Love Irresistibly

Three



“DO YOU HAVE a court order to do this?” Brooke asked.

“No.” Seated across the desk from her, flanked by the two FBI agents, Cade appeared unconcerned with such pesky details. “But I can get one, if necessary.”

From his self-assured tone, Brooke had a feeling that Assistant U.S. Attorney Cade Morgan was a man who was used to getting his way. He certainly looked the part, with his strong jaw, dark brown hair, athletic build, and cobalt blue eyes. He was remarkably good-looking—she would have to be a fool not to notice that—and had no doubt that this played very well for him both inside and outside the courtroom.

“You probably could get an emergency judge to grant you an order allowing you to plant a few bugs in the restaurant,” she conceded. “But you would still need someone on the inside to make sure your target sits at the right table.”

“True,” he acknowledged. “It would be very difficult for us to pull this off without your help.”

At least he could admit that much. “Before I’d even consider agreeing to this, I’d need to know who the target is and what that person or persons are being investigated for.”

Cade shook his head. “I’m afraid the nature of the investigation is confidential. As for the identity of the target, after we have your agreement to cooperate, we’ll provide you with that information at the appropriate time so that you know who to seat at the bugged table.”

For Brooke, however, this point was not up for debate. “I have a responsibility to protect Sterling’s interests, Mr. Morgan, and that includes the safety of its employees and customers. For all I know, the person you’re after is an organized crime boss, a drug kingpin, or some other sort of dangerous criminal. What if these two men discover that the table is bugged? What if they identify Agent Huxley and his fake date as undercover agents and pull out guns and start shooting people? Can you imagine the liability I’d be exposing the company to if someone got hurt and I’d had advance notice that there was a potentially dangerous sting operation going down in one of our restaurants during regular business hours?”

Cade considered this point. “I can’t reveal the nature of our investigation,” he finally said. “But I can assure you that neither of the two men who will be at Sogna on Sunday night are considered dangerous. Nobody’s pulling out guns and causing a shoot-out in the middle of your restaurant. This isn’t the O.K. Corral.”

“I’d still like the names.”

His blue eyes held hers boldly. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Parker.”

“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t.”

“Hmm.” He stretched out in the chair, looking effortlessly handsome and every inch the successful trial lawyer in his tailored navy pinstripe suit. “Now, normally, this would be the point when I’d have to give you the tough-guy speech about how, if you were to reveal to anyone the confidential nature of the information I’m about to give you, you could be charged with obstruction of justice and face a possible felony conviction and imprisonment.” He flashed her a dashing grin. “Luckily, though, since you’re a lawyer and obviously know that already, we can skip over the tough-guy stuff. Which is nice, because that part of the conversation can get really awkward.”

Maybe it was the fact that Brooke, admittedly, was having a bad day. She’d been dumped by the Hot OB, had just spent three hours on the phone haggling with the Staples Center lawyers over every tiny, miniscule part of their food service contract, and had done it all on two measly bites of a chicken taco and a melted strawberry-mango smoothie. She was tired, hungry, and, up until ten minutes ago, had been looking forward to the first Sunday in a long time when she did not have to work. So, yes—she was, perhaps, feeling extra-cranky because of circumstances that had nothing to do with anyone sitting in that office right then.

But Cade Morgan was seriously beginning to piss her off.

He’d come here, to her office, to ask for her help. Now he was threatening her with obstruction of justice charges—and most annoyingly, he was doing it with a smile.

So she returned the favor. “That is nice, Mr. Morgan. Because in response to your tough-guy speech, I, in turn, would’ve had to give you my tough-girl speech, about where, exactly, federal prosecutors who come to my office looking for assistance can stick their obstruction of justice threats.” She smiled ever so charmingly. “So I’m glad we were able to sidestep that whole ugly business. Whew.”

Although her attention was focused on Cade, out of the corner of her eye, Brooke could see Agents Huxley and Roberts looking at the wall and ceiling, seemingly trying to hide their smiles.

Cade looked momentarily caught off guard, the first time since he’d waltzed into her office, then his eyes flashed with something else entirely. Amusement, perhaps.

That annoyed her even more.

“Point taken, Ms. Parker.” Then he clapped his hands, moving on. “All right. Here’s what I can tell you. The reservation is for seven thirty, under the name Charles Torino.”

Charles Torino.

Nope, Brooke had no clue who that was.

“I’ll save you the Google search,” Cade said, as if reading her mind. “He’s the CEO of a hospital here in Chicago.”

“And the other man?”

“State Senator Alec Sanderson.”

Ah. Now Brooke was beginning to see what all the fuss was about. Based on the bits and pieces of information she had—the special agents from the white-collar crime division, the fact that Cade had previously prosecuted several high-profile corruption cases—Brooke would hazard a guess that the state of Illinois had yet another dirty politician on its hands.

Only one thing to say in response to that.

“I can get you into Sogna at seven A.M. on Sunday morning,” she told them. “I realize that’s early, but some of the kitchen staff will be arriving at ten o’clock, when deliveries for the dinner service start coming in. You’ll obviously want to be done before then.”

