Free Death, Taxes, and a Chocolate Cannoli (A Tara Holloway Novel) by Diane Kelly Page B

is.” Little did he know I only wore the lace panties when I knew we’d be fooling around and they wouldn’t be staying on long. The rest of the time I wore comfy cotton granny panties. Comfortable underwear was one of the hidden benefits of working undercover.
    Nick added his shaving kit to his smaller suitcase and zipped both bags shut. Zzzzip. Zzzip. He set the bags upright on the floor next to the bed, grabbed my hand, and flopped back on the bed, taking me with him. “Come here, you.”
    We lay side by side, looking into each other’s eyes, neither of us speaking for a moment or two. Finally, he reached out and brushed back an errant lock of my newly red hair from my cheek. “Let’s bust this guy fast. I don’t like being away from you.”
    I didn’t like it, either. But it was the price we paid. Besides, maybe we could find some time to sneak away and get together during the investigation. It couldn’t be anywhere public, though, or we’d risk being discovered.
    He leaned toward me and pressed his lips to mine, just as he’d done a thousand times before. And just as it had done a thousand times before, my heart shimmied in my chest.
    I was crazy about Nick. He wasn’t perfect, of course. But I could live with his stubbornness, his occasional snoring, his weekend fishing trips in the spring and summer. Still, I knew that if he and I settled down and started a family someday, one or both of us would have to make some sacrifices, at least where our careers as special agents were concerned. You couldn’t take a kid on a late-night stakeout. After all, those baby carriers that strapped to your chest weren’t made of Kevlar. One of us would likely have to take a desk job or transfer to the auditing department.
    But no sense worrying about that, right? After all, Nick and I weren’t even engaged … yet.
    Nick’s kisses grew more insistent, and his hands began to roam over my body, touching, caressing, removing clothing. Daffy watched us for a moment or two, a furry canine voyeur, then decided our show wasn’t all that interesting. She’d seen it before, knew the script. With a jingle of her tags, she hopped down from the bed and went in search of a chew toy.
    Nick and I made love, taking our time, knowing it could be days or weeks before we’d be able to be intimate again. We savored each second, each sensation, the sensual release our interlude gave us.
    Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms for a long moment, simply enjoying the companionship, until I finally looked at the clock.
    “It’s after nine,” I said. “I need to get packed, too.”
    He returned the favor, coming down to my place and helping me fill my suitcases. I dug though my jewelry box and found a necklace made of small white rocks that I’d had since my summer camp days back in junior high. With Nick’s western shirts, though, the necklace would be right at home. I also found a basic unisex black scarf.
    He took the items from me but scowled. “I thought being a man meant I didn’t have to accessorize.”
    “That’s not so true anymore,” I said. “Get with the times.”
    I went through my things, choosing garments that would be appropriate for a nanny-turned-college-student. Blue jeans. Tennis shoes. T-shirts. I also packed some fun items. A pair of stilettos and a shimmery blouse, both in red, my signature color. Black ballet flats, black leggings, and a polka-dot tunic. A sundress in a pale blue and white print.
    Stepping to the back of my closet, I unlocked the gun cabinet Nick had bought me for Valentine’s Day— the guy knows me so well —and retrieved a handgun and some ammunition from my extensive personal collection. My Glock would identify me as law enforcement, but the cherry-red Cobra CA380 I’d picked up secondhand at a pawnshop wouldn’t raise any flags if Fabrizio or one of his henchmen happened to notice it. It wasn’t unusual for a young woman living alone in a big city like Dallas to own a handgun for