Mission: Impossible to Deny (The Impossible Mission Romantic Suspense Series Book 7) - Jacki Delecki (great novels of all time txt) 📗

Hot, grinding sex with a CIA agent. The sage smoke must have altered his brain since he was liking the idea more and more.

Chapter Four

Darcy handed her carry-on to the town car driver waiting for them at the Santa Barbara airport. Travel arranged by Richard Dean was a lot more efficient and a whole lot nicer than by the CIA. She had slept the entire flight to Santa Barbara, missing the opportunity to get into Reeves Hewitt’s head.

She had dozed off briefly in economy class on the flight out to Seattle. Primarily because of how worried she was about playing nice with Richard Dean, who had the power to send her forever to the CIA’s basement. The billionaire had initially been hostile and protective of his “like a son” employee. After hearing her rehearsed explanation and her profuse apologies, Dean had done a one-eighty. He laughed when she divulged that she had spent three hours gaming as Hewitt’s partner to hack into his system.

Reeves had given no hint that he knew that she was XChoco. And she hated to admit that she was disappointed that he hadn’t acknowledged her skills. And what the hell was that about? She had nothing to prove to the man, a man who was still a suspect. No matter what her boss or Richard Dean said. Since when had the CIA started taking the word of prominent people over the findings from solid investigative work?

Reeves opened the door to the sleek black vehicle and waited for her to climb in. He had been very gentle waking her before they landed. God, she hoped that she hadn’t snored with her mouth wide open. With her face smashed against the leather seat, she had dislodged her hair clip and had imprints from the seat on her face. Her hair was now a tangled mess, her curls out of control, and her wrinkle-free suit was failing its promise. The few minutes in the jet’s bathroom had done nothing to restrain her wild hair or restore her professional image.

“Were you able to find a current address for your friend?” She craned her neck to look at him. She hated being height-challenged. Damn her brothers for stealing their father’s tall genes, leaving her with her mother’s short stature, curvy shape, and curly red hair. Her brothers loved to tease her about her unruly hair, calling her “little orphan Annie” or “Carrottop.”

“Nothing but the Santa Barbara address.”

She smiled at the grumpiness in his voice because he hadn’t been able to outdo the CIA and find more info about his friend. She could be generous in victory. Darcy had assumed that while she slept, instead of doing her job getting close to the suspect, Reeves had done a deep dive into her life and his friend. He definitely had unearthed the information about her father’s death. It was public record. She would throat punch him if he gave her any sympathetic words or pitying looks.

She scooted across the leather seats, not missing how Reeves watched the way her straight skirt rode up higher onto her thighs. Heat flashed through her body, and it wasn’t due to the balmy California weather. She pulled down her skirt and moved closer to the door despite the generous size of the luxury vehicle.

She was used to men checking her out, staring at her chest. She had learned that it wasn’t personal but rather part of male hardwiring. The lowest part of the brain shaped their behavior. Listening to her brothers discuss women over the years had helped her not knee every male who eyed her body.

But Reeves’s intense inspection had been different—way different. She wasn’t disgusted but mystified that she, an ex-soldier devoted to catching bad guys, had captured his interest. He hung out with rich, beautiful women. It went back to that hardwiring thing. Men had to look. But Reeves was so unlike any of the men she knew and worked with. He didn’t puff up to demonstrate how shredded or powerful he was or do any posturing as she was used to from her time in the Army. He exuded sexiness without strutting like a damn rooster. He was confident and laid back and still all male and interested in her. And this was a man who hung out with Sophie Dean and her friends.

“Do I need to share the address with our driver?” Darcy had Thompson’s address in her Google Maps.

“No, I sent full details to him during the flight. It will take us about twenty minutes to get into the foothills. I’m not surprised that Tex picked an isolated area.”

“Is Thompson going to be happy to see you, or should I get my gun out?”

“I didn’t think CIA officers carried weapons. Especially on American soil. Isn’t your job limited to gathering intelligence … without force?”

“I was joking. But really, is your relationship with Thompson amicable? When is the last time you saw him?”

“Totally amicable. And the last time was at Charlie’s funeral. That was almost ten years ago.”

He ran his hand through his inky-black hair. His sculpted bicep flexed under his tight Google t-shirt. For a techie, Reeves Hewitt worked out. His ratty white t-shirt didn’t hide his six-pack.

Maybe she had to rethink her theory about men’s brain capacity. Maybe women behaved no different when it came to certain men.

 “We were so young and flying high on the money we had made with the sale of our game. Our timing in the video game market was perfect. Charlie dropped out of school, traveled … and then it all fell apart …”

Darcy understood too well how life changed in a heartbeat, never to return to your carefree self. How your entire world rearranged in a moment.

“That’s rough. You and Thompson didn’t stay in touch? You didn’t get closer because of your mutual loss?”

He twisted to face her, shifting his broad shoulders to loom over her in an attempt to intimidate. She leaned back