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Her partner.
Her husband.
And the absolute last agent she wanted to be paired with for this mission.
Tessa had planned for a lot of contingencies, but Riley McDade sure wasn’t one of them.
She wanted a quick in and out. No complications. Nothing to extend the length of this ops.
And especially nothing to interfere with its success.
With his renegade tendencies, personal chip on his shoulder and badass attitude, Riley McDade put all those things in question.
“The fictional Aston Tate was born in L.A.,” she heard Riley say. Not to her. He was obviously going over the undercover identity info stored on his PalmPilot. “He’s twenty-nine—just two years younger than me, so I shouldn’t have a problem with that. He collects Civil War memorabilia—I’ll have to fake that part. He’s a huge L.A. Lakers fan—won’t have to fake that. And he’s a jackass.”
Tessa glanced at the PalmPilot he had cradled in his hand. “It says that in the file?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s my opinion. Anybody who’d go to these lengths to have the perfect heir is a jackass. He should be satisfied with what Mother Nature intended him to have. Or not have.”
That tension in her neck went up a notch.
Tessa decided it was a good time to sit quietly and stare out the limo window. Maybe that way she wouldn’t have to respond to Riley’s comment, but her silence didn’t do a thing to ease the deep ache in her heart.
“I’m pulling into the parking lot of the clinic now,” Chris Ingram, the limo driver and fellow SIU agent, informed them through the intercom.
It was almost show time. Tessa took a deep breath. Steadying herself. And hating that steadying herself was even necessary. Why had fate chosen her for this assignment anyway? Talk about rubbing salt in a wound.
A baby mission.
One where she had to pretend to be a hopeful parent who desperately wanted to conceive the perfect child. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to fake the desperately-wanted-to-conceive part. All she had to do was open a vein and let her true feelings flow. In that respect, she was the ideal agent for this ops.
Tessa clung to that.
And hoped it was enough to get her through.
Because in another respect, she was as ill-suited for this as Riley was.
Maybe even more.
Both of them had more than enough emotional baggage to sink this mission before it even got off the ground. And for her, it was emotional baggage that she should have gotten rid of years ago. Bottom line: a baby couldn’t change what had happened in her own childhood. It couldn’t change what her father and she had endured because her mother had walked out on them when she was a child. It couldn’t change any of that. But the emotional baggage could definitely interfere with what she needed to do now on this mission.
If she let it interfere, that is.
She wouldn’t.
Riley clicked off the PalmPilot, essentially erasing its memory. A necessary security precaution. “Want to practice your bio?” he asked.
“Not really.” She already had it committed to memory. Isabel Tate. Twenty-nine. Tessa’s own age. No hobbies. No real life—something that Tessa could definitely relate to. Isabel was essentially the reclusive trophy wife of an equally reclusive trophy husband. A marriage of new money and blue blood.
“There’ll be lots of personal contact between us when we’re in there,” Riley commented. “And afterward while we’re at the second appointment.”
“I know. Loving couple and all that. I understand what we have to do, Riley.”
He nodded. Paused. And otherwise continued to grill her with those storm-gray eyes. “You haven’t been in a deep-cover situation like this before.”
That improved her posture. He’d better not be questioning her abilities. Or reminding her that her father had appointed him as team leader.
“Are you trying to make conversation or a point?” she asked.
“Definitely a point. At a minimum, we’ll probably have to kiss while Fletcher has us under surveillance.”
Oh, that.
She’d thought about kisses all right, along with other intimate behavior that might be expected of a happily married couple.
Embraces.
Long, lingering looks.
Caresses.
It wouldn’t be especially comfortable. Or easy. But then, there wasn’t much about this assignment that would be easy. Still, she’d do it. There were a lot worse things than kissing Riley.
With that reminder, she glanced at his mouth. Sensual, she supposed. After another glance, Tessa took out the supposed. Yes, his mouth was sensual, and why the heck she’d noticed it, she didn’t know.
“Well?” Riley prompted when they stepped out of the limo.
“Well, what?” Tessa asked, already worried that her daydreams about his mouth had caused her to miss something important.
He mumbled some profanity and wiped his hand through his stealth black hair that fell several inches down his neck. The swipe and the gusty October wind only mussed it more, but it still managed to look fashionably disheveled. A term that actually described his overall appearance.
“You understand what we might have to do in there, right?” he asked, obviously irritated.
“It’s not an issue,” she assured him, tossing that irritation right back at him. “If the situation dictates a kiss, then kiss away.”
But both knew it might not be limited to just a kiss.
After all, they were about to enter a fertility clinic. Where virtually anything could be expected of them. Anything. And the man who’d be expecting it was the very person who’d created a dark cloud over the Special Investigations Unit. He’d killed one of their own and gotten away with it.
So far.
As long as Fletcher was free, the dark cloud would stay. Over Riley. Over her father. Over the entire department.
And she could do something about that.
She could finally rid her father of the one black mark on his otherwise spotless career record: his failure to close out Colette’s murder.
Maybe then…
“Where are you right now?” she heard Riley whisper. There was yet more annoyance in his voice. He slipped his arm around her waist and eased her closer to him. Not exactly a loving gesture, either. He gave her a nudge.
Tessa glanced at him and was on the verge of asking him what he meant, but those raised questioning eyebrows said it all.
“I’m focused,” she assured him.
He made a sound to indicate he didn’t believe her.
She made a sound to indicate she didn’t care what he thought.
It was going to be a long mission.
They entered the brownstone building and Tessa paused in the doorway. To get her bearings. To observe. To make sure she was indeed focused.
