I stride across the street, holding back the need to shove my fist against something that will break bone. She’s playing me, I know that, but I still listen to her lies like a man starved of sound.

Problem is, I can’t tell what’s the truth and what’s bullshit. Decker couldn’t get a trail on her. Her apartment is owned by Brent Hendrix—the fucking bartender. Even the utilities are in his name. There are no ties to a Stephanie or Emma Stephens. She has to be paying him in cash to make sure she doesn’t leave breadcrumbs.

But I’ll find one.

Tomorrow.

I would bet my left nut she’s not going to Seattle to meet a guy. I refuse to believe she’s fucking me with a boyfriend a few hours away. But even with my nut on the line, the slightest doubt has furious jealousy streaming through my veins.

I want to kill this lover of hers. Real or imaginary.

The feel of her body against mine has become torture. The vanilla scent of her, too. All sweet and feminine. She’s pliable to my touch, molding into me like butter, yet tough as nails at the same time.

So many conflicting aspects. A fucking kaleidoscope. Or maybe that’s what she wants me to see. Smoke and mirrors.

I storm inside Atomic Buzz, slap my palms on the bar, and demand, “Scotch.”

Brent glowers at me and prepares the drink. “Bad day?”

“You could say that.” Every day has been a mix of heaven and hell since this woman walked into my life. I can’t stop thinking about her—who she is, what she does, and why we’ve been brought together.

“Have you ever heard her talk about a boyfriend?” The question escapes my mouth without thought, making me sound like a needy little bitch.

“Steph?” Brent frowns.

“Yeah.” I guess we’ll stick with that for now because I don’t believe her real name is Emma, either.

“No. Not at all. She doesn’t share that shit with me.”

So, having another dick on the side is a possibility. Great. Fucking perfect.

He hands over my scotch.

I throw down some bills before snatching the alcohol from the bar to go sit in the far corner of the room. Yeah, I’m sulking. For fuck’s sake.

I need to leave, but I’m stuck here maintaining the charade that I showed up to get a drink, when I was actually stalking a woman who just left her apartment for the first time in days.

Impeccable timing is my only advantage, which Decker gained by hacking the video surveillance outside her apartment door. It seemed to be the only hole in her secretive existence—she logs into her online feed via her neighbor’s unsecured internet.

So I have nothing on her—no name, no insight, no fucking clue—but I get notifications when there’s motion around her door and a crystal-clear, black-and-white view of when she comes and goes.

Like right now. My cell vibrates in my jacket, and I already know it will be her. I tap into the video app to see her standing in the hall of her building. She enters the pin code to her apartment and releases the locks. I clench my cell as she opens the door, then she walks inside, out of sight, but still visible enough in my mind to make my dick pulse.

I should be doing a million other things. I should be on the other side of the city, preparing for an impromptu trip to Seattle.

Fuck.

I’m over a week late getting back to Torian. I’ve dodged his calls for days, which means I’m a heartbeat away from a gun-barrel prostate exam if I don’t pull my shit together.

I gulp the cheap scotch and flick through my cell screen to call Decker. It’s time to level-up our game.

He answers on the second ring with a chipper, “How can I be of assistance, fuck face?”

“Listen up.” I’m not in the mood for his shit. Not that I ever have been. “I need you to be on the road tomorrow.”

“Okay… Where’s the party?”

I scan the bar, making sure nobody is paying me attention, and lower my voice. “Seattle.”

“Who are we dealing with?”

Her. The woman who drives me mindless with curiosity and hunger. “We’re still on the same project. Nothing has ch—”

“Are you serious?” He chuckles. “Torian is right. You’re slipping.”

Every muscle snaps taut. “When did you speak to Torian?”

“He called a few days ago wanting an update because you won’t answer your cell.”

Fucking hell. “What did you say?”

“What could I say? You haven’t told me shit.”

If Torian took the time to call, he would’ve pushed, demanded, threatened. He wasn’t the type to walk away empty-handed.

“What did you tell him?” I repeat, my tone lethal.

“I said you were following some lead on a woman. That she’s tied to Dan somehow… Which is only an assumption at this point, because it marks the time you dove headfirst into this weirdness.”

