Undercover Heat

Release date: January 19, 2015
Undercover HeartA year ago, agent Kyra Sanders almost closed the case of her career—almost, but not quite. Her boyfriend and colleague ended up cheating on her with the perp she was chasing, blowing the case and ruining Kyra’s belief in happily ever after. When she’s given a second chance to catch this crook, she’s determined not to let anything interfere.

Quinn Daniels is an FBI agent with a hell of a skeleton in his closet: his father was a career criminal. Locked up in federal prison, he still manages to torment Quinn, never letting him forget that he failed as a son and a human being. Hard-drinking, hard-talking Quinn vows to stay on the straight and narrow.

But when Kyra and Quinn are assigned to go undercover as a married couple, trouble—and desire—flares. Opposites may attract, but can they keep the heat between them undercover long enough to close their case?

by Tami Lund

ContemporaryBUY NOW
Sensuality Level: Sensual

Author Bio:
Tami Lund likes to live, love and laugh, and does her best to ensure the characters in her books do the same. After they’ve overcome a few seemingly insurmountable obstacles, of course. Find Tami at www.tamilund.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter @TamiLundAuthor.

 

An excerpt from Undercover Heat:

“A toast!”

“Another one?”

“Shut up, Baxter. If I want to toast all damn night, I will.”

“If you do, you won’t have nearly as much luck in your personal life as you had at work this past week,” Baxter called out from the small crowd gathered around him.

“Good point.” But Quinn lifted the shot glass anyway. “To all the women I’ve never loved but have slept with anyway. May one of you be willing to try again tonight.”

Laughter preceded a chorus of “hear, hear,” before the small group of federal agents lifted their glasses and drank deeply. Quinn tossed back the shot in his hand. And called for another.

“You aren’t even going to be able to walk, let alone hook up with a woman tonight, Daniels,” someone quipped. The dark, cozy pub was just a block from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Detroit field office and was a favorite after-work hangout.

“I have a better chance than you, Jones.”

The laughter was even louder at that one.

“Another toast,” Quinn Daniels called. Before he could lift his glass, however, the door to the pub opened and the dim light from the street lamps spilled into the room. A tall, lean blond woman stepped inside. She wore a gray pinstriped pantsuit, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore the barest hint of makeup and a frown on her face.

“Kyra Sanders!” Quinn called out as the woman paused just inside the door, probably waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark atmosphere. “A toast to Sanders,” he said. He lifted his shot glass. His cronies all did the same and looked at him expectantly.

Kyra narrowed her eyes and watched him, but did not say a word.

“To the agent with the longest-standing open case in the Detroit office. Hear, hear!”

“Hear, hear!”

“To Kyra!” Another round of cheers. Another round of drinks. She stood by the door, enduring it for a moment before she strode past him, walking on sensible yet not unsexy heels, and bellied up to the bar. She ordered a beer while he stumbled over to stand next to her, swaying slightly on his feet. He figured he was about three sheets to the wind, heading toward four.

Quinn generally kept his personal life—or lack thereof—and his professional life strictly separate. But when a hot blond started working in his office, it was hard to ignore her. Kyra had transferred to the Detroit office some six months prior and thus far had hardly said half a dozen words to him—or any of the other male agents, so far as he could tell.

“She was different from the women he normally hit on. More introverted, more—shy. Which, in truth, pissed him off that he was even attracted to her, because those were qualities his mother had, and he had a strict rule to avoid all women who even remotely had anything in common with his late mother.

“A beer? Don’t you want to do a shot with me?” he asked, leering at the chest tucked away behind her standard business suit. No sexy lace, no hint of cleavage for him to ogle.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“That accent of yours sure is sexy.” Had he realized how alluring a drawl could be, he might have considered taking a position in one of the southern offices when he was first starting out with the feds.

“It’s not an accent. Now go away, Quinn. I’m not interested.”

“I’ve heard you aren’t interested in anyone. How come? Don’t swing this way? You and Raquel are best buds, but I know she swings this way, considering she hasn’t stopped smiling since she hooked up with that civilian.”

“Jorge. Her husband’s name is Jorge.”

“What? She up and married that guy?”

Kyra shook her head. “They’ve been married for five years. I’ve been in this office less than six months and even I know that.”

He shrugged. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what everyone else does when they aren’t on the clock.”

She paid for her beer and took a sip before giving him a mock salute with the bottle. “See you around, Quinn.” She moved away from the bar in the opposite direction of where he had been gathered with his cronies. When she slipped into a booth, he sat on the bench opposite her.

Even in his drunken state he recognized a strange attraction to Kyra Sanders, one that was different from the standard desire to sleep with a woman simply because she had tits and nice legs. Actually, it was only when he was sloshed that he was willing to admit to the allure. When he was sober, he stayed the hell away from her.

Tonight, Quinn was trashed. So instead of heading back to the other agents, he followed Kyra.