Page 63 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

Tucker Chase tipped his wide body back in his chair, far enough to plant both spit-polished boots on his desk and cross his ankles.

Life wasn’t fair, not that he was complaining.

He wasn’t. But complainers seemed to show up whenever two or more people put their pointed little heads together.

Didn’t matter if they were special operators or civilians, popes or convicted criminals, someone in the crowd was always moaning and pissing.

They whined when it rained, then whined when the sun came out.

The day was too hot or too bright. They whined when they were hungry, and they whined after they’d eaten a twelve-course meal.

Nothing was warm enough, cold enough, salted enough, bland enough, quiet or dark enough. Wah, wah, wah.

Some folks were just born to suck the joy out of life.

Fun suckers. That’s what they were. They were glass half-empty types.

Pain in the ass pansies who only offered negative energy to every operation.

They were road blockers, contributing argument after argument as to why nothing smart could work or why every proposal was flawed.

They tore people down. The Navy was full of fun suckers. Hell, so was Congress.

But not Deuces Wild. Now there was a team to be proud of, and by hell, Tucker was.

They might be only a handful in number, but they were mighty.

Of course, the concept behind Deuces Wild still spooked the straights, what he called anyone not psychically endowed, but it was what it was.

All through history, superior intelligence had confounded simple folks.

Not that he was a genius or anything. Tucker knew most certainly that he was not.

But Isaiah was. Eden might be too. Even Kell.

Tucker wouldn’t be surprised. Kell had proven himself to be so much more than just a tortured empath.

Once he’d let loose of his past, he’d changed overnight.

Might have something to do with marrying Savannah Church.

She’d finally met with Isaiah, and yes, she was another Level Ten.

But unlike Isaiah, she came without emotional baggage.

She’d been raised with nothing but love, and it had made one helluva difference.

Maybe all those sappy songs were right. Maybe love really could change the world.

But what to do. What to do…

Any minute now, Eden would advise Tucker that he had a visitor.

Fish and Wildlife Agent Camilla Brinkman.

Yeah, her. Tucker intended to keep his boots right where they were.

He wouldn’t usually do that when he had visitors, but she didn’t deserve respect.

Not yet. She hadn’t earned it. The woman needed to learn her place, and it was not on the top rung.

She wasn’t director material, not even decent unskilled labor as far as Tucker could tell.

She might have political backing up her ass, but Brinkman had no experience working in the real world. No talent either.

College degrees didn’t mean shit to Tucker.

He’d worked with men and women all over the world who hadn’t finished school, yet knew more than Brinkman.

And he’d gone over Brinkman’s personnel file.

She’d been bounced all over Division of Fish and Wildlife since the day her connected husband got the job for her.

For as smart as Tucker knew she was, her ratings were less than stellar.

She rubbed people the wrong way. No one wanted to work with her.

Neither did he.

‘She’s here…’ Eden sing-songed in his head.

‘Send her in.’

The door swung wide and in marched FWS Agent Camilla Brinkman like she had a broomstick stuck up her ass.

Dressed in a dark purple business suit, matching slacks and pinpoint stilettos with six-inch heels, she did cut an impressive figure.

Out of uniform, yes, but sleek and polished ‘looking.’ Arrogant as all get out, but fierce.

Without offering a civil greeting, she tossed her chin at him and said, “I’m here. What do you want?”

That cued Tucker’s disgust all over again. A smart person who really wanted to advance in their federal career might have offered a “Good morning, Director Chase” or a “It’s nice to see you again.” Not Miss High- and-Mighty. This was going to be more fun than he expected.

“Shut the door,” he told her even as he maintained his casual disdain.

Turning, Agent Brinkman slapped one palm to his door and slammed it with a bang.

She stalked like one of those dead-faced, long-legged runway models across his office to the window.

A smart recruit would have stood waiting front and center of his desk.

But that would’ve required respect for the office, and Brinkman seemed to think everyone else in the world was beneath her.

That he owed her something when in fact, it was the other way around.

Tucker pursed his lips and matched her spoiled brat attitude with indifference. She wanted attention. Well, she was going to get it.

