Prologue

Her body jerked, twitched, shuddered. Her head hit the floor even as her hand flew out blindly.

“What do you need?” He crouched in front of her. Handsome. Charming. The devil in the flesh.

She couldn’t speak. He would know that, of course. He knew so much. Had made her the object of his intense study. What she’d viewed as interest, attention—and, God forbid, love—all of that had been a lie. A carefully orchestrated trick so that she’d fall ever-so-willingly into his web.

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice so tender and caring. “Why don’t you try again?”

Such a bastard. Her teeth snapped together. Her fingers tingled as the shaking continued. It would get worse. She knew exactly how this would end.

And he would just keep watching.

“Do you have regrets?” He stroked his chin. “I bet that you do. I bet that you regret ever bringing up the past. Ever doubting me.”

She regretted ever having met him.

Her twitching fingers stretched more. Had she reached the knife that she’d dropped earlier?

He didn’t even look at her hand. His brilliant blue eyes—electrifying eyes—remained locked on her face. She could see the sick excitement in his gaze. He liked her suffering.

That was only fair. She’d like his, too.

In the distance, she could hear the frantic barks of a dog. The dog wanted inside. Desperately. But the dog couldn’t get past the locked door.

The dog’s claws scratched against the wood of the door as the barks turned into a long howl.

“Tell me what you need.” His hand stopped stroking his chin. “I can give you everything in this world. You know I have that power. The connections. I can do so much for you. Haven’t I helped you already? Didn’t I make your nightmares vanish?”

He was the nightmare. Not the knight in shining armor. Those jerks didn’t exist. If you wanted to be saved in this world, you had to save yourself. Basic truth.

Had she managed to grab the knife? She wasn’t sure. The tingling in her fingers was worse. The back of her head rapped against the hardwood floor.

“Oh, darling.” His hand slid beneath her head. “You are going to hurt yourself.”

No, she was going to hurt him. Even if it was the last thing that she ever did.

A headache throbbed—then pierced—behind her left eye. When she looked up at his handsome face, she could have sworn she saw a golden aura around his head. Almost like he was an angel.

Not an angel. He’s the devil, and I will send him to hell.

“What do you need?” he demanded.

The beautiful stranger above her was relentless. The stranger—her husband.

“Who do you need?” His voice dropped to a tender caress.

A tremble rocked her entire body. “Y-you…”

He began to smile.

But the smile died when her hand lifted, and she drove her knife right into his side.

I need you to die.

Chapter One

The first time that Ebenezer “Eb” Jones saw Naomi Romano…she was dancing in a fountain. In Vegas. Her pale blue dress had been utterly drenched as it clung to her like a second skin. Her long, dark hair had been wet, trailing over her shoulders, and utter delight had lit her face as she laughed.

She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

The second time that Eb saw Naomi…she’d been standing at a small chapel. Not Vegas this time. Baton Rouge. And she’d been wearing a white dress. Long and made of satin. Her hair had been carefully styled around her head. She’d clutched blood-red roses. Her face had been solemn as she repeated her vows…and married his former CIA partner, Hudson Wyatt.

She’d still been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

The third time Eb saw Naomi? Well, she’d been in Baton Rouge once more. Not in a chapel, but at a graveside. Wearing all black. A dress that skated over her curves. Black heels. Her hands had been fisted in front of her. No tears had slid down her cheeks. She’d stared straight at the gleaming casket. A casket surrounded by so many flowers. Roses. Carnations. Orchids. Lilies. Her husband had been in that casket. She’d watched, expressionless, during the entire graveside service. Ice cold.

Whispers had surrounded her. Judging eyes.

His hard gaze had been on her the whole time, but she’d never once looked his way. Had she even known he was there? She’d seemed oblivious to everyone. Utterly lost in her own world. But, even then, surrounded by the mourners, with her eyes completely dry, he’d looked at her and thought⁠—

Still the most fucking beautiful woman…Even though he’d understood then that beauty could hide the very worst evil in the world.

