The Intelligence Unit Series
The Grifter Chapter 19

Frankie made it through the last five minutes of their meet-up with Beck by sheer willpower. She marshaled the video out of her mind and forced it into a box, locking the gruesome images away so she could focus on her breath, her purpose. She was going to make it so this sick, twisted bastard never hurt anyone else. Ever. Even if it was the last thing she did.

Thankfully, Beck wasn't a small talk kind of guy. He and Alfie left soon after he'd given them the green light, telling her and Shawn that he'd be in touch. She and Shawn sat through a requisite few minutes alone in the sticky booth at Houlihan's, waiting until Capelli switched their comms back on to give them the all clear that Beck had really left before they silently slipped out of the bar and made their way back to the pickup truck.

Frankie battled the dread in her belly with every step. She should feel happy, damn it. The meet had been a huge success. Shawn had been freaking brilliant, not only reading Beck with bull's-eye accuracy, but staying one step ahead of him with every response. Despite the fact that Beck had made her skin crawl from the nanosecond she'd sat down beside him, Frankie had been able to hold her own well enough, keeping up with her undercover persona even as her heart had raced.

She'd busted her a*s to get here. She was a good cop, working with other good cops, and she was closer to nailing Beck than she'd ever been.

So why couldn't she shake the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach?

The beep-BEEP of the locks on the pickup truck disengaging made Frankie jump, and for the love of God, she needed to get her shit together before Shawn noticed.

Annnnd too late. "You okay?" he asked, his voice rough around the edges as his dark brows gathered into a V.

"Yep," Frankie replied, cobbling together a smile as she made a show of rubbing her arms over her thin denim jacket. "Just cold."

For a second, she thought he might push. God knew he probably saw right through her. But then, he simply opened the passenger door to usher her into the truck, then swiveled a watchful gaze over the shadowy street around them before crossing the front of the vehicle to get behind the wheel.

A minute later, Capelli's voice sounded off in Frankie's ear, startling the shit out of her. "You're all clear. No tails, no tracking devices. We'll meet you at home."

"Copy that," Shawn said. Reaching up, he slid his earpiece out of its resting place. Frankie did the same, using her deep breathing techniques and mentally playing Miles Davis in her head to try and grab some semblance of calm. Shawn remained quiet, and they went through the motions of heading back to the precinct, turning their equipment back over to Capelli, and trading a series of "good job"s with the rest of the unit. They ran through a quick yet thorough debrief that did nothing to loosen the tangle of emotions in Frankie's gut, especially when they got to how deftly Beck had avoided saying anything even remotely incriminating.

"He's slick," Isabella said, frowning. "It's going to take a lot to make an ironclad case against him."

Shawn nodded. "Beck is smart, that's for sure. But sooner or later, he'll give us an in, and when he does, we'll take it."

"You're already on your way," Hale said with the very enthusiasm Frankie wanted to feel. "Now, all we have to do is wait until you set up a big enough buy, then swoop in and arrest his a*s."

Garza's dark stare moved between Frankie and Shawn, landing on her as he asked, "What was with the thing he showed you at the end? Where you asked him if he was threatening you?"

Of course. They hadn't used cameras as part of their comms tonight, so the team hadn't seen the horrible video Beck had shared.

"Oh." Frankie swallowed past the softball-sized lump suddenly lodged in her windpipe, but she didn't shy away from the question. "It was a video on his phone of him cutting off someone's finger." "Jesus," Hollister bit out, eyes wide. "Are you serious?"

"Very," Frankie said, shaking off her weird unease. She'd seen far worse in the field. She knew how to muscle through her emotions, even when-especially when-they wanted to throw her. "He never showed his face, or the face of the guy he hurt, but it was him. No question."

"All the more reason we need to get him off the street," Shawn said. The unspoken promise in his voice that they would do just that took another chip out of Frankie's edginess, loosening the vise grip on her chest just enough to allow her to breathe. The team began saying their goodnights, with Isabella heading home to her family and Garza finally cracking a smile as he mentioned spending the rest of the night with his girlfriend, Delia. Hale, who was far too intuitive for her own good (or maybe that was for Frankie's good), leaned in and gave Frankie an easy smile.

"Hey, Hollister and Capelli and I are going to head to the Crooked Angel for some wings and the Rogues game." Ah, Remington's hockey team. They were on a hot streak this season, for sure. "Do you want to come?"

"Thank you, but no," Frankie said. The last place she should be when her emotions were at high tide was a bar, even with friends by her side. "I've had a long week. I'm just going to head home and crash."