Just as she’d smoothed one hand under her ass to sit in the leather chair by his window, Tucker said, “Don’t get comfortable. You’re not staying here.”

Did her nose just flare? Did she shoot him a nasty glare? He could’ve laughed in her face. The woman was his ex-wife all over again. Spoiled and conniving. Well, he could be conniving too.

By then her hands were on her hips and her nose was definitely out of joint. “What do you mean, I’m not staying? My director said to report to you, that I was officially on loan to the FBI until further notice.”

Still stretched out in recliner mode, Tucker yawned to prove how little he cared about how she felt or what she thought.

Still looking at the ceiling, he gave it to her with blunt force.

“I don’t need you and I don’t like you. But I do have a job for you if you’re smart enough to handle it.

That’s the real question, isn’t it? You can’t seem to hold a position long enough to gain any traction, can you?

People just don’t like working with you. ”

All Tucker got back was an unladylike grunt.

Not that he cared. He offered her the carrot anyway.

“I’ve got a friend in the covert surveillance business.

He needs someone to run his office while his Girl Friday is on leave.

If you can handle that for, oh, say, six months, I’ll put in a good word for you back at FWS, provided that’s where you really want to spend your career. ”

Dead silence.

Tucker wasn’t about to waste the time it took to look at Brinkman to judge her opinion of the suggestion.

He flat didn’t care. The truth was FWS didn’t want her back, but if anyone could turn her pretentious ass around and make her an honest broker, it was Alex Stewart.

Of course, Tucker still had to call Alex and tell him what he’d done to him, ahem, for him.

But Alex did need the help. His admin genius, Sasha Kennedy, hadn’t yet come back from the extended vacation she’d gone on after her daughter died.

And the Bureau did have an agent exchange program with Alex.

Kind of. Sort of. That was how Tucker acquired both Ky Winchester and Tate Higgins.

Didn’t hurt that they were talented psychics.

Okay, so that rare talent had made a huge difference.

Tucker had been tasked to man the most important FBI directorate in history.

He’d all but begged Alex to give him Ky and Tate.

Blame it on Eden. She was the one who’d told Tucker they were psychics, untrained, maybe, but still enough to get the Bureau’s first psychic directorate up and running.

When Brinkman still said nothing, Tucker turned his head and deliberately stared her down. “Well? What’s it going to be? Out the door or upward and onward? Your choice.”

“Let me get this straight,” she sneered, her razor thin nose flaring, her dark eyes flashing sparks of disgust. “You expect me to work for a private contractor. Me. How is that even legal?”

Oh, she has a lot to learn.

“It’s legal because the Bureau has a standing agreement with Stewart. We trade agents all the time,” he lied. “It’s a win/win. You’ll get on the job tactical training.” And I’ll get rid of you.

Brinkman snorted.

Leaning forward, Tucker thumped both boots to the floor. “Bottom line, you’ll work for Alex or you’re off federal payroll. FWS doesn’t want you back, and you’re not psychic, so I can’t use you. If you’re smart, you’ll knuckle down and do a good job for Alex. He might even decide to keep you.”

Huffing, Brinkman averted her gaze to the ceiling as if counting to ten or praying for patience.

Tucker doubted that second option. Blink, blink, blink went those bright black eyes.

Tap, tap, tap went her expensively clad toes.

Tucker didn’t want to look at her feet to confirm, but were those purple heels Jimmy Choo’s?

It took a minute, maybe because Brinkman didn’t know how to count to ten, either, but at last she breathed a drawn out, “Fine. I’ll go. Where is this place and what’s it called?”

Her snotty acceptance elicited a grin from Tucker.

He couldn’t help it. Alex and he were not exactly good buddies, but they did have a somewhat amicable truce between them.

And Alex did need admin help. But Alex was also one tough, ball-breaking DI from the ground up.

Miss Entitled had no idea what she was walking into, and Tucker would not tell her.

He handed over Stewart’s business card. “Here’s the address.

It’s known up and down the East Coast as The TEAM.

” That hint should’ve told her that working for Stewart was a privilege, that she’d be better paid working for him than in the federal sector.

But Tucker wasn’t about to tell her that.

Let Miss Smarty-Pants figure it out. “Stewart’s expecting you.

