Maverick (Hell's Handlers MC 2)

Not like you giving it up for an orgasm.

God, she wanted to vomit. She was no better than the man she hated. Sweat coated her palms, and she rubbed them on her navy slacks as discretely as possible. Why did he keep the room so damn hot?

Director Baccarella sagged in his chair, suddenly looking less like a powerful government official and more like an exhausted and overworked public servant. “No.” He paused and gazed off into space as though deciding what he wanted to say. “We had suspicions for the past few months.”

This just got better and better. “Suspicions?”

“I know he mostly checked in with you, but I spoke with him once a month. He’d missed check-ins and his reports to me were inconsistent, sometimes erratic, with conflicting information. His wife hadn’t spoken to him in almost six weeks.”

“And you didn’t think I needed to know this? The agent who was his contact in Tennessee? The one who went down there to meet with him?”

What a fucking joke.

The director’s phone buzzed on his desk. He spared a moment to check it, and his face hardened. “Listen, Agent Little,” he said, focusing back on her. The tired man of moments ago was gone, replaced by the sharp-minded agent who’d been one of the youngest to make director. “You’ve been at this long enough to know nothing is ever simple. Nothing is ever black and white. I’m going to give it to you straight. The Director of the FBI is looking to retire by the end of the year. There are two of us on the president’s short list to replace him. I want that position. But a rogue agent who murdered three teens and tried to rape another agent would not only kill my chances, it’d kill my career entirely. So it stays here between the very few people who know the story.”

Stephanie flew out of her chair and slapped her palms down on the desk. Pain reverberated through her wrist. The cast had been removed three days ago, but weakness in the joint kept it stiff and achy.

She loomed over the seated director as much as a five-foot-three frame could loom. “I have to attend a medal ceremony for a man who betrayed his country and almost killed me because you don’t want to look bad? This is fucking bullshit.”

Baccarella cleared his throat and rose. He was only six inches taller, but it still had the effect of stealing her advantage. “I warned you once, Agent Little.”

Stephanie couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to get out of the room. “I’m sorry, sir, but I just can’t accept this outcome.”

A snorted laugh was his response. “You can’t possibly be this naïve after working here for two years.”

Hearing Daniel’s same accusation out of the director’s mouth was a knife that cut the last thread she’d been hanging on by. “Guess I’ll see you at the medal ceremony, sir.” She started toward the door, keeping her head high and her steps long.

Just as she gripped the handle, he said, “One more thing, Agent Little.”

“Sir?” she said without turning.

“We’re going to need you to go back to Tennessee.”

Shit. She’d known this request was coming. Somewhere in the back of her mind, in a place she’d been ignoring for weeks, she knew they were going to ask this of her.

“I’m not an undercover agent. I’m not trained for it.” Did he even give a shit that she’d be in more danger than an experienced agent?

“We’re pretty sure the Hell’s Handlers took out Shark and Daniel but can’t find a damn thing that connects them to the murders. I need to close that loop. I need the win. We also have suspicions they’re taking over the drug trafficking and possibly the human trafficking as well.”

Never.

Had he seen the men’s reactions to Daniel’s involvement with the missing girls, he’d never think that. The admission could never cross her lips, though. Not unless she wanted a free trip to prison. And really, should she say never? Her attraction to Maverick was clouding her judgement. She didn’t know those men. If King flipped for the promise of a big payday, it certainly wasn’t unreasonable for men already criminals to pick up the slack.

Even if her gut rejected the notion.

Stephanie let her forehead fall to the door with a thunk. “Sir, none of the information we have on the Handlers MC points to them dealing in drugs or women. All intel indicates crimes the FBI isn’t overly interested in at this time.”

Except, of course, murder. Multiple murders. One that happened just ten feet away from her.

“I need more than assumptions and speculation.”

Back to Tennessee. Back to the Handlers. Back to Maverick. Excitement and dread warred for victory in her gut. “And if I refuse?”

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she saw him shrug in her mind. “Not sure the Pittsburg PD would take you on again considering what your father did there, but you could always give it a try.”