Evie Ever After. Beth Ciotta

that they were in between cases everyone could go their separate ways. Maybe time apart would help ease the friction. Or maybe this was the end of Chameleon. He’d been contemplating leaving the AIA anyway. Screw his pension. His vision for the team had been compromised over the past year and he didn’t see things improving under the leadership of the new director. Although maybe Crowe would get off Milo’s ass now that he’d completed his unofficial directive.

      Temples throbbing, he hustled toward baggage claim, anxious to get on with his life. The sooner he reported to HQ, the sooner he could decide his future.

      “Still there, Jazzman?”

      “Yeah.” He’d called Arch out of courtesy. Next he’d call Samuel Vine, aka Pops, a trusted friend and the bartender and caretaker of the Chameleon Club. Word would trickle down to the other team members that he was safe and on home turf. “How’s everyone doing?”

      “Evie’s fine.”

      “I meant the entire team.”

      “Sure you did.”

      Milo didn’t argue. Truth was he did worry more about Evie because, unlike the rest, she wasn’t trained in self-defense. Unlike the rest, she didn’t have skin as tough as a rhino’s. Not to mention he was infatuated with the good-hearted fireball.

      “The Kid booked you a rental car,” Arch said, skating past further talk of the woman who’d put a kink in their already complex friendship.

      “He texted me the info.” Woody, aka The Kid, was Chameleon’s computer geek. A wiz at all things technical. His role in the Mad Dog Turner sting had been vital as they’d relied on high-tech surveillance equipment to cheat a cheat.

      “I assume Senator Clark was pleased when you handed him that briefcase packed with his wife’s lost fortune, yeah?”

      “‘Impressive’ was all he said. About the money anyway.” Milo had driven to Senator Clark’s estate directly after he’d handled Mad Dog. “Mostly he wanted assurance that I’d protected him from future scandal. I’m sorry to say I was able to give it to him.” He reached in his jacket pocket for a packet of Tylenol.

      “Want to talk aboot it?”

      “What do you think?” He popped the pills dry, wincing when his hand bumped his split lip—compliments of Turner. Just then Milo noted two suits wearing dark shades. “Shit.”

      “What?”

      “Trouble coming my way.”

      “Bad sort?”

      “My sort. Gotta go.”

      “Call me if you need me, mate.”

      “Right.”

      Thirty minutes later, Milo stood in Vincent Crowe’s office, clueless as to why he’d needed a personal escort to HQ. Agents McKeene and Burns had dodged the question. Didn’t matter. This couldn’t be good.

      “Take a seat. Director Crowe will be in shortly,” McKeene said on his way out.

      “Thank you.” He waited until the door shut then added, “Agent Ass-Kisser.”

      McKeene and Burns were new men, company men. Brownnosers who made Milo’s balls twitch. He didn’t sit as directed. He hitched back his suit jacket and stared out the window, watching pedestrians navigate Independence Square on a sunny spring day.

      For the most part, the new director of the AIA operated out of Philadelphia instead of Washington, D.C. A source of curiosity to Milo, although he’d never asked why. Crowe had been his boss for a month. Their relationship had been adversarial from the get-go. Because of a botched land investment sting in the Caribbean, and because Milo had been unwilling to explain why the team had operated outside of AIA jurisdiction, Crowe had put Chameleon on suspension. They were still on suspension. The mission they’d just completed had been unofficial. A favor.

      Two weeks ago, Crowe had summoned Milo to this same office to inform him of Senator Clark’s plight. His wife, an obscenely wealthy gambling addict, had lost a bundle to Frank “Mad Dog” Turner, pro athlete turned restaurateur, in a series of private high-stakes poker games. She swore she was cheated. Senator Clark enlisted Vincent Crowe to clean up his wife’s mess. Crowe assigned Chameleon to infiltrate the game and win back the senator’s money and then, to ensure there wasn’t a scandal that could jeopardize the senator’s political aspirations, to make the cheat disappear.

      Milo had balked. Chameleon was his brainchild and he’d formed the elite group to champion Everyday Joes, not the rich and powerful. In his opinion Clark should have contacted Gamblers Anonymous instead of the AIA. But Arch and the team had talked him into taking the case, thinking if he refused he’d be damaging his career. Milo didn’t give a flying fuck about his bureaucratic career, especially when it interfered with the work he really wanted to do. But he did care about the members of his team and if they wanted to stay tight with the AIA, he wasn’t going to screw up that connection. Against his better judgment, he’d agreed to help the senator.

      At least he’d had the opportunity to bail Evie’s mom out of a swindle just prior to roping Turner. A win for the Everyday Joes. Unfortunately, it had also been a win for Arch. Even though something simmered between Milo and Evie it was Arch she loved. Leaving the better man, or at least the safer choice, shit out of luck.

      The door opened and closed and Milo turned.

      Crowe crossed to his desk. He didn’t look happy.

      At least they had one thing in common.

      “We have a problem, Agent Beckett.”

      “Sensed that when you sent McKeene and Burns, sir.” He didn’t mistake the escort for a courtesy ride. The men had been cool and tight-lipped. Upon entering HQ, the receptionist and the five desk jockeys had greeted him warmly, which led him to believe few were privy to whatever was going down.

      Crowe, a slouch-shouldered man with a puffed-up ego, settled behind an antique desk. The air crackled with arrogance and tension as he leaned back in his leather chair. “When I told you to silence the man who bilked Mrs. Clark, I didn’t mean literally.”

      Milo eased into a chair as he felt the rug being pulled out from under him. “Are you telling me Mad Dog Turner is dead?”

      “Are you telling me you didn’t do it?”

      “Hell, no. Sir.”

      “Sources say otherwise.”

      “What sources?”

      “My sources, Agent Beckett. Did you think I was going to send your arrogant ass and hotdog team to handle something as sensitive as the senator’s case without insurance?”

      “You had agents spying on us?”

      “I prefer to think of it as keeping tabs.”

      Milo’s blood pressure rocketed. He eased a kink from his neck, breathed. “I won’t bore you with the details. I assume you’ve already heard them. But I will tell you that when I left Turner, he was alive.”

      “And should anyone ask, I expect you to stick to that story. Don’t worry Agent Beckett, we’ve cleaned up your mess. For the senator’s sake and the sake of the AIA.”

      Fuck. “You don’t have any proof—”

      “Yes,” Crowe said, “we do.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      AS SOON AS NIC LEFT I DIALED Arch. Unfortunately, the call rolled over to voice mail. Instead of leaving a message I decided to try again later. If he rang back while I was in the shower, we’d end up playing phone tag.

      I thought about calling Beckett. Not for advice on how to handle Jayne’s dilemma, but to make sure he was all right. Except that seemed too intimate. Curse that kiss! If only I hadn’t felt a little zing. If only he hadn’t implied romantic interest. Before,