As for me, Creed being pushy as well as bossy meant that, twice a week, I was seeing a therapist. I’d had five appointments and the first three didn’t go so well because I thought it was hogwash. I felt that all I really needed was Creed and eventually I’d work through my shit and get on with life.

At the end of my third appointment, my therapist told me he sensed I thought it was hogwash and suggested I didn’t trust him, thus he couldn’t help me and asked me if I’d like him to refer me to someone else.

I dug his honesty and the fact that he wasn’t willing to take my money even if I was shutting him out so he’d never help me but still get paid for it.

In other words, he broke through.

The next two appointments weren’t great either but only because reliving that shit sucked.

That said, there was something about unloading it on someone objective, watching the expressions on his face mirror some of the shit I felt bottled inside, not having to worry about what I said or how I reacted hurting him or affecting him like I would if I shared it with Creed or even Knight or Charlene that was such a massive relief, it was hard to express.

What it was, was instantaneous.

After the first appointment where I shared, I left feeling almost fucking giddy. The next, the same. My doctor warned me that when I began to dig further into what happened in order to move past it, I would have times when I would not feel giddy. Where it would be difficult, draining and even painful. I got that. It was just good to know that therapy actually worked. I was in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing and it was about me and only me, unloading a huge wad of crap and I didn’t have to drag anyone I loved into it.

Not to mention, I had not had a single dream since I decided to trust my psychologist which, in and of itself, was worth the money.

So all was good in Creed and Sylvie Land. My house was sold. My shit was going to be sold. Charlene and the kids were going to be in a good place. Most of my jobs were sorted and Charlene had billed so those files could be closed. Creed’s shit was sorted. And, after tonight when hopefully we’d tie the bow on Hawk’s job, I figured I had about a week of crap to deal with then I was in my girl and driving down to Phoenix to finally, fucking, fucking finally begin my life with Creed.

I couldn’t wait.

So I wanted this done.

Now.

I lifted the martini glass I’d asked the bartender to fill with cranberry juice, took a sip, put it down and murmured into my microphone, “This dress sucks.”

“Shut it, Sylvie,” Hawk ordered in my ear.

I didn’t shut it.

I muttered, “And I’m sitting down and these shoes still hurt.”

“Quit bitchin’,” Hawk replied.

“I didn’t sign up for this crap,” I told him which was a lie. It was anything goes with my jobs and this wasn’t the first time I tricked myself out. Usually it was to be a honey trap though I didn’t take that role all the way, ever.

This time, it was different.

“You’re gettin’ paid, babe, and I bought the fuckin’ dress and shoes you get to keep. Stop moaning,” Hawk returned.

Like I would ever wear this dress again.

The shoes… that was a different story.

I didn’t tell Hawk that.

“I hope you read the fine print in my contract that says if I have to show cleavage and wear shoes with a heel over three inches, my rate doubles,” I shot back.

“Baby,” another voice came into my ear and this was my man’s, “shut the fuck up, concentrate and don’t sit there muttering into your tits makin’ it look like you’re waitin’ to fuck over some asshole. He sees you doin’ that shit, these guys we’re hunting will take you out and tonight is not my night to lose you.”

That made me shut up and my eyes slid down the bar to take in the reflection of Creed sitting alone across the restaurant in a semi-circular booth with a martini glass in front of him too. He had his hand resting on the table next to the glass and the liquid was so high, I knew he hadn’t brought that glass to his lips.

I was not surprised. Even undercover, he wasn’t a vodka man. He was all about beer and tequila.

Like me.

His eyes were aimed at the room, not me and, since I didn’t have anything better to do, I felt it safe to study him in the mirror.

An excellent way to pass the time.

He was in a suit and I’d never seen him in a suit, not even back in the day.

Needless to say, he rocked it.

Hawk didn’t buy that suit for him, it was Creed’s. It was also made for him as in, literally. And, earlier that night, when I touched the lightweight wool fabric, it was so plush and fabulous, I wanted to rip off my clothes, rip off his jacket, wrap it around me and roll around in it naked.

