Ben’s tanned, weathered face hovered over her. Worry shone in his brown eyes, pulling his crow’s-feet even deeper. She wasn’t surprised he was here—wherever here was. In some serendipitous moment just before her parents had been killed in action, he’d sworn that if the unimaginable happened, he’d step in.
He’d been there ever since.
“Easy, Lil.” He leaned over and stroked her hair.
“Where am I? How long have I been out?”
He hesitated.
“How long?” The words came out in a pathetic squeak.
“Five days.”
“What?” How the hell had she been unconscious for five days?
“You’ve been in a coma. Intel screwed the pooch. Your backup ended up in the wrong place, on the other side of the damn city. When they finally found you, you were in seriously bad shape. You’d fallen from a three-story window, Lil. They had to shock your heart twice in transit.” He shook his head and looked away. “Jackson didn’t make it.”
“Didn’t make—” She choked on the words. Why did Ben think Jackson was dead? She clenched her fists. The bastard wasn’t dead. He’d betrayed them and slipped off into the dark.
“They found blood—Jackson’s, yours, Amed’s—on the scene. The team worked around the clock to piece it together. The mission was compromised. They knew you were coming. Killed their mule, tried to kill you. From the looks of it, Jackson put up quite a fight.” Ben rubbed his hands over his buzz cut, got up and paced. “They took him and the case. We tried activating his tracker, but they found and disabled it. The trail went cold. There was nothing we could do. I’m so sorry, Lil. We lost him.”
“I didn’t fall,” she whispered.
He turned and his eyes narrowed, the warrior he’d once been pushing to the surface. If Lily hadn’t known Ben since she was old enough to walk, she’d be terrified at the fierceness staring her down. “What do you mean, you didn’t fall?”
Why was her throat so parched? And why the hell was he staring at her as if she’d sprouted two heads in the past five minutes? Hadn’t he heard what she’d just said?
She reached for the IV in her arm and yanked at the tubes, desperate to get out of her sterile prison. She’d been down too long—she had to find Jackson. “I didn’t fall. Jackson threw me out that window.”
“You sure?”
Lily laughed and then cringed, the soft movement shooting daggers into her side. Damn, she hurt. “Believe me. I’m sure. I looked into his eyes as he dropped me.”
“He dropped you?” Ben’s face darkened, his voice stone cold.
“He said, ‘Sorry, Lil’ and let me go.” She pushed herself up and grit her teeth as pain poured over her, followed by a wave of nausea. She clawed at the tubes sticking out of her arm. “The case. Jackson had the case. Where is it?”
“Easy.” Ben caught her hands in his larger, calloused ones and held tight. “Are you absolutely sure it was Jackson who pushed you?” He frowned. “Your injuries were pretty severe. The doctors said they could have adverse effects on your memory.”
“My damn memory is fine.” Her voice rose, and she struggled against his strong hold. Why didn’t Ben believe her? She remembered everything, down to the tiny specks of brown that had shimmered in Jackson’s green eyes before he’d let her go.
Before he’d tried to kill her.
“Ben. Where is the damn case?”
“It disappeared. And until this moment, I thought—” He shook his head. “We thought that Jackson was dead. If he isn’t, then he’s gone to the wind, with the case.”
She stopped fighting. Jackson had betrayed them, betrayed her. He was a traitor, and she’d let him get away.
She’d failed.
The heaviness of guilt crushed her until she could barely breathe. She’d never been unsuccessful on an assignment before. Lily closed her eyes and slipped back into the welcoming darkness.
Jackson hadn’t died. He’d gotten away.
And she’d let him.
* * *
SEETHING, LILY PACED beside the director’s long window overlooking the city below.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to stand there, lie through my teeth to the team and pretend Jackson died a heroic death, when he actually betrayed this agency and our country?” That wasn’t the only thing he’d betrayed. She clenched her fists. She’d trusted Jackson with her life.
Worse yet, she’d loved him.
“You do remember he threw me out of a three-story window, right? He tried to kill me. I was in a coma for five days.” She stopped her march and stared out into the dark night. There was no way in hell she’d honor that man for betraying her country. No matter what the director wanted. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do it. I won’t go to Jackson’s funeral.”
“It’s not a request, Andrews.” The director spoke slowly, quietly. “It’s an order.”
She spun around. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. You’ll stand beside his grave, and you’ll mourn your partner. End of story.”
“With all due respect, sir, I—”
He lifted his hand and cut her off.
“Do you know what it would do to this place if people found out that our top operative turned? That we had a traitor within our midst and didn’t know it?”
Lily didn’t need to be reminded. Only the elite of the elite within the intelligence community made it through Unit 67’s doors, and only after being hand-selected, black-hooded and whisked away in the middle of the night.
There was no application, no interview process.
On paper, 67’s operatives embedded themselves among the rest of the alphabet agencies, but that was not their true directive. The small group of men and women Lily shared a building with had one common goal—to flawlessly execute their missions and allow the other government agencies to safely accomplish their jobs. Unit 67 was called in whenever the CIA didn’t want to get their hands dirty, paving the way for them to ride in on their white horses and step into the spotlight.
