Sinful Deception (Covert Affairs Book 3) by Skye Jordan
Authors: Skye Jordan
Tags: General Fiction
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pocket of his gear vest just as the transportation van pulled away with a dozen illegal immigrants he and Trigger had chased down in the Mesa.
“I’m hungry.” Trigger pulled the tailgate on their truck, flipped up the back, and dragged out their food packs. He grabbed a liter of water from the cooler and peered into the dusky landscape. “I’m just gonna check out that area where I think that kid dropped his bag. Be right back.”
Marcus planted his ass on the tailgate and pulled an apple from his lunch. Then dragged his phone from his pocket and clicked into his messages. There was one from a local number he didn’t recognize.
When he expanded the message, it read:
6192015979: Thank you for the phone minutes. That was really thoughtful. And again for helping me with the camera. And the advice. You went above and beyond.
He stared a moment, having a hard time getting his brain around the fact that she’d actually contacted him. Four freaking days later. When he did, warmth rushed his chest and a smile crossed his face. Which was fucking ridiculous. She was a damn stranger .
But the reminder didn’t quash the excitement brought on by the message.
MARCUS: Good to hear from you. Are you going to tell me your real name?
6192015979: It’s Tova. Is yours really Marcus?
MARCUS: It is. Tova is beautiful.
He took a second to change the contact information with her name.
TOVA: Thank you. How are you? At work?
MARCUS: I’m good. Yep, at work. Everything okay with you?
He bit into his apple, grinning. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. His phone buzzed again.
TOVA: Yeah, good. Another midterm over. I’m going to have to nail down a major soon. *shudder*
Small talk? This was awesome.
MARCUS: No ideas on what you want to do?
TOVA: Oh, lots of ideas. Just can’t choose one. Did you always know you wanted to be a cop? (Provided you really are a cop.)
Marcus laughed.
MARCUS: I knew since I was a kid. My mom said I liked guns at an early age. Said she knew I’d go into the military, law enforcement, or crime.
TOVA: LOL. Why not military or crime?
MARCUS: Military was too rigid. Crime was too dangerous—my mom would have killed me.
TOVA: LMAO. Funny. I liked guns young too.
Marcus’s hand holding the apple dropped to his thigh, and he frowned.
MARCUS: That feels like an odd thing to hear from you.
TOVA: We lived in a bad neighborhood. Different country. Different culture. Different way of life. It was a necessary skill to have. Luckily I never had to use it against anyone. Just lots of target practice with cans and bottles.
Different country . His mind automatically darted toward the legitimacy of her citizenship. But he forcefully stopped the thought midstream. Just because she’d grown up somewhere else didn’t mean she wasn’t American. And even if she hadn’t been born American didn’t mean she wasn’t American now. And even if she wasn’t American now, didn’t mean she was in America illegally.
He was so fucking warped.
He crossed one ankle over his knee, trying to figure out what nationality she was. Italian, maybe, but her skin was light. Dark-haired Irish? Light Middle Eastern? If she was attending UCSD, she was most likely here on a student visa.
TOVA: Criminal justice has crossed my mind. Law too. But law school…ugh. It’s such a long haul, you know?
MARCUS: It is. Where did you grow up?
TOVA: Mexico.
His hand tightened on the phone. He hadn’t seen that coming.
MARCUS: You don’t look Hispanic.
TOVA: I’m half. My father is Swiss. Your first name is Hispanic. Is that a fluke?
MARCUS: No, I’m full. Going back generations. Swiss, huh? That’s where you got that incredible skin.
TOVA: *blush* Thank you.
MARCUS: You weren’t blushing a few days ago. I’ve looked for you online. Have you decided against webcams altogether, or have you taken on a new name to hide
“I’m hungry.” Trigger pulled the tailgate on their truck, flipped up the back, and dragged out their food packs. He grabbed a liter of water from the cooler and peered into the dusky landscape. “I’m just gonna check out that area where I think that kid dropped his bag. Be right back.”
Marcus planted his ass on the tailgate and pulled an apple from his lunch. Then dragged his phone from his pocket and clicked into his messages. There was one from a local number he didn’t recognize.
When he expanded the message, it read:
6192015979: Thank you for the phone minutes. That was really thoughtful. And again for helping me with the camera. And the advice. You went above and beyond.
He stared a moment, having a hard time getting his brain around the fact that she’d actually contacted him. Four freaking days later. When he did, warmth rushed his chest and a smile crossed his face. Which was fucking ridiculous. She was a damn stranger .
But the reminder didn’t quash the excitement brought on by the message.
MARCUS: Good to hear from you. Are you going to tell me your real name?
6192015979: It’s Tova. Is yours really Marcus?
MARCUS: It is. Tova is beautiful.
He took a second to change the contact information with her name.
TOVA: Thank you. How are you? At work?
MARCUS: I’m good. Yep, at work. Everything okay with you?
He bit into his apple, grinning. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. His phone buzzed again.
TOVA: Yeah, good. Another midterm over. I’m going to have to nail down a major soon. *shudder*
Small talk? This was awesome.
MARCUS: No ideas on what you want to do?
TOVA: Oh, lots of ideas. Just can’t choose one. Did you always know you wanted to be a cop? (Provided you really are a cop.)
Marcus laughed.
MARCUS: I knew since I was a kid. My mom said I liked guns at an early age. Said she knew I’d go into the military, law enforcement, or crime.
TOVA: LOL. Why not military or crime?
MARCUS: Military was too rigid. Crime was too dangerous—my mom would have killed me.
TOVA: LMAO. Funny. I liked guns young too.
Marcus’s hand holding the apple dropped to his thigh, and he frowned.
MARCUS: That feels like an odd thing to hear from you.
TOVA: We lived in a bad neighborhood. Different country. Different culture. Different way of life. It was a necessary skill to have. Luckily I never had to use it against anyone. Just lots of target practice with cans and bottles.
Different country . His mind automatically darted toward the legitimacy of her citizenship. But he forcefully stopped the thought midstream. Just because she’d grown up somewhere else didn’t mean she wasn’t American. And even if she hadn’t been born American didn’t mean she wasn’t American now. And even if she wasn’t American now, didn’t mean she was in America illegally.
He was so fucking warped.
He crossed one ankle over his knee, trying to figure out what nationality she was. Italian, maybe, but her skin was light. Dark-haired Irish? Light Middle Eastern? If she was attending UCSD, she was most likely here on a student visa.
TOVA: Criminal justice has crossed my mind. Law too. But law school…ugh. It’s such a long haul, you know?
MARCUS: It is. Where did you grow up?
TOVA: Mexico.
His hand tightened on the phone. He hadn’t seen that coming.
MARCUS: You don’t look Hispanic.
TOVA: I’m half. My father is Swiss. Your first name is Hispanic. Is that a fluke?
MARCUS: No, I’m full. Going back generations. Swiss, huh? That’s where you got that incredible skin.
TOVA: *blush* Thank you.
MARCUS: You weren’t blushing a few days ago. I’ve looked for you online. Have you decided against webcams altogether, or have you taken on a new name to hide
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