Alas, this option wasn’t open to me. Still, I told Creed and I did this with intent. As suspected, when I imparted this information on him, Creed’s eyes flashed and then they promised I’d get that opportunity, just later.

Another reason I wanted this job done.

He also had on a tailored shirt, opened at the collar, in a color that matched his eyes. This brought into stark relief not only his tanned face and the strong, muscled line of his throat but also his rugged, scarred features. It too was made for him and fit so well, it hugged his abs, ribs, chest and shoulders in a way that, if it breathed, I’d be jealous.

He had his gun in one side of his shoulder holster, my gun in the other, a .22 in an ankle holster and a knife in his other boot.

In other words, he was seriously strapped and that was good since he was the man who had my back.

After telling me off, I heard him say to Hawk even as I watched him through the mirror and saw his lips did not move, “Do you have any visual at all?”

“Negative,” Hawk answered.

Creed and I were inside. I was the contact. Creed my backup, who would eventually follow me, hopefully undetected, to where the “deal” would go down.

Hawk and his boys were outside. Hawk on the prowl with his main man, Jorge, and another of his crew, Mo. He also had men in a surveillance van and eyes on the street, the back alley, the entrance of a nearby parking garage and the men’s bathroom.

I suspected (accurately) that Hawk was even more ready than me for this to go down. I suspected this because Creed and I had come in on the tail end of a job Hawk had been working for five months.

Apparently, some socialite in LA thought of her Mexican nanny as part of the family. She learned that her nanny’s sister, who had made a connection in Mexico to try to gain entry into the USA, had disappeared in the middle of attempting to seal this deal. Understandably, the nanny was beside herself and the socialite pulled Hawk in.

He investigated and found this happened often over the border to Mexican nationals so desperate to leave or to join loved ones that they didn’t check out the folks they handed their cash over to and thus they lost their money and their freedom.

Hawk wasted no time and got a lock on the slavery ring and the sister and it was sheer luck she was in Denver, Hawk’s home turf.

Extracting her safely was another matter which took frustrating amounts of time because it also took extreme amounts of preparation and finesse.

The part, or one of them, that made this job delicate was that, considering these folks were trafficking humans in the US of A, local cops had aligned with a federal task force to take down the entire ring which was operating multi-state. On the other hand, Hawk only had one mission, to recover the sister. So the task force wanted Hawk to back off. Hawk wanted to get the sister back to her family. There had been some butting of heads but Hawk Delgado was the kind of man who didn’t back down.

So he didn’t.

Enter me, posing as a madam of sorts on the buy for new talent. It had taken weeks and lots of work to build my false reputation as a viable buyer. Now that was done, I was to meet the contact tonight and he would take me to where they held their stock of available humans. I would confirm the girl was there, make the deal and skedaddle then Hawk and the boys would swoop in and recover the girl.

Easy.

I hoped.

“Visual. Front. Street. Mercedes parking three cars down from door,” Mo grunted into his microphone.

“Go time,” Hawk growled.

I sucked in a breath then lifted my glass to take a sip. My eyes slid back down the bar to the mirror where I could see Creed. His eyes were on me, intent, burning into my back.

He jerked up his chin.

I tipped my lips up slightly.

His eyes went to the door.

I put my glass to the bar and discreetly plucked the bud out of my ear, reached in my cleavage and grabbed my microphone, ripping it and the tape off and away.

I set them beside me on the bar and instantly, a waitress Hawk primed slid by, hand out. She covered the apparatus, walked behind me and it was gone.

I put my fingers to the slim, gold watch at my wrist, flipped a tiny switch on the side and the microphone engaged. Hawk had given me that watch. It had a microphone and GPS.

They’d pat me down, definitely. I had to go in unwired, no communications but I had Creed as a tail and the watch Hawk gave me. They could hear what was happening with me and they would know where I was at all times. I could not hear what they were up to nor know where they were.

I impatiently started to tap the toe of the foot hanging from my crossed leg and studied the watch.

Two minutes later, I heard, “Collette?”