Their mission success didn’t make the news because humanity couldn’t handle the hidden darkness walking among them. Which suited 67 just fine. They were ghosts, even among the other spooks. Unit 67 didn’t exist to the world. And they didn’t make mistakes.
Ever.
Having a traitor working within their ranks highlighted a security breach, and they needed to know, needed to step up their individual games. Be more alert. Lily opened her mouth to argue again.
“No, Lily,” the director said firmly, shaking his head. “We wouldn’t survive it. To keep morale high, the others need to think he died in the line of duty.”
“He didn’t—”
Director Stephen Kennedy pushed to his feet, his face flush with anger. “Enough! That isn’t the point here, Lily. This place—your team—needs to see you shed tears for your partner. So that’s exactly what you’ll do. Consider it your greatest assignment yet.”
A perfect storm of emotions swirled in her head. She couldn’t let Jackson’s betrayal go, yet disobeying a direct order from her boss—godfather or not—wasn’t an option, unless...
A wave of regret hit her as she stared at Kennedy, but it soon passed as an ironclad resolve settled into her mind.
“Fine.” She walked to the door and reached for the knob. “But, sir, it’ll also be my last.”
CHAPTER THREE
Thirteen Months Later
Monday, September 15, 4:00 p.m.
LILY FELT CAPTIVE in her own skin. The longer it took her to find Jackson, the worse the sensation became. It had been thirteen months to the day since she’d dangled three stories above the pavement and stared into his face before he let her go. She’d kept her word to the director and walked—and had hunted Jackson ever since. To e
nd that horrible chapter and get her old life back at Unit 67. The life she loved and missed every second of every single day.
She couldn’t escape the mental imprisonment she found herself in, no matter what she did to combat it. So, on a daily basis, she took to the wide dirt path along the Missouri River snaking through Omaha and ran until her lungs gave out.
To clear her mind, her thoughts, her mood.
Endless months of searching had resulted in nothing but dead ends. Frustration and anger ripped through her veins as one foot after the other pounded against the well-traveled trail. Jackson couldn’t have just disappeared. People didn’t vanish into thin air. They always left a trace. Always. She just had to find it.
Her legs screamed at her to stop and her breath came in soft gasps as Lily eyed her fellow joggers. On cue, they moved left or right, as though somewhere deep within their subconscious, a tiny voice screamed not to have any contact with her, to get away from the impending danger.
A man approached from behind and ran next to her. She stumbled, regained her footing and picked up her pace. He matched it. Stride for stride.
Lily stole a quick glance at him. Dark stubble peppered his strong jawline. Short brown hair clung to his perspiring forehead and defined muscles pressed through his damp shirt. Everything female about her perked up. Damn. He’s sexy.
He also blocked her only escape route...unless she wanted to take a swim in the Missouri River to her left. Which she didn’t.
She picked up speed again.
So did he.
“Thought you could use a running buddy.”
“Not interested.”
“You know, they say women shouldn’t run alone.”
She snorted. This man had no idea what she was capable of. “Go away.”
“Not going to happen. I need to talk to you.”
Lily slowed to a stop and shoved her hands to her hips, glaring at him. “Look, I appreciate the Midwest friendliness, really, I do. But I don’t take to strangers interrupting my life, and especially my runs. Now. Go. Away.”
“I’m not a stranger.”
“Like hell you aren’t.”
She turned to leave.
“I do know you, Lily Andrews.” His voice sliced through the dusk air. He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and pinned her with piercing blue eyes that made the clearest Caribbean water look dull. “Your reputation precedes you. I know you were 67’s best black-ops agent before you went quiet. I know that you moved to Nebraska to escape...”
As the stranger rattled off classified information, the irritation drained out of her, replaced by a white-hot rage. Who was this guy? Another 67 agent? How else would he know so much about her? She’d never seen him at Langley, so he had to be embedded in another agency. DEA? FBI? She refused to believe the alternative—that she’d been burned—and focused on searing his image in her memory.
Lily backed into the tree line, scanned the running path. Reaching behind her, her fingertips brushed the petite gun tucked against the small of her back.
The man mirrored her movement, almost as if he could read her mind, knew her playbook, and stepped closer. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”
She gripped the butt of the gun. All her senses were on high alert. Why would 67 come after her now? A year after she’d walked? Did Kennedy honestly think the raging fire in her belly would have snuffed out? A soft crunching behind her pulled at her ears, and her muscles coiled. She cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder, calculating the impending risk.
Nothing but a bunch of young high school kids.
“Get your hand off that gun, Lily.” He stopped talking and let a group of joggers run past. “A Mexican standoff in public all but guarantees you’ll blow your safe haven to hell.”
He had a point. She tipped her chin toward him, carefully watching his movements. “You first.”
A grin spread across his face, and a deep dimple appeared. He raised his arms in surrender.
She stepped back and put distance between herself and the handsome stranger. “I don’t know who you think you are, but stay away from me. I won’t ask again.”
