Donna Ball - Under Cover

UNDER COVER

By Donna Ball

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Copyright 1991 by Donna Ball Inc.

All rights reserved

e-book edition published February 2011 by Blue Merle Publishing

This book was originally published in an altered version by Silhouette Desire under the pseudonym Donna Carlisle . It has been extensively revised to suit the authors preferences and updated for modern readers .

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Praise for the Work of Donna Ball

"A love story that will cling to your memory long after the book has ended."

-- Romantic Times

"Recommended reading to everyone regardless of age or sex."

-- Affaire de Coeur

"A major talent of the genre"

-- Publisher'sWeekly

"Simply fabulous"

-- Midwest Review

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ONE

T eale Saunders knew three things for certain about David Carey: he was incredibly good looking, he was extremely wealthy, and he was a criminal.

He was also, at this moment, smiling at her.

Teale felt just the smallest quiver of excitement perhaps even nervousnessas she returned his smile coolly over the rim of her glass. The rumors about his mesmerizing effect on women had not been entirely unfounded.

"What do you think?" she murmured to Sam.

Sam, who had been surreptitiously watching the interchange, glanced at her as Carey turned casually back to his conversational group. "I think," he answered, absently swirling the liquid in his glass, "he's nibbling at the bait. And we've only been here ten minutes. Well done."

Thanks," she replied. Her tone was dry, but she could not disguise the slight spark of triumph in her eyes as she looked around the room.

From the outside David Carey's home was no different from any other on the beachneither pretentious nor modest, but standard beachfront fare that blended in comfortably with its neighbors. Subtlety was a necessary tool of David Carey's trade. The interior was discreetly decorated in shell beige and gray, with touches of turquoise that picked up the tones of the Atlantic Ocean, visible from three sides of the front room. To the casual observer, the house was not distinctive, and the party was no different from any otherunless, perhaps, it was quieter than some. It was only when one looked closely at the guests that one began to suspect this was no ordinary gathering of friends enjoying a sociable time on a Friday night.

The mode of dress ranged from tuxedos to Hawaiian prints, from glittering gowns to cotton sundresses, but there was an aura of unmistakable elegance about it all. The ring worn by the woman in sandals and jeans was a flawless four-point diamond, the simple silk frock worn by her companion bore a Dior label. No one was in this room who could not afford to be, and all of them knew what they were here for.

The champagne was Dom Perignon, the caviar was beluga. The music was tasteful, and the conversation was punctuated by light laughter, the wink of jewels and the clink of glasses. David Carey circulated with the casual air of a genial host and occasionally would escort a guest or a couple into a short hallway and toward a back room. The door would close discreetly behind his chosen guests, and David would return to play host again.

It had taken three weeks to set up the invitation to this party, and Teale was excited. She enjoyed the glamour and the role playing, of course; one of the reasons she was so good at her job was that there were parts of it she found unabashedly fun. But mostly she enjoyed the challenge, the taste of victory after weeks of work, and yes, even the tiny edge of danger. For Teale wasn't particularly impressed by the size of the women's jewels or the vintage of the champagne. She was interested in what was going on in that back room.

Sam was eyeing the buffet table. "You want some shrimp?"

"Are you kidding? They're dripping in sauce, and this dress costs more than you and I both make in a month."

He grinned at her. "Perks of the job, sweetheart. You don't think the taxpayers would spring for a dry-cleaning bill?"

"I'm just not so sure how easy it's going to be to knock David Carey off his feet with shrimp sauce all over the front of my dress. And stop standing so close. He's looking at me again."

"It won't hurt him to think he's got a little competition." Sam watched the way she arched her neck to smooth back a strand of light red hair, and he watched David Carey watching. He frowned a little. "Maybe you're a little too good at this."

Teale hid her amusement by sipping from her glass. Sam and she had been partners for three years, and it was only natural that the closeness that developed between them on the job should spill over into their personal lives. Fortunately for their working relationship, each of them had decided at first glance that neither was the other's type. Sam was too short for Teale; Teale was too skinny for Sam. The resulting relationship was purely platonic, and if Sam occasionally carried his big-brother role too far, it was impossible to be seriously annoyed with him for it. He knew Teale too well to ever allow himself to become too overprotective.

"Getting to this party was one thing," Teale reminded Sam, watching David Carey from the corner of her eye. "Getting behind that door" she nodded toward the hallway that led to the back room "is quite another. And that, my friend, is what you have me for."

Sam chuckled. "That's your problem, ladyno confidence. What makes you think he's going to take you back there the first time you meet?"

Teale gave a toss of her head, her hair rippling across her bare shoulders. "Because I'm good at my job."

Sam's eyes twinkled. "Are you sure you're in the right profession?"

Teale gave him a cool stare. "I'm just the cheese in the trap."

"Hmm." Sam cast his eyes to the side and then, casually, back to her. "You just be careful. That's a mighty big rat you're after, and he's moving this way." And, with a polite social smile and a nod, Sam sauntered off toward the buffet.

Teale felt a leap of her pulses, which she quickly subdued. She composed her features into an expression of casual boredom and gazed absently around the room, sipping her drink. She made certain not to look in David Carey's direction, though she could feel his approach much as she could feel static electricity in the air before a storm. Every nerve in her body was alert and alive. This was the moment she had been trained for, and she was ready.

"Miss Simon. You're looking neglected."

Teale Simon was the alias she adopted for all undercover work; it was simpler to remember a name that was close to her own. When David Carey spoke she turned slowly and favored him with a measuring smile. "How kind of you to notice, Mr. Carey."

He had greeted them at the door, of course, but that first meeting had been brief and impersonal, and Teale had been too busy checking out the room to pay much attention to her host. Now she had a chance to appraise him up close, and she was impressed.

He didn't look much like a hoodlum, she had to admit. He had a casual, easy-going air about him that suggested barbecues on the beach or touch football on someone's front lawn. He could have been a lawyer, a banker, a real-estate broker, and on first glance he seemed perfectly harmless. But Teale was trained to look beneath the obvious, to the thread of steel that wound beneath his lean, sexy frame, the trace of hardness just beneath the surface of his lazy gray eyes. Oh yes, he was dangerous. But perhaps not in the way she had first imagined.

His hair was sun-streaked brown, his eyes the color of smoked crystal. His skin was lightly bronzed by the sun; his features were sharp and aristocratic. Yet it was his mouth that immediately drew the eye and held the attention. His lips were distinctively etched, perfectly clefted in the center, flowing smoothly toward corners that could curve in a cynical smile or tighten with sternness or anger. It was a mouth an artist's brush would yearn to capture and a woman's finger would ache to trace. His was a striking face, an unforgettable face, filled with lazy sensuality and just a hint of danger. It was a face even Teale, who was both forewarned and forearmed, could not help appreciating.