I suck in a breath and hold it until it threatens to break my restraint. “Did you give him any specifics? Did you say anything that could lead to her?”

He gives a derisive scoff. “How is he going to find out who she is when I can’t?”

Jesus. It’s not about finding out who she is. Torian won’t give a shit. If he knows about her, he’ll do what I should’ve done days ago—get the information she has via whatever means necessary.

“Look,” Decker starts, “I thought I was covering your ass. What was I supposed to do? Fabricate a story when I have no clue what’s going on? We both know he’d lose his shit if he found out I was lying. And as much as I love you, buddy, it’s not enough to take the fall when it comes to that crazy motherfucker.”

No shit. Why does he think I didn’t answer my phone? I don’t need the drama.

I down the remaining scotch and breathe slowly to lessen the aggression pounding at my temples.

“What’s going on, Hunt? Who is this chick?”

“I don’t have a clue.” It’s the truth. “I know she was in that hotel room. She beat the fuck out of him, and I’m pretty sure she gained our information while doing it.”

There’s a pause. A silent criticism. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

Good question. The jury is out on that one. “Why did I need to? Would you have worked harder? Have you half-assed the background check because I didn’t give you enough info?”

I’m a weak prick, trying to distract him from the more important questions, like, why didn’t I get what I needed that first night? Why didn’t this end back then? And why did I let it continue?

“I’ve done everything I can,” he grates. “I don’t half-ass anything, asshole, and you know it.”

I do. But I don’t regret the diversion. “Then you don’t need specifics. You need to work with what I give you and remember who pays you. Me. Not Torian.”

“Please tell me you’re not sleeping with her.” His plea is almost inaudible and followed with more criticizing silence. “Fuck, Hunt. You are, aren’t you?”

I rest my glass on the table and massage my temples between my thumb and middle finger. I can’t answer him. No. I don’t need to.

“Are you still there, asshole?” he snaps. “What the fuck is going on?”

I don’t know. I’m so lost in her I can’t tell when common sense ended and obsession began. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. It started as a bit of fun. I was messing with the cocky bombshell with the sassy mouth. Then she flipped the fucking board on me and started to beat me at my own game. She had me chasing my tail and second-guessing myself.

I never second-guess myself.

“You need to sort this out,” he says. “And fast. Torian isn’t going to wait forever.”

“I know.” I fucking know. “I’m going to call him.” I have no other choice. “I’ll get in touch later with specifics for tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting.”

I shove from my chair and walk from the bar, not acknowledging Brent, who tracks my steps with his gaze. As I get outside, I glance up at her window, unable to break the habit.

She’s there. I can feel her staring down at me, watching my movements with the same dedication I’ve shown watching hers.

I reach the end of the building, turn down the side street to my car, and start dialing Torian’s number.

The call connects, and he greets with a, “About damn time you called.” His tone is level, calm, but the man could turn on a dime.

“You got time to talk?” I ask.

“I’m at Devoured.”

The call disconnects. One minute, conversation. The next, silence. It’s not a bad connection. It’s a demand to meet in person.

Fucking great.

I climb into my car and drive across town to his father’s restaurant. I slow as I pass the front windows and see Torian inside, standing amongst a crowd of his family while he holds a young girl on one arm. His mother is there, his sisters, too, while a million other kids run around with balloons and streamers.

A private family function.

Fucking perfect.

I park my car and stalk inside, ignoring Carlos at the door, who quickly glances at Torian for approval to let me in.

The man of the moment inclines his head and grins at me as I approach. The slimy fucker is dressed in his typical designer suit, his brown hair immaculately styled, his face clean-shaven. The guy is young. Too fucking young to have the amount of power he carries under his belt. But he owns it, taking the authority in his stride.

I bypass his attractive younger sister, his mother, the small army of children who have made his father’s restaurant their bitch, and stop in front of Torian and the girl.

“Hunt.” His smile remains in place, charismatic yet undeniably fake. I can see the anger hidden beneath the calm facade. I can sense the frustration, too. “I expected to see you sooner. You don’t usually make me wait.”

