“That last photo was taken last night,” Mercks said.

Xander put the photographs back into the envelope and set them off to the side. “I’m not convinced. And let me tell you why. I know a lot of people in this city, and I’ve been asking around about Nick Stanton. No one’s ever heard of the guy. So I’m supposed to believe that this nobody, who knows nothing about wine, comes out of the blue and just so happens to walk into Jordan’s store and sweep her off her feet? I’m not buying it.”

“People meet like that all the time,” Mercks said.

Xander jabbed his forefinger on his desk for emphasis. “People don’t meet Jordan Rhodes like that all the time. Her father has one point two billion dollars. Billion. I’m calling it now – this thing is some kind of setup. Stanton’s after her money. He’s probably a con artist or something.”

He pointed at Mercks. “You stay on Stanton until I say otherwise. There’s more to this story. I can feel it.”


THE FOLLOWING DAY in his fake office, Nick eased back in his desk chair. He grinned, amused with this latest report. “So Eckhart thinks I’m a con artist who’s after Jordan’s money. Good. That should keep him distracted for a while.”

He’d called Huxley after listening to the recording of the conversation. His partner had been stationed in the van a couple blocks from Bordeaux every day since he’d recovered from the stomach flu. Over the course of the past week and a half, they’d developed a good working relationship: Huxley listened live from the van to Eckhart’s conversations, then e-mailed for Nick’s review the digital audio files, along with notes of the minute and second markers for any conversations that were particularly relevant to their investigation.

Huxley took the day shift in the van, and they had two additional agents working the evening and early morning shifts – including Agent Simms, who, per Eckhart’s promise, had been fired from her bartending position the day after his party. The agents covering the second and third shifts similarly sent over audio files for Nick’s review, although thus far there’d been very little substantive evidence gathered through the recording devices during those hours.

They’d recorded a second conversation between Trilani and Eckhart, and this was good progress for their case. None of it, however, was particularly thrilling work. But Nick needed something to do while working at his fake office, and this kept him busy enough. Thus, they carried on: Huxley, holed up in a van seven days a week, weeding out hours upon hours of Eckhart’s tedious wine, nightclub, and restaurant-related conversations, and him, stuck in a stuffy office five days a week with two interns pretending to be “Ethan” the property manager and “Susie,” his office assistant.

Nick peered through the glass pane that separated his private office from the front office where the two interns worked. At least they were able to work remotely from their laptop computers, so the façade wasn’t a total waste of Bureau resources. Still, he could only imagine the excited looks on their faces when Davis had approached them with the chance to work undercover. A boring office job probably had not been what they’d had in mind.

“As long as you and Jordan keep Eckhart fooled about your supposed relationship, we should be fine,” Huxley said. “Still, I’ll feel better when we’re finished with the surveillance and can be done with this whole thing.”

Nick ran his hands through his hair, in agreement with that sentiment. The situation with Jordan was starting to seem too real for his comfort. This normally would be the point when he, sensing a possible attachment, would back away from the situation. But with her, he was trapped. Consequently, all he could do was carry on as usual, being that guy who didn’t let things become real, who was always handy with a quip but didn’t have feelings deeper than that.

Because he didn’t. Undercover agents didn’t allow themselves to become attached to a case or anyone involved with it.

He wasn’t complaining – he’d signed on for this. He’d worked hard to get where he was, and being the best undercover agent in the Chicago field office was a major accomplishment. It was his specialty, the thing that differentiated him from the other agents in the office. Without that distinction, he’d be just another guy with a badge, a gun, and cool facial scruff. Hell, he’d be Pallas.

That alone was more than enough motivation to get his head back in the game.

“You and me both, Huxley,” he told his partner. “The faster we can wrap this up, the better. For all of us.”

Nineteen

JORDAN FEIGNED A pleasant smile for her customers. “What do you think?”

The couple, in their late twenties, looked at each other. “I like it,” the woman said, swirling the two-ounce pour of chardonnay.