Hale hesitated, but only for a second. "Okay. Call me if you change your mind and want some company. The wings are out of this world and the firefighters from Station Seventeen hang out there. They are not hard to look at, if you know what I mean." "One of them is my girlfriend," Capelli said. "So I agree with regard to her, of course. But in an objective sense, I think it's probably a fair assessment that the rest of the firefighters at Seventeen are rather good-looking, as well."

"Especially the guys on Rescue Squad," Hale said, waggling her brows.

A tiny laugh welled up from Frankie's chest. "I promise to call you if I get lonely. Thanks."

"Any time." Hale winked, then turned her attention to Shawn, and whoa, was he scowling? "You coming, Sir Smiles-a-Lot? First plate of wings is on me."

He shook his head. "I have to get Isla in the morning."

"Understood," Hale said, heading toward the door with Capelli and Hollister. "Well, goodnight, you two."

"Goodnight," Frankie said.

After they were out of earshot, Shawn hooked a thumb toward the door. "Walk you out?"

"Yeah, sure."

Their footsteps kept time on the linoleum, then the pavement, syncing together in a steady thump-thump-thump pattern that felt oddly comforting. The parking lot held only a scattering of cars this late, and Shawn turned toward her as they reached her Prius. "You ready to talk about what's bothering you yet?"

Her heart kicked. Her brain-the logical part that warned her she was vulnerable as hell right now-instructed her to politely decline, go home, and take a bubble bath. Call Bailey if she still couldn't shake her edginess.

But her heart-stupid, stupid organ-didn't hesitate. "I've been trying to nail Beck for a long time, and I'm not going to lie. This case is personal for me. I guess the adrenaline of finally seeing him face to face is just a lot."

"You did great in the field," Shawn said. The honesty on his face was clear even in the shadows of the parking lot, and Frankie laughed on a soft exhale.

"Wedid great. I wouldn't have gotten nearly this far without you."

Shawn nodded. "We were always a good team, me and you."

An ache, familiar and needy, bloomed in her belly. Logic dictated that she should ignore it, or at the very least, replace a different way to soothe it. But she didn't want to forget about her night by going out with friends, and she didn't want a bubble bath or any of the comforts she normally turned to when she'd had a rough day.

She wanted Shawn. Plain and simple. So she stepped toward him, close enough to touch, and told him the truth. "I'm getting tired of fighting that."

She gave him enough space to step back if he chose to.

But he didn't.

"This might be a bad idea," Shawn said, lifting a hand to trace the curve of her jaw.

Frankie's shiver had nothing to do with the cold. "This is impulsive," she agreed. "But it's not a mistake."

He smiled, and God, she wanted him so badly, it hurt. "You are a lot of things, Frankie. A mistake has never been one of them. C'mere."

She was halfway to his arms before he'd finished. They crashed together in a press of mouths and bodies and a near-desperate amount of need. Shawn grunted at the contact, and the sound broke open some feeling in her chest that she couldn't explain. She knotted her arms around the expanse of his shoulders, parting her mouth to grant him access, and he didn't hesitate. Hooking his hands in her hair, he steadied her, kissing and tasting and taking until they broke apart on a gasp. "Be sure," he said, his voice pure gravel.

The last of Frankie's unease slipped into a laugh. "I was sure weeks ago, Shawn. I can't make you any promises for tomorrow," she said, because apparently, not even panty-twisting [**t was going to cloud her honesty policy. "But right now, tonight? I want you." His stare was so intense, she felt it everywhere, and oh, it stole her breath. "I'm tired of fighting this, too. If tonight's what we've got, then let's not waste any more of it standing here."

He didn't have to tell her twice. Although it didn't take long, the trip from the precinct to his apartment building did nothing to dim the want that pulsed through her like a heartbeat. If anything, it pulled her need tighter, like a bowstring in her belly. They didn't speak as they got out of the car and crossed the sidewalk, then the building's threshold and into the elevator beyond, but Frankie was still hyper-aware of Shawn's presence beside her, strong and close at every step.

He'd barely flipped the deadbolt back into place on his front door before she wrapped her arms around him to pick up where they'd left off.

"Yes," Frankie said against Shawn's mouth, letting him walk her backward through the foyer until her shoulders bumped the wall. He stripped her jacket off in a swift yank, a favor that she returned with equal enthusiasm, and heat pooled between her thighs at the feel of one less layer of clothing between them.

