Page 81 of Playing With Love

It was because the woman next to me had been starved of love and attention and affection and that had now ended for her.

There was a reason I’d been handpicked for the undercover assignments the DEA had sent me on. I was known as a man who went the extra mile to get the job done. Not that I’d crossed lines; I’d just learned how to bend those lines and still live with the repercussions of my decisions. I wasn’t opposed to manipulating a situation to attain my desired outcome. I’d exploit the fuck out of my cover to get close to Liza, and use every waking hour under the guise of the case to show her exactly what she was missing. I’d bend reality until even she believed she was my wife. I’d make it impossible for her to walk away from me when this was over, and that started now.

“Do we need to stop at the grocery store before we head to your house?” I asked Allyson when she joined us.

The woman nearly jumped out of her skin before her eyes scanned the parking lot.

I leaned closer to Allyson, taking Liza with me, and in a quiet voice reminded her, “We’re friends stopping for coffee after a long road trip from Georgia.”

“Right.” She nodded.

“Ally?” Liza called.

Allyson blew out a breath and relaxed.

“You’re gonna love the chocolate chip latte here,” Allyson said smiling.

“I would kill for some chocolate,” Liza returned, relaxing into me.

An old, rusted-out, cool-as-fuck, red Ford F-150 pulled to a stop next to us. The condition was such I wasn’t sure if the owner of the truck should be arrested for not taking care of it, or if I was going to commit grand theft auto in the middle of an operation to save the old bullnose and rescue her from her current state.

I dragged my gaze from the truck to the driver—a pretty brunette who was working hard to roll down the window.

When it was halfway down, the driver, excitedly if not a little out of breath exclaimed, “You’re home!”

“Hey, Sarah,” Allyson greeted.

“Coming or going?” the woman named Sarah asked.

“Just got here.”

“Cool! I’ll meet you inside.”

Sarah slowly pulled forward and Allyson turned to look at me and Liza.

“That’s Sarah Barclave. She lives on the property. North end, in one of the newer houses.”

I searched my memory for a Sarah Barclave. There were twenty homes on the compound. Most single occupancy, those of course being the unwed women who lived there. Eight were inhabited by married couples.

“The baker,” Liza smoothly put in.

“Yeah. She was an advertising executive. Got burned out and started a cottage bakery.”

“You coming?” Sarah called from the front door of the coffee shop.

We started Sarah’s way. The closer we got, the more relaxed Liza became. It could’ve been the promise of imminent coffee, but more than likely she’d flipped on. That “on” being Liza Michaels.

For now that would have to do.

But when this was done, I’d see to it her name changed again—permanently.

“Oh my God, it smells amazing in here,” Liza breathed.

Sarah’s gaze landed on Liza and she smiled.

“Sarah, this is my friend, Liza. And her husband, Tucker. Liza, Tucker, this is Sarah.”

“Sarah?” Liza queried. “The Sarah who makes the best croissant bread known to man?”