She rubbed her body against his. Felt her orgasm rushing close. Ground her clit against his cock, once, twice, three times before she realized he was no longer moving.

“Zane?”

She stilled. Looked down. But instead of the almost-lover he’d been seconds ago, he now lay still and silent. His head was tipped to the side, and his chest gently rose and fell with his slow breaths, the clandestine memory he’d been reliving long gone as he drifted back into his drug-induced stupor.

She fell against him and groaned—this time in utter frustration.

Disgusted with herself, she rolled off him and flopped back onto the mattress, breathing heavily while she tried to cool her sweat-slicked skin. The son of a bitch didn’t even budge and obviously hadn’t known what he was doing. Dammit—she’d told herself not two minutes ago that this was a bad idea.

Her fingers tightened into a fist, and the sensation of the warm metal object in her palm finally registered. Opening her hand, she stared at the pocketknife and remembered what she’d been trying to do in the first place.

Adrenaline raced back through her body, and she pushed up to sitting and flicked the instrument open, searching for the small scissors.

Victory flashed in her brain when she found them. Carefully, she slid the bottom blade beneath the zip tie at her wrist and cut.

The plastic gave with a snap, and sweet relief filled Eve’s lungs. Quietly, she climbed off the bed, grabbed her flip-flops from the floor, and then tugged Zane’s wallet from the jacket he’d tossed aside earlier and pocketed some cash.

She paused when she reached the hall, turned, and peered back into the room. Zane was still totally out, his hair mussed and sexy around his weathered face. In the morning she’d be long gone, and he wouldn’t know what hit him.

The space around her heart squeezed tight, and she called herself an idiot for the last time. She was done with him. She’d taken care of his wound, gotten him to safety. Wherever he went from here was his responsibility and not her own. But a tiny place inside wished that she’d been able to explain things to him. That he understood. That he didn’t hate her anymore.

Foolish dreams. Wishing ranked right up there with “if only,” and she was done with both.

She closed the door softly at her back, headed for the kitchen, and turned into the great room. A flat-screen TV sat against the far wall, and she reached for the remote and flicked it on, careful to keep the volume low.

The eleven-o’clock news was running recaps of the bombing. Before she took off, she just wanted to make sure her face hadn’t been caught in any passerby footage or that the men chasing her hadn’t leaked her identity and blamed the whole thing on her.

Images of the blown-out coffee shop filled the screen, and Eve’s stomach tightened when she remembered the child standing on the street corner next to her. Please, please, please don’t list any children among the dead . . .

Seventeen now listed as injured. No update on the death toll yet, though.

Frustration warred with helplessness while she continued to watch the coverage. Fifteen minutes passed, but she didn’t see a speck about her or what had happened on that warehouse roof. Breathing a little easier, she pushed to her feet and lifted the remote to flip the TV off, when Zane’s face filled the screen.

“We have breaking news to bring you,” the newscaster announced. “Authorities are looking for this man, Zane Archer, in connection with the bombing in Seattle earlier today. If you’ve seen him recently or know his whereabouts, you’re encouraged to contact officials at the number on the screen. Do not approach him yourself. I repeat, do not attempt to approach him yourself.”

The room blurred in front of Eve, and her legs gave out. She dropped onto the couch and stared at Zane’s face in utter disbelief.

All those thoughts about leaving him came to an abrupt halt. She couldn’t go now. Not if the authorities thought he was to blame for all of this. Not when she was ultimately responsible.

Sickness churned and swirled through her belly. And for the first time in years—ever, maybe—she had no plan.

8

Landon Miller stood in the early morning darkness on the quiet, tree-lined street on Bainbridge Island and cursed his dumbass luck for the hundredth time.

He was gonna wring Archer’s motherfucking neck when he found the idiot.

Leave it to the dipshit to ruin the first vacation he’d had in over a year.

