Deadly Deception (SCVC Taskforce) by Misty Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

morning air made her snug her small sweater closer. She really should have put the top up on the car. “I don’t have post-traumatic stress disorder. I don’t have a disorder of any kind.”
    “The shrinks cleared you for field duty. Big deal. You and I both know that doesn’t mean jack shit when you’re inside a criminal organization and facing down life or death stakes.”
    True. Didn’t mean she had to like the fact or his condescending attitude. “I thought you wanted to go inside The Church with me.”
    “I do.”
    “You’re not winning Brownie points with this lecture.”
    “But you know I’m right.”
    “You think I’m going to break when push comes to shove.”
    “Will you?”
    She honestly didn’t know. The anxiety attacks worried her. But that was her issue and she would deal with it. “I’ve beaten some pretty high odds in my lifetime. Survived Wrightsville and Daniel Karsni’s fanatical teachings. Survived a psychotic killer. Now I’m here, and regardless of my issues , if you’re my partner, I’ll give a hundred and ten percent. That’s all you need to know.”
    The faintest of smiles crossed his lips. “Then let’s go get that breakfast. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

 
    Chapter Six
     
    When Thomas emerged from his bathroom, Ronni was in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and munching on a piece of toast. The coffee and toast smells permeated the air as Ronni read a tablet computer.
    The breakfast aromas were nothing new in this apartment—toast and coffee were diet staples, often the only things he had time to make before jetting out the door. But this morning, with Ronni seated at his tiny kitchenette by the window and the sun on her face, the room felt different.
    Comfortable.
    Inviting.
    Snap out of it . It wasn’t as if he never had a beautiful woman sitting at his kitchen table…
    Actually, he hadn’t. Not in a long time. A very long time. Being an undercover DEA agent didn’t allow for a lot of personal time. The baggage of putting anyone he cared about in danger was too great. He’d seen it with Cooper and Celina.
    And keeping secrets put too much pressure on a relationship. He didn’t bring women home. It had become an unwritten rule. He didn’t like them getting in his business or seeing the real Thomas Mann.
    He paused in the doorway, ran a hand over his freshly shaved jaw. Ronni had kicked off her fuck-me shoes and propped her feet on the chair across from her.
    Make yourself at home, partner. “Couldn’t wait for breakfast?” Couldn’t wait for me?
    She glanced up, startled, eyes wide and body tense. That look…he’d seen a similar one in his own eyes when he’d come back from Afghanistan.
    Fear.
    In the span of a heartbeat, however, a veil fell over Ronni’s face, shutting down the emotion. Not a veil—a wall. Slammed down and locked tight. Her eyes did that thing that made him feel like he was on display…they glided over his frame, inventorying him from top to bottom, before settling on his face. The tension in her shoulders eased. “You took so long, I nearly keeled over with hunger. Is that your plan to get out of being my partner? Starve me to death?”
    The kitchen was small like the rest of the apartment, and painted a pale yellow—his landlady called it “buttercream”. White appliances and yellow and white checked curtains added a ridiculous cottage feel to it. Ronni’s big hair, dark skin, loud dress, and even louder makeup flashed like a neon sign. An exotic bird completely out of its environment.
    Amazing how she could rock the conservative FBI agent and the Miami Vice hooker look. “How about we hit the pancake place up the block? They have a smart-ass special you’d probably like.”
    She ignored his remark, came back with a snarky one of her own. “You can’t cook a simple meal of eggs and bacon, Mann?”
    “I haven’t been home much in a while.” And never bring a woman here . “I’m low on supplies.”
    Those dark