Page 127 of Don't Cross Mo Ellery

I pull out of the hug and look at my phone, full of unread notifications from her.

“Mo, listen, those weren’t real surveyors at your corner,” she says breathlessly. “No one put in an order to fix the sinkhole. And once I started digging into it, there’s so much weird stuff—bribes, kickbacks, favors, extra books! Old-school Chicago shit! That parking garage looks problematic in a thousand different ways.Andthere have been a bunch of weird people milling around outside the office, inkhakis. Just today, we’ve gotten atonof hang-up calls...”

“It’s cool, it’s cool,” I say, rubbing her shoulders. “It’s just the FBI.”

“I’m sorry—the what?” she says, stiffening.

“They’ve been investigating Merle.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. But just for fraud! And maybe tax stuff!”

“Why do you sound so excited about it?”

“Oh, because he’s not the murderer.Leslie’sthe murderer!” I have a feeling I still sound too excited, so as a little coda, I give my best serious face.

She closes her eyes. “This is sort of a lot.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Guess you might want to think about giving your two weeks.”

“Damn,” she breathes. She bites her lip and looks at me. She’s in that stupid bow tie again and it’s driving me crazy. Is it possible that the massive amount of adrenaline coursing through my body after stopping a murderer is being chemically converted to horniness? Could be. This is the absoluteworsttiming, what with the FBI running around and everything, but I nibble her ear and whisper, “Let’s hop over to my place, I don’t think we should be here right now.”

“I can’t leave the office unattended. But Ialsoprobably shouldn’t do any more work until I know what’s going on.” She nods at the cubicle next door. “So... I have a better idea.”

Moments later, we’re on top of the actual conference table, hidden by that flimsy cubicle wall. And as hot as it is to bang on a folding table with federal danger nipping at our heels, I can’t stop myself from wondering how much of our relationship is going to take place in a government office.

I’m in socks and not much else, and her skirt’s hiked up, shirt open, when the sound of screeching cars fills the air, followed by a polite—but loud—knocking.

She’s buttoned back up in a flash, but I seem to have lost my shirt, which is justgreat. I’m still hunting under the conference table when she unlocks and opens the front door.

“Mo?” she calls back to me. “It’s the FBI.”

Of course it is.

There are eight of them this time, but (ugh) not the interns with my cash. These guys are in dark suits and skirts, like it’s openingnight for an FBI musical or something. They briefly question Tasha and me in separate rooms, and maybe it’s the fact that I’m not wearing ashirt, but they’re easily convinced that we were making out and not shredding important documents.

I’m still a little salty, though. Those jerks take my money, interrupt my quality time, and then have the nerve to question me in my bra??

The team efficiently loads up dollies of boxes and computer towers while I stand there trying to look like I meant to be shirtless. They can’t be there for longer than about ten minutes, and then they disappear out the door. The last one to go hands me my shirt, all neatly folded and creased, which feels like a violation of my privacy for reasons I can’t articulate.

I put it back on, and as Tasha walks me to the door, I give her a kiss on the cheek.

“That was wild,” she says. “It all happened so fast, I can’t believe it was real.”

“I need a second job anyway,” I say, “so maybe we can job hunt together. How romantic, huh?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, with a frown.

“We’ll sit in coffee shops and look at LinkedIn and maybe even be each other’s references. Don’t tell them about my sweet sex moves, though, that’s what got me fired from my last gig.”

She shakes her head sweetly and nods back toward her desk. “But I don’tneeda new job. I have a job.”

I blink at her, waiting for the punch line.

“Merle’s gonna goto jail, Tasha.”

She smiles brightly. “No, the FBI lady I just talked to said it looked like it wasallLeslie. The extra books and the corruption and everything. Merle told them everything when the cops arrested her.”