Sitting back and waiting for something to come to her wasn’t Jax’s style. She was a dive-in-and-get-her-hands-dirty kind of gal. Fortunately, she also did what needed doing, and in this case, she was going to do Marcus Cross one way or another. She smiled at the thought when Gage’s voice came through the small audio device in her left ear.

“Target turned right on Michigan and is now approaching plant car at approximately twenty mph. Prepare to engage in less than thirty.”

From where she sat in the long shadows of the encroaching evening outside a small café, Jax savored the intoxicating rush of satisfaction even as nervous energy filled her. She felt a brief tinge of doubt but quickly pushed it away.

Round two was about to commence. She’d bested Cross once. She would do it again. The man was good, but she was better.

Even if he had made her sweat for a few heartbeats.

For the past week, he’d been more elusive than a white tiger in Africa.

They’d lost track of him for a full three days, from the time he’d dumped her clothes in a blacked-out studio apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, to the time he’d reclaimed them. He must like the scent of her dress, she thought viciously, because he’d gone back for it. He’d carried it with him when he’d retrieved the Tuturo payoff, and he carried it now.

Perv.

But it was all good, she assured herself. The hidden GPS chips had bought them enough time to set up. Whether he was headed back to his apartment or to O’Hare didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to make it with the money.

And once more, she was going to make damn sure he knew she was the one who’d taken it from him.

“He’s almost in position,” Gage murmured.

Holding her breath, Jax watched from behind dark shades as Marcus Cross came into view. Driving a sleek black Mercedes, he slowed to avoid the stalled car planted to stop him exactly twenty feet from her. As he did, he scanned the area, like a hawk wary of a bigger, badder prey animal lurking in the shadows.

“Now! Make contact, Jax,” Gage instructed.

She slid the shades from her face just as Cross’s gaze swept right, and their eyes locked. Her body jolted as if a live wire had been let loose and she gasped, almost involuntarily looking away. His penetrating eyes, however, refused to release hers as he slowed to a complete stop in the heavy traffic. She knew the exact moment recognition dawned. Under the glow of the streetlamp, his eyes sparked furiously.

How easily he had turned the table. The hunter became the hunted.

Even as he was hit from behind by Shane’s truck, his black Mercedes slamming into the jalopy in front of him—even as his body lurched and the air bag deployed—he didn’t flinch. No, he just shoved the air bag out of his face and stepped from the car.

Slowly, she stood, a small smile twisting her lips as she backed into the empty café. As planned, Dante jumped from the car in front of Cross and started railing obscenities while Shane angrily lunged from the truck buried in the Mercedes’ trunk. In the confusion, Gage slipped along the passenger side of the car and waited for an opportune time to lift the black briefcase with Cross’s blood money inside. Or rather, hers. If he wanted it back, he’d have to make a deal for it. A deal to allow her into his world.

She was inside the café now, but at no time had Cross broken visual contact. In long, unhurried strides, he moved around the front of the wreck, ignoring her team’s attempts to engage him. He maintained one single focus.

Her.

And that’s exactly what she wanted.

Come to mama, baby.

She backed up, one craeful step at a time, enough to keep him intrigued while her team continued to play out the sting. With a wicked grin, she ducked behind a wall and listened for the jingle of the bell on the café door.

Timing was paramount. The minute he strode through the threshold, she’d dart to the back of the café while the boys wrapped up. She’d hop in the waiting car and be off. Again.

But he never came through the front door.

Several long, silent minutes ticked by. In the lengthening shadows of twilight, Jax stood confused, as she caught the puzzled eyes of her team through the window.

Cross was nowhere in sight.

“What happened out there?” she softly demanded. What should have been a finessed sleight of hand had quickly turned into a major FUBAR.

“I don’t know,” Shane responded. “He . . . just vanished into thin air.”

“Impossible!” Jax hissed.

“The briefcase was empty—” Dante said from his position outside.

“Stone—any contact with the target?” she asked, knowing by now that he was in the alley behind the café.

“Nothing,” Stone answered.