“That’ll be fine,” Vaughn said, appearing pleased with this arrangement. “After working for the FBI for seven years, a seven A.M. start feels like sleeping in.”

“I think you can stop telling her that you work for the FBI, Roberts,” Huxley muttered under his breath. “She’s got it.”

Brooke was trying to hold back a smile, thinking she rather liked these two special agents, when Mr. Obstruction of Justice had to chime back in.

“What about the other part of the deal?” Cade asked.

Brooke looked over. “Getting Torino, Sanderson, and the undercover agents to the right tables, you mean?” She shrugged. “I’ll make it clear to the hostess where I want those two parties seated. I’m sure she’ll be suspicious, but she won’t say anything.”

“You seem awfully certain of that.”

“I’m the general counsel of this company, Mr. Morgan. If I ask an employee to keep something confidential, she will. Nevertheless, I’ll plan to stick around the restaurant on Sunday evening, just to make sure there aren’t any problems.”

“Thank you,” he said. “On behalf of both the U.S. Attorney’s Office and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, let me say how much we appreciate your assistance in this matter.”

“You’re welcome.” Brooke locked eyes with him, to underscore the significance of her next words. “And I trust that the U.S. Attorney’s Office will remember that appreciation, should Sterling Restaurants ever need a favor in return.”

Cade cocked his head at that, regarding her with sudden suspicion. “What kind of favor?”

Brooke sweetly threw his earlier words back at him. “Let’s just say that I’ll provide you with that information at the appropriate time.” She rested her elbows on the table, ready to get down to the nitty-gritty details of the upcoming task. “So. What else do you guys need from me?” she asked Vaughn and Huxley.

“Not much at this point,” Vaughn said. “We might have some questions once we get into the restaurant on Sunday morning, but we’re only bugging one table. That’s a pretty simple job. For the FBI.” He laughed when Huxley threw up his hands in disbelief. “Come on, I threw that one in just for you.” Then he pointed, remembering something. “Actually, I do have one question. Do you have security cameras inside the restaurant?”

Although Brooke wasn’t as familiar with the restaurants as a manager would be, she did happen to know the answer to that. Last winter, they’d caught a bartender on video who’d been swiping customer credit cards through a handheld device in order to steal the numbers. After firing the guy, they’d turned the evidence over to the police. “We do. I’m assume you’d like to catch Senator Sanderson and Torino on video?”

“As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words,” Vaughn said.

“The security cameras inside the restaurant are typically focused on the bar area and the entrance, but I can tell our head of security to make sure that one of the cameras captures whatever table you select for that night,” Brooke said. “Again, he’ll probably have some questions, but I’ll get around that.”

Huxley and Vaughn exchanged looks. “That would be perfect.” Huxley turned back to Brooke, his expression one of both surprise and gratitude. “Thank you.”

Brooke turned back to Cade, all business once again. “One thing, Mr. Morgan: I’ll need a subpoena for the video footage. Purely a formality, something we require anytime we turn over any sort of Sterling property to the authorities. I’m sure you understand.”

Cade’s tone was a touch dry, likely not enjoying the fact that she’d taken charge of “his” meeting. “I can get you a subpoena.”

They wrapped up their meeting after that, making plans to meet at the restaurant at seven A.M. on Sunday. “I’ll let the lobby guard know to expect you, so you won’t have any trouble on that end,” Brooke told them.

She walked them to her office door, where both Huxley and Vaughn shook her hand and thanked her again for her assistance.

Cade paused in the doorway. “I’ll meet you guys in the reception area,” he told the agents.

Brooke waited until the two agents had left before turning to face Cade. He was very tall—easily a good three or four inches over six feet—so she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. “Planning to threaten me with more federal charges, Mr. Morgan?”

He took a step closer. “You knew you were going to cooperate with us from the beginning, didn’t you?”

Actually . . . yes. Or at least from the point in the conversation when she’d realized that Sterling wasn’t in any legal trouble. Both the attorney and businesswoman in her knew that one did not lightly refuse to cooperate with the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office. Cade Morgan may have irked her, but there was no doubt that he was a powerful man in this city.

“I negotiate multimillion-dollar deals for a living,” she told him. “You may have your subpoena power and tough-guy speeches, but I’m not exactly a novice at the bargaining table. You got your bugged table at Sogna. All I wanted in exchange was an acknowledgement of the courtesies that Sterling Restaurants is extending the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

Cade crossed his arms across his chest, the jacket of his suit pulling tighter around his broad shoulders. “For the record, I don’t believe I actually agreed to this ‘favor’ you asked for.”

“Nor did you disagree. Implied consent.”

He gave her a long look. “I can’t decide if you’re irritatingly self-assured or just . . .” He seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then shrugged. “Nope, I’ve got nothing else. ‘Irritating’ it is.”

Seeming to have settled this, he turned to go. “See you bright and early Sunday morning, Brooke Parker.”

Then he strode out of her office just as confidently as he’d come in.

Most annoyingly.