Teamwork

By Caitlyn Willows

FBI Special Agents Matt Oliver and Allie Quinn have a reputation for doing whatever it takes to stay alive and get the job done. It's an added plus that part of their undercover assignment includes unfettered sex. Little do they realize what doing anything will involve when they come together for what is supposed to be a simple job…or how distracting that "anything" will be.

A short vacation keeps those sparks flying, but as they reassume their fake identities, each wonders if they can maintain that do-anything reputation now that love is barreling their way. Doing whatever it takes to complete an undercover mission holds new meaning to a man in love with his partner—a partner he now has to share with another man.

Bonus Story – Never Too Late: Simon Petrocelli and Emily Keating lost everything dear to them, including each other. Will Fate grant them another chance or is it too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caitlyn Willows
• Release date: Apr 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386633266

Caitlyn Willows

Blessed (or cursed) with a vivid imagination, award-winning author Caitlyn Willows eventually learned to turn that talent inward. Readers will find deep emotions and sizzling sensuality seamlessly woven into her action-filled stories. Believing life is to be lived and felt, not merely watched, Caitlyn delivers real-to-life characters in unforgettable tales of love, adventure, and always steamy passion. No one is more surprised than she at the direction life has taken her. She is also a mosaic artist and an avid crafter with a passion for cross-stitch. Caitlyn lives in the beautiful desert of Southern California with her husband (a genealogist). She is always on the lookout for the next interesting tidbit that will help fill her writing well.

Book preview

Teamwork

(Includes Bonus Story: Never Too Late)

By

Caitlyn Willows

––––––––

Copyright 2016 Caitlyn Willows

Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

Editor: Christy Lockhart

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Image/art disclaimer: Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. The author’s books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in BDSM titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. The author is not responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

Table of Contents

TEAMWORK

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

NEVER TOO LATE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

About The Author

TEAMWORK

Chapter One

Allie Quinn rubbed the tension from her neck. Couldn’t Herb have gotten someone else for this assignment? She’d been working nonstop for two years—undercover this, undercover that. In fact, she’d just tied up the loose ends on an insurance fraud case that morning. She was supposed to be packing for a tropical vacation, not getting briefed on another job. Lounging on a white sand beach, half-naked cabana boys at her beck and call, naps under the umbrella, dips in the warm water, sinfully fruity alcoholic beverages, nights doing whatever the hell she wanted. The trip was prohibitively expensive, but every now and then a woman needed to treat herself.

She’d wanted to get as far away from New York as she could. The Hideaway Resort on Oahu’s north shore seemed the best choice. Sure, it catered to the government law enforcement crowd, and the chances of running into someone she knew were great, but at least she’d be able to relax and not have to worry about looking over her shoulder.

Did you hear a word I said? Herb Walker drummed his fingers on the battered gray metal desk.

It looked like it had been around since World War II. That’s about how she felt—worn down to nothingness.

She lifted her gaze to his dark frown, counting the furrows in his brown forehead—five deep enough to hold a quarter on its end. God, she was tired. A nap would be heavenly right about now. Honestly? No. I leave for a two-week vacation in three days. I’m overdue, exhausted, and not at the top of my game right now. Surely there’s someone else.

His shook his bald head. Those dark brown eyes never drifted from her face. This went down fast, very last-minute. I have no one else available. It’s a simple task. Nothing more than bringing back the flash drive Gordie slips to you. He thinks he’s been compromised and wants to pass the info along now while he can.

You’d think he’d want to get the hell out first, rather than wait for someone to show up.

He’s been inside for six months. I trust he has a handle on the situation. You know him as well as I do. He wouldn’t have contacted me if he didn’t think it was urgent.

She couldn’t argue that. Gordie was diligent.

You board on Track 13 at Grand Central. Disembark after you retrieve the drive at any of the other stations along the way convenient to you and head back. The ticket is a round-trip to Miami and back, just in case. But it’s a couple of hours tops. Simple.

Simple? It sounded anything but. Why else would he have the round-trip fare just in case.

