Page 34 of Perfect Vengeance

He pointed a long finger at her. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“I know, I know, or you’ll throw me in jail for assaulting a federal agent. No, really, what would happen if you ingested chocolate?”

He gave her another threatening look. “My throat would close up.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Agent Gates.” She smirked and batted her eyelashes.

“See that you do.” He dipped his chin to the baggie. “And put that shi—stuff away.”

After one more snort of laughter, she obediently returned the stash to her bag. Jack waited until she complied, then another full minute more before raising the windows.

“Street’s pretty quiet today.” With a click, he eased his seat back. “Not much to see. We’ll head out in a few minutes, so take notes on anything else you need to.”

She watched the house, but she’d already seen everything she needed to. An American flag attached to the front of the house whipped helplessly in the wind. Guess even the mob could be patriotic.

Jack reached out and pushed a button on the dashboard. Italian opera filled the SUV, and she wrinkled her nose. She was thrown back to the horrible day of her father’s funeral. Someone had played Verdi the entire time.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “How can you like Italian opera when you spend your whole life throwing Italian citizens in jail.”

“I don’t throw Italian citizens in jail. I throw criminals in jail, many of whom happen to be of Italian descent.” He cranked up the volume, making her wince. “My mother practically raised me and my brothers on opera. There’s a certain irony in that, but I find it soothing.” He started to grin. “From the look on your face, you obviously don’t care for opera.”

“Understatement,” she mumbled. That and she hated when men grinned at her.

“In fact,” he added, “you look like you’re about to be sick. Why do you hate Italian opera so much?”

Oh, no. Not gonna go there. “I just do.” She uncrossed her arms and had to restrain from diving back into her stash.

“Why?” He made a sound that was close to an outright laugh but not quite there.

For the second time since they’d met, she caught him smiling at her. A real smile, with straight white teeth and everything. The shock of seeing it again in all its masculine beauty almost made her forget her irritation. Almost.

“Don’t tell me you’re allergic to opera?” His smile broadened.

“Now who’s asking too many questions?” Dammit. Just when she thought she’d found the great and almighty Special Agent Gates’s Achilles’ heel, he’d spun things around and found hers.

Oh, he’s good, all right. She recrossed her arms and turned away from his way too handsome, way too disconcerting smile. But it was infectious, and she soon found herself smiling too. “Touché,” she admitted.

To her surprise, Jack burst out laughing—a rich, resonating sound. “I have an idea,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“A truce.” He shut off the music, dousing the SUV in blessed silence. “No opera in exchange for no chocolate.”

“Hmm.” She knitted her brows, feigning deep thought. “I don’t know. My opera allergy isn’t nearly as dangerous to my health as your chocolate allergy is to yours.”

Another one of those killer smiles curved his lips, and for a nanosecond she wondered what it would be like to have his mouth on hers, kissing her. Get. Real. “Deal.” She extended her hand.

The instant their fingers touched, a jolt of awareness sparked up her arm to her neck, shooting straight out the top of her head, and leaving tingly goose bumps parading across her skin. She jerked her hand away.

Jack’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared and the muscles in his square jaw flexed. When he refused to stop staring at her, the hair at her nape began to prickle.

Once again, she could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and again she longed to dive into her bag for a chocolate-covered lychee. But she’d given her word.

“What, do I have chocolate on my face?” she asked in a light tone, hoping to diffuse whatever thoughts were occupying his far too suspicious brain.

At first, he didn’t answer. “Sometimes you look familiar. I don’t know where we could have met before.”

“Maybe you saw my picture in the society pages. My friends and I are occasionally photographed at fundraisers we attend for the women’s shelter.” Like the one this Saturday night.