Wicked Business–The Wicked Series Second Book

An unedited excerpt–

DJ went by her initials because she flat out hated her name. Desiree Joy made her sound like some kind of party girl. Dangerous Justice would’ve been a much better fit for her initials. At least in her dreams.

She was all about serving her country, fighting the war on drugs, and making a difference. Maybe, her reasons were more personal than noble. But, that was totally her business. The only snag was that she was still waiting for a chance to prove that she could handle an important assignment.

Her determination had nothing to do with a superhero complex and she wasn’t a bleeding-heart do-gooder. Not even in the same area code. She still lived in the rundown flat where she’d been raised–on one of the meanest street in New York.

A talent for languages had gotten her foot in the door with DIE (Domestic Intelligence Emphasis), the hardcore homeland branch of the CIA. Recruited by the agency right out of college, she’d sailed through training with excellent evaluations.

Fast-forward three years, she was still translating phone conversations, emails, and occasionally an honest-to-God document.

For added thrills, now and then she got loaned to the forensic accounting team when the financial records were in Portuguese, Spanish, or French. Her lowly role provided a steady stream of dull with some boring tossed in to keep things from getting too predictable.

The reality, at least for her part, of the spy biz was zero glamour and less excitement. Sure, the work was important, but it was still a hell of long ways from kicking dangerous criminal butt.

She’d never risked anything more than eyestrain, paper cuts, and a spreading ass from pouring over transcripts and sitting in staff meetings. Stubbornly, she worked on her field craft skills in hopes that someday she’d get out of the office.

When she’d first started at the agency’s local branch, she’d fully expected to hot sex to be part of her exciting new life. Somehow, three years had vanished without a single dangerous lover.

Not that she’d expected to get to be super-spy-girl right away. But, more of the same had gotten old. Worse, the rut was starting to look like a permanent career–an endless track of never going to be anything special.

Finally, she’d been sent to the field. The assignment was not exactly exciting. She worked second shift on a standard surveillance op, viewing live video of a suspected drug dealer and money laundering low-life.

Nothing had really changed, except the scenery.

The scenery was excellent. Too excellent. Now, she had new problems.

With her nose pressed to a virtual window, she ached for a man she shouldn’t want, and could never have. Crushing on criminal was beyond stupid. Career killing choice came to mind. Crazy fit so well she was getting edgy about her own sanity.

Just watching seemed safe enough. Fat chance she’d get to do anything else. Her boss had flat out told her the only reason she’d been assigned to the case was because she was one of only a handful of agency employees, who spoke Portuguese.

Still, spying on Eduardo was totally a step up from paper pushing. Watching him was definitely not a hardship. The man was all prime male flesh, muscle, and bone. To her disappointment, during the week that she’d been viewing the live feeds of his apartment and office, nothing exciting had happened.

Agency scuttlebutt had it that the man’s dirty deeds and criminal actions all happened off-camera at a private club. None of the DIE hotshot field agents had succeeded in breeching the club’s security. Though, not for lack of trying.

The laptop’s screen glowed to life, switching off her wandering thoughts. The motion activated video cam, turned on when the subject returned to his office. DJ sat straighter, focusing on the laptop’s display as he shrugged out of his jacket. She fought for professional detachment, but illicit excitement bubbled through her veins as she watched him roll up his sleeves.

Come on, big guy loosen that tie. Let’s get comfy. Everyone else has left for the day and it’s just you and me.

She smothered a sigh of disappointment when the tie stayed right where it belonged. Dutifully, she watched for another two hours as he continue to work, fully dressed. Finally, he rolled down his shirtsleeves, straightened his tie, and then shrugged into his jacket.

The man was never going to strip in his office. But, hope wasn’t dead. He might take it all off at home.

Purely to stave off terminal boredom, she narrated his nightly exit routine under her breath. “Don’t forget the cell phone. Drop it into the right jacket pocket. There you go. Slip the laptop into its case. Okay, call for your car.”

Senor Torres followed the script flawlessly. It was just plain wrong for a man so mouth wateringly gorgeous to be so predictable.

She sighed. She shouldn’t be thinking of the subject as desirable. But hell, she wasn’t a machine. Any sane woman, forced to watch him hour after hour, would’ve been attracted to the man.

The occasional burst of profanity aside, he could’ve passed for a saint. Everyday, she worried that the agency would figure out they were watching the wrong guy. Then, she’d miss out on her one chance to actually do something, before getting sent back to the office–chained to her desk forever.

She sighed again and stretched, working out the kinks that had settled in her back and shoulders from sitting in the same position for too long.

The evening commute took him fifteen to twenty minutes. Plenty of time for her to make a cup of peppermint tea, check her messages, and settle in for another five hours of scenic, but mind-numbing dullness before her relief came on duty.

Shortly, DJ blew gently across the top of the still scalding tea. When the subject breezed through the apartment’s entry, she checked the time, exactly seventeen minutes after leaving the office.

Then, something new happened.