The FBI had been trying to get information on Brian Sumner’s money laundering schemes for years. Blackmail, extortion, witnesses conveniently disappearing or strangely mute were all parts of his supposed M.O. The goons who surrounded the wealthy entrepreneur made Capone’s crew look like schoolgirls. Sure, the FBI had finally been able to get a couple of men inside the organization, and those men had infiltrated Sumner’s inner sanctum. But that had taken months, years to set up. Now Herb expected her to waltz in and take the flash drive from Gordie like it was an ice-cream cone?

Sumner was infamous for not liking to fly. Some people claimed he was paranoid to do so, that the mere mention could spawn a major panic attack. Allie wasn’t sure if that was the truth or more of the legend that surrounded the man, but over the years he’d amassed enough private railcars to have his own train, each reportedly loaded with state-of-the-art surveillance equipment at every turn. No one farted on those cars without Sumner knowing it. This time he’d gone all out with a high-stakes poker game via rail from New York to Miami and back—a little over sixty hours of nonstop poker. He’d arranged for at least a dozen of his private railcars to be hooked up—one for the poker games, several cars with individual roomettes, a lounge bar, and a car for himself that was considered not only his sanctuary but his home away from home.

The players paid for use of the private accommodations. As they were eliminated in the competition, they could either retreat to another area of the train to enjoy the remainder of the trip or leave the train and make other arrangements to return wherever home was. She wondered how many knew Sumner was watching their every move, or maybe he’d disengaged the surveillance setup for the duration of the game. Allie doubted that. It would be a prime opportunity for him to get blackmail footage on the higher profile personalities.

The event was also going to be televised. Entry fees were going to charity. She supposed that could be her ticket in. There would be spectators. Wouldn’t there? Didn’t poker players have groupies like rock stars? She didn’t have time to research that now. The clock was ticking. She had less than an hour to throw herself together, get to Grand Central Station, and board that train.

I’ve already gotten your ticket. Herb slid a white envelope her way.

A press pass might have been nice too. She snapped the envelope off the dented desk, resisting the urge to kick it hard and add her own mark to it.

Not possible. Sumner’s having every newsperson checked out. He’s doing the same thing with all the support staff—the dealers, cocktail waitresses, food—

Allie raised her hand. I get the idea. There wasn’t enough time to build an identity for her. Sumner would most likely do spot-checks on newcomers. She still had ID on her from the insurance fraud job. It would have to do. A glance at the ticket confirmed Herb had already made that decision as well. The name on the ticket was Samantha Shaw, her previous designation. If she had any hope of getting out of this assignment, this made it pretty clear her saying no wasn’t an option. Herb had decided long before he’d asked her.

She yanked open the hidden Velcro pocket at the bottom of her tote and pulled out her service weapon and FBI ID. Any clue about how I’m supposed to get to Gordie?

You’re a beautiful woman. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.

It was all she could do not to slug him. A beautiful woman? She was a highly skilled, potentially lethal federal agent. Where the hell did he get off with a sexist statement like that?

Please tell me you were trying to be funny, she said.

The chair creaked as he leaned back. Uhm, yeah, I was.

Pig. She’d swear his gaze dipped to the hint of cleavage peeking above her mallard blue blouse. But Allie wasn’t ashamed to admit she’d used her breasts to her advantage more than a time or two. Her older brother called them her secret weapons. If you’re ever in a tough situation, just flash your tits. It’ll give you the edge to get away. Guys can’t resist boobies. They’ll look every time. Damned if he hadn’t been right.

Then I’ll guess I’ll figure it out as I go. Hold these. If Sumner’s checking, I don’t want to get caught. She slid pistol and ID his way and then stuffed the ticket in her black leather tote.

You and Gordie have worked together. He probably has a plan to simply walk by and pass the drive to you. In and out.

She’d heard that before. And on the off chance something goes wrong? It seemed like something always went to hell with in-and-out jobs.

The other inside man will contact you. He and Gordie have been working this job together.