Murderer.

Despite all the suspicions, the DA had recently dropped the charges against her. They’d bought her story about a home invasion gone wrong. About her husband being caught by surprise while she’d been out during the night. But Eb had seen all the holes in her story. He knew Naomi for exactly what she was.

A killer.

And now, for the fourth time, he had his eyes on her. He’d been trailing Naomi as she left her place in Baton Rouge and darted across town in an old, blue, pickup truck. One that bounced and weaved down the dark road because the shocks on it must be worn to hell and back. He’d been curious about her destination initially, but as she’d continued her trek into the night, the curiosity had turned to unease.

She’d stopped in front of a sprawling, rundown bar. One that had a graveled parking lot lined with motorcycles of every type. High-end rides. Some tricked out with modifications that must have cost thousands. Others looked like barely sputtering, scarred-up bikes. The bald bulb near the entrance to the bar cast faint illumination over those motorcycles, and he saw the club colors on them. Not like he’d needed the colors to know he was staring at an outlaw motorcycle club.

But why was Naomi paying a visit to this location? You had to be looking for trouble to visit a place like this bar.

Naomi exited her truck, and she walked straight toward the bikes near the entrance. Her hands went to her hips. She stared hard at the bikes. Particularly the big Harley right beside the bar’s entrance. A fancy, gleaming ride that Eb knew cost far, far too much money to be left outside of a dump like this one.

He slid from his own car, shutting the door with the softest of sounds. Music drifted in the air. Loud and hard. Voices rose and fell. A drunk guy stumbled from the entrance of the bar and barely gave Naomi a second glance.

She kept right on staring at the motorcycles. Then her head swung toward the bar’s entrance.

And then back to the line of motorcycles.

A smile spread across her lips. One easily seen thanks to that bare bulb. That smile of hers was absolutely diabolical.

Eb tensed and hurried from the shadows.

But he didn’t hurry fast enough. Naomi lifted one booted heel—black boots. She wore faded jeans, a black shirt, and kick-ass boots—and she drove one of those kick-ass boots straight into the side of the big, expensive Harley.

Nothing happened.

Her smile dimmed.

Then she kicked it again.

Again.

And—

He grabbed her arm. Hauled her away from the motorcycles and toward him before she could cause some serious chaos. “What in the hell are you doing?”

She blinked. Tilted back her head so all of that long, thick hair tumbled over her back, and she locked the deepest, darkest eyes in the world on him.

Fuck me, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Even knowing what she was, even knowing what she’d done, the sight of her was like a punch straight to the⁠—

There was a screech behind her. A groan. Ragged. Metallic. Then…

Crash. A long and loud crash and another screech as the expensive Harley toppled and slammed into the ride beside it. Together, the two motorcycles hit the graveled lot.

Naomi glanced over her shoulder. “Dammit.” A sigh of disappointment. “I was hoping that one falling bike would send them all knocking down.”

No such luck. The big Harley and the gleaming ride near it were the only two that had fallen.

“Ivan!” A frantic roar from the open door of the bar. “Hey! Hey! Some prick just knocked down Ivan’s ride!”

I didn’t do it. She did. But, clearly, he was about to take the blame. Probably what he deserved for stepping in and trying to stop her. Had he not already learned that no good deed went unpunished in this world?

“In the movies, one toppling bike would create a domino effect and take down all the others. It would have been dramatic and beautiful at the same time.” Another despondent sigh from Naomi. “Oh, well, at least I got his attention…”

His attention? “What the hell are you doing, Naomi?” Eb breathed.

Her gaze returned to his. Her gorgeous smile stretched her full lips, and he was pretty sure savage glee filled her face. “Getting back what belongs to me. Desperate times call for desperate measures, isn’t that the saying? I’m desperate, and I don’t care what I have to do in order to achieve my end goal.” Grim intent filled every low word.

Yep, this lady is not the sweet ray of sunshine I originally believed her to be. Hell, no. She wasn’t sunshine. She was a short walk straight to hell.

