Foam from turquoise waters receded out to sea before rushing to shore again. Anya laughed as the salty water swished around her legs. She wore a bikini with a colorful ankle-length skirt that was drenched with salt water. Her feet were caked with sand and the gold ankle bracelet around her leg stuck to her skin. She picked up the length of her olive-green skirt and moved away from the water.

The setting sun trailed the waters and sent a glint in Trent’s gray eyes as the handsome biracial man handed her a fruity drink with a cute, little umbrella.

“No, thank you,” Anya said.

Trent’s lips curved into a devilish smile. “You don’t trust me?”

“You can regain my trust.” Her full lips turned into a wide grin.

“C’mon, Anya.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, and just as quickly as the waves coasted, his angular face softened. Anya was overcome by his movie-star good looks as he said, “There are no extradition laws here, Anya. You can’t take me back, sweetheart.”

“True. But I also can’t be intoxicated while attempting to escort you back to America. I had high hopes that you’d come willingly.” She hid the flustered feeling that always consumed her as his hands trailed up her bare arm to the nape of her neck.

Slowly, he pulled her into him. “Remember those sprints we would go on? I would always let you win.”

“Oh, you let me win under the guise that you couldn’t keep your eyes off my ass.” She tried to be nostalgic but worry still consumed her.

He pawed at her ass. “Yes, beautiful. I always let you win.”

Trent’s lips claimed hers with a kiss so familiar. He made her forget that they were on a tourist island with families and lovers surrounding them. All of the training, all of the ranting she’d done to her superiors to bring Trent Winehouse back to America—unharmed, because she loved him—every thought faded away as she was kissed for the first time in ages. Thinking of Trent, thinking of the bad man before her, overcoming her, Anya pulled away.

“Damn it, Randolph!”

“Damn, Trent, you only use my last name when pissed.” Anya smiled. Instantly, the smile fizzled. This wasn’t really a laughing matter. “I guess, since we’re on formalities, allow me to tell you how things are going to proceed.”

“No.” Trent turned away from her. The rogue federal agent trudged through the sand toward the beachfront hotel, leaving her to watch the soft curls at the nape of his neck and his ruggedly strong shoulders as he walked away.

Her head tilted somewhat, but Trent didn’t stop walking. She called after him, “I can help you clear your name, Trent!”

“No, thank you, Randolph,” he tossed over his shoulder.

She winced. His use of her surname twice indicated that he was livid. A slight breeze flowed through her wavy hair as she watched him pass through exotic plants and onto an open balcony.

Licking the kiss off her lips, she reminded herself of the vows she’d made to the Agency, and to herself, as she followed. Vibrant colored toucans chirped in the palm trees as she passed. She stepped up onto the balcony. Sheer curtains swayed in the wind. Cautiously, she peered through them.

She wasn’t dressed properly to conceal a gun. Wouldn’t think of it. She’d bring Trent in willingly. Her ex-partner deserved as much respect, especially since he was her best friend in college. So many hours of strip poker while they studied, and he prompted her toward grades that the FBI would surely be interested in. And then they’d been sought after by the Agency. She knew he’d get in. Yet, they’d wanted her too.

After years of secret missions, something had changed. The years were sweet to them, romantically. However, she’d felt a pull, a slight tug, an ebb, before the Agency indicated Trent Winehouse had gone rogue. They wanted her allegiance, which she’d spent ten years proving.

The day he disappeared, her heart had stopped beating. Anya had agreed to take down the man she loved, if only to talk some sense into him or to see if he was being coerced. Today, three years later, she’d found him. Fortunately, she could breathe again. Her heart began to beat once more. Now, all she needed to do was set her heart on autopilot, bring him in, and…hope for the best.

Only her breath slowed as she slipped through the sliding glass door and into an ultra-luxurious living area with plush, white couches and silver accents.

Shoulders tensed, she jumped as he called, “I’m in here.”

Slowly, she stepped inside. The air in her lungs expelled.

On the center of the king-size bed, amongst the feather duvet and plush pillows, Trent lay. His tanned body etched with muscles. So beautiful.

