Locked and Loaded

Book 5: US Marshals Novel

by Mandy Baxter

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

With a rock-hard body and steel blue eyes, Mason Decker is about to become the U.S. Marshals’ newest recruit. But one last undercover job with a straitlaced attorney will test him to his limits . . . Charlotte Cahill intends to take down an infamous diamond smuggler on the FBI’s Most Wanted list—and she intends to do it by the book.  That won’t be easy with the cocky new temporary deputy on her task force. Mason Decker feels like trouble, especially when his cool gaze wanders across her hot body . . . After his time as a Customs officer, Decker has enough experience hanging out with criminals to know that working undercover means following your instincts, not the rules. It doesn’t take long for him to lock horns with Cahill. But when the sexy assistant U.S. attorney is accidentally dragged out of her orderly world and into the turn-on-a-dime tension of Decker’s deceptive games, she’ll find that nothing is as seductive as playing a new role . . . Praise for Mandy Baxter’s U.S. Marshals series “A little bit of suspense and a whole lot of passion make this the perfect read for adventurous romance fans.” — RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars “Fast-paced and full of heat, this is romantic suspense done right!”—Julie Ann Walker “The perfect mix of steam and on-the-edge-of-your-seat suspense. I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.”—Tracey Garvis Graves “Page-turning, rip-roaring action.”— Publishers Weekly

Release date: September 27, 2016

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 270

Sample

“Thanks for meeting with me, Mason. Have a seat.”

Mason Decker looked at the empty chair opposite Chief Deputy Carlos Carrera and considered asking if he could stand. If he was going to be told yet again that his application to the U.S. Marshals Service had been denied, he’d rather be on his feet when he got the news. After two previous attempts to enter the program, he wondered why the third warranted a face-to-face with the California southern district’s chief deputy marshal, rather than the usual consolation letter. Maybe it was a three-strikes-and-you’re-out sort of situation.

Mason cleared his throat and settled in the chair. After a year with San Francisco PD and then a five-year stint as an undercover agent for U.S. Customs and Border Protection, he’d been ready for a change of scenery. Apparently, the USMS felt that Mason’s history—and family—disqualified him as a viable candidate for their program, despite his glowing service record with CBP. Though in his last interview, they’d noted he’d be well suited for undercover work and suggested he stay on with Customs, that’s not what Mason wanted. Which was why he’d left CBP two weeks ago.

His end goal had always been to join the Marshals Service. He’d keep applying to the program until they accepted him. He was more than the family he’d been born into and he wouldn’t quit until they let him prove it. Mason just hoped he hadn’t been asked here today to be shut down permanently. They couldn’t do that? Could they?

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you to come in today.” Carrera leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on the desk. His dark eyes zeroed in on Mason and he settled back. He wished the chief deputy wouldn’t beat around the bush. If he was out, why not just say it?

“Yeah, well . . .” Mason propped his elbows on the armrests of his chair. “Usually you guys send me a letter to tell me my application was shit-canned. Again.”

Carrera smirked. “You’ve applied to the program twice in the past five years. But after reviewing your application and background checks, it was determined that because of your familial relationships, we might not be the right fit for you. The powers that be felt the stress of what might be required of you would be too much.”

Was this a joke? “I’ve been working undercover for Customs for five years,” Mason replied. “And I think you know how close those cases related to my familial relationships. Last time I checked, no one at CBP had anything to complain about as far as my job performance went.”

“True. But you mentioned in your interview that you were looking for a change of pace. You do realize that becoming a deputy U.S. marshal would mean that things wouldn’t slow down. In fact, the pace might be a little faster than you’re prepared for.”

Mason knew what the Marshals Service dealt with. They were the country’s most elite law enforcement agency. They went places other agencies wouldn’t go and chased criminals that other cops refused to go after. They arrested and transported the worst of the worst. Some of the most dangerous assholes in the world. They risked their lives on a regular basis and rumor had it that most marshals discharged their firearms at least once a day. It was exactly the change of pace he was looking for. Mason was tired of busting smugglers and being used for his particular expertise. He wanted more out of his life and his career.

“I’d like to get out of undercover work, that’s all.” Not that Mason owed Carrera an explanation.

“We do undercover work.”

A slow sigh escaped from between Mason’s lips. Why couldn’t Carrera just tell him they weren’t going to take him and leave it at that? “I’m aware of that. But most of your undercover ops are short-term.”