Naomi slowly blinked as she studied him. Then she inched a bit closer. “Ebenezer Jones.” A shake of her head. “Of all the biker bars in the world…are you really sure you want to be at this one right now? With me?”

No, he did not want to be there. He wanted to be back home in South Carolina, sitting on a beach and laughing his ass off with his twin brother. He wanted to be listening to the soothing sounds of waves hitting the shore. He wanted to be playing poker with his ex-partner, Hudson.

But he couldn’t.

Because Hudson was cold in the ground. Courtesy of the lovely Naomi. And Eb was there to get his pound of flesh from her.

Footsteps thundered behind him as men erupted from the bar. Lots of angry shouts thickened the air. Colorful cursing.

“You should probably run,” Naomi advised.

Eb’s jaw locked. This night was about to get really shitty. As if it had not already been shitty enough. But, for the record, “I never run.”

One delicate eyebrow quirked. “I’ll remember that about you.”

“What in the hell is happening here?” A bellow. Then a hard hand grabbed Eb’s shoulder and wheeled him around. “Asshole, you just made the worst mistake of your life!”

Eb found himself staring straight into angry, glinting eyes. A tall guy, wide, too. But not with muscle. Mostly fat. Thin hair. Big neck. Lots of tats stretching out beneath the dirty t-shirt that he wore.

The big bastard raised his fist and got ready to take a swing at Eb.

“He didn’t make a mistake,” Naomi declared, her voice very loud and clear for all to hear. Then, after making that blasting statement, she was there, ducking in front of Eb. Putting herself between him and the bastard with the beefy fist.

The guy let go of Eb, but he kept his fist raised.

He will not fucking hit her.

Eb would not allow that. Naomi would go down for her crimes. But no one would hit her.

“I’m the one who not-so-accidentally knocked down your bike, Ivan. Took quite a bit of effort, I must confess. But after several hard kicks, I did succeed in sending that precious Harley of yours slamming into the ground.”

“Uh, Naomi?” Eb cleared his throat. “Maybe you should back away right now.” Because the crowd was closing in. A very pissed crowd. Eb noted the tattoos they wore. Tigers. Stars. Medals. Skulls. They were in trouble. Big trouble. The name Ivan had rung unfortunate bells for him.

Ivan leaned his big, glaring face toward Naomi. “You want to die?”

Hell. Eb had to step in or else he’d be watching a murder scene up close and personally. He reached for the gun he’d tucked beneath his shirt after exiting his ride⁠—

“No, I don’t want to die. I want Henry back, you jerk! And if I have to wreck every single motorcycle here, if I have to wreck your bar, if I have to wreck your life in order to get him, I’ll do it!” A passionate declaration. Sightly unhinged, but passionate.

Eb’s mouth tightened. Who the fuck is Henry?

Ivan glared at her. Glared long and hard and then he…laughed. Heaving, wild bursts of laughter rang from him.

Naomi did not laugh back. Her hands fisted at her sides.

Ivan’s fingers rose and curled under her chin. “Pretty little killer…”

Oh, yeah. He knows exactly who—what—she is. They were on the same page. Nice to know.

“I will give you thirty seconds to get out of here,” Ivan offered. “If you don’t flee, I guarantee you will be meeting your husband again by dawn.”

The bastard had just threatened to kill her. “I don’t think so.” Eb let go of his gun, for the moment. But only so he could curl his hands around Naomi’s waist. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Who the hell are you?” Ivan demanded.

The faintest hint of Russia slid beneath his words. Making them rougher. Deeper.

Like I didn’t already know you were Russian mafia. Eb was staring straight at Ivan Sokolov. The guy had been in the US since he was sixteen—that was why only a trace of his accent remained. Ivan had a rap sheet a mile long. He’d been linked to all sorts of crimes, both in the US and abroad, and he’d sure as hell been on the CIA’s radar. He’d have to be on their radar, considering that he was a confidential source for them. Eb had never worked directly with the guy. Ivan had a reputation for being a volatile prick. But Eb’s partner Hudson had been Ivan’s main contact on plenty of cases.

