The Men of Black Ops, Inc., Volume 2 by Cindy Gerard

Author:Cindy Gerard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Star

17

Stretched out on a pale blue velvet sofa that had probably once graced some princess’s or queen’s sitting room, Johnny Reed watched his wife as she stared out the window of Juliana’s office.

He knew what she was looking at. Outside on the terrace, Juliana and Nate were sharing high tea in delicate, flowery china cups with a little girl who needed a bit of fantasy in her life.

“It’s great that they’ve managed to make her smile.” Crystal looked relieved as she turned back to the computer and continued her search on Diego Montoya and Jorge Vega.

“I know a way that you could make me smile.” He tilted his head and grinned his best come-hither grin.

Her fingers continued to fly over the computer keys. “That’s because you’re easy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She turned to look at him then, graced him with an indulgent smile. “Darling man, right time, right place, it’s a wonderful thing.” She kissed the air in his direction. “But for now, put it on ice, lover boy. Speaking of ice, shouldn’t you be icing that knee?”

“From lover to nursemaid in the blink of an eye. How did I let this happen?”

“Just behave yourself—foreign concept, I know—and read this, would you?” She pushed back in the chair and stretched to hand him several pages that she’d printed concerning Montoya. “See if you spot something I didn’t, but for my money, Montoya looks clean.”

“The best bad guys usually do,” he said on a grunt as he started scanning the sheets. “What about Vega? Anything on him?”

She shook her head and went back to the screen. “Average Joe. Whistle-clean, except for his association with the GN, all public, all aboveboard. I’m thinking he was just a good guy trying to do a good thing and got killed for his kindness.”

“Damn bad break.” What else was there to say? He felt bad about Vega, yeah, but no one could help him now. “I don’t like this Montoya,” he said after giving the printouts a thorough once-over.

“You don’t like him for the kidnapping?”

“I just don’t like him. Period.”

“Because he’s richer than God?”

“No one should have that much money. Just like no one generally acquires that much money on the straight and narrow. Dig a little deeper, okay, babe?”

“Right after I get you an ice pack.” She rose, dropped a kiss on his forehead, and walked out of the room.

“I’m the luckiest sonofabitch alive,” he announced to the empty room as he watched his little redheaded Tinkerbell walk through the doorway. Smart, sexy, funny, and, God help her, he thought on a contented sigh, she loved him in spite of what he’d come from, who he was, and who he’d never be.

He’d never be Montoya, that’s for damn sure. He’d never be rich. But he would, by God, love that woman until the day he died.

Lucky man. Lucky, lucky man, he thought, hitching himself up a little straighter on the sofa, keeping the groan to a low moan when pain speared through his knee.

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