“I like it, too,” the man agreed. “It’s not as buttery as a lot of chardonnays I’ve tasted. Let’s get a bottle.”

“Perfect.” Jordan rang them up. Then she headed over to one of the tables in the corner, where a group of women in their early forties were drinking wines by the glass. “How are you ladies doing? Can I answer any questions about the wine?” When she had finished there, she moved to the next table, then to the racks where a few additional customers were browsing, before hurrying back to the bar to ring up one of her regulars.

“Busy tonight,” he noted.

Jordan bagged up his four bottles. “Can’t complain.” Actually, she could complain – quite easily, in fact – but she wouldn’t. Not around customers, anyway.

The stomach flu had struck DeVine Cellars.

Both of her sales associates had been out sick since Monday, which meant that she and Martin had to divide all the shifts between the two of them. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but she had visited Kyle that morning, per usual, so Martin had opened the store and she had to work the evening shift – by far the busiest time – alone. As such, she’d been running around almost nonstop since five thirty, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even had a chance to go to the bathroom, and was feeling more than a little crabby.

But not in front of the customers.

She plastered on another smile as she made her way around the bar and scooted toward the back hall. It looked as though everyone was content for the next thirty seconds, so this was her chance to make a run for it.

The chime on the front door rang.

Son of a bitch. If one more friggin’ customer came through that friggin’ door before she’d had a chance to pee, somebody was going to get a corkscrew up his –

She hurried around the corner to check the door and barreled right into a tall, hard body.

Nick.

He caught her in his arms. “Whoa. Looks like somebody missed me,” he said in a teasing tone.

Jordan pleaded with her eyes. “Please help me.”

His expression turned serious. “Anything. Name it.”

“Oh, thank you.” Jordan put her hands on Nick’s hips and turned him around to face the rest of the store. “Stand here. Make sure that nobody steals anything or sneaks a glass of wine.” She took a step down the hallway before glancing back. “And don’t touch anything.” She hurried to the bathroom before her eyeballs turned yellow and floated out of her skull.

When she returned, she found Nick still at his post.

He pointed to the door. “Is it okay that these two guys came in with a wheelbarrow and took off with a couple crates of wine? They only took the pink stuff, so I figured no one would kick up much of a fuss.”

“Ha, ha.” Jordan scooted around him and slid behind the bar. “Thanks for keeping an eye out. What are you doing here, anyway?” She checked herself, aware there were others around. “I mean, this is such a pleasant surprise. Sweetie.”

Nick shrugged. “I worked late this evening and was about to drive home when I was overcome with the sudden urge to see my girlfriend.”

Code for being followed, Jordan guessed. “I’m closing in twenty minutes. We could grab something to eat after that.”

Nick checked his watch. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet? It’ll be after nine thirty before you get out of here.”

She threw him a charming smile. “Nine twenty if I have help cleaning up the store from my sweetheart of a boyfriend.” She saw a customer approach the bar on the opposite end and left Nick grumbling to himself. A few minutes later, when she came up for air, she noticed that he was gone. She looked around the store, not seeing him anywhere, but didn’t have time to focus on that until after the last customer had left the store.

Jordan shut the door and locked it with a flourish. She’d survived.

No offense to all her wonderful customers, whose business she appreciated so much, but she thought they’d never get the hell out. She drew the shades on the front windows and looked around the store.

Crap, it was a disaster.

She heard a knock on the door. She walked over, ready to tell whoever it was that the store was closed for the day. Instead, she saw Nick through the glass. She unlocked the door and let him in.

He was still grumbling. “You’re already too skinny,” he said gruffly. “If my mother saw you, she would handcuff you to the kitchen table and make you eat lasagna for a week.” He held up two bags from Portillo’s. “I didn’t know if billionaire heiresses preferred hot dogs, burgers, or Italian beef – I’ll skip the obvious joke there – so I got one of each.”

Jordan went weak in the knees at the sight of the red and white striped bags. Chicago dining at its finest. “Please tell me you have cheese fries in there,” she whispered.