Storm's Cage by Mary Stone (uplifting novels .TXT) 📕

Likewise, his window of opportunity would soon close.

She’d be back at Palmer’s side, and he’d be tasked with an unrelated investigation into the Russians, the Armenians, or any of Chicago’s other organized criminal enterprises.

Sure, he’d still be able to find her in the FBI office if they weren’t partnered on a case, and maybe they’d be paired up on a future investigation. But there was something to be said for the connection they’d established over the past week.

If he didn’t take advantage of the relative closeness, he wasn’t sure when he’d have another chance.

Stretching both arms above his head, Joseph arched his back until he felt a light pop. “Have you heard anything about Detective Yoell?”

Amelia brushed a piece of hair away from her forehead. Eraser in one hand, she retrieved her phone with the other. “Yeah, actually. Just a bit ago.” She scanned the glowing screen. “Detective Reyman sent me a message. I guess the bullet hit Yoell in the side, just above his hip. It missed any vital organs but nicked an artery.”

“That explains all the blood. What’s his status?”

Her green eyes flicked to him and then back to the phone. “Cautiously optimistic. He lost quite a bit of blood, but he got to the hospital in time for a transfusion to prevent his blood pressure from dropping too quickly. He had a few transfusions, actually, and a short surgery to remove the bullet, but he’s stable now. Reyman said he was awake for a bit, but the nurse chased away his visitors so he could sleep.”

Blowing out a low breath, Joseph rubbed his forehead. “That’s good. That could’ve gone a lot worse. Good thing Allworth was more willing to listen to reason than Alton Dalessio, right?”

A muscle in Amelia’s jaw twitched, but otherwise, her expression changed little. “Yeah. I was banking on a cop, even if he was dirty, being willing to listen to reason.”

“Oh, definitely. It’s a lot less stress for you to carry around too.” Joseph folded his hands atop the circular table as he offered Amelia a curious glance. “This might seem off topic, but I was wondering if you’d thought about what I said last night. It’s been a stressful day, but I’d say the result is worth a little celebration. Just a little something to help release some stress, you know?”

He let the room lapse into silence and held her gaze. As much as he wanted to stride over to pin her against the whiteboard, he reminded himself that they were still in the FBI office, and the door to the conference room was unlocked.

Besides, if he got that close to her now, he doubted he’d be able to stop at whispering in her ear or touching her face.

Clearing her throat, she returned the eraser to its holder. “I told you that I wanted to keep our relationship strictly professional. I don’t sleep with people I work with.”

Her tight little ass looked so good as she stretched to reach the top of the board. She was just teasing him, he realized. She wanted him to talk her into bending her own silly rules.

Moving until he was behind her, he watched her freeze.

“Let’s talk about this, Amelia.” He stepped closer until his dick was almost pressed against her ass. “Come to my place tonight. We can sit down and talk all our options through.”

She stepped to the side and turned to face him. “Options. Is that what it’s called these days.”

He smiled. She was such a spirited little thing. “My place at eight? I’ll have dinner ready.”

He watched her watching him, saw her throat move as she swallowed, witnessed the inner workings of her mind sort through her choices.

Spoiler alert: both he and she knew she didn’t have one.

Amelia raised her chin. “Sure. Tonight at eight.”

His dick pulsed in his pants. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on. Winning always did that to him.

Though he wanted to take her right then and there, waiting would be even more satisfying.

Not wanting to push his luck, Joseph strode to the door. “All right. See you later, Storm.”

The warmth of anticipation buzzed through his veins as he made his way out to the hall. If he didn’t leave that room, he’d be liable to lock the door and bend her over the damn table.

Soon, he told himself, glancing to his watch.

Quarter past six.

The start of a satisfied smile worked its way to his face as he rounded a corner to the pair of elevators.

In less than two hours, Amelia Storm would finally be his.

Shoving the lid of his matte silver laptop closed, Zane glanced to the analog clock mounted above the wall-spanning whiteboard.

Half-past six. Great.

He rubbed his eyes and groaned. Glenn Kantowski had left more than two hours earlier to pick up her son from school. Zane had been sifting through old Leóne cases for so long he thought his eyes would glaze over.

RICO investigations sounded sexy, but the reality was far less glamorous. Once the fieldwork was finished, all that remained was organizing old files to establish a pattern.

Thanks to Amelia and Joseph’s arrest that afternoon, they could now officially add bribery and corruption of law enforcement officials to their list of offenses. Not to mention the murder of a federal witness and a police detective, both of which had been carried out in the interest of protecting the Leóne family.

Zane nodded to himself and stuffed the laptop into a black canvas case. As he rose to his feet, he swept his gaze over the collection of broken chairs and then the rest of the room. A few papers were still strewn over the table, but he ignored the slight clutter.

“Good enough,” he muttered.

Tucking the laptop case under one arm, he flicked off the overhead lights and set off for the elevator.

For the past day, he’d been in a constant battle to keep his thoughts from drifting to Senator Stan Young. He’d reached out to his old friend and primary