put her close to six feet tall.
Practically eye-to-eye with him.
That eye level allowed him to see her baby blues narrow significantly.
“I’m your husband,” Riley repeated, even though he was dead certain she’d heard him the first time. “Well, your husband for this mission, anyway. After I get cleaned up, we’ll be the undercover team going into the Assisted Fertility Clinic in Dallas.”
Somehow, Riley managed to say that without any emotion. Inside—well, that was a whole different story. There was emotion, all right. Lots of it. And he intended to channel all those still-raw feelings into apprehending Dr. Barton Fletcher, aka the Baby Maker.
“You’re mistaken.” And Tessa didn’t say it with affection, either. No surprise there. This would not be an affection-generating conversation. “I’m teamed with Agent Trapanna for this.”
So the mission commander hadn’t informed her yet. Riley was afraid of that. That meant he’d have to be the messenger. Not his first choice of duties for 0600 hours. Or any other hour for that matter.
“There’s been a change in plans,” Riley explained. “Trapanna came down with some kind of throat infection last night. He’s on antibiotics and bed rest. I heard what happened and volunteered to fill in for him.”
That heard-what-happened part was really glossing over things.
For days Riley had been calling for permission updates on the Baby Maker case. It’d been no accident that he’d learned of Trapanna’s medical condition and within five minutes had arranged a flight out of Liberia. Of course, he’d had to finish a really nasty confrontation with two armed guerrillas before he could get to the airport—hence the possibility of blood on his shirt. Their blood. But he’d made it back to D.C. in time for the mission brief.
Tessa stared at him. And stared. Apparently processing his impromptu situation report. Judging from the way the muscles stirred and jumped in her blush-touched cheeks, she didn’t process it well.
“You volunteered?” she questioned.
Riley settled for a nod.
“Oh, mercy.” She groaned, tossed her mission folder onto the conference table and aimed her index finger at him. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t want you anywhere near this ops, got that?”
As Riley guessed she would do, Tessa reached for the sleek black phone on the wall. Probably so she could call the mission director and complain about the turn of events. Riley didn’t want that to happen.
Not yet anyway.
Some fast talking and lots of luck had gotten him this ops and he wasn’t about to let Tessa Abbot take it away from him.
There was too much at stake.
Riley deposited his empty foam cup onto the table and, in the same motion, caught her arm—a little maneuver that earned him a glare. Man, she was good at it, too. Those steely eyes practically tapered to slits as she shook off his grip.
“If you’ve got a problem with our working together, then say it to me,” Riley insisted. “Not to our boss.”
Without even a second’s hesitation, she gave him an Okay, I will nod. “Oh, I have a problem, all right. A huge one. There’s no way you can be objective about Dr. Barton Fletcher, and you and I both know why.”
Riley didn’t hesitate, either. “I’ll take a wild guess here and assume you’re referring to the fact that Fletcher killed my former partner?”
It wasn’t a wild guess.
That was exactly what this was about.
“Fletcher allegedly killed your former partner,” Tessa amended, using the politically correct term. “Your fiancée.”
“Your friend,” Riley added.
Just in case Tessa had forgotten.
Even though he knew she hadn’t.
He was reasonably sure that no one in SIU had forgotten.
Riley scrubbed his hand over his face. “And there’s nothing ‘allegedly’ about it. Fletcher murdered Colette. The only thing missing is the proof. Proof I intend to find so I can put the SOB on death row where he belongs.”
Now, there was emotion. Riley couldn’t possibly contain it this time. It was like a fist clamped around his heart. Squeezing the life right out of him.
But then, Colette had been the woman he’d loved.
The woman he had planned to spend the rest of his life loving. The woman he’d asked to marry him just hours before that last mission nearly two years ago. And he had allowed his love for Colette and their personal relationship to distract him at the worst possible time. That distraction had given Dr. Barton Fletcher the opportunity to kill her.
“Exactly my point,” Tessa countered. “Fletcher murdered someone close to you. That only proves your inability to be objective about this case.”
“You were close to her, too, Tessa,” Riley quickly pointed out.
She shook her head. “I wasn’t engaged to her. Big difference. I’m talking huge.”
Riley calmly leaned closer. “And do you think my feelings for Colette make me less or more eager to bring Fletcher down?”
Tessa leaned closer, as well, until they were only inches apart. “I think it makes you a huge liability and therefore a dangerous one.”
Okay. So they’d moved on to the pull-no-punches mode. That was his preferred mode of operation anyway. “I could say the same about you. You were just as shaken by Colette’s murder as I was.”
“Yes.” Tessa repeated it and took a deep breath. “But you have a choice about being here.” She jabbed that perfectly manicured index finger against his chest and leaned in. “I. Don’t.”
It was true. On the flight from Liberia, he’d read all about it in the preliminary mission report. Riley had been waiting for nearly two years for Dr. Barton Fletcher to reopen his business.
Two long years.
And the moment it happened, Riley had started the networking that would hopefully give him a shot at getting a coveted appointment with the murdering doctor. However, Tessa beat him to him. Not intentionally. While she’d been working on another case, she’d stumbled onto a contact that had offered to help get her that appointment.
Blind luck, some would say.
But even if it was luck, fate, karma—whatever, Riley intended to use it and any other opportunity that came his way to catch Fletcher.
“What if Fletcher recognizes you, huh?” Tessa asked, obviously trying a different angle.
“He won’t. I’ve never even met the man. I was stuck in a surveillance van during Colette’s last mission.” Riley had to pause a moment before he could finish. “By the time I got to her, Fletcher and his hired assassins were long gone.”
And Colette was dead.
That brought back the flood of memories. The nightmare. He couldn’t make that nightmare go away, ever, but he could try to get some justice for Colette.
“Any other objections?” Riley challenged.
Silence.
Not coupled with a glare, either, which didn’t make it any easier to take. Because he was almost positive he saw some disgust in her eyes. And worse, he saw sympathy, as well.
“Go ahead,” Riley insisted in a rough whisper. “Say it—you blame me for Colette’s death.”
Tessa dodged his gaze and stepped to the side, the sleeve of her precisely fitted indigo-blue silk jacket sliding against his mud-splattered arm. What she didn’t do was say it. No reminder of the fact that