“Jesus,” said Shane, exasperated as he looked at the damage to the pickup truck and shook his head. “How could he just disappear into thin air?” Dante walked up behind him and handed him a card. Shane nodded, dug into his back pocket and pulled his wallet out. He dug through it and pulled out a card. Dante handed him a pen. They acted as if they’d been exchanging insurance information.

“I don’t know where he is, but we’re going to wait,” Jax said. “He saw me. He’ll be here.”

“A firm,” Dante said continuing to play his part with Shane.

“I’m pulling my earpiece,” Jax said as she moved deeper into the quiet café, watching for Cross. “Do not engage unless I give the signal.” She removed the small device from her ear and dropped it down her bra. Cross was smart. Smart enough to guess he’d been set up. He’d look for an earpiece and probably pat her down for a wire. No way was she going to give him a reason to keep walking.

She felt oddly exposed without the device. With it intact, all she had to do was gasp and the calvary would charge in. But in reality, she didn’t need them. Jax Cassidy was more than capable of handling any man, even one as dangerous and as highly trained as Marcus Cross.

As the minutes ticked by with no sign of Cross, Jax struggled with conflicting emotions. She had seriously misjudged him. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to walk away from a pile of cash, but he was quite willing to walk away from her.

Damn it all to hell. A crashing sense of failure hit her hard, but she immediately pushed it away. So fine, she could accept he wasn’t interested in her as a woman—screw him. But she didn’t buy him walking away from information or revenge. He’d want to question her and demand to know what she wanted from him. Even if he hadn’t wanted to play right now, he’d be back and she’d be ready for him. As she was about to signal the boys to shut it down, she stopped.

Her skin pebbled as if a draft had cruised across her naked skin.

Then she froze, all her senses flaring out of control.

Her nostrils flickered, a powerful, dusky scent engulfing her like a thick shroud. It called to her, thickening her blood. She could almost feel her veins expanding to allow the extra flow to every part of her body, preparing her for . . . what? Part of her shivered, not in fear but . . . something else.

She was not alone. How the hell had he slipped in?

“Once bitten, my lovely, twice shy,” a low, husky voice said only inches from behind her.

Without skipping a beat, Jax drove a hard elbow into Cross’s solar plexus, ducked and turned. Keeping close to his body, she took a shot at his throat with the heel of her palm, but he caught her hand just as it made contact. Dropping, allowing the velocity of her weight to pull her down, Jax twisted, giving him a hard kick to his shin, then brought her hand up to break his band-of-steel grip on her wrist. One-handed, Cross yanked her up, lifting her feet clear off the floor.

She gasped, shocked by his strength. Bringing her knees to her chest, she kicked him hard in the gut. Air woofed from his chest, but he maintained his grip. Jax pulled up to kick him again, but he anticipated her move. With his forearm, he easily batted her feet away.

“Tell me when you’ve had enough and I’ll stop,” Cross said, lowering her to the floor. Grabbing her other hand, he yanked her up by both wrists. For a brief second, their gazes locked. She shook the hair from her face and glared at him. His ebony-rimmed crystalline eyes were hard, unrelenting. For a split second, his gaze dropped to her lips, causing them to part. Then, unceremoniously, he shoved her away from him. Her back hit the wall, and this time it was her air that rushed from her lungs at the impact.

“Come at me again, I’m going to hurt you,” he growled low.

Collecting herself, Jax considered her current tactics. They weren’t working. She was strong. He was stronger. She eyed him covertly from beneath her long dark lashes. Power radiated off him in waves. He reminded her of a big, sleek, predatory panther. The photos in his dossier did him little justice. Even the angry scar that ran the length of the right side of his face didn’t detract from his animal good looks. She hadn’t gotten that good a look at him at the nightclub, but here, in the low light of the café, she didn’t miss a thing about him. From his stylishly cut jet-black hair, his arresting face and full, mocking lips to his impeccable black suit and the way it hung effortlessly from his big, muscular body down to his custom black-leather Italian shoes, she didn’t miss a thing. Most especially the harsh glint of his unusual blue eyes.

She nodded, mentally shifting gears, then pushed off the wall.