She counted three security cameras in the reception area. Not two, as stated in the intel report. That meant the surveillance team hadn’t known about the recent modifications in the clinic.
Tessa silently cursed.
She’d already had enough surprises on this ops without adding yet another.
“Camera in the corner above the fake Picasso,” Riley muttered.
“I saw it. And I don’t think it’s a fake.”
Definitely not the decor or security measures for a typical fertility clinic. But then, Dr. Barton Fletcher was nowhere in the range of being typical.
There were no other patients. Just a brunette receptionist whose brass nameplate on her practically bare, glass-topped desk identified her as Beatrice Holden. The woman was almost certainly a hired gun. Tessa noticed the faint outline of a shoulder holster beneath her loose mocha-colored jacket.
“The Tates, I presume,” Beatrice concluded, her more than mildly curious gaze raking over them. She hitched her shoulder in the direction of a hall. “Follow me.”
They did. Down the wide corridor that Tessa knew from studying the floor plans would end at the sitting area outside Fletcher’s office. They passed no other visible doors along the way, but there were some concealed ones behind the judge’s paneling that didn’t quite go with the rest of the decor. Likely spots for escape routes.
Or security guards.
The fact she didn’t have a weapon suddenly made Tessa very uncomfortable. Riley must have felt the same way because the muscles tensed in his arm that he had curved around her waist. Because of Colette and his obsession with getting revenge, there was no telling what kind of emotional wringer he was going through at the moment.
As they neared the end of the hall, the doctor stepped out from the sitting area and flashed them a slick smile that sent a chill snaking down her spine.
Tessa hadn’t been sure how she’d react to Barton Fletcher, but she was a firm believer in instincts. In this case her instincts confirmed what everyone already suspected: the man was a killer.
Too bad the justice system required more than her instincts as proof. And too bad that hard evidence was the very thing they lacked. Of course, that was what this mission was all about—gathering evidence to bring a killer to justice.
Like the reception area, the sitting room outside his office was plush. Decorated with original artwork and a Turkish rug that was probably worth six figures.
But that wasn’t all.
On one wall there were framed black-and-white photos. Artistically done. Precisely placed. All of babies. Lots of babies. Some were newborns snuggled into blankets. Others were slightly older with round smiling faces.
Tessa cursed herself when she had to take another deep breath.
That deep breath sent Riley’s gaze sliding in her direction. “Are you okay?” he whispered. Lovingly whispered. He pressed a husbandly kiss on her cheek.
It was time to open that vein a little.
Not that she could have possibly kept it closed anyway.
Tessa tipped her head toward the photos. “Aren’t they beautiful?” She made sure her voice cracked a little. It wasn’t difficult to do.
Riley nodded, his interest not on the photos but still on her. His stare, along with his slightly tightened grip, was a subtle question. What the heck was wrong with her? But it was also a subtle warning for her to keep her attention on the mission.
“The babies are a few of my many success stories,” Dr. Fletcher volunteered.
Thankfully, the doctor’s voice dragged Tessa back to where she needed to be. She forced aside the old wounds, the old issues, and reminded herself that she couldn’t do anything about the past, but she could do something about the future.
The doctor led them into his office. Fletcher obviously had expensive taste and his workplace wasn’t the only thing that reflected it. His clothes were flawless, along with being pricey. Somehow, the classic conservative Italian suit didn’t clash with the eraser-size diamond stud in his right earlobe.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Fletcher offered.
“We wouldn’t have missed this.” Riley eased onto the sofa across from Fletcher’s desk. Tessa followed and stayed close. “Our future son is our number-one priority.”
“Your future son is important to me, as well.” Fletcher sat at his desk and typed in something on his computer keyboard. “When I meet with potential clients for the first time, I start with the basics. Many couples come to me for enhanced conceptions, but because my time is limited, I’m selective about those I agree to help.”
Tessa didn’t have to fake a surprised reaction to that. Her response was completely natural. A week before at her preliminary screening, Fletcher’s medical technician had told her that once a couple was granted an actual appointment with the doctor, that meant they’d been approved for the procedure. The only thing left to finalize the deal should have been the quarter-million-dollar fee.
Had Fletcher changed his policy about that?
“You are going to help us?” she asked.
Fletcher didn’t respond right away. Nor did he look at them. He kept his gaze fastened to his computer screen. Unfortunately, Tessa couldn’t see what had garnered his attention, but it sent her heart pounding. Mercy. They’d come too close for him to stop things now.
“I always request background checks on potential clients,” Fletcher explained, ignoring her question. “You both obviously value your privacy. It took my assistants days to delve through the layers of cyber security.”
Okay.
That didn’t do much to return her heart rate back to normal. Especially since only hours earlier her father had assured them that Fletcher hadn’t taken much interest in their backgrounds.
Just how far had Fletcher’s “assistants” delved?
And what had they learned?
“Well?” Riley questioned. However, he didn’t just question. He took her by the hand and stood as if preparing to leave. “If you’re not going to help us, Doc, then we’ll have to find someone else who will. Come on, darling.”
Tessa stood, as well, wondering if they would have to fight their way out of here. If Fletcher was on to them, he wouldn’t just let them leave.
She watched Fletcher’s hand carefully. Bracing herself in case he reached for a gun in his desk drawer.
But he didn’t reach for anything. Fletcher motioned for Riley to sit back down. “Of course, I’ll help you, Mr. Tate. The background check was simply a square filler, and now that it’s complete, we can move on to the next square.”
Tessa hoped her sigh of relief wasn’t too audible.