“True.” For a long moment Carrera studied him. The other man’s scrutinizing stare made Mason seven different kinds of twitchy, as though he were trying to crawl right into his head and take a look at what Mason had going on up there. “You’re one of their top undercover guys. And good at your job from what I hear. Why do you want to leave it?”

His entire life he’d been followed by the stigma of his dad’s reputation. Mason didn’t want to talk about it. In his job, he didn’t want his worth to be equated to his upbringing. “Because I want to be a deputy U.S. marshal.” He fixed Carrera with a stern stare. “It’s been my goal since I joined the police academy.”

Carrera pursed his lips. “And you’re not interested in undercover work anymore?”

“I’m tired of being used specifically for busting smuggling rings and nothing else.” Mason wasn’t a one-trick pony. His skills and knowledge went way past knowing how a con artist and smuggler operated.

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah?” Mason couldn’t keep the disdain from his tone. “Why’s that?”

“Because I have a proposition for you.”

Mason didn’t like the sound of that. He couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm in his response. “What?”

Carrera regarded him for a quiet moment. “Kieran Eagan is back in the city.”

Mason let out a disbelieving chuff of laughter and shifted in his seat. If he’d known this was why he’d been asked to meet with Carrera, he never would have come. “You’re kidding, right?”

Kieran Eagan was one of the world’s most infamous diamond smugglers. He’d managed to elude law enforcement agencies—including U.S. Customs—for the past few years. He was damn good at what he did, had learned his skills from the best in the world. Irreverent. Daring. Smart. Kieran was the total criminal package. The white whale that every cop would love to bring in.

“The Justice Department has formed a joint task force to bring down an up-and-coming criminal syndicate known as Faction Five. Eagan is believed to be a potential player. Customs, FBI, the Office of the U.S. Attorneys, and the Marshals Service are all involved.”

This wasn’t about his application at all, was it? They wanted him because they wanted Kieran. “No.” Mason gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No way in hell.”

Carrera held up his hands as though that was enough to calm Mason’s building annoyance. “Hear me out. You already have the connection. You know how Eagan thinks, what his next move will be. Right now, arresting him is less of a priority than finding out what he knows about Faction Five. If you help us out on this, I can help you out, Mason. I can fast-track your application and get you into Glynco.”

Apparently the USMS wasn’t above extortion to get what they wanted. Or in this case, coercion. Dangling something Mason wanted just out of his reach. All he had to do was play ball. “We want to use Kieran as an asset. We’re after bigger fish than a diamond smuggler. You can bring him to us.” Carrera was quick to assure Mason that he’d be doing nothing more than using Kieran for intel. As though that would somehow entice him to sign on.

Mason swore under his breath and released the air from his lungs in a forceful gust. “CBP knows you’re talking to me?”

“We’re working closely with Customs on this,” Carrera replied. “Gene Fry was the one who suggested we approach you.”

Of course. His own former supervisor had thrown him under the bus. “How long has the task force been working on this?” At this point Mason wouldn’t put it past them to have orchestrated his rejected applications in order to gain his cooperation for this operation.

“A few weeks.” Carrera swiveled his chair back and forth. “I know what you’re thinking, Mason, but this isn’t some big conspiracy. You can get close to Eagan. We need to know what he knows. Take my offer as the compliment that it is. Accept the job and help us identify the key players so we can bring this syndicate down.”

Mason hated duplicity, which, considering his upbringing, sort of made him a hypocrite. “If you talked to Fry, then you know we had a deal about me working any Customs cases that might involve Kieran.” That Carrera even had the nerve to ask him to do this made his gut bottom out.

“I do,” Carrera replied. “And I also know that as far as integrity goes, no one with CBP ever questioned yours.”

Did he think that assurance would somehow make Mason feel better about what they wanted him to do? “Kieran has been smuggling diamonds out of conflict areas for a long damned time. He’s the best. There’s a reason why no one’s been able to make an arrest stick.”

“Like I said”—Carrera leveled his gaze—“we’re not interested in taking him down. Right now, our priority is Faction Five. Justice wants this syndicate squashed before they have a chance to gain any traction. And we want you to help us do it.”

“What is Faction Five?” Whoever they were, if Kieran was working with them it was because it would directly benefit him somehow. He didn’t play well with others and he sure as hell didn’t share his money or his business connections.

