“Does the U.S. attorney know how much you like spending your Saturday nights eavesdropping on private conversations?” Nick asked.

“The U.S. attorney knows exactly how I like spending my Saturday nights.”

Nick grinned at that. Then he surveyed the room, getting down to business. Eckhart’s office was just as Jordan had described it: an oversized mahogany desk, two walls of built-in bookshelves, a file cabinet in the southwest corner of the room (which he checked – locked), and two leather armchairs centered by a coffee table. Five recording devices should cover the space easily.

His eyes moved to two electric sockets, low on the walls, that were immediately visible, and the glass light fixture on the ceiling in the center of the room. All great places to start. Another bug underneath the coffee table, and a fifth one attached to the bottom of Xander’s desk, and they should be good to go.

Nick pulled a small screwdriver out of his lock-pick set. “Are you guys ready?”

“Ready,” Jack said in his ear. “As soon as you get the first bug in place, we’ll do a sound check.”

Two nights ago after Bordeaux had closed, Reed and Jansen, the tech guys in the van with Jack, had attached a small receiver with an antenna to one of the air-conditioning units outside the building. The receiver would transmit the signal from the recording devices inside Eckhart’s office over a several-block radius, which allowed them to park the van with the monitoring equipment farther away from the restaurant to reduce visibility.

Nick took the first recording device out of his suit pocket, ready to rock and roll. “Is Agent Simms hooked in?”

“I’m here,” whispered Agent Simms, the “bartender” working in the VIP room. “I’ve got a visual on Eckhart and Rhodes. They just came up the stairs.”

“Why am I not linked in to Jordan’s mic, Jack?” Nick asked impatiently. He wanted to be sure he could hear her conversation with Xander. Both for the security of the assignment and just … because.

“We’re working on it,” Jack said. “We’re dealing with eight different frequencies between the microphones on you three and the bugs. All right, Reed says you should be able to hear Jordan and Eckhart now.”


“SO HOW DID you find out about the auction?” Xander asked as they cut through the VIP room. “I haven’t heard anything about a case of 2000 Pétrus coming up for sale.”

“I have my ways,” Jordan said with a hint of mystery. Actually, it wasn’t so mysterious; a friend of hers from Northwestern worked in the wine department of Sotheby’s and often gave her advance notice of big-ticket wines before they were entered into their catalog.

She and Xander stopped at the bar for their drinks.

“How can I help you, Mr. Eckhart?” asked the redhead bartender. Her eyes momentarily held on Jordan.

Xander gestured for Jordan to go first. “What’ll it be?”

“Tough choice. You know I have a fondness for both the Vineyard 29 and the Quintessa.”

“Close your eyes. I’ll surprise you,” he said.

Jordan wondered how she would handle this situation were she not involved in a covert sting operation with the FBI. Here she was at the party with another man, yet Xander was obviously flirting with her. Ultimately, she realized, she didn’t have the luxury of handling the situation as she might have normally. Keeping Xander preoccupied was her focus right then. So she obligingly closed her eyes.

She heard Xander whisper something to the bartender.

“This is going to be a trick, isn’t it? You’re going to pour me a glass of a ten-dollar wine to see if I can tell the difference,” Jordan said.

“Like I would ever serve a ten-dollar wine,” Xander scoffed. “Okay. You can open your eyes now.”

She did, and saw Xander holding two glasses of red wine.

“Shall we?” he asked, with a nod in the direction of the terrace.

Several guests watched them curiously as they made their way out of the VIP room and through the main lounge. As soon as they stepped onto the terrace, Jordan felt the rush of cooler air as it swept over her bare shoulders.

“Over here,” Xander said, leading her to a heat lamp perched near the balcony that overlooked the Chicago River.

All the other guests were inside, and Jordan suddenly wondered if anyone could see them. She took some comfort in the fact that Nick could at least hear her.

Xander handed her one of the glasses. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He clinked his glass to hers.

“Thank you.” Jordan took a sip of the wine, tasting the dark red fruit, rose petals, chocolate, and chili powder. “It’s the Vineyard 29.”

“You’re good,” Xander said.

“It’s one of my favorites. I should recognize it by now.”

“How many people know enough about wine to appreciate how fantastic this one is?” Xander stood against the railing, stretching one arm in her direction. “I guess a better question is, how many people can even afford this wine to know how good it is? You and I are similar in so many ways, Jordan.”

Hmm … not so much. First, she generally didn’t associate with infamous criminals. Twin brother excepted. Second, she usually tried to avoid being a snob, a character trait Xander seemed to have fewer qualms with.

Changing the subject, she looked out at the water and the backdrop of the Chicago skyline at night. “The view is great out here.”

Xander moved closer to her, his eyes holding on her face. “Yes, it is.” He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Uh-oh.

Jordan debated how to finesse her way through this predicament. She hoped that Nick was moving his ass as fast as humanly possible down there in Xander’s office, because the situation up here on the terrace was starting to get awfully damn sticky. Normally she’d be giving Xander the polite version of her “Back off, buddy” speech, having no desire to fan the embers of affection of a man who was in cahoots with notorious gangsters. But given the parameters of the evening, she needed to stick it out a bit longer.

Kyle, dear brother of mine, if you so much as get a parking ticket after this, I’ll call you Sawyer for the rest of your life. Oh – and I’ll also tell Dad about the time you broke Mom’s rocking chair playing WrestleMania with Danny Zeller and blamed it on the dog.