“How am I going to take you in like this?” she murmured.

“Come again?” Trent asked, eyebrow cocked ever so sexy. “Come as many times as you like.”

She took a step back and her eyes averted away from the tent in his pants. Every angle of his thick, fat cock was engrained in her memory. And she’d be damned if sex would weaken her resolve. Trent had fucked her over. Anya’s heart was stitched up tight and would stay that way.

“Tell me why you went rogue, Trent,” Anya begged. “I have to know. We were working the diamond heist and you…did you betray me for money? Money?”

He climbed out of bed as tears streamed down her cheeks. He stood in front of her. She felt the warmth and remembered the feeling, even before his calloused thumb touched her cheek. Trent caressed the tears, not allowing one drop to fall onto the floor.

“I love you, Anya Randolph,” he whispered into the top of her hair as he inhaled her.

Even though she wouldn’t say it, they both knew just how much she loved him.

She loved him more than he could ever love her.

Mary Jane’s body went airborne from the bed of the F-250 before slamming back down. She rolled over and looked out the back of the truck. She reached out her hand. She could’ve sworn she …no, it wasn’t Trent. The man she’d imagined twice now. One on a run through the forest and the other just now. It wasn’t him, but the snake. Wulf! Either she was hallucinating, or the uptight cop sat in the passenger seat with Glenn.

Her head snapped forward as her body continued to jerk inside of the black frame. She turned around to see two creepy rednecks inside. The driver had incredibly large shoulders. The passengers were comparatively minuscule. She looked to the left and her eyes damn near popped out of their sockets.

A train.

Physics implied that they would not make it.

I’m not even in a seat belt. At least I’ll die knowing who I am.

I am Anya Randolph, aka Mary Jane.

I am a secret agent.

Toggling with the stick shift, Glenn’s skater shoe slammed on the brake. The Grand National skidded on the unpaved road. The rear of the car lifted in the air as it came to a halt, so close to the passing train that tiny bits of gravel ping-ponged against the hood of the car. The back tires slammed back down on the pavement.

“What the fuck, Glenn! Drive!” Wulf commanded, his body finally settling back in the seat as burnt rubber swished in the dust around them.

“W-we wouldn’t have made it,” Glenn said, gripping the steering wheel.

“They made it. We could have too!” Wulf stopped ranting, knowing they would have been flesh and confetti if Glenn had pushed it to the limit. Quincy’s goading permeated his brain, warning Wulf that he’d gotten too close with another woman.

Glenn stuttered, “I-I think I know them.”

Wulf was already in too deep. Dammit, he cared about her. He’d save her, and maybe take her over his knee before he had her body again. He gritted out. “You think?”

“I’m positive! They live on the same street as my ex.” Glenn seemed confident, but then stuttered, “We c-c-can t-t-try their place first, that’s if-if they took her home instead of to Beasley’s.”

“Then get us there before they kill her!” Wulf didn’t even want to consider the firepower he’d have to deal with in going to Beasley’s home.

Each lost in their own thoughts, they watched the dust settle around them. Wulf couldn’t breathe. Not with the sheer horror in Mary Jane’s eyes that haunted him. She looked petrified. She reached a hand out to me!

Just as the truck passed, it was whisked out of sight by the train. He was numb to the train’s blaring horn. The image of Mary Jane dashed before his eyes. He prayed her “dumb luck” would continue.

“We have to save her.” Wulf tracked the train cars as far as the eye could see. He slammed his hand onto the dashboard. “They’re headed into Santo Cruces City. If they get to Beasley first, I’m going to have a shitload of men to fight! I don’t even have a fucking gun.”

“I-I-I’m,” Glenn sputtered, visibly shaken. The booming of Wulf’s voice and the powerful train jarred his heart. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s too damn late for apologies,” Wulf retorted, glaring at the red blinking lights as the last car of the train finally passed. “Now, drive!”

Glenn moved over the train tracks nice and slow as he revved the engine. The muscle car darted along the paved road.