“I’m a friend of Hudson’s,” Eb replied.

Ivan’s gaze flickered. “Don’t know that name.”

“Hudson Wyatt,” Eb enunciated slowly. He got that Ivan was pretending not to know the guy in front of his crew. Not like the big Russian could admit to being an informant. Not admit it, and stay alive, anyway. “He’s her dead husband.”

Ivan’s jaw hardened. “You mean he’s the husband she killed? I do watch the news. I know her pretty, murderous face.”

Naomi tried to lunge for Ivan, but Eb tightened his hold on her. When she kicked back, aiming perfectly for his shin, Eb swore at the impact. Then he just lifted her up and held her in the air as those booted feet of hers kicked aimlessly.

Ivan laughed.

“I’ll take care of her,” Eb promised. “Was on my way to see you when I caught her playing with the bikes.” No, he hadn’t been going to see Ivan. But he could lie very, very well.

Right now, I need to get Naomi out of here before this crew rips her apart.

“I gave her thirty seconds.” Ivan crossed his flabby arms over his chest. “I figure that time is up.”

“She’s gone.” She would be gone. “I’ve got her.”

Naomi twisted and tried to surge for Ivan once more. “I’m not leaving without Henry, you sonofa⁠—”

Eb tossed her over his shoulder.

Naomi let out a guttural scream. A truly powerful one that blasted in Eb’s ears. He kept one arm around the back of her thighs as he began walking very determinedly toward her truck. One arm was around her, and his other hand had pulled his weapon. Just in case any of the gang members decided to attack.

Naomi slammed her hands into his back. “Let me go, now!”

“Do you want the Russian gang to rip you apart?” he asked her, voice pleasant. They were almost at the truck.

Almost. And there had been no attack…yet.

“They aren’t even all Russian!” she snapped back. “Ivan is. Maybe three others. His cousins. The rest are just posers who flock around him. Dammit, put me down before I have to hurt you!” Naomi heaved hard against him.

Hurt? The woman truly thought she could hurt him? Almost amusing.

And they were finally at her truck. So he put her down and immediately caged her between his body and the metal frame of the vehicle. “Listen to me. Carefully.” His voice was very, very low.

The gun was in his right hand.

A hand that was lodged between their bodies.

Her eyes widened. Then they dipped down to the gun. She swallowed. Slowly, her gaze came back up to meet his. They were far away from the lone exterior light, though, so he couldn’t read her expression clearly. But he thought fear might have flickered on her face.

“Ebenezer?”

“Do you want to die tonight?” He didn’t hear footsteps behind them. Not yet.

She didn’t respond.

So he pushed and questioned, “Eager to join your loving husband?”

“He wasn’t loving. And I don’t consider him my husband.”

“Funny. I could have sworn I heard you take vows.” Shit. Had a hard edge just entered his voice? It had. An edge that absolutely, under no circumstances, could be jealousy. “Pretty sure you promised to love and honor him forever. But he wasn’t even cold in the ground, and you’d ditched your wedding ring.” Yeah, he’d noticed the ring had been gone at the funeral.

Because I notice far too much about Naomi.

“I am not talking about this with you.” A hard, negative shake of Naomi’s head. “Get out of my way, Ebenezer.”

“Eb.”

“Yeah, well, if I was named after the mean old guy from A Christmas Carol, I’d want people to call me something else, too.” Her chin notched up. “Get out of my way, Eb.”

He did not. He lowered his head. He crowded in closer. He got even more in her way. “That guy you just pissed off? He’s Bratva.” Would she even know about the Russian criminal underworld?

“Please. That guy is wannabe Bratva.”

Okay, so she knew about Bratva, but she was wrong in thinking Ivan wasn’t a dangerous threat. He was the real deal. Ivan should terrify her. But maybe nothing terrified Naomi. Maybe she didn’t have the capacity to truly fear anyone or anything.

