Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)

Swain gave a pained laugh. “Yeah.” He balled up his napkin and tossed it on the remains of his chicken fried steak, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “Dobie was at the Gas N Go that morning. He caught an eyeful of me on my way out of Hill’s room at The Hideaway.”

“Ah.” Malone winced. “Ran right to Eden to share the news?”

He nodded. “Complete with video.”

“Well, shit. I didn’t give the boy enough credit. Spark of genius, right there, thinking to document it. We’ve got the phone in custody?”

“Buchanan does. The video won’t circulate.”

“Okay. All right, then.” He dusted his palms together over his plate. “All’s well that ends well.”

Swain shrugged.

Malone’s bushy brows lowered. “Didn’t you talk to her?”

“Not yet.” He looked at Malone. “I haven’t really had a chance to speak to her privately, but even if I did, what to say is tricky. I figure that’s need-to-know.” He stared out the window without taking anything in. “It’d be easier if she’d just trust me.”

“Shit, boy.” Malone tossed his napkin onto his plate. “She’s Bluelick PD. We maintain a bond of trust with our fellow law enforcement personnel. Get yourself out of the doghouse. Consider her need-to-know.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Congratulations, Officer Brixton, on a successful sting operation.” Her parents’ smiling faces filled her phone screen. “Your mom and I know this is the first of many professional triumphs. Also, Buchanan owes me fifty bucks now, so thank you for that.”

Eden took a break from unpacking dishes and putting them in an upper kitchen cabinet of the townhouse apartment she was finally able to move into. Resting a hip against the very pretty gray granite counter, she frowned. “Chief Buchanan bet against our chances of completing the op?”

“Uh-uh.” Her father’s smile went long and cagey. “He bet against you doing it so quickly. I said you’d nail it down in less than a month. He thought it would take longer.”

Thank God it hadn’t. More time playing house with Swain would have only left her more screwed up in the end.

“Well, I’m glad you won—for everybody’s sake.”

“How’re you settling into your apartment, honey?” This question came from her mom.

Eden held her phone out to arm’s length and took a lazy turn around the white and gray kitchen. “Slowly. Kitchen’s almost done.” She moved past the peninsula to the bright, open living and dining area, with its gleaming, honey-colored hardwood floors and white plaster walls. Because she knew her mom would appreciate them, she tipped the screen to show off the crown moldings and the decorative plaster ceiling medallion around the dining room light fixture.

“I love all the traditional touches,” her mom gushed, while her blue eyes beamed with approval. “Look at those built-ins. And you know what would look just perfect over the fireplace?”

“An eighty-inch flat screen?” Her father teased. Kind of.

“Bite your tongue, Noah.” To Eden, she said, “The painting I did of your second-grade ballet recital.”

“The one you gave me for Christmas that year?” Her father’s eyebrows crashed down to form a stern line. “The one in my home office?”

“That’s the one!” Her mother’s smile flashed bright as a spotlight. “All those soft pinks and pearly whites. That space above the fireplace is crying out for it.”

“Honey…” Her father turned to debate the issue with her mother, but Eden saved them both the trouble.

“You did a lovely job with the painting, Mom, but it’s Dad’s. I can’t ask him to part with it.”

“Thank you,” her father said, and shot her mom a narrow-eyed glare that quelled even the toughest of his big, tough SEAL subordinates, but didn’t work at all on petite, bird-boned CC Brixton.

“But you look adorable,” her mother argued, “in your little pink leotard, that puffy cloud of white tutu, and the shoes. It would be the sweetest conversation piece.”

Yeah, if she wanted to have conversations about whether she’d lost her freaking mind. “Mom, I can’t hang a portrait of myself over my fireplace. It’s Bluelick, not Bridgerton.”

Her mother laughed and waved a hand as if to clear the matter out of the air. “All right. All right. I guess I see your point. I’m just excited to help you decorate your new digs. A new place, new beginnings. It’s very exciting.”

“Yeah.” She took in the high ceilings and the tall, traditional front windows she’d fallen so hard for what seemed like eons ago when she’d signed the lease. “Exciting.” Now though, she found herself missing a big-ass blue sectional and a cramped, eat-in kitchen with a tiny pine table. Pipes that moaned and a screen door that slammed coming and going, if you didn’t catch it first.