The Sweetheart Racket Read Online Free PDF

for personal investigations. And since Brinkman doesn’t fit under DEA guidelines, I can’t officially investigate him through them.”
    â€œMakes sense. And two?”
    â€œMy mom is embarrassed that she was conned. She wants to keep the investigation quiet.”
    â€œThat also makes sense.” After a minute, she stopped rocking and nodded. “I’ll take the case.” She rattled off the fees. Then, “Tonight, I’ll poke around Match-Mate and read your file. Our computer tech, Summer, can run facial recognition to see if Brinkman has a new profile. I’ll text you daily with updates. Deal?”
    He said nothing for a beat. Then, “No deal. We’re working together.”
    She frowned. “We have a team of investigators here.”
    â€œThen consider me transportation, or a bodyguard. Whatever. You’re not working this case without me.”
    For a moment, he thought she’d refuse. Instead, she sighed and nodded.
    â€œFine. Meet me here tomorrow at eight a.m. I like to start early.” With that, she ushered him out. It wasn’t until he was standing next to his bike that he realized she’d conceded too fast for comfort. She was up to something.
    Tomorrow, he’d find out what.
    Of course, he hadn’t been entirely up front with her either. Part of the reason he’d missed the marrying the con man thing had been because of selfishness and neglect. Over the last couple of years when he’d had a long weekend off, instead of flying to Indiana for visits with his mother, he’d usually take some woman he barely knew to Vegas, or surfing along the coast, or to Mexico. Aside from Christmas, he’d let his sex life rule over his responsibilities as a son.
    Not anymore. No women and no distractions until after the case was solved. His mom deserved nothing less.
    He fired up his James Dean–era vintage Triumph motorcycle and made it to the far end of the parking lot before his mother’s most recent scolding rose up in his head. So he pulled over, put his helmet on, and headed off again with the rumble of the engine in his ears and the power of the bike between his legs.
    Joyce Silva had enough to worry about without the trauma of burying her son.
    For the first twenty-two of his twenty-nine years, he’d grown up a clean-cut middle class kid. Well, outside of some normal boyhood mischief. Joining the DEA after college had turned him to the dark side. His first tattoo led to the next and that was enough to give his mother fits. If not for his undercover work, he might not have gotten inked. But he liked them and the tough persona he portrayed to the world.
    Another checkmark in the plus column was that women loved the look. The griffin across his back and shoulders was a particular favorite.
    His mind flashed back to Taryn. What would she think if she saw it? Would she like it?
    Why did he care?
    Sun beat down on his back as he slid into traffic. Beneath his jeans, his stomach rumbled.
    However, it was another part of him that had all of Taryn on its mind. She was sexy, in the way of a woman who was confident in herself and her abilities. She wasn’t hard-edged despite her black clothes, but she still gave off an attitude that attracted him. The way her tee and jeans fit her like a second skin left him wondering what she looked like beneath. And that troubled him most.
    â€œDamn,” he said, cursing himself for losing perspective. He was so used to playing the part of a selfish and entitled drug lord that sometime over the last five years he’d kind of lost himself in that life. Partying, women, fast cars; the only thing he didn’t indulge in was drugs. Now he was free and wanted the real Rick Silva back.
    Thinking of Taryn as anything other than an employee would be a mistake.
    * * *
    Taryn hit heavy traffic while driving through the university, having forgotten that it was move-in week for the upcoming fall semester.