“Ivan has something that belongs to me, and I’m getting it back,” she declared. “If I have to wreck his bar in order to get what I need, I’ll do it.”

The woman was impossible. “If I hadn’t carried you away, you could be dead right now.” Maybe she should try showing a little gratitude.

“Yeah, and why would you care?” Zero gratitude. Just a whole lot of kiss-her-assitude.

He blinked.

She heaved another sigh. “You hate me, Ebenezer. Oh, sorry, my bad. Eb. Like everyone else, you think I am a cold-blooded killer. Well, goody for you.”

“You have no idea what I think.” But, yes, I absolutely think you are a killer. Cold-blooded to the core. You didn’t even shed a tear at Hudson’s funeral. Not one.

Naomi huffed out a hard breath. “I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know why you’re in my way. I don’t know why you saw the need to carry me from my target. But here’s a word of warning…” Her chin notched up. “Stay out of my way.”

“Or what?” Eb had to ask. Her scent teased him. Not some sweet scent. This woman did not smell like candy. Or cinnamon. She was sensual. Sultry. Bold. Amber. Jasmine. A wild, warm⁠—

“Seriously, you want an ‘or what’ answer from me?”

Yeah, he did. Thus, the question he’d just asked. “If I don’t stay out of your way, are you gonna shove a knife into me the way you did Hudson?”

She stiffened.

He’d probably gone too far. The way to get close to the woman, the way to get her to reveal every secret she possessed, it was not to become her enemy and to have her hate him from day one. The hate could—would—come later. After he’d locked her hot ass up in a jail cell. For now, he had to try another technique. So get your control back in place, man. Put on the mask you wear so well.

“Is that what you think?” Zero emotion entered her voice. “You gonna join the crowd who believes I murdered my husband and then set up the scene to look as if an intruder came in to kill him? You think I’m that diabolical?”

Hudson was a trained CIA operative. Getting killing close to him would be tricky. Your average home intruder would never get the drop on him. But Hudson would be fooled by someone he trusted. Someone he loved. Someone he loved could easily get close enough to kill him.

And Hudson had loved his beautiful wife very, very much.

The autopsy had shown zero defensive wounds on Hudson’s body. He hadn’t fought back at all against his killer. Probably because he hadn’t expected his beautiful, delicate, and deadly wife to attack him.

Eb swallowed. He took a step back. But her sensual scent followed him. Had his nostrils flaring as he tried to pull in more of her intoxicating scent. Intoxicating? Hell. Do not lust after your dead partner’s wife.

Yeah, right.

Do not lust after the woman who murdered your partner.

That should have been an easy enough rule to follow. Unfortunately, Eb was a bit twisted on the inside and the truth of the matter was that he’d always lusted for Naomi. From the very first moment he’d seen her dancing in that fountain, he’d wanted her for himself.

He and Hudson had spotted her at the same time. Eb had planned to introduce himself. To talk to the woman with the beautiful laugh and the carefree spirit.

But…

Tragedy had struck. Eb’s sister had needed him. He’d left Vegas without ever meeting Naomi.

And Hudson had wound up married to her.

Eb swallowed. “Crowds aren’t really my thing. Never cared about fitting in with them. I’m more the loner-type.” He glanced over his shoulder. Some guys were picking up Ivan’s bike. Inspecting it for damage, but most of the crew—including Ivan—had gone back inside. That was a win, for the moment. “He worked with your hus—with Hudson,” he corrected. “Ivan did. I’m in town to close out some old cases. Talking to him was on my to-do list.” Total lie. Hell, Eb wasn’t even officially with the CIA any longer. His departure was need-to-know info. Naomi did not need to know about it.

“Why the hell would the CIA care about a small-town thug like him?” she asked.

“Because Ivan isn’t small town. I told you, he’s Bratva.” Had she missed that part? He turned his head back toward her. “He has connections you wouldn’t believe. Just because he surrounds himself with local talent, it doesn’t mean Ivan can’t be an international player.”

