Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Special Agent Francesca (Undercover FBI) by Mimi Barbour Excerpt

Special Agent Francesca (Undercover FBI) by Mimi Barbour

Francesca means to prove to her mother "the Snow Queen"- who's also a bigshot in the agency - that she has what it takes to be a top-notch undercover agent. Nothing and no one will stop her.

Dr. Sean Collins means to see that Francesca stays safe, in spite of her thoughtless behavior by ignoring her own safety and her stubborn attitude when called on it.

The puppy - a stray they save and can't agree on his name - is it Sweetie or Macho Man?

Sean Collins shared the seat kitty-corner in the four-booth set-up. He’d worked late trying to get a patient through a crisis and had gotten as far as the steak house, before hunger grabbed hold and dragged his sorry ass inside. Exhaustion had left his eyes gritty and his brain twisted like a pretzel, but two male voices still got through. Listening to a man unloading on his buddy about a mistaken one-night stand had his attention pretty darn quick.
When the friend’s advice matched with his own ideals of truthfulness between a husband and his wife, he found himself nodding. He didn’t agree with the jerk’s reasoning about being a player but he his basic counsel of honesty was sound.
Not that he was married; hadn’t found a woman he could trust further than he could throw her. What was it with the females in the state of Nevada? Did they all have to get caught up in the hype of the fun city?
Suddenly, a female voice entered his awareness. The husky note in the slightly slurred words was pleasing and he concentrated on what she was saying.
“Don’t listen to your friend.  Not only is he an asshole, he’s full of shit. If you love your wife, then don’t tell her—ever.”
What the hell?
The screwball continued in the same vein, proceeding to give unwanted advice to a man who was in a fragile state and probably willing to listen to anything that would get him off the hot seat.
Sean came close to standing up and cutting her off. If he weren’t so tired, he’d have given her a piece of advice. Mind your own business! As a psychologist and profiler who often worked with the cops and saw every kind of misfit out there, he knew she’d most likely wrecked this man’s life. In her final statement, she let the poor guy have it with both barrels.
 “In my way of thinking, being the best husband and father you can be will go some ways to making up for being the miserable, lyin’, cheating prick that you are.” Sean heard the noise of a chair being knocked over, a grunted swearword and light footsteps heading toward the door.
Something beyond his power to control brought him to his feet. The redheaded advice-giver stopped and their eyes caught for as long as it took her to stumble. Hers were pure liquid heat, the bluest blue he’d ever seen. Her glance slid past him as she straightened the chair and carefully manoeuvered her way to the door.  The light over the entrance caught the coppery-gold highlights in the mane of loose hair flowing every which way over her shoulders and down her slight back. She bumped into the doorframe on her way out, stopped, re-aligned herself and then the nut-job was gone.
Stunned, he slid back down into his booth and the truth hit him. Hell, in Las Vegas there was every kind of mental disorder, maladjusted behavior, psychosis, neurosis and insanity a person could imagine, but some just blew the others right out of the murky pool. That stunning deranged wacko, whose fabulous long legs might get a man to do almost anything in order to get his hands on them, had just ended his otherwise shitty day perfectly. What a fucking shame!

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