Undercover Seduction

By: Gemma Hart

Chapter One


“So, Agent Margot, do you understand what we’re expecting?” Agent Hadfield crossed his arms as he raised a brow at me, waiting for my answer.

I took in a slow breath.

In front of me were several open files spread across the large conference desk. Each one held photos of high ranking members of the notorious Desmond Mafia.

And right in the center was the photo of Roy Desmond, the head of the Desmond Family. His face was a broad square shape with hooded eyes and a grizzly gray beard. He looked like the kind of man who could kick a dying dog if it was in his way.

Next to Roy’s file was another photo.

Marco Desmond.

Roy’s son and heir apparent to the Desmond Mafia. I only let my gaze briefly flick over the photo.

Even through the still photo, Marco Desmond seemed to burn like a glowing ember. His chiseled face and dark, penetrating eyes heated up the room in an instant. In the photo, his eyes carried a bored expression of a jaguar at rest. He might look bored and at repose but that didn’t mean he couldn’t leap on you in an instant, his jaws at your throat.

The idea of Marco Desmond’s jaws anywhere near my throat made my cheeks immediately burn. I coughed, hoping no one had noticed.

Agent Hadfield and Agent Truman, the lead agents for this case, only looked at me with an impatient glance.

“I understand,” I said.

Agent Truman, who had been leaning against the wall, pushed forward and pulled Marco Desmond’s file and slid it closer to me.

“This is a high priority case with a lot of things at stake here. We close this and the country will have a field day. The Bureau will be considered heroes,” he said.

I saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes at the word ‘heroes.’ It seemed odd that an FBI agent would be so eager to be recognized for his work. The whole idea behind the Bureau was covert operations. No one here worked with the expectation of becoming a hero. They did the work because they knew it was the right thing to do.

At least, that's what I had thought when I had joined Bureau.

My father had been an FBI agent for twenty-two years and I knew from the age of five that that was what I wanted to do with my life as well. I wanted to become just like my dad—a person who understood justice and fought to preserve it.

After dad died, I had joined the Bureau. It broke my heart to know that he hadn’t lived to see me become an agent. But after a few weeks, I realized, maybe that was for the best.

I had always heard about the FBI through my father’s eyes. He had painted it as a place where all things good and just were protected. He had made it sound like a beacon of morality and justice.

But after just a few weeks within the Bureau, I realized this wasn’t necessarily true. Although we were well past the 1950s, sexism was still very much active within the FBI.

Wanting to emulate my dad, I immediately tried to test to become a field operative. I wanted to be an agent who got her hands dirty. It made my heart race thinking about how proud I would make my dad if I could become a field agent like him.

But almost immediately, I was hit with the first of many roadblocks. The agent in charge of training field operatives had immediately dismissed me before I could even apply.

“What department are you in now?” he had asked.

“Fraudulent accounting,” I replied. “But that was just because my recruiter had seen my degree in mathematics and had pushed me to test for the accounting exam. He told me once I was in the Bureau, I could apply to another department if I wanted.”

The agent shook his head, snickering. “Stay in accounting then, sweetheart,” he said, giving me a smarmy look from head to toe. Although I was wearing a blazer over my buttoned up blouse, I suddenly felt naked under his leering gaze. “Field op is too messy for a numbers gal like you.”

If I had been offended then, the offense quickly dissipated as I realized that agent’s attitude was the prevailing attitude amongst most of the department heads who also happened to all be men.

I knew they weren’t just dismissing me because I was a woman. I knew there were female field agents. I had seen some.

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