“We’re not entirely sure.” At least Carrera had the balls to admit it. “But we have some ideas. We’re hoping that by getting close to Eagan, you can help us figure it all out.”

It was obvious Kieran was one rung on a ladder that went a hell of a lot higher than Mason’s pay grade allowed him access to.

“Who’s heading up the task force?”

Carrera leaned back in his chair. “Charlie Cahill with the U.S. Attorneys office.”

A lawyer. Great. In Mason’s experience, all lawyers managed to do was fuck everything up. He preferred to deal with them after the investigation was complete. And even then it was never a pleasant experience. “And if I agreed to join the task force, who would I answer to?”

“Well, since you’re not officially affiliated with any agency right now, you’d answer to me.”

Mason felt the noose of Carrera’s offer tighten around his neck. “Temporary deputy marshal status?”

“Something like that.”

The chief deputy was certainly making Mason an offer he couldn’t refuse. At this point, his options were few. He was officially unemployed and his job prospects weren’t looking great. He wasn’t interested in returning to the San Francisco PD, and even though CBP wanted him back, he was done with the way they’d pigeonholed him. His options were either take this gig or work as a rent-a-cop somewhere. And as far as Mason was concerned, that wasn’t an option. Was he ready to make the ultimate sacrifice to get what he wanted?

“I’m in,” he said after a long moment.

“Good.” Carrera scribbled something on a notepad before tearing the sheet off and sliding it across the desk toward Mason. He scooped it up in his hand and glanced at the address. “We’ll brief you tomorrow morning at nine. Don’t be late.”

Mason pushed himself up from the chair. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

He left the chief deputy’s office without a word in parting. Despite the fact he was getting what he wanted in the long run, Mason couldn’t shake the feeling that he might have just made the worst decision of his life.

“Can I get another Bloody Mary, Lacey?”

“Sure. Rough day?”

Weren’t they all?

Charlotte Cahill pushed her empty glass toward her friend and eased one foot out of its stiletto, letting the shoe dangle from her toes. It wasn’t quite barefoot, but good enough. The only thing that had got her through the day was knowing that the bar—and her friend—were just around the corner from her office. “Remind me again why I declined my dad’s offer to join his practice?”

Lacey smiled. She grabbed a bottle of vodka from the bar and poured a generous shot into a clean glass. “Because you hate stuffy corporate types, you’re not in it for the money, and you get a rush from taking down the bad guy, which you’d never get reviewing contracts and mergers all day.”

“Oh yeah.” She snapped her fingers. “I forgot.”

“You’re good at the whole adulting thing, Charlie,” Lacey said. “Don’t let the man get you down.”

Charlie suppressed a chuckle. Lacey had been her toughest competition in law school and had been on track to graduate cum laude before she’d decided to drop out. There were days—like today—when Charlie wished she’d followed in her friend’s footsteps. But whereas Lacey had decided she couldn’t handle the stress that came with being an attorney, Charlie had thrived on it. Hell, she’d been raised by one of the top corporate attorneys in the state. The law was in her blood.

Lacey slid another Bloody Mary in front of Charlie, who dunked the skewer into the glass and took an olive from the tip with her teeth. Lacey asked, “What happened at the salt mines to make it a four cocktail sort of day?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Charlie replied. “A couple of weeks ago I agreed to head up a multiagency task force to take down an esoteric crime syndicate that’s currently soliciting new members and may or may not be headed up by cops and maybe a senator or two. I’m going on day fourteen of almost no sleep and I’m pretty sure I’m on my way to an ulcer.”

Lacey paused and her blue eyes went wide. “I stand corrected. This isn’t a four cocktail sort of day. This is a fifth of bourbon and eat a whole cheesecake by yourself sort of month.”

Charlie laughed. “More or less.”

“Good for the résumé, though.”

True. Though if all Charlie was after was a shiny résumé, she would’ve joined her dad’s firm like he’d wanted. She wasn’t after those sorts of accolades. She didn’t want to be respected. Charlie wanted to be feared.

She wanted those big-time criminals to quake in their boots at the mention of her name. She wanted them to know that when she decided to come after them, they could kiss their freedom good-bye. This task force was her chance to prove herself as a certifiable badass. It would make or break her career.

Lacey flashed a confident smile. “If anybody can rock this, it’s you, Charlie.”

She sure as hell hoped so.