Do we have a clue who he is? A name? A description?

Herb glanced away as he shook his head. He’s deep under. As I said, he’ll contact you if it becomes necessary.

Great. Just fucking great.

You might want to start with the lounge car. Bar on wheels, you know.

It sounded like a good place to meet Gordie too. Chances were good he might be monitoring the boarding passengers as well and would be watching out for her. He’d drop the flash drive into her tote. End of story. Hawaii, here I come.

Allie slung her strap over her shoulder. All right, but if I miss my flight—

I’ll see you’re reimbursed.

Translation... He’d also cancel the vacation and send her on another assignment. His theory being that if she couldn’t make the trip, she’d have no need for time off. Allie wondered if the man had any life outside of work.

She spent the elevator ride reining in her upset. Going on a job, her focus needed to be solid, not fractured. By the time she stepped onto the street, Allie was mentally ready. She pulled in a whiff of city exhaust, searching for any hint of cool in the sweltering August heat. Nothing. Thank goodness she’d had the sense to go short sleeves and no panty hose this morning. Too bad she hadn’t thought to pull her long hair back or up or something—sweat glued the long strands to her neck—but she’d expected to be in an air-conditioned building all day, not hustling after a train.

Stepping to the curb, she hailed a cab. There was no time to run to her apartment and change. She was stuck wearing the short silk skirt that matched her blouse and the black fuck-me heels. If Allie had to run, she’d dump the heels, hike the skirt the rest of the way up to her ass, go like a bat out hell, and worry about the damage to her bare feet after the fact. As the taxi pulled into bumper-to-bumper traffic, she wondered if she would have to do that anyway to make the train.

Sighing, she leaned forward. Will an extra twenty get us moving along any faster?

He didn’t do more than flash his dark brown eyes at her in the rearview mirror. Allie wondered if he spoke much English at all and was running through the smattering of Pakistani she knew when he took a sudden left onto a less congested side street. All she could do was hang on for dear life. The rear seat belts were shoved down into the bench seat and there was no way in hell she was going to stick her hand into God-knew-what to pull them out.

Ten minutes later, the driver jerked to a stop outside Grand Central Station. Allie shoved the money into his outstretched hand and scrambled from the cab. If she had time, she would have kissed the solid ground. Long strides carried her forward. She weaved through the crowds of tourists, shoppers, and travelers for what felt like miles before finally reaching Track 13. By the time she’d checked-in and was able to enter the railcar, her feet were killing her.

Let’s get this over.

Excuse me.

A blue-vested conductor turned, blinding her with an over-white smile. Yes, ma’am. How can I help?

I’m sweltering, she said with an equally big smile. I understand there’s a lounge. I could really use something cool to drink.

Yes, ma’am. It’s part of the Sumner poker game. He pointed to the exit at the far end of the car. Through there. Three cars down.

To her poor feet, it looked like three miles. Allie glanced at the men as she made her way down the aisle, hoping to find Gordie somewhere. The last time she’d seen him was a year ago when they’d worked to expose a child kidnapping ring. His black hair had been long then and held back in a ponytail. For all she knew, he could have shaved it bald for this job. Though a shaved head might have made him stand out too much. Part of being undercover was also being able to blend into the crowd. Nothing should give you way. An agent did whatever it took to get the job done and keep alive.

Knowing that pissed Gordie’s wife off something fierce. She’d come close to exposing them both last year. Allie didn’t know the status of their marriage. Gordie was the kind of guy who’d want to make it work, but not at the sacrifice of his job.

She reached the end of the third car without any luck. Her contact wasn’t there. He was probably holed up with Sumner somewhere. She mentally crossed her fingers that place would be the lounge bar ahead. The train jolted as she passed from one car to the other and stepped into an entirely different world. Sumner’s world. Cherry wood paneling covered the walls. Recessed lighting added to the ambiance. Except for the train’s movement, she could have been standing in a lounge on the Upper West Side—the type of place she’d expect Sumner to hang out with his crowd.

