I knew that her boss was going to tell her she had to help me. It was no surprise when she came back to the apartment. I had informed mine of what happened while she was out, and after getting my ass chewed out, I was told to do whatever it took to encourage this drug deal to happen so we could close the case. The man hours spent thus far wouldn’t go over well without something to show for it, and we all knew it.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was actually quite happy to have Portia on board. Being undercover can get really lonely. No one to talk to, no one that you can trust, and no one to have your back. While it was certainly easier to only watch out for myself, the case had absolutely gone on too long, and having her was relieving, in a way.

She didn’t seem nearly as mad as I thought she would about the kiss, or the ass slap. That would make for some fun I could have with her tonight. The women they brought around were cheap and easy, the exact opposite of Portia, but it would be entertaining to get a little handsy with her; staking my claim in front of the boys, of course. Her sass was smoking hot, and the fact that she was so professional and stuffy just made her that much more intriguing. Now, I knew she was off limits, but if it was part of the cover, what harm was it, really. I rubbed the scruff on my face thoughtfully. She’d kissed me back. When we stormed into my place under the guise of being together, I wasn’t the only one doing the kissing. That’s for sure.

She didn’t have the look of someone who was sleeping with a criminal - a drug runner, no less - so we had to get her something else to wear. If we had more time, I could have sent her out on her own, or home to get something; although, I suspected that she didn’t have anything trashy to wear at home either. Unless she had a stash in a drawer for her boyfriend or something. My jaw clenched. Great. Now I’m wondering if she has a boyfriend. Needing something else to think about, I dragged her into a store that looked like it had what we were after.

After walking around the store, grabbing a variety of slutty shirts and other things, I led her back to the dressing room.

“Try some of this stuff on,” I said, pushing her toward the curtained area.

“You’re serious? You’re going to sit there and, what? Wait for the fashion show?” she replied sarcastically.

“I am indeed. And we’re on a schedule, so get moving,” I pointed to the curtain.

I could see her tiny feet step out of her jeans under the curtain, and as she put on the first outfit, she audibly sighed. “Are you kidding me?” she called out.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad. Let’s see.”

She flung the curtain open, revealing the black sparkling tank top I picked up, that dipped down in the front, showing cleavage I hadn’t guessed she had. The back was completely open, indicating she had no bra on at all. My dick started to come to attention as I followed the open back down to her round ass, perfectly filling out her jeans.

“I feel ridiculous,” she said.

“You look hot,” I managed to spit out.

“You’re just saying that because you need me to dress like a hooker.” She pursed her lips at me.

“No, I’m definitely not just saying it. But yes, I do need you to dress like a hooker. How about one of those dresses?”

“I’m not wearing a dress. I don’t have anywhere to put my gun in a dress,” she muttered in a hushed tone.

The vision of her hiding a gun under a dress was turning me on even more, and I adjusted myself in my seat as my cock pressed up against my jeans. This wouldn’t do, I needed to get that shit under control.

“Ok, just pick a few things out from that pile and let’s get out of here. I need some coffee.” Placing my elbows on my knees, I rested my face in my hands. It was going to be a long couple of days. While having her in the mix was a complication, I hoped it would be more helpful than anything.

We left the store and walked back to my apartment, but not before stopping for coffee. It turned out Portia enjoyed my favorite beverage almost as much as I did. Back at my own house - not my shitty undercover rat hole of an apartment - I had a coffee grinder, and I made fresh coffee almost every day. I missed that coffee. We engaged in a little small talk, not wanting to talk about the case in public, and I think simply just gauging each other a bit.

As investigators, we’re natural observers. We’re always watching. In this instance, we were spending the afternoon observing each other; although, she did have the upper hand since she’d been watching me for a few days already.

“Are you really named after a car?” I asked her while we walked.

Raising her eyebrow at me and grinning, she replied, “Technically, yes. But it’s not spelled like the car. My dad was a mechanic; he wanted us to have fancy names. And my sister’s name is Mercedes. Spelled exactly like the car. Are you and your sisters really named after motorcycles?”

“Ah, did you read that in my file?” She obviously had. What I don’t think was in my file was what happened to my parents. I was well aware that there was only so much information she had access to.

“I did,” she confessed.

“My sisters are named Harley and Montessa, which you already know. Our parents were bikers, so that’s the route they went in naming us. They were to the core; that was their love, besides each other. In fact, they died together in a motorcycle accident when I was around twenty-one. I’m very close with my sisters.”

“I’m sorry about your parents. Do your sisters know what you do for a living?” she asked.

“Thanks, it was a long time ago. My sisters do not have any clue what I do.” I didn’t elaborate. “Does your family know what you do?”

“My dad knows I work for the government. He knows I carry a gun. But we don’t talk about anything in detail. My sister is…” She paused. “My sister has issues, and so I stay away most of the time, so that I don’t have to arrest her. She gets in trouble a lot and makes shitty life choices.” I watched her jaw tick slightly at the mention of her sister. I knew that had to be difficult. Being in law enforcement meant you had to give some things up to do right by the job and unfortunately, she wasn’t alone. I knew other agents that steered clear of their family. She didn’t want to arrest her sister, so she kept her distance.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s hard. I know that worrying about family in general can take a toll on you, even if they’re not in any kind of trouble.”

“The job can be a burden on it’s own too, though, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked thoughtfully.

“I would indeed agree,” I replied, realizing I liked her. She was easy to talk to. Maybe that’s why she was probably good at her job. I wanted to tell her more, and had no idea why.

We got back to my apartment and went over the plan before getting ready to go out. Socializing with these guys was, without a doubt, the last thing on earth I wanted to be doing, but the upside of getting that much closer to moving in on Diego kept me going.

The plan merely consisted of us pretending to be lowlifes, like the rest of them, while I tried to get some more information on what Diego had planned. It wasn’t exactly an elaborate plan, but it was nice to have some backup. Strong, vocal women weren’t a part of the crowd so to speak; so begrudgingly ,Portia agreed to keep as quiet as possible, and to observe what she could while mostly being on my arm.

Her sassy eyerolls, and audible huffs about it were amusing, but she also knew I was right. We both needed to blend in like we belonged there. It was important to me that we addressed the social hierarchy there, and what was acceptable or not in the group. It was a tight-knit bunch of guys, and adhering to most of their social rules was important, but there was one that was absolutely unacceptable. Sharing women. If anyone tried to touch her, I was going to break their fucking hand off, and I didn’t want her thinking that “going with the flow” was in any way heroic or helpful to the case. It was a dealbreaker.