“Hey, I get off in twenty minutes. Wanna go grab a bite?”

Dinner with Lacey was definitely a better alternative to her plans for tonight. “Can’t.” Charlie leaned over her straw and took a nice, long pull, draining a couple of inches from her Bloody Mary. “I’m meeting my dad. He should be here anytime.”

“Uuuuugggghhhh!” Lacey made a show of collapsing over the bar. “You’re a glutton for punishment. You know that, right?”

True, Charlie and her dad’s relationship could be described as amicably antagonistic. And an evening spent listening to him chide her about her career—and life—choices usually ended with a couple of Excedrin and a glass of wine. “It’s our monthly dinner date,” she replied before downing another couple inches of her drink. “If I blow him off, I have to deal with my mom. And believe it or not, that’s a hundred times worse.”

“We could meet up afterward?” Lacey suggested. “We could catch a movie or I could just come over to your place and hang out.”

There was no doubt she’d need to decompress after dinner. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home. If you bring the cheesecake, I’ll grab a bottle of wine.”

“Deal.” Lacey glanced over Charlie’s shoulder before leaning in toward her ear. “Dear old dad’s here. Good luck. Hey, Mr. Cahill!” Lacey straightened as she called out. She could go from zero to charming in a second flat. “What are you drinking tonight?”

“Macallan 25, neat,” he replied in his crisp, clear voice. He leaned in and kissed Charlie’s cheek before sitting down beside her. “When are you going to give up on being a bum and finally take the bar exam, Lacey?”

“When hell freezes over,” she replied with a smile. She poured the ridiculously expensive scotch into a glass and placed it on a cocktail napkin. “I’ll leave the lawyering to Charlie.”

“Hmmm.” Robert Cahill gave Lacey an appraising look before he sipped from the glass.

Lacey gave Charlie one last wide-eyed glance before she hightailed it for the opposite end of the bar. Charlie mouthed coward and Lacey nodded in agreement, giving a quick shrug of her shoulders before she focused her attention on a couple who’d just bellied up to the bar.

“So, kiddo. How’s the life of civil servitude treating you?”

“Fulfilling as ever,” Charlie said. “How’s the corporate shark tank?”

“Pays the bills.”

Understatement of the century. No one could ever say Robert Cahill wasn’t good at what he did. His firm handled clients from some of the richest corporations in the world. Charlie made pennies compared to her dad’s two-grand-per-billable-hour rate, hence his disdain of her “civil servitude.” He’d expected her to join the firm when she graduated law school, and almost five years later he was still pretty butt-hurt that she’d chosen the Office of the U.S. Attorneys over the private sector.

Charlie watched her dad from the corner of her eye. Decked out in a perfectly tailored suit, not a graying hair out of place, distinguished and refined, he screamed one-percenter. He sipped from his glass and set it gently back down on the cocktail napkin.

“What are you working on right now?”

They had this conversation once a month. She couldn’t figure out if her dad was truly interested in what she was doing or if he was looking for something to use against her. To convince her to ditch criminal law once and for all. She hated to admit that part of the reason she pushed herself so hard was because she wanted to prove a point to him. To show him that she didn’t have to make two grand an hour or negotiate billion-dollar deals to have worth. What she did mattered. She just wished her dad could see it.

“I’m actually working on something pretty big.” Excitement leaked into Charlie’s voice as she turned to face her dad. “I’m heading up a multiagency task force.”

Her dad glanced at her from the side of his eye and his brows arched. “Oh yeah? What sort of task force?”

Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be talking about it. She’d told Lacey because that woman was a vault, and Charlie knew that whatever they discussed would never see the light of day again. She doubted her dad would mention it to anyone at his firm or anywhere else, for that matter. He might have been disappointed in her decision to practice criminal law, but he’d never betray her confidence.

“FBI, U.S. Customs, the Marshals Service. It’s a pretty big deal.”

“Sounds like it.” Her dad tipped his glass and studied the amber liquid inside. “Who are you after?”

Charlie trusted her dad, but she still wasn’t going to name any names. “Some pretty big fish with even bigger plans,” she said. “If I get the job done, I’ll be exposing corruption at several pretty high levels and taking down a few bad guys in the process.”

Charlie turned to face her dad. His expression was drawn, lips pursed. Concern etched his features and lit his light blue eyes. “They’re all bad guys in your line of work, aren’t they, kiddo?”

