Undercover Virgin Read Online Free PDF Page A

she was put together, but that's as far as his interest went.
    He quickly redirected his attention. Moving to the window, he surveyed the backyard for as far as he could see. The house was secluded; there was no sign of neighbors and everything was quiet.
    "Are you eating?" asked Rianna.
    "Sure."
    He turned back and helped her get the food on the table. They put together some sandwiches, opened a bag of potato chips and ate in silence. Kyle studied her as he chewed, familiarizing himself with her new punk look. It suited her oval face and delicate features as well as the seductive blonde image. He wasn't sure which he preferred.
    It seemed Phantom was a chameleon, as well.
    "Do you mind if I ask what you do now that you're not with the agency any longer? Do you still live and work in D.C.?"
    He'd never been comfortable discussing his personal life, but he didn't see the harm in small talk. "I moved out west a few years ago."
    "You still work in law enforcement?"
    "No, I'm just a private citizen who minds his own business."
    Her brow creased in a frown, and he realized how censorious his comment sounded. She abruptly stopped asking questions and grew quiet, which should have pleased him, but perversely didn't. They finished their meal in silence, and then worked together to clean the kitchen.
    After they had taken turns in the bathroom, he switched on the TV in the living room while Rianna paced around the house, checking the contents of cupboards and closets.
    She had just stopped her restless prowling and joined him, when a knock at the front door startled them.
    "Stay out of sight," he told her, heading toward the front of the house while she headed toward the back.
    A glance through the peephole showed two familiar faces, Dan Hoskins and Ted Blaine, both experienced agents he recognized from his days at the bureau. Tucking his gun back in his jeans, he opened the door. They shook hands and exchanged greetings, then he lead the way back to the kitchen.
    They found it empty. Kyle glanced at the door, then toward the window, annoyed and confused until noises from the bathroom helped him pinpoint Rianna's location. He heard the toilet flush, some clinking of the toilet tank, and then she called to him for assistance.
    "Kyle, could you help me again? This toilet still isn't flushing right."
    He had no idea what she was talking about, but he decided to find out. "You guys help yourselves to some lunch. I'll be right back," he said, walking down the short hallway to the bathroom.
    To his surprise, his reluctant charge was slipping backward out the narrow window. She spared him a fierce glance, jerked her head toward the front of the house and disappeared.
    He flushed the toilet again, stalling for time and making more noise to cover her actions. Then he followed her out the window, feet-first. It was a tight squeeze, and he muffled a grunt as he hit the ground. By the time he'd rounded the corner of the house, she was flattening the tires of the agency's sedan with a pocketknife.
    "Let's go," she said in a terse whisper, climbing into the truck and quietly closing the door.
    "What the hell?" Kyle demanded, but he didn't hesitate to follow her lead. All he could do was trust her instincts until he knew what had spooked her.
    "The guy who called you a renegade retiree."
    " Blaine ?"
    "I don't know his name, but I recognized his voice. I've heard it on Gregory's private phone."
    "Sonofabitch!" Kyle's hoarse oath echoed in the cab as he hit the ignition. His first instinct was to confront Blaine ; to beat some answers out of the rotten, low-down traitor. Personal need warred with common sense. As much as he wanted to grill the other man for answers, he had to consider Rianna's safety first.
    There was nothing lower than a cop on the take. How long had Blaine been on Haroldson's payroll? How long had the man been dirty? Long enough to have orchestrated Margie's disappearance and death? Kyle ground his teeth in frustration, clenching