"God, you feel so f*****g good," he said, the words rough in her ear as he kissed a path over her jaw. His five o'clock shadow provided just enough friction to coax a moan from her throat, and he lingered in the spot behind her ear until she moaned again. Shawn wasn't gentle, which was fine by Frankie-she wanted to feel every touch with all the intensity he was using to give them. Still, he moved slowly, kissing her neck and as much of her collarbone as her top would allow. He traveled lower, his tongue darting out to glide along the line where the fabric surrendered to her b****t, and oh, holy hell, she was going to explode or come or lose her mind. Possibly all three.

"Shawn." She reached down for the button on his jeans, wanting more of him, wanting everything right now, but he captured her wrist before she could make contact.

"No."

Frankie blinked, and oh, no. Oh, God. "I'm sorry. Do you not want to do this?"

He huffed out the smallest laugh. "Sweetheart, let me be clear. I would move heaven and earth to f*****g do this. What I'm not willing to do is rush it. So, do me a favor and slow down"-his lips found her neck again, moving up to her earlobe for the softest breath of a kiss-"and let me re-learn you a little." "Oh." Relief spilled through her, followed quickly by a rekindling of her desire. "Okay."

The word collapsed out of her on a sigh. Shawn tangled his fingers through hers, leading her down the hallway to his bedroom. The streetlights cast a muted glow over the shadowy space, keeping the visibility low but not absent, and Shawn turned to face her just shy of the bed. The demanding need in her belly burned hotter, and she pressed up to kiss him in an effort to take the edge off of it.

All it did was make her want more. "Shawn," she breathed, her nipples tightening as he ran his hands down her rib cage, hard calluses on soft fabric.

"I'm right here, baby. You and me."

The promise anchored her. Shawn mapped her body with his hands, sliding feather-light touches over her neck, then her fabric-covered shoulders, tracing a circuit back up to her face. He lingered in all the places that made her shudder, following the trail of his hands with slow, open-mouthed kisses behind her ear and-yes, yes-that soft spot beneath her jaw that always drove her wild. His fingers dipped to the small of her back, and he smiled against her skin at the sigh coming up from her chest. "There you are," he murmured, pressing hard enough to send a bolt of pure want through her, insistent and hot. "Let's see what else you need."

Reaching between them, he pulled Frankie's shirt over her head, pausing only to toss it to the floorboards before letting her do the same with his. The scant light made it impossible for her to see much more than the outline of Shawn's body, but no f*****g way was she missing out on all that magic. She ran her fingers over the warm expanse of his chest, then his shoulders and his arms, her breath catching hard in her throat.

He'd been fit eight years ago, but now he was something else entirely. His biceps curved beneath the ink swirled over them, shadowed heavily by the ambient light. Corded shoulders gave way to flat planes and chiseled muscles, and Frankie couldn't help it. "Holy shit. You're beautiful," she blurted.

Shawn laughed. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you. This"-he hooked a forefinger beneath the edge of her bra, sliding it downward between her breasts-"is very hot."

Frankie exhaled, her nipples hard points against the lace, begging to be touched. Her control was slipping, but Shawn was right there, steady and unwavering, and oh, God, she couldn't wait.

"Do you want to know what else I need?" she asked. He nodded, his eyes on hers in the dark, and she didn't think twice.

"I need you, Shawn. Touch me. Please."

He moved in a blink. Cupping her face with one hand, he held her steady to kiss her while his other arm snaked around her back, pulling them flush. The press of his c**k against her lower belly made her c**t throb, and she tilted her hips forward in search of friction or contact or, God, something to ease the ache.

Shawn stilled, pulling back to look at her. "I've got you, Frankie."

His fingers found the top of her jeans, working fast. She toed out of her boots, letting him lower her jeans so she could kick those away, too, and she stood in front of him in nothing but her bra and panties. He guided her backward with purpose, waiting until she bumped gently against the bed before angling her over the mattress. He propped himself above her, his massive body caging hers for only a breath before he began kissing his way down her neck to the front of her chest. He paused for only a second to brush his lips over the juncture where her breasts came together, moving lower over her rib cage, then nudging her thighs wide to settle in the cradle of her hips.

"F**k," Frankie breathed, and Shawn gave up a low chuckle.

"We'll get there. But first"-he dragged one finger down the seam of her body, the sensation filling her need and tripling it at the same time-"I want a taste." Hooking his fingers over the lace at her hips, Shawn slid her panties free. Frankie barely had time to process the movement before his mouth was on her, and then? She couldn't process anything other than pure pleasure.

