Page 18 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

“Mr. Anklor, what a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says, extending his hand toward an imaginary target. “I’m Fenton Nielsen, and this is my fiancée, Jenna Johnson. We’ve heard so much about your work with literacy programs.”

I step forward with a brilliant smile, offering my hand with the perfect balance of confidence and deference. “Mr. Anklor, thank you so much for including us tonight. The cause is so important, and your commitment to education is truly inspiring.”

“Perfect,” Fenton says, dropping back into his normal voice. “Natural enthusiasm without seeming desperate for his attention.”

We run through variations of the scenario, practicing responses to different conversational directions and rehearsing the subtle intelligence-gathering techniques we’ll employ.

The preparation is thorough and professional, but I’m distracted by the way Fenton moves, the way he thinks through problems, and the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.

During one practice session focused on appearing naturally affectionate, I reach for his hand without thinking and realize I’m no longer acting.

The gesture is automatic, genuine, and born from actual desire for physical connection rather than operational necessity.

When I look at him with what should be performed adoration, the emotion behind it is entirely real.

The realization should alarm me, but instead it feels like a revelation. I’m not just playing a role anymore. I’m living it. I’ve been denying that for weeks, but why bother? I embrace the truth. I’m falling for him.

“Jenna?” Fenton’s voice pulls me back to the present. “You okay? You seemed distracted.”

I blink. “Just thinking about tomorrow night. Are you nervous?”

“Terrified.” He gives me a stiff smile. “Three years of planning, and it all comes down to one evening. If we can get close to Anklor, plant the surveillance devices, and gather the evidence we need, we can destroy his entire network. If we fail...”

“We won’t fail.” The conviction in my voice surprises us both. “We’re too good at this, and we want it too much.”

He moves closer, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his vision and smell his familiar cologne. “When did this become about what we want instead of what I need?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with insinuations. Instead of answering directly, I rise on my toes and kiss him, pouring all my complicated emotions into the contact.

When we break apart, both of us are breathing harder than the brief kiss should warrant. “Tomorrow night,” I say, resting my forehead against his, “we take down Anklor and prove justice actually exists in this world.”

“And then?”

“Then we figure out what comes next.”

The conversation is interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Fenton and I exchange glances. We’re not expecting anyone, and unexpected visitors are rarely good news in our line of work.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, moving toward the front door with alertness that suggests he’s prepared for trouble.

But the voice that calls through the door is one I recognize, and it makes me grimace. “Jenna? I know you’re in there. We need to talk.”

It’s Maria Ortiz, my brother’s ex-wife, detective with the white-collar crime unit, and the last person I want to see right now. I move to the door despite Fenton’s concerned expression. Through the door, I ask, “Maria? What are you doing here?”

“Open the door, Jenna. This conversation needs to happen face-to-face.”

I look at Fenton. He shrugs, leaving it to me. Refusing to let her in will only make her more tenacious, regardless why she’s here. I unlock the door to find Maria standing in the hallway wearing her detective expression and professional outfit that suggests she’s here in an official capacity.

“Maria. This is unexpected.”

She steps into the apartment without invitation, her keen vision cataloging everything from the expensive furniture to Fenton’s presence in the background. “We need to talk about your new boyfriend.”

“I don’t see how my personal life is any of your business, especially since you’re no longer family.”

The comment is cruel, but Maria’s sudden appearance has triggered my defensive instincts.

She divorced my brother two years ago after discovering his involvement in a fencing operation, and while she maintained some contact with the family out of lingering loyalty, her relationship with me has always been complicated.

“It becomes my business when you start dating someone with connections to criminal activity.”

Ice runs through my veins, but I keep my expression neutral. “What are you talking about?”

“Fenton Nielsen. After your brother mentioned him when we met for lunch, I ran a background check.”

I curse under my breath, regretting confiding in Danny when we chatted a couple of weeks ago.

I still talk to my family sometimes, but Danny’s the only one I remain truly close with, or at least close enough for monthly phone calls.

I only mentioned in passing I was dating a new man, giving Fenton’s name reluctantly when Danny asked, and forgot all about it until now.

