Carter Sinclair shifted in the leather chair and pushed his shoulder-length hair out of his face. Damn, but he longed for a haircut and a shower. For three harrowing years he'd been knee-deep in murderous, sleazebag scum, and he was nearing the end of his rope. Just hours ago, he'd been pulled off of his current undercover gig, and he could only hope the reason was the change of assignment he'd put in for.

Across from him, Assistant Director Evan Kincaid put down the phone, then flipped open a manila file folder on his desk. Carter recognized his personnel file. Hell, he'd seen it enough recently.

Kincaid peered at him over the rims of his half glasses, a portrait of the President and the FBI seal on the wall behind him. "I understand you're looking for a new assignment."

"Yes, sir. I'd like a permanent assignment to a field office. I'm hoping to go in as the special agent in charge."

"Why?"

"It's all there in my file, sir."

Kincaid leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Humor me."

Carter suppressed a snort. He'd been through a whole battery of psych exams, and still he had to prove himself. "I'm looking for a change in lifestyle, sir. Chasing drug dealers doesn't hold the appeal it once did."

"Understandable. You've been deep undercover for a long time."

Carter sat up a little straighter as Kincaid continued to flip through his file. After four requests for a transfer, that wasn't the response he'd been expecting. When he'd left the Waxahachie, Texas, police department to join the Bureau, he'd longed for the chance to hunt down the criminals that preyed on ordinary folks. He'd gotten the chance, and he'd helped put away more hardened criminals than he had fingers and toes to count.

But now Carter was just plain tired. Emotionally, physically. Hell, he was so tired his fingernails ached. He either needed a new assignment or a new job. But Carter loved the Bureau, and that's why he'd spent the last two months trying to push through this request.

He cleared his throat, and Kincaid looked up from the folder. "Does that mean the Bureau's going to facilitate my request?" Carter asked.

Kincaid pushed back from his desk. "That depends on you."

"Sir?"

"Have you been following the news? Celebrity blackmail?"

Carter nodded, not sure where this was going. "I've heard a bit about it. Some big-shot Hollywood director. A Wall Street tycoon. And a Congressman, I think."

In truth, he'd have to have been on Mars to have missed the news. Some scumbag was selling sexual secrets. Reputations were being ruined, deals destroyed, and key political players were suddenly bending to the will of unseen blackmailers.

"They're just the tip of the iceberg," Kincaid said. "The high-profile victims. The ones who are willing to go public instead of succumbing to the perp who's trying to put the pressure on. And," Kincaid continued, "that's why the FBI's getting involved."

"A case?" Carter asked, sitting up even straighter. Kincaid nodded, then grabbed the top folder off of his in box. He pulled out a thick report and rifled through the pages. "Our information suggests that there are quite a few more victims out there - ordinary folks with a lot to lose who haven't contacted us or their local police yet." Kincaid put the report in the folder and slid the whole thing across the desk toward Carter.

That made sense. Carter reached for the folder and skimmed the summary stapled to the full report. Some agent holed up in a cubicle somewhere had done an excellent job of tracking down loose ends. The author had discovered a link between all the known victims - sometime within the last two years, all the victims had visited a resort just north of Santa Barbara, California. A rather interesting resort, from the looks of it. Called the Kama Resort, the place was run by a sex therapist with a call-in radio show that Carter had heard once or twice.

"It's a sex camp," he said, setting the file on the desk.

"More or less, yes." Kincaid reached for the folder and returned it to its proper stack. "According to the brochure, it caters to couples who are hoping to ..." He broke off, looking slightly uncomfortable as his hand twisted in the air in search of the proper word. "... to improve their, uh, intimacy ."

Amused, Carter kicked back, stretching his long legs out until the toes of his loafers grazed the polished wood. "Like I said, a sex camp."

"Yes, well, there you have it."

"Does the Bureau suspect the owner?"

"Interesting question. We checked him out, and he seems clean." Kincaid leaned back in his chair. "But at this point we just don't know. It could be him, a staff member, a frequent guest. Hell, there might be no connection to the resort at all. The background of the extortion victims could just be a coincidence."

"So what does this have to do with me?" Carter asked.

"The FBI's been asked to participate in a task force. We're working with the sheriff's department in Santa Barbara County along with the local police department. The task force is sending in a team to investigate the resort," Kincaid said. "Like I said, it might be coincidence, but I'm not a big believer in coincidence myself."

"And I'm on the task force."

"Not only are you on the task force, agent, you're heading it up and leading the undercover team. Unless you have something else planned."

Carter swallowed a grimace. Hell, yes, he had something else planned. A nice desk job in one of the FBI's many bureaus. Maybe even back home in Texas. The last thing he wanted was to jump from one undercover job to another. He wanted out of that grind, and if Kincaid wasn't willing to cut him loose, then maybe it really was time to turn in his resignation.

"Sinclair?"

Carter sat up. "Sir, I'm afraid this isn't an assignment I can accept. I'm not interested in -"

"Working undercover. I know."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, maybe I can persuade you."

"No, sir. I'm not -"

"If you do a good job, I can guarantee you a new assignment. A field office, if that's what you want. Your pick of location." He spread his hands wide. "Carte blanche. But only if ..." He trailed off.

"I know, I know."

"Well? Think you can handle one more undercover job? After all, it's not like you'll be up to your elbows in crack addicts. Considering your background, this will be more like a vacation."

Carter wasn't sure about that, but he knew enough to recognize when he was beat. He might not want to go undercover again, but if he aced this assignment, at least it would be the last time. Resigned, he exhaled. "Who's on my team?"

"You and the author of the report. You're both scheduled to fly into Burbank, pick up a rental car and your papers from the local field office and then drive up the coast to the resort."

"That's it? One person? I thought you said a team, not a partner."

Kincaid leaned back again, his chair squeaking. "Like you said, it's a sex camp. You'll have task force support on the outside, but you and a female agent will go in alone. You and Agent Lowell will -"

"Lowell?" Carter leaned forward. Surely, he'd heard wrong. "Not Tori Lowell?"

Kincaid gave him that above-the-rim glance. "You know her?"

Excerpted from Undercover Lovers by Julie Kenner Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.