Allie stood there letting her eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting. The lounge was full, but not to bursting. Sumner held court in a corner booth at the far side of the room. Every strand of his silver-blond hair lay in perfect precision. His pale blue eyes surveyed all and missed little. A busty brunette in a white halter-top dress hugged his side. She was mostly for show. Word was out that Sumner would take a woman, but he preferred dominating men...in all ways. Actually, he preferred dominating everyone.

His men stood nearby, all dressed in black trousers and muscle-defining black T-shirts, all with brown hair and eyes. Looks like the FBI didn’t hold the patent on blending into a crowd. No evidence of weapons was in visible sight. If they were carrying, it would be a knife or possibly a pistol strapped to the ankle. She couldn’t count the number of male agents who did that too—even shaving their legs so the tape holding the weapon in place didn’t bring tears to their eyes when it ripped out the hair. Why the hell they didn’t wear a calf holster was beyond her. Perhaps it was a macho thing, a rite of passage into some secret he-man club. She’d noticed the more seasoned agents were wiser.

Cocktail waitresses worked their way between burgundy club chairs set in cozy circles throughout, snagging empty glasses from low tables and replacing them with full ones. Next to the exit, standing among Sumner’s twelve men, was her contact. Some of her tension eased.

Gordie glanced her way, but so did just about every man in the place. His hair was still long, pulled back into a ponytail. Brown eyes assessed her but gave nothing away. Conversation around her remained at that low hum. Obviously her arrival was more of a curiosity than a distraction—men checking out a woman. She still had to figure out a way to get Gordie to her and away from those men. Maybe a little flirtation would provide the excuse he needed.

Spying a vacant circle of club chairs near him, but not too close, Allie slipped into the chair facing Gordie. Her sigh of relief as she sank into the soft leather wasn’t feigned. She fanned her hair away from her sweaty neck, then wished she could do something similar with the panties sticking to her butt. She parted her knees ever-so-slightly and willed the air-conditioned coolness up her skirt as she methodically pulled one foot and then the other from her killer heels.

What would you like to drink?

Allie smiled up at the cocktail waitress, plucking her blouse away from her chest as she did so. Whatever diet soda you have, please.

As the woman walked away, Allie surreptitiously opened the top two buttons on her blouse and blew air down it, then left it open so her cleavage would peek out. Then she slowly crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward to rub her aching feet. Any man looking would get a nice shot of boobs. That ought to give Gordie the opportunity to come over and hit on her.

Sure enough, snickers and muttered comments filled that side of the room. Allie could see the elbow nudging from the corner of her eye. The men were no more discreet than chimps in a tree. She heard one of them say, Someone should go for that.

In record time, a volunteer stepped forward. Man, I’ll take one for the team.

Allie glanced up, expecting it to be Gordie. He was anything but. Six feet of brawny male with a killer smile and devilish eyes sauntered in her way. Walking sin. She forced herself to maintain eye contact and not give in to the urge to dust her gaze down the sculpted treasure of his body. Allie didn’t need to look at his crotch to know an erection bulged there. Her body already sensed it. The Agent Quinn part of her held on by a thread, while the Woman Allie part of her wanted to peel her panties off, spread her thighs, lay back, and welcome him inside her body.

Logic warned he wasn’t the type of man to take home to Mom and Dad. He was, after all, one of Sumner’s thugs. Neither the knowledge nor the air-conditioning did anything to cool the extra heat now rushing over her skin from his approach. The worst place sweating on her now was her pussy as it begged for his long, thick fingers buried inside.

Low chants of Teo, Teo, Teo, accompanied his every step. Her heart thudded in time.

I hate to see a lady in distress.

His voice rolled over her, a touch all its own. Allie had to crane her neck to look up at him now. He folded his body onto the small table before her. Then, without warning, he grabbed her calf and hoisted her foot onto his lap. The heat from his erection bathed her sole.

I’ve been told I give the best foot massages in the world.

Allie melted into the chair and tried not to sigh as he kneaded the