Fenton steps forward, extending his hand with perfect composure. “Detective Ortiz, I presume? Jenna’s mentioned you. I’m Fenton Nielsen.”

Maria doesn’t take his hand, instead studying his face with the intensity of someone memorizing details for a police report. “Mr. Nielsen. Interesting how someone with your background has so little digital footprint before three years ago.”

“I value privacy. Not everyone needs to document their entire life on social media.”

She arches a dark brow. “Privacy is one thing. A completely fabricated identity is another.”

My heart rate accelerates, but I force myself to appear confused rather than panicked. “Maria, what are you implying?”

She gives me a level look. “I’m saying your boyfriend’s background is too short and too clean to be real. Perfect credit, perfect employment history, and perfect references. In my experience, when someone’s past looks that perfect, they’re usually hiding something significant.”

“Or maybe he’s just a successful professional who pays his bills and maintains good relationships with clients and colleagues,” I counter. “Not everyone has skeletons in their closet.”

She snorts. “Everyone has something. The question is whether his secrets are the kind that get people hurt.”

Fenton maintains his calm demeanor, but there’s tautness in his posture. “Detective, I understand your concern for Jenna’s welfare, but I’m not sure what you’re hoping to accomplish with these accusations?”

Maria squares her shoulders. “I’m hoping to prevent her from getting involved in something that could destroy her life. Jenna’s made some questionable choices in the past, but she’s not a criminal. If you’re involved in illegal activities, you need to stay away from her.”

The protective instinct that surges through me is surprising in its intensity. “Maria, you’re out of line. Fenton hasn’t done anything wrong, and neither have I. Whatever suspicions you have are based on paranoia, not evidence.”

“Are they? Then explain how a woman who’s been living paycheck to paycheck for years suddenly has expensive clothes and jewelry. Explain how she’s attending charity galas and high-society events with someone who didn’t exist before three years ago.”

“I explained my situation to the people who matter. Fenton is successful and generous, and he includes me in his social activities. That’s what people do when they care about each other.”

Maria’s expression softens slightly, but her concern remains obvious. “I’ve seen what happens when people get involved with criminals who seem charming and successful on the surface. It doesn’t end well.”

“I’ve seen what happens when cops become so suspicious of everyone that they can’t recognize genuine happiness when they see it.” I hold back the urge to remind her that she let principles trump love, not wanting to hurt her even though I don’t appreciate this blitz attack.

The confrontation escalates as Maria threatens to investigate Fenton more thoroughly, and I’m defending him with a passion that surprises us both.

I don’t reveal anything that could compromise our mission, but I make it clear I trust him completely and won’t tolerate her interference in our relationship.

She finally throws her hands in the air. “You’re making a mistake, Jenna. When this goes bad—and it will go bad—don’t expect me to bail you out.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I thought you said when you divorced Danny that you were done with our family’s problems.”

The comment hits its target, and Maria’s expression hardens. “I’ll be watching, Jenna. Both of you. If I find evidence of illegal activity, family loyalty won’t protect you.”

After she leaves, I stand in the hallway processing what just happened. My feelings for Fenton have become strong enough that I instinctively defended him against serious accusations from a law enforcement officer. That’s both thrilling and petrifying.

“That could have gone better,” he says, locking the door behind Maria.

I laugh-snort. “She doesn’t have anything concrete, or she would have arrested you instead of making threats.”

He looks mildly concerned. “No, but she’ll be watching us now. That complicates things.”

I turn to face him. “Not for me. Maria can watch all she wants. She won’t find anything that changes how I think about you. Besides, our actions toward Anklor aren’t too illegal…and it’s for a good cause.”

“Jenna...”

“I meant what I said. I trust you completely. Whatever secrets you’re keeping, whatever risks we’re taking, I’m all in.”

The declaration hangs between us, but looking at Fenton’s expression, filled with gratitude, surprise, and something I tentatively label as love, I know I’ve made the right choice.

I’m touched and irritated by Maria’s interference, but I’ll do everything I can to protect Fenton and help him bring down Anklor.