“Just hear me out.”
“Hell will freeze over first.” She pulled the gun out and let it hang by her side. It was an extreme gesture, but he’d rattled her.
His eyes widened, but so did his grin.
Lily cocked the hammer back. “Run. You have five minutes to be out of my sight. Or I’m coming after you.”
“As tempting as that thought is...”
She increased the pressure on her trigger. “I told you to run.”
“And I told you that a standoff wasn’t necessary.”
Before she could respond, he sprang and tackled her onto the ground, straddling her. She reacted instinctively, bringing her gun up to aim. He hit her at the wrist joint and sent the weapon tumbling into the tall ornamental grass planted along the running path, hiding it from view. Grabbing her arms, he pinned Lily beneath the bulk of his body. She gasped and struggled against his ironclad hold.
He moved his mouth to her ear. “Don’t make a bigger scene than you already have. We have an audience. Follow my lead or we’re both going to spend some time behind bars.”
Follow his lead, my ass. She fought hard, desperate to put some space between herself and this brute of a man. He cocked his head and grinned down at her.
“Don’t forget I asked nicely.”
Asked nice—
The stranger lowered his head and brought his lips to hers.
Lily froze. Every nerve ending in her body fired spontaneously—and without her consent—as he deepened the kiss, pulling a sensual reaction from her that she hadn’t experienced since Jackson. It hummed within every fiber of her being. What the hell? She tried to twist away, but he pressed down harder, the heat of his body seeping into her coiled muscles, coaxing them to relax, to let go.
To trust.
Not able to break his iron grip, Lily did the only thing she could think of.
She bit him. Hard.
With a surprised yelp, the stranger jerked back and stared down at her as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had—she’d drawn blood.
“Is everything okay here?” an older woman asked, eyeing them suspiciously. Her male running companion reached for his phone.
Lily’s eyes flickered between the couple and the man on top of her. He licked away the drops of blood on his lip and gently increased the pressure against her wrists as he spoke softly in her ear. “Damn it, Lily. Sell it. Make them believe I’m your lover.”
Of course. That was why he’d kissed her. It was the perfect cover with so many public, prying eyes. She forced her muscles to relax, hating that this stranger invading her personal space was right.
“Lovers’ spat,” Lily muttered, glaring up at him.
The man straddling her pressed his lips to hers again, looked up and shrugged, feigning sheepishness.
Lily wanted to kill him.
The older woman shook her head, muttered something that sounded like “stupid young people” and walked off. The man with her laughed as he pocketed his phone, put his earbuds back in and followed his companion.
Lily wrestled against the stranger’s strong, but gentle, hold. “Get off me.”
“Are you going to behave?”
She glared up at him.
Chuckling, he rolled off her and stood.
Scrambling to her feet, Lily dug around in the tall grass until her fingers landed on cold metal. She scooped up her gun, letting it hang by her side. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Who was this guy? A shudder swept through her, followed closely by fiery heat that sucked the air out of her lungs.
“I see today isn’t a good day to chat.” He took a step back, put on his sunglas
ses and flashed her a grin, sending her heart into overdrive. “I’m out.”
Before she could respond, he turned and joined a passing group of runners, melting into their small pack.
* * *
SHE BIT ME.
After seven years of covertly working as a black ops agent for Unit 67, Derek Moretti could safely say that no one had ever bitten him—until today. That was one for the books.
When she’d turned on him, he’d all but forgotten to breathe. She wasn’t as tall as some of the other female agents he’d worked with, but she’d held her ground as she glared up at him, the wind whipping strands of brown hair around her delicate face. Her hazel eyes flashed as she’d shoved her hands onto her slim hips. He couldn’t tell if it was anger or the sun that had kissed the tops of her cheeks, coloring her olive skin to a rosy pink, but he didn’t care.
She was drop-dead gorgeous...and hell-bent on killing him, a fact Derek couldn’t ignore.
Curiosity curled in his stomach like a warm fire when he’d taken the now-familiar running path along the river. Lily Andrews in the flesh. What would she say? How would she respond? After months of reconnaissance work, watching her, studying her, he’d conjured up a handful of scenarios. But her biting him?
Yeah, he hadn’t seen that coming.
But then again, none of Derek’s scenarios had involved tackling Lily to the ground, pinning her beneath him—at least not this time around. That was a different fantasy, for another time...maybe.
He chuckled to himself briefly, then stopped as the searing memory of her body beneath his flashed through his mind. Her body had been hard, yet soft in all the right places. Just the sheer awareness of her underneath him, at his mercy, left him momentarily frozen, wanting more. He doubted she’d felt the same—in fact, he was pretty positive that he’d seen fire flash when she’d turned those hazel eyes on him.
The woman was a freakin’ tigress.
No doubt she’d meant to deter him, but her feistiness did exactly the opposite—it entranced him.
Clearly the kiss had taken it too far. But how could he resist? The woman was a knockout of epic proportions. Derek reached up, touched his fingers lightly to his still-throbbing lip and smiled. Yeah, that was definitely not the response he’d hoped for.
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