“You flatter me, Xander,” Jordan said, subtly putting a few inches of space between them. “But I’ve seen pictures of that model you’re dating. She’s beautiful.”

“Come on, Jordan. You know you’re gorgeous,” he said. “And if your date hasn’t told you that ten times tonight, he’s an idiot.”

“My date probably wouldn’t be too pleased if he knew we were having this conversation right now.”

“Yet still, you asked me out here.”

“To talk about the Pétrus.”

Xander dismissed this. “You could’ve sent me an e-mail about the Pétrus. You wanted to talk to me alone tonight. And I think I know why.” He moved his finger to the side of her face and stroked her cheek.

“Xander,” she said in a calm tone. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood my reasons for asking you to come out here. But I’m with Nick tonight.” She reached up and removed his hand from her face.

Convicted felon of a brother or not, this money-laundering asshole was not touching her again.

At her rebuff, Xander’s expression took on a harder edge.

“Excuse me, Mr. Eckhart?”

Jordan started at the unexpected sound of the woman’s voice. She turned and saw the redhead bartender/FBI agent standing a few feet from them, in front of the doorway that led to the restaurant.

“Yes?” Xander asked, obviously annoyed with the interruption.

“We’re nearly out of the zinfandel. I was wondering what you would like us to open in its place?”

Xander frowned. “That’s impossible. There should be more than enough. Excuse me for a moment, Jordan.” He strode over to the bartender and pulled her aside to speak privately.

Jordan turned her back to them. Facing the river, she gripped the railing and exhaled in relief. She had a feeling a certain special agent was watching out for her from his post in Xander’s office. She glanced down at her chest, feeling the microphone stashed safely in her bra.

“Nice save, Brooklyn,” she whispered under her breath.

Xander and the bartender took a few minutes to wrap up their conversation, and then she left. He walked over to Jordan, shaking his head. “No clue what that was all about. This is my fifth year throwing this party. I think I know how much wine to order. I kept telling her there were extra cases of all the wines in the storage room, but she insisted we were out of the zin. Then suddenly, she tells me that she realized she forgot to check the racks behind the door.” He rolled his eyes. “Fucking airhead. I’m firing her after tonight.”

That airhead is listening right now, Jordan thought. And she is going to have a lot of fun arresting you in the not-too-distant future.

Xander resumed his place by her side at the railing. The interruption seemed to have calmed his earlier response to her rejection. “So. Where were we?”

“We were talking about the Pétrus,” Jordan said.

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. We were talking about us.”

“Xander, there is no us.”

“There should be. I’ve wanted to say that for a long time. Seeing you here with Stanton shows me what a fool I’ve been for not saying it earlier.”

“But that’s the problem, Xander. I am here with Nick.”

“It’ll never last between you two.”

She pulled back. “Why would you say that?”

He gave her a get-real look. “Don’t you think you should be with someone more on your own level?” He put his hand on top of hers and ran his thumb over her fingers. “Jordan, Nick Stanton is a nobody.”

“A nobody who’s going to throw your ass into the river if you don’t get your hands off my date.”

What struck Jordan, as she looked over at the sound of the voice, was that the Nick she saw standing to the right of them was not the devil-may-care, always-ready-with-a-quip man she knew.

This man was angry.

Nick’s expression was dark and intimidating. His voice, however, remained calm. “You have guests who are looking for you, Eckhart.”

Xander shifted. After a moment of studying Nick, he seemed to decide that a quick departure was the safest course of action. “We can finish our conversation later, Jordan,” he said coolly. He passed by Nick as he walked to the door. “You are really starting to annoy me, Stanton.”

Nick didn’t blink. “Good. By the end of the night I hope to finish the job.”

Xander’s scowl deepened as he turned and left the terrace.

Nick watched him leave before turning his attention to Jordan. He looked her over, his voice softening. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She exhaled as he walked over. “That got a little too close for comfort for a moment there.” She gestured to his face. “What’s with the look?”

“It’s my don’t-fuck-with-me face.”

Jordan nodded, impressed. “It’s not bad.”

“Thanks.” Nick smiled slightly, and the tension seemed to lift as the darkness left his face. He raised an eyebrow. “You handled yourself well.”

Yes, true, she pretty much rocked this assignment. Except for the part where she’d nearly broken out in hives. And that little bit at the end there, when Nick sort of had to rescue her from Xander.

Jordan chose her words carefully, just in case anyone was listening. “Were you able to find some way to amuse yourself while I was up here?”

Nick tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged casually. “I found a few things to divert my attention.”

She couldn’t help but smile. He always seemed so effortlessly confident, as if nothing fazed him. “That’s good.”

As they stood there, each taking in the other, an uncharacteristic silence fell between them. A cold breeze blew over Jordan’s shoulders. With their assignment now complete, she realized that her work with the FBI was nearly over. At the end of the night, she and Nick would go their separate ways. Later, someday, she would have one heck of a story to tell her girlfriends.

Tough to say what she would tell them about Nick. Probably, she’d talk about how he annoyed her a good eighty-seven percent of the time they were together.

“You’re shivering. We probably should get back inside,” he said.

“We probably should.” Jordan’s eyes held Nick’s for another moment, then she finally turned and began to walk toward the door that led inside the restaurant. She heard Nick clear his throat pointedly and glanced back over her shoulder.