” Or he will be as soon as I tell him what I just did for him… err, to him .

She snatched the card out from between Tucker’s fingers with disdain. “The TEAM? Stupid name. Never heard of it.”

“Well, yeah, it’s covert surveillance ,” he reminded her. “That’s what Stewart’s good at, never being seen or heard.” Are you sure you graduated from college?

Another huff. “Do I still get my regular pay?”

“You’re a GS-seven, right?” General Service pay scale, GS-07. Depending on her locality and series, she probably cleared thirty-five to forty-five thou a year, which, in the high-priced District, was not enough to live on, not the way she shopped.

“Yes,” she hissed, “but I was up for a promotion. ”

Tucker’s mouth twisted at that bold-faced fib.

The only raise Brinkman had coming was her cost-of-living increase, and she wouldn’t see that until January—if the president signed it into law.

But interestingly, her within-grade step increase had been put on hold by her immediate supervisor, which proved what FWS management thought of her.

Most within-grade increases were automatic.

That Brinkman’s boss had taken the time to deliberately squelch hers spoke volumes.

“Unless you decide you’d rather work for Stewart, yes, you’ll continue to receive your regular pay and benefits. You’ll still be a civil servant.”

Agent Brinkman snorted as if that title offended her.

But honestly, there was no GS schedule for spoiled bitch.

Without so much as a thank you, go to hell, or kiss my ass, she jerked the door open and waltzed out with her nose in the air.

Damn. Tucker didn’t know whether to feel sorry for Alex or her.

No matter. He picked up his phone, put his boots back on his desk, and rang up his semi-good friend.

“What do you want, Chase?”

“Hey, Alex. I’ve been thinking. It only seems fair that since I took two of your best operators—”

“You mean stole.”

“Well, yeah, but I did loan Isaiah back to you, at least the Bureau loaned him to you a couple months back.”

“You mean during that debacle in Vietnam when I had to get your ass out of jail?”

“That’s the one. ”

“Doesn’t count. You still owe me, you rat bastard.”

Tucker’s grin deepened. “You’re right. I am a bastard. Comes with the trident, but I thought I’d give you a heads-up. Just sent someone over to fill in until Miss Kennedy comes back.”

“She’s Mrs. Sandler now.”

“Mother got married? Well, err, umm…” That was unexpected news. “When’d that happen?”

“Not sure. I wasn’t invited. Who the hell are you pawning off on me?”

Ouch. Alex didn’t mince words. There were times Tucker wondered if he weren’t psychic, too. He did have an uncanny sense for zeroing in on a liar.

Sasha, aka Mother, hadn’t been back to work since she’d lost her daughter.

After the funeral, she and her lifelong friend, Justice Sandler, had taken an extended ocean cruise that ended at an island somewhere in the Pacific.

But not being at his friend’s wedding had to have hurt.

Alex and Sasha, whom he’d nicknamed Mother, always had one of those love/hate work relationships.

She adored him; he tolerated her. But beneath the bluster, they’d been rock solid.

Tucker envied them. They were good together.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

“Forget it.” Alex brushed him off with his usual gruffness. “When’s this genius supposed to show up? Today? Tomorrow? Soon?”

“She’s on her way,” Tucker said quietly.

What had seemed like a good joke on Alex, now felt like a terrible trick.

Alex worked his ass off every day. He suffered with his men and women, and he led his TEAM from the front instead of the rear, where chicken shits ruled.

If not for the tragedy he’d suffered years ago, he should’ve, could’ve, would’ve made five-star USMC general by now.

He had that kind of drive and vision. That kind of honor.

Maybe this wasn’t a brilliant idea.

“Thanks for thinking of us,” Alex bit out. “Might be hope for you yet.”

Tucker had the good grace to wince at that off-handed compliment. “No bother. Just keep her busy. She’s a hard worker.”

“She got a name?”

“Agent Camilla Brinkman. She worked for the Div—”

“You son of a bitch!”

Oh, shit. Alex knew Brinkman. That could be good. That could be bad. Tucker set the smoking hot phone gently back in its cradle. But then he smiled. There were no two ways about it. Agent Brinkman was going to get precisely what she deserved.

T HE E ND