Colby Control. Debra Webb

set of those full lips told him she was only saying what he wanted to hear. She had no intention of changing her MO, any more than she planned to acquiesce to his lead.

      But she was right.

      Whether this involved the wife or not, Vandiver had a clandestine rendezvous tonight, and it was his and Friedman’s job to determine the nature of the meeting.

      “Unless another call is intercepted,” he informed her, “we’ll attempt to get close enough to eavesdrop on Vandiver’s conversation with the contact. We’ll snap a few photos and forward those to the agency for analysis and to Rockford, in case the contact shows up at his location.”

      Friedman strutted across the room to the wet bar. While Ted struggled to evict from his head the way her hips swayed, she poured herself a double shot of bourbon, neat. He opened his mouth to remind her that Colby investigators didn’t drink on the job, but she started talking first.

      “That could work.” She shrugged. “But if we want to ensure success, we intercept Vandiver. I’ll act as the contact. Get the story straight from the horse’s mouth while you keep an eye out for the real contact. Distract him or her if necessary.”

      She was unquestionably out of her mind. The flash of fury in her eyes warned that he’d stated the thought out loud.

      “You have a better plan?” she challenged, then took a long swallow of her drink.

      He crossed the room to stand in front of her, took the drink from her hand and set it aside before parking his arms over his chest to match her stance. “First of all, we’re here unarmed. We don’t know who this contact is. If he or she is local, chances are he or she is armed. In view of the fact that we haven’t been able to assess just how desperate Vandiver is, maintaining a cautionary distance is the proper step. We will prepare for that strategy.”

      Though they weren’t armed with weapons, Ted was prepared with the usual intelligence-gathering equipment. All he needed was the place and time—those he had thanks to Friedman—and a proper vantage point for watching and listening. Today’s technology provided ample means to gather the necessary information without face-to-face contact.

      She glared at the drink he’d set aside and then at him. “That’s an option, I suppose.” She tilted her face up to his, making him all too aware of just how close they were standing. “But I like my plan better.”

      “That’s irrelevant.” He turned away, headed for the bed, where his luggage still lay unpacked, other than the black trousers and shirt he’d selected for making contact with Camille Soto. He dug through the bag and picked out the equipment they would need for tonight. Binoculars. Personal parabolic bionic ear. The lighting in the area would be sufficient so as not to require night vision.

      “I should change,” she called out to him.

      That would definitely make life easier for him.

      He strode back to the sitting room as she reached the door. “Give me five minutes and I’ll go with you.” No way was he letting her out of his sight. She would ditch him and do this her way. He had her number already.

      She leaned against the still-closed door and studied him a moment. “I had no idea, Tallant.”

      Suspicion narrowed his gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      She lifted a shoulder and let it fall suggestively. “Considering the way you’ve been staring at my legs and breasts, I suppose seeing me naked would be entertaining for you.”

      Fury tightened his jaw. Unfortunately, the images sparked by her statement tightened other areas of his anatomy. “We stick together until this is done.”

      “Whatever.” She pushed off the door, executed a catwalk strut to the nearest chair and plopped down in it, stretching those long legs out in front of her.

      He’d asked for that one. Shifting his focus back to business, he gathered the equipment and reached for a summer-weight black sports jacket. The super ear clipped on his belt like a cell phone. He slid the parabolic microphone into his right jacket pocket, the compact binoculars into the left.

      Good to go.

      He stalked right past her and all the way to the door. When he opened it and paused for her to precede him, she rolled her eyes and pushed out of the chair. He stared at the ceiling as she waltzed past him. This new turn of events was obviously a very bad cosmic joke.

      Or maybe it was merely her determination to ensure he stumbled, giving her the lead.

      She could forget about it.

      He was in charge.

      She would learn that lesson one way or another.

      Her room was next door to his. She shot him a look as she inserted the key card and shoved the door inward. Something about the look in her dark eyes warned that she wasn’t giving up just yet.

      Reluctance miring his step, he entered enemy territory—her room.

      The whir of a zipper jerked his gaze upward—just in time to see the black dress slide down the gentle curves of her body and puddle around the matching black stilettos, which she promptly kicked off.

      “I’ll only be a minute,” she called over her shoulder.

      Wearing only a lacy black bra and perfectly coordinated thong, she disappeared into the adjoining bedroom.

      Sweat beaded on his upper lip. So she was going to play it that way, was she? His unexpected preoccupation with her feminine assets had given her a whiff of weakness in the competition.

      Not going to work. He was only human and certainly not blind. Looking at what she flaunted wasn’t a weakness. To the contrary, it was a natural instinct. His being male would not override his professional sense.

      He had his orders. She would learn to play by the Colby rules or she would be out the door.

      That would make his professional life far less stressful and annoying. Back to normal, to the way things were before the merger.

      Then why did he feel as if a rock had just settled in his gut?

      No. No. No. He absolutely refused to admit, even to himself, that the woman was growing on him in any capacity whatsoever.

      “Ready?”

      Ted blinked. The slinky black dress was gone. As were the pointy stilettos. But the new outfit was every bit as disturbing on a purely primal level.

      Black formfitting slacks with a matching black scoop-necked silk blouse that molded to her breasts as if she wore nothing at all. Could a person actually wear anything under something that tight?

      “You ready or what?” she demanded when he didn’t immediately react.

      It took two seconds too long for his tongue to catch up with his brain. “Yes.”

      He opened the door, wondering where the heck she’d managed to stuff her cell phone.

      As she sashayed past him and into the corridor, he got an answer to the question. The sandals she sported weren’t stilettos, but the chunky heels were sky-high. Leather straps and silver chains wrapped around her ankles. Clipped to a strap on the inside of her left ankle was the black slimline cell phone.

      Chances were anyone—males in particular—who caught sight of her wouldn’t be looking at her feet. Not by a long shot. Ted mentally kicked himself for staring at her swaying backside.

      This was going to be harder than he’d imagined.