“I’ll use the name Lavender Young,” Slash said.
“Thanks for even considering this.”
“Whatever it takes to get the scum off the street.” Slash left the office unfazed over the possibility she’d be ogled by some horny losers.
Shaking my titties to shut down a prostitution ring is no big deal. There was a time when I did that for real.
Carrera
Carrera spentthe morning familiarizing himself with his new caseload.
It felt great being back in DC. Truth was, he’d gotten burned out from being on the road. Living in motels, eating out all the time had grown old. He missed his family, missed his friends. Taking a break from undercover was exactly what he needed. What hedidn’tneed was the lack of sleep he got from the fiery blonde who’d kept him up half the night. He’d fall asleep, dream about Slash, then wake back up.
He hated—fucking hated—that she’d gone back to being a blonde. He liked it better when she had blue or purple or pink hair. He’d always found her stunningly beautiful, but the haircolor didn’t work for him. That little change made it easier for himnotto think about her.
Easier, but not impossible.
Carrera’s cell phone rang, and he answered. “Hey, Dad, are you cruising the Potomac?”
“There’s been a mix-up,” his dad said. “This afternoon, I’m captaining a family reunion, but I just hung up with Evangeline Develin from Develin and Associates. She got an email confirming the company’s cruise tonight. Only it’snottonight, it’s tomorrow. No one answered at the office, so she called me. I don’t even know how she got my number. Anyway, I called the office, but had no luck.”
“What do you mean, no luck?”
“No one answered.”
“Did you call Jazz’s cell phone?”
“She didn’t take my call,” his dad replied.
Dammit.
Carrera grabbed his sunglasses, strode out of his cubicle. “I’ll handle it.”
Several agents nodded or said hello as he made his way out of the department. Bypassing the elevators, Carrera headed for the stairs.
“Are you in town?” his dad asked.
“Yeah, just got back.” As he trotted down the steps, he asked, “Has this happened before?”
“Oh sure, but Jazz got it straightened out.”
Jazz—short for Jasmine—was Carrera’s baby sister. She’d worked for him since graduating college. Currently, she was his executive director.
“Are you on your ship?” Carrera asked as he made his way to the parking garage beneath the building.
“Yup,” his dad answered.
“I’ll call you back.” Carrera hung up.
He jumped in his truck and drove out. In the bright June sunlight, he slipped on his shades, rolled down the windows, and headed toward his executive offices in Georgetown.
Traffic clogged the streets, so he called his sister. Her phone rang, no answer. When he got voicemail, he hung up. Then, he called Gracie from marketing, and also got no answer.
Where the hell are they?
Fifteen minutes later, he parked in the lot and strode into the office building at The Washington Harbour. He took the stairs, two at a time, to the third floor, strode down the hallway to his business office. As he suspected, the door was locked.
After keying his way inside, he called out, “Jazz,” before walking through the quiet space. The lights were on, but he couldn’t find a single employee. No receptionist, no marketers, no accounting team, no customer service reps. At the end of the hall, the executive director’s office door stood wide open. His sister wasn’t sitting at her desk.