That should terrify her. Or, at the very least, give her a pause.

“He’s an international pain in my ass, that’s what he is.”

So, uh, yes, she was not scared. Not of Ivan. Not of his gang. Was she not understanding basic facts of life? Maybe he needed to break this down even more for her. “Mess with Ivan, and he will hurt you.”

“I will hurt him.”

Eb laughed.

She glared.

Oh, wait, had she been serious? “You’re five-foot-five. He has to clock in at six-three.” Because he and Ivan had been eye-to-eye. “Pretty sure he could bench press you with one arm. And one of you will stand zero chance against him and his crew. So I don’t know who the hell this Henry is…” Probably a new lover, when Hudson is cold in the ground. “But he’s trouble. You need to forget him. If he’s cast his lot in with Ivan’s crew, you don’t want that kind of trouble in your life.” Naomi had plenty of trouble to handle on her own without adding bonus content to the mix.

“I’m not leaving Henry. I think he’s in that bar. Probably in Ivan’s back office.”

What, was Henry like…Ivan’s accountant or something? Might make sense. A good accountant could make dirty money vanish⁠—

“If he’s not in the back office, then Ivan must have him stashed at his home.” She shimmied around him. Yanked open the door to her truck and hauled out a bat. A baseball bat.

He blinked at her. “Uh, slugger? Just what are you planning to do with that?” And, yes, this makes you seem extra murdery, sweetheart.

“Whatever needs doing.”

He raised his eyebrows. “A little birdie told me that the DA only recently decided to drop the charges against you.” He paused. “You really think going into a bar, swinging a bat, won’t make the DA rethink his idea that you’re innocent?”

She dropped the top of the bat to touch the ground. “First, the DA doesn’t think I’m innocent.”

Neither do I.

“He just doesn’t have enough evidence to prove I’m guilty.”

That’s why I’m here. I’m looking for evidence to lock you away.

“But I don’t think he’ll really care if I break a few doors at Ivan’s place. Not like the DA and Ivan have some fantastic relationship.” She lifted the bat. Moved to stroll right past him.

Sighing, Eb wrenched the bat from her and tossed it into the bed of the truck. When the bat hit, it made a loud clang.

Her hands immediately went to her hips. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“To save your life.” The same reason he picked her up—yet again—even as she squealed in outrage, and he dumped her in the driver’s seat of the truck. “Forget the new boyfriend. Get your—” Homicidal. Nope, can’t say that. Can’t say…Get your homicidal ass back home. So he settled for, “Get your gorgeous ass back home.” He stood right next to the driver’s seat, with the open door at his side.

She grabbed the steering wheel, but turned her head toward him. “What new boyfriend?”

“Henry.” A disgusted shake of his head. “Lady, you have enough problems without worrying about some dumb asshole⁠—”

“Henry is not my boyfriend. He’s my dog.”

Her what?

“Ivan stole him while I was being held in jail. You know, back when the DA thought it would be super fun to lock me away for ages even though I’d been convicted of zero crimes. I was being held for murdering my husband, held without bond, even though I told everyone who would listen that I wasn’t guilty.” She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “A neighbor was supposed to be watching Henry. Ivan stole my dog.”

“Get a new dog. You’ll stay alive that way.” He started to back up.

Her hand flew out. Curled around his wrist. “Please.” Her voice broke.

Something in him seemed to break, too. Wait. What the fuck is happening?

“I love that dog,” she said, and damn if it didn’t sound like the woman—the same woman who’d been ready to go swinging with a bat a few moments ago—was about to cry. She hadn’t cried at her husband’s gravesite, but she was on the verge of tears over a dog. “I need him. I-I can’t explain but just, dammit…that dog is mine. Mine. I have to get Henry back.”

She let go of his wrist and dashed a hand across her face. The interior light was on in the truck, shining brightly down on her, and Eb realized she was dashing away actual tears.

