There was no mistaking the golden eyes staring up at him. This close, despite the low light on the dance floor, Kane could see flecks of honey and bronze in her irises.

He’d been concerned that he’d been trailing the wrong bodyguards when he’d spotted the two men escorting a much smaller, petite girl between them from the hotel passage through the dining hall. But, even though he’d kept to the shadows, merging effortlessly with a clutch of party guests, when the largest of the two bodyguards had looked his way, he’d seemed to sense Kane’s presence. Once, he’d almost looked straight at Kane, but a passing waiter hoisting a tray of champagne flutes had crossed their path at just the right moment.

And he’d made sure he wasn’t in the same spot by the time the waiter had walked past.

When the second bodyguard had emerged from the crowd, walkie-talkie close to his mouth and brow furrowed as he tried to communicate through the noise, Kane had spotted his chance to get close to the girl they’d been escorting.

Now, drinking in the sight of her, a wave of narcissistic arrogance flowed through him.

Of course it had been her. He was destined to find her tonight. She was his golden ticket back to the job he loved. The one he excelled at.

Her pretty little face would be all over the news before Friday. Cartel leader arrested. El Calacas Vivo destroyed. Agent Kane Price, leading the investigation into the drug smuggling charges levied against—

He leaned closer to the girl, putting his mouth by her ear. “I said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her upper body jerked back from him, but her feet were still planted to the floor. She extracted her arms from his grip—much the pity—and blinked up at him. “You…you didn’t,” she said.

It was an obvious lie, although she did try to hide it by pushing back her shoulders and meeting his gaze without flinching.

Her face was intricately painted, but the paint around her mouth looked a little smudged.

Naughty girl.

Her outfit seemed designed to entice and tease—from the tightly-cinched waist to the bustier that gave her breasts a deeper than natural cleavage.

Cappuccino skin and raspberry lips. Hair the color of night.

And those dazzling golden eyes that had caught his attention the moment she’d looked up at him at the restaurant in Marfa.

Her gaze darted over his mask, as if trying to place him, but someone like her wouldn’t remember a nobody like him. A random patron of the same restaurant—what was it, over a week ago? Oh no, she could look all she wanted, but he—

“I know you,” she said, raising her voice over the music.

Sonofabitch.

He leaned closer again, and this time she didn’t lean away at all. “I doubt it,” he said to her. “I’d have remembered someone as breath taking as you.”

At the edge of his peripheral vision, he saw her breasts hitch as she drew a sharp breath. Her smell came to him then; something soft and feminine, yet fresh. Lavender and lemon, perhaps.

“Do you dance?” he asked, his mouth still by her ear. He very much wanted to brush his lips over her ear, but that would mean he’d have to take off his mask. And he liked the way she studied him, frustrated that she couldn’t see past that barrier.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she said, and then took a step back.

But he wasn’t planning on letting her out of his grasp. Not now, not ever.

His options were clear: he could take the DEA badge out of his pocket, flash it in her direction, and lead her off the dance floor. Or, he could see how much she would confess to when she thought him just another of her blind followers.

His fingers twitched. He had a pair of handcuffs in his suit, too. He could make sure they were nice and snug around her wrists.

But the game of cat and mouse he’d been playing the whole evening had aroused a sense mischief in him. How long before she realized he wasn’t on her side?

Fredericks had told him more than once that he should stop putting the cart before the horse.

This time, he’d weigh his options before acting. He’d try and get as much intel from her as possible without arousing her suspicion.

From the way she’d been kissing that bodyguard of hers, he already knew how to grease the wheels.

“But I recognize you,” he said, stepping forward so he could bring his mouth to her ear again.

Again her chest hitched.

“You’re the new capo, aren’t you?” he murmured into her ear as the DJ’s track dipped in anticipation of a break.

She took a hurried step back, which gave him just enough room to fall to one knee. When he looked up, her eyes had transformed into golden saucers.

He drew out the gift box, flourishing it to her like a knight to a queen.

Eleodora grasped his wrist, trying to tug him to his feet. “What are you doing?” she whispered, glancing around wildly.

“Happy birthday, Eleodora,” Kane said airily, proffering the gift.

“Get up, get up!” She tugged hard, sending the gift box to the floor. Shock flickered over her painted features. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Then she was the one on her knees, hunting through a sea of legs for the gift box that had bounced away.

Kane rose to his feet, chin on his chest as he watched her hunting around on the floor.

It was exactly where the capo of a cartel belonged — on her fucking knees, begging for mercy.