He thought of Marissa’s long, shapely legs and those stilletos she’d been wearing when they’d met. He’d picked her up in a hotel bar, waiting for his principal during his last assignment. She definitely wasn’t anything special, but the woman had a killer rack, and he’d been looking forward to locking her in his suite at the Fairmont and exploring her big tits, that tiny waist, and her luscious mouth from every angle during the next seventy-two hours. Now, though, he wasn’t sure she’d even be there when he finally got back. And thanks to this mess with Archer, she’d probably already found some other nameless guy to fuck senseless for the next three days.

Tension gathered in his shoulders, and he rolled his head from side to side as he eyed the white one-story home on the banks of the water. The streetlight above was burned out, the drive was empty, and the windows were dark. But that didn’t mean no one was home.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out, then glanced down at the screen.

ADDISON: Find him yet?

His fingers flew over the keys as he typed a response to Marley at Aegis headquarters.

MILLER: Not yet. Located his hideout. Cell phone’s on and transmitting a signal, but the place is dark. Pretty sure he’s in there tho.

ADDISON: Be careful. Ryder’s not sure what you’ll find inside.

Landon frowned.

MILLER: Archer’s a dumbass, not a psycho.

ADDISON: I agree with you, but Ryder’s not so convinced. Authorities put out an APB on Archer in connection with the bombing.

MILLER: Fuck.

ADDISON: Pretty much.

MILLER: Ryder busting a vein yet?

ADDISON: Not yet. But it’s close. I’ve got Jake under control. Just get Archer out of there before the authorities find him. It’s not going to be long before they connect him with Aegis. Jake has first dibs on him.

Landon snorted. Yeah, he just bet Jake Ryder wanted to get his hands on Archer before Uncle Sam. Archer had been a loose cannon ever since the raid in Guatemala had gone to shit, not that Landon blamed him. That kind of fuckup wasn’t one you bounced back from easily. He hadn’t been surprised when Archer had fallen off the grid for nearly a year, nor had he been shocked when the guy had resigned from Aegis with no warning. But showing up in the middle of this fucking mess? Yeah, that was a new one, even for Archer.

MILLER: You deserve hazard pay dealing with Ryder on a daily basis, girlie.

ADDISON: You don’t even know the half of it. Call me when you’ve got Archer. And watch your six.

Landon smiled. Marley was a saint. How she put up with Ryder’s grouchy ass day in and day out he’d never know. God knew he couldn’t do it.

MILLER: Will do.

He pocketed his phone again and eyed the dark house. Thoughts of Marissa’s sinful mouth flashed in his mind, but they dimmed and faded when a shadow moved in front of the window.

If he was gonna go in, he needed to do it now, before dawn hit and before Archer decided to run again.

He just hoped like hell he didn’t have to shoot the fucker.


Zane was in heaven. The grinding beat of AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” echoed through his ears, and against his lap, Juliet ground her luscious body and gasped.

He didn’t care that they were in a shithole apartment in the worst part of a crappy city. He didn’t care that Carter was in the next room taking his shift on watch. He didn’t even care what was happening outside these flimsy walls. All he could focus on was the woman straddling him, whispering naughty words, and doing insanely wicked things with her tongue.

“Zane . . .”

He tugged her mouth back to his, slid his tongue along her lips, and then dipped in for a sinful taste. And groaned when she leaned those full, heavy breasts against his chest and reached back to unlatch her bra.

“Zane . . .”

She never called him by his real name. He was pretty sure she didn’t even know his real name. Which meant this was special. It was . . .

Fuck. It wasn’t real.

His eyes shot open. Darkness surrounded him. Silence met his ears. He rolled his head to his right and found the bed beside him empty.

Son of a bitch. He jerked upright and looked at the broken zip tie around his wrist. The arousal he’d just been feeling fizzled and died. No fucking way.

He scrambled off the bed and cringed as pain shot up his leg. Grabbing his shirt from the floor, he tugged it on, then hobbled toward the door, cursing himself for being weak. For needing the drugs to cut the pain. For falling fucking asleep. He never should have dropped his guard with the black widow. Not when she—

His bare feet drew up short on the carpet when he stepped into the living room and found Eve asleep on the couch. Blonde hair fell across her face as she tossed her head from side to side, and her muscles were tensed and bunched, as if she were in the middle of a fight.