Now she cried. Now. Outside of a bar. Over a dog. Check.

He whistled. Okay, maybe she was the best actress he’d ever seen. Maybe this could explain why the DA had caved and dropped those charges. Did you pull the teary routine with him, too? Turn on the grieving widow waterworks and the DA thought the jury would never convict you based on the circumstantial evidence he had?

“I will do anything to get my dog back. Break some bikes? Fine. Done. Pound a bat into a door in order to make those jerks pay attention to me? Done.”

She could not be serious. “You’re gonna die for your dog? Is that on your to-do list?”

“I don’t plan on dying.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I want my dog back. He’s all I have.” Her head bowed forward.

Shit. “You’re seriously doing all of this…for a dog?” He could not quite wrap his mind around what was happening. Too surreal.

Her head whipped toward him. “He’s a special dog, all right? I just want my dog back. And I will do anything, I—” She stopped. Her hand flew out and curled around his wrist once more. “You know Ivan.”

Not really. Knew of him. They were not buddies.

“You probably read his CIA file or something like that. You can convince him to give me back my dog.” Now she jumped from the truck. Her body brushed against Eb’s because he sure as hell wasn’t about to retreat. “If you can get my dog back, I would be so grateful to you!”

Just how grateful?

She’d already said that she’d do anything…

He stared down at her.

“Please.” She bit her lip. Then, “Please, I am begging here, Eb. I get that you don’t like me. But that dog is special. I need him. And if he stays with Ivan—look, I think Ivan only took Henry to hurt me.”

“And Ivan wants to hurt you because…?”

“The same reason all of Hudson’s friends want to hurt me. Because they think I killed him.” She swallowed. “Isn’t that why you want to hurt me?”

His gut tightened. “What in the hell makes you think I’m here to hurt you? Told you, I was just meeting with Ivan to close out old business with the agency…” Total lie. He was there to obliterate her world.

Her eyes were big and deep. Those eyes would suck in a normal man. Convince him that she was weak and innocent. In need of protection. The princess who needed some kind of knight to ride fast to the rescue.

Screw that knight bullshit. He was more of a destroyer than a savior. She’d learn that, eventually.

Besides, she was no innocent princess. If this was the fairytale, she’d be the villain. The wicked witch who poisoned her own true love—or rather, stabbed him right in the heart.

If she’d ever even loved Hudson. Eb doubted that she had. With Hudson’s death, she’d inherited all his assets.

So why the hell is she driving that old pickup truck?

“If you aren’t here to hurt me, then help me. I will owe you.”

He’d wanted an opportunity to get close to her. Earning her trust would be paramount in this game. Eb just hadn’t expected the opportunity to be handed to him on a silver platter. But, then again, his twin Jake had always said that Eb was the lucky one.

“I’ll help,” he said, making the words sound grudging. He put away his gun. For the moment. “But you have to do exactly what I say, understand?”

She threw herself at him. Curled her arms around him and wrapped him up in that sultry scent of hers. “Thank you!”

He should not—a thousand times, should not—have responded physically to her, but he did. The dark truth was that he’d always responded physically to her. Even when she’d been walking down the aisle to marry his friend, his dumb dick had been saluting her. He’d even entertained a fast and wrong fantasy about stealing his friend’s girl. Running with her from that chapel.

But he hadn’t moved from his position. Hadn’t said a word when the officiant had asked if anyone objected to the wedding. He’d stood in silence.

I lusted after my friend’s bride.

And now I’m going to wreck her world.

His hands slowly closed around her. She was warm and soft against him. Deceptively delicate. No wonder she’d been able to slip past Hudson’s guard. She didn’t look like a killer.

His head moved near her right ear. “You have to get back in that truck, and you have to go home.”

She stiffened against him. Began to pull back.

He kept his grip on her because he wasn’t done. “That gang will erupt if they see you again. So do what I say. My plan, my rules. You get in the truck. You go home. I’ll get the dog.” How the hell was he gonna pull off that magic trick? Eb didn’t know yet. But he’d always been pretty good at figuring shit out in the heat of the moment. “I’ll bring him to you. Then you pay me back. Deal?”