"Oh. God." Frankie rocked against him to try and maximize the contact. Heat barreled through her, pushing a moan past her lips as Shawn slid his tongue over her p***y. Flattening his palms against her inner thighs, he held her steady as he experimented with slow sweeps and faster, firmer flicks of his tongue. Sparks lit, low and deep between her hips, and she chased each sensation with a thrust in reply. He tested and teased, circling the swell of her c**t harder and harder with his tongue, daring her closer. Desperate, Frankie reached down, brazenly cupping his face to hold him close as she rocked faster and faster against his mouth. He didn't slow-God, if anything, he grew even steadier. Constant. Unwavering. Right there with her.

The realization tipped her over the edge. Her whole body went taut for only a second before her o****m crashed through her, her breath releasing on a cry. Shawn's motions kept perfect time with hers, only slowing and softening when her thrusts and yeses had faded into the shadows.

But Frankie didn't want slow, and she didn't want sweet. She wanted to pleasure Shawn as he'd just pleasured her, to use her hands and mouth to bring him to the edge, then let him bury his c**k so deep inside of her that they could both fly over together. And she wanted it right now.

Shifting until they were side by side, her fingers found the top edge of Shawn's jeans, a bright coil of desire pressing down inside of her at the exhale it drew from his chest. She undid the button and zipper with one hand while palming his c**k with the other, his needful grunt renewing her own desire. In a handful of shared, semi-ungraceful movements, they managed to lose the rest of their clothes. Frankie's heart beat faster in anticipation, and she wrapped her fingers around Shawn's c**k, making them both moan. "Frankie." He thrust into her hand as if unable to help it. She kept up the motion, pumping once, then again before sliding down to follow her fingers with her tongue.

Shawn hissed out a curse. "Christ, you feel-"

Whatever he'd meant to say got lost on the slow pump of his hips and her mouth. His breathing grew heavy and hard, and Frankie metered her ministrations to meet each l**t-filled burst. Slickness rebuilt between her legs, her p***y aching for him to fill it. Still, she remained steady, taking him deeper and using her hand to chase her lips as she stroked his c**k from root to tip.

"Come here," Shawn said, gently disengaging her and pulling her toward him until they were side by side. "As hot as your mouth on me is, I want this more." He slid a hand between her thighs, teasing her c**t just enough to make her whimper. Pausing for a brief, yet highly necessary, moment to grab a condom from his bedside table drawer, he rolled it into place and braced himself over her, his hands on either side of her face.

Frankie let her legs fall wide, her body burning for more contact. "Shawn," she whispered, her hips lifting in a provocative invitation. Just as he had been all night, he was right there with her, sliding forward to fill her in one slick push. The sudden pressure made her pulse rocket and her breath thin, but Shawn was there for that, too, rocking back an inch, then reseating his c**k inside of her over and over until the movements became an easy glide. "F**k, Frankie. You're so goddamn tight."

He reached down to grip her hip, holding her steady as they fell into a cadence of thrusts and retreats that lit her up from the inside out. Her inner muscles clenched, every sensation growing stronger than the one that had come before it. Shawn's face was mostly shadow, but his touch was pure intensity, and oh, God, she felt him everywhere.

"Shawn. Please. Please, I want-"

She ditched the rest of her sentence in favor of the release beckoning at the base of her spine. Unable to hold back, Frankie swept her fingers between their bodies, circling her c**t in fast, hot strokes.

"That's it, baby." Shawn's voice was guttural and rough. "Show me everything."

Between the friction from her fingers and the thrust of his c**k, Frankie flew apart. She wrapped her arms around Shawn's hips as he levered forward, the change in the angle of his body over hers hitting some brand-new spot inside her that made her gasp. Once again, he didn't slow, and she let her thighs fall wide, urging him deeper.

"Frankie," he said, half whisper, half plea.

But he'd been there for her every step of the way, constant and true. No way was she holding back now. "You can show me everything, too, Shawn. Whatever you need, I'm here for it. Don't stop."

Shawn pushed all the way into her, leaving no room between their bodies. Keeping her ankles locked around the corded muscles of his hips, she pulsed against him in small, deep thrusts that sent spirals of heat through her blood. Shawn covered her torso with his own, bracing one hand by her head and using the other to shape her waist as he started to pump faster. His movements grew more purposeful, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts, until finally, the tension in his muscles broke loose. With his c**k buried as far as it could go, he shuddered in release, and Frankie held him close until he dropped his forehead to hers.

She had no idea how long they stayed like that, damp foreheads touching, breath mingling, heartbeats keeping time. Shawn slipped quietly from her at some point, spending only a minute in the bathroom before returning to the bed. For how sure Frankie had been that she'd wanted him, she hadn't quite envisioned what she'd wanted after.

But when Shawn simply tugged back the blankets and pulled her into bed next to him, his arms warm and strong and his breath soft at her temple, she felt too good to think about anything other than right now.