Worry leaked into his tone and it tugged at Charlie’s heart. Maybe her dad’s opinion of her job wasn’t merely based on his disappointment that she hadn’t followed in his footsteps. “I’ll be okay, Dad. I’m surrounded by elite-level law enforcement. No one’s going to let anything happen to me. Besides, I’m behind the scenes. Not hands-on.”

“I know, Charlie,” he said. “But I’m still your dad and I can still worry about you.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Are you ready to eat? I skipped lunch and I’m starving.”

He scooped up his glass and stood from the bar stool. “Me too. Let’s go get a table.”

Charlie grabbed what was left of her drink and followed her dad into the dining area. She didn’t want to admit to herself, let alone him, that this assignment had her a little spooked. But Chief Deputy Carrera had promised her only the best of the best would be appointed to the task force.

She sure as hell hoped so. Because she was after the sort of people who couldn’t risk exposure and would go to any lengths to protect their identities and their secrets. When power and money were involved, the rules didn’t apply. Anything goes. And not only was Charlie prepared to expose Faction Five’s leaders, she was going to use one of the world’s foremost diamond smugglers to get to them.

Danger or not, she wouldn’t stop until she took them all down.

Mason pulled into the parking garage of the Phillip Burton Federal Building in San Francisco and killed the engine. He’d slept all of about two hours the previous night and he was still wondering if his decision to become a part of Carrera’s task force was a huge mistake. Especially now that he knew the chief deputy had been fully aware of Mason’s history. And not just the part that made him look like a chump for leaving CBP because he was tired of being used solely for undercover jobs. It all seemed too good to be true. A red flag if Mason ever saw one. Then again, he was being asked to do something he swore he’d never do in order to get a chance at joining the U.S. Marshals Service. So this wouldn’t exactly be a cakewalk. Still, Mason couldn’t fully let his guard down. Always suspicious. He let out a snort. Maybe he was more like his dad than he wanted to admit.

His hands clutched the steering wheel and he stared straight ahead. He could back out now. Tell the Marshals Service to fuck off, swallow his considerable pride, and work private security somewhere. He didn’t have to be a rent-a-cop. There were plenty of corporations and wealthy people out there looking for protection. Shit, he’d probably make a hell of a lot more money in the private sector. Once he was away from government scrutiny he might even be able to finally escape his past.

“Shit.”

Mason let out a gust of breath as he reached for the handle and pushed open the door. Against his better judgment he hopped out of his Camaro and headed inside. It was because of his past that he was going through with this. Not only to prove a point to Carrera and anyone else who might have doubts about him, but to prove to himself that his past didn’t have any hold on him. Mason wasn’t like his family and he never would be. He was better than his upbringing. Better than the opinions of guys like Carrera who measured him by his relations.

He checked in at the front desk and pinned the visitor badge to his shirt. He supposed he’d be given a temporary ID badge or something once he was briefed. Until then, he was nothing more than the chief deputy’s invited guest. His footsteps were heavy as he headed for the bank of elevators. He waited for an empty car and stepped inside.

“Hold the elevator!”

The last thing Mason wanted was to exchange small talk with a stranger in a cramped metal box. Already he felt the walls closing in on him, and the door hadn’t even slid shut. Rather than hold the door, he pushed the button to close it. He didn’t feel all that personable and he made no apologies for it. Whoever wanted a ride up could wait for the next car.

A slender hand shot into the crack just before the door closed completely. It bounced for a brief moment and slid open, to Mason’s disappointment. A huff of breath preceded a tall, curvy woman who stepped into the car. She swept the curtain of her wavy strawberry-blond hair away from her face and her dark blue eyes narrowed as she shot an accusing glare Mason’s way.

Pretty. But the way her gaze raked Mason from head to toe made him feel as though he was being measured up. Whoever she was, she had a chip on her shoulder and obviously was just as thrilled about sharing the elevator as he was. Well, too damned bad. She’s the one who’d insisted on taking this car. She’d just have to suck it up and share the air that felt like it was diminishing by the second.

“Sixth floor, please.”

Her voice had a husky timbre to it. Warm and sweet as fresh honey. It made the fine hairs stand up on the back of Mason’s neck and he reached back to rub the sensation away. He didn’t move to punch the button—he was already heading to the sixth floor—and she turned to cut him an exasperated look. Jesus. How. . .