes you gotta break the rules to get justice.”
Her gaze shuttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He held her stare, unwilling to back down. “I think you do. And I think you know that I know it too.”
Her lips tightened. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Fair enough. But I recognize that look in your eyes. You’re on a mission, and you won’t let anyone stop you. Not even your superiors.” He let understanding fill his tone. “Like I said. Been there.”
She looked away, jaw rigid.
He suppressed a smile. Getting through that prickly exterior was going to take some doing. Luckily, he’d always enjoyed a challenge.
She must be afraid, yet she was no pushover. No whining or bargaining for her freedom. She had a cool head and a sharp tongue. He had to admire that, even if she’d consider him an enemy for life after this.
Well, what was one more adversary? He’d certainly faced worse. For now, he needed information, and she clearly wasn’t going to give it up easily. He’d have to get creative if he wanted answers.
And he’d have to do it fast. Now he knew she was on her own, probably running a totally unauthorized op, but he couldn’t expect to hang onto a trained agent for long.
Even with the windows up, the smell of damp vegetation and fresh rain mingled with the scent of the agent’s perfume. Mason tried to make out her features in the transient light from passing streetlights, but mostly all he could make out was the silhouette of her thick curls. He peered at her, wishing for better light. But the shadows cloaking them suited his purposes for now. All he needed was to gain her trust enough to learn why she was after Paul.
He kept his voice low.”I’m Mason Ortiz, retired SEAL, currently an operative with a private security firm, Redemption Incorporated. This dufus is my younger brother, Paul. I got a call from him earlier today asking for help. Sounds like he’s found himself caught up in some trouble. Wrong place, wrong time kind of deal.” He shot Paul a look in the rearview mirror. “Or so he says.”
The woman’s eyes never left his during his recitation. He could feel her soaking in the info. But instead of reciprocating, she let the silence grow.
An excellent technique.
Mason cleared his throat. “This is the part where you’re supposed to tell me what you were doing back there.”
The quip earned him a cute, tight-lipped smile. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re not undercover,” he guessed. “No agent would carry a real badge and ID on an op. I’m willing to bet yours are in that purse.”
The woman’s eyes flashed. “Fine. I’m FBI, and no, I’m not undercover.”
Mason admired her grit. “I appreciate your honesty. Why are you after my brother?”
She lifted her chin. “Need-to-know.”
He nodded slowly. Getting full cooperation was apparently going to take more creativity. “How about we start with something easier. How about a name?”
“How about not?”
“Icouldjust call you Candy if you’d prefer.”
She gave him a death glare.
“No? How about I dip into your purse?”
“Go ahead. Won’t hurt my feelings to add robbery to your growing list of charges.”
Mason wracked his brain, trying to figure out how to get this woman to reveal why she was after Paul. He still didn’t even know what kind of trouble his brother was in, only that this agent was connected somehow.
He scuffed a booted foot against the floorboard. “Fine. We’ll start.” He tapped Paul on the shoulder. “Tell me what you did.”