I ignore the little girl staring up at me and return his grin. His intimidation techniques don’t work on me. They never have. Threats are only successful if you have something to lose, and Torian is well aware I’ve deliberately cut ties with anyone of value. “I told you I’d get in contact once the job was done.”

“Why does it sound like you’re about to tell me something I don’t want to hear? Do you have what I need or not?”

“I’m still working on it.”

His smile increases. Ignorant women would fall to their knees for that playboy charm, but I know the meaning of his expression. I know, and I refuse to give a shit. He leans down, placing his niece on her feet. “Go play with your friends, Stella.”

“Okay, Unkie Cole.” The girl skips away, her skirt swishing with every bounce.

He watches her, always smiling, always smug. “How are you still working on it when Dan is dead?”

“There was someone with him. A woman. I think she could be a lead to—”

“I didn’t ask for a fucking lead. I asked for a name. One name. It wasn’t a hard task.”

I clench my teeth and look away in an attempt to control my temper. I’m not a failure. I won’t accept being treated as one. “She beat him.” I lower my voice. “Aren’t you interested to find out why?”

“I’m only interested in the name. Why would I care about the whore who was with him before he died?”

“She’s no whore.”

“That’s not what the detective tells me.”

My pulse spikes, but I can understand where he’s coming from. I’d assumed the same thing to begin with. “With a body like hers, she’d be stupid to work in a neighborhood well beneath her physical appeal. There has to be more to it than that.”

She doesn’t need to slum it for money. One look inside her apartment and I could tell she had cash. If she wanted to sell her body, she could easily do it with deep-pocketed men.

“Why are you wasting my time with assumptions, Hunt? Admit you’ve failed, and we can deal with the consequences.”

“It’s not an assumption, and I haven’t fucking failed. She tortured him. And she’s on the road tomorrow to meet someone in Seattle. I think she has contacts there.” I drag my gaze back to meet his unfaltering stare. “If she was trying to keep him quiet, don’t you want to know why? Don’t you want to know if there are more players in this?”

Torian’s eyes narrow. His lips flatten. He stares at me for long moments, scrutinizing, obviously strategizing. “Why do you care?”

“Money.” That is the only acceptable answer. For me and him. “I’ll get you more valuable information, and you can pay me for the extra work.”

He laughs, long and hearty, as if I’m a fucking comedian. “Now that makes more sense. You’ve always been a money-hungry bastard.” He inches forward to place his hand on my shoulder and guide me toward the front door. “And I appreciate you thinking outside the box. But do I need to reiterate how tired I am of waiting for a resolution on this?”

“It won’t be much longer.” I have no foundation for my promise. I’ll just have to make it work. I’ll have to move faster.

“Maybe you need help.”

“No.” I plant my feet and glare. “You gave this job to me, and I work alone.”

“Really?” He taunts me with a smirk. “Does Decker know that?”

Decker is different. He helps from the outside. I never rely on him; I only ever lean. “Speaking of,” I growl, “he’s off-limits. You call him again, and we’ll have a problem.”

He laughs, but this time the facade cracks. The sound is sinister. Angered. “I wanted answers, and you wouldn’t return my calls.”

“Well, you have your answers now, so back off.”

He squeezes my shoulder, the touch another threat. “I have nothing but your assurances, which mean little to me. In fact, I think I need to insist on someone else assisting you. I’ll send Carlos to tag along.”

I snap my gaze to those kids laughing and playing. I stare. I glare. I make sure they’re at the front of my mind so I don’t lose my shit. “You put a tail on me, and whoever it is will wind up face down in a dumpster.”

A threat for a threat.

Torian chuckles and releases his hold, raising his hands in an act of surrender no sane person would believe. “Okay. Okay. I get it. You’re invested in seeing this through. I can appreciate that.”

“Thanks,” I snarl.

We have worked together for years. We have been through more than most family members endure. But I have no doubt this man would cut ties in the blink of an eye. He also knows I’ll do the same if pushed.

“I’ll call you when I’m done.” I stride ahead, a cautious throb tickling the back of my neck. I need to be finished with this job. I need to be done with it. With her.

“Hunt,” Torian calls over the sound of celebrating children.

I stall, the cautious throb now taking over my limbs as I turn. “Yeah?”

“You’ve got forty-eight hours.”