He heard the whisper of her breath. A second or two later, he felt the movement of her head as she nodded.

Slowly—more reluctantly than he should have—Eb released her.

“What does the payback entail?” she asked.

“Does it matter?”

Naomi’s head tilted to the side. “Perhaps.”

“We’ll start by saying that you let me crash at your place. Staying in a guest room at your place will be better than me having to find a hotel room for the night.” I need to get in your house. I need to search every inch of the property. I need to be close so that I can learn your secrets and catch you when you slip up. Because, sooner or later, she would slip up.

Criminals always did.

Laughter sputtered from her. The sound was warm and rich, and it caught him completely off guard.

“You have clearly never seen my place if you think it’s better than a hotel room. Not in its current state, it’s certainly not better. Despite the dreams I once had. But, sure, I’ll be happy to give you a place to crash.” She brought her hand up between them. “You give me back my dog, and I’ll give you a crash spot. Plus, whatever else you add to our deal later.”

He closed his hand around hers. “No more questions?” He didn’t buy that. “What if I want things you’re not prepared to give?”

“Just what sort of things would you mean?” Her hand was soft against his.

I want everything you have. All that you are. “I want the truth.” Shit. Clusterfuck. He had not meant to make that stark statement.

“The truth about what?” Careful, now. She began to tug her hand back.

He let her go. “The truth about you. The truth about Hudson.” A pause. “I want you to help me find your husband’s killer.”

She backed away fast and rammed into the side of the truck. “What?”

“You’re not guilty. That’s what you’ve been claiming all along, right?”

“I’ve been saying that, yes.” Slightly breathless.

“Then I’m offering you a team-up. After I finish my business with Ivan, you and I will find the real killer. Because what I want—most of all—is to make certain the killer is captured.” He nodded. “Deal?”

The silence ticked past.

“You think I’m innocent?” Naomi finally asked, voice husky.

“Aren’t you?”

She rocked forward. “Get my dog, and we have a deal.”

Hell, yes. “Get that ass into the truck, get out of here, and then we have a deal.”

She climbed back into the truck. Slammed the door. Cranked the engine. Well, on the third, sputtering try, Naomi cranked the engine. Only instead of driving away, she lowered the window. “I have a confession.”

Already? Damn. He’d expected more resistance. Eb put his forearm on the side of the door. Leaned in toward her.

“I always thought you were far too damn sexy, Ebenezer Jones.”

What. The. Fuck?

“And I always wondered…what would have happened if I met you before Hudson? Just how different would my life have been?”

Shock froze him.

“Better step back,” she advised, voice sugary sweet. “I’d hate to run over your foot on my way out of here.”

He stepped back.

She rattled off an address. Not like he needed it. He had her address saved on his phone. Imprinted on his brain.

“See you soon,” his prey told him. All merry and bright. Like they were planning to meet up for tea or some shit. All signs of tears were gone.

In silence, Eb watched her drive away.

I always wondered…what would have happened if I met you before Hudson? Just how different would my life have been?

How different would his own life have been?

Would he be the dead one lying in a cold grave?

Eb waited until her taillights vanished, then he turned and stared at the rundown bar. After a moment, he squared his shoulders and headed for the entrance.

He wondered how many bastards he’d have to fight in order to get back one dog for a lady who looked like pure temptation but had a heart of absolute ice.

* * *

Naomi waited until she rounded the curve and…

She hit the brakes. Then whipped that truck around.

Ebenezer Jones, I don’t trust you for a second.

What did he think? That she’d been born yesterday? Hell, no, she wasn’t just going to drive away like a good little girl while he took care of business.

She’d tried to be good. Too many times. That routine didn’t work for her.

These days, she didn’t take orders from anyone.

And she was getting her damn dog back.

Eb could be the distraction in the front of the bar.

She’d sneak in the back.

Game. On.