In total op mode, Jax slowly stalked her nemesis. She smiled slightly. His eyes burned with anger, but he couldn’t hide the heat flickering behind them. She shook her head and was rewarded with his gaze raking her from her naturally thick, mahogany-colored hair, to her fitted black turtleneck to her short black-leather skirt down to the tips of her black, thigh-high stiletto jackboots that clicked on the hardwood floor.

She stopped two steps from him, planted her feet wide, and set her hands on her hips. “What if I like it to hurt?”

He took a bold step into her space. She didn’t expect anything less, but what she didn’t expect was the hard rush of desire that blindsided her. She tried unsuccessfully to deflect his arm as he grabbed a hunk of her hair and yanked, causing her to lose balance and fall into him.

In tandem, they caught their breath. Tension snapped and popped between them.

His smile widened, his white teeth glittered under the café lights. Jax’s heart rate accelerated. Her skin heated, her nerves pulsated, and to her horror she felt a tightening between her thighs, a primal response she thought had died the night Montes had attacked her. She gasped at the unexpected vision of Montes’s fat, odious body panting above her.

Frowning, Cross released her and stood back. She raised her chin and glared at the man standing a foot away from her. He was just as much of a monster as Montes.

Cross nodded toward the crash scene outside the window. The low wail of a siren cut through the absolute quiet of the café. “What’s that all about?”

She shrugged and followed his gaze. Dante and Shane were talking to a uniform. Jax laughed low, the husky sexiness of it surprising her. She’d practiced what came natural to her, had honed it with razor-sharp precision, but still, hearing it now, it surprised her. It had its effect. His eyes swung from the building commotion outside to her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.”

She smiled and stepped closer. “Maybe.” Then slowly stepped to circle around him, but he countered in what was becoming a tense dance. “I want in on your action.”

He smiled again, his white teeth flashing as he savored her with his eyes. The close-up shots she’d seen hadn’t done them justice, nor had the darkness in the nightclub where they’d first met. She was seeing them up close for the first time. They were an unusual blue, like an arctic wolf’s, but thick black circles and black striations humanized them, giving them a depth she had never seen in another’s eyes.

“Maybe I don’t share,” he softly returned.

“You saw my work. I’m a pro. I can take what you don’t want.”

“I want it all.”

Jax thought of little Amy Stover and got angry, but she forced herself to keep cool. “That’s what I hear.”

He scowled. “What else do you hear?”

“That you work for a guy who has connections all over the world. That he pays well.” She cocked her head and said, “I like expensive things.”

“So do I.”

“Then make the introduction. I won’t let you or him down.”

Cross smiled and slowly shook his head. “Do I have moron stamped on my forehead?”

Jax pursed her lips. “So, you won’t share?”

“I told you, I don’t share.”

“Then I’ll take what’s mine.” She extended her open hand, palm up. “Hand over the cash.” When he didn’t move, she shoved her hand closer. “For the Tuturo hit. Hand it over.”

His eyes narrowed to slits before widening. “How did you know about the contract on Tuturo?”

Jax smiled and trailed her fingers across his chest as the dance continued, but he grabbed her wrist, his fingers punishing. Showing no pain, Jax smiled up into his cautious eyes and shrugged, as if he’d been asking her for a pie recipe. “I have friends.”

“Friends, huh?” He reached out with his free hand and traced a finger along her jawline. The initial chill followed by the warmth of his touch did strange things to her. Unhurried, he ran his fingertip to her chin, then slowly along her full bottom lip. “Tell me who your friends are.”

Jax slowly shook her head, retrieving her wrist from his grasp. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

He slid a long muscular arm around her waist and pulled her hard against him, bringing an abrupt halt to their waltz. It suddenly occurred to Jax that she was no longer in control.

His harsh hiss of breath when her hips pressed to his hard thighs caught high in her own throat. He was warm. No. Hot. But cool. Like marble. Smooth and hard all at once. His power swirled around her, thick, heavy, hazardous. Seductive and terrifying in its intensity, she felt his imprint on every inch of her body.

It was too much, too soon.

She made to turn and pull away, but he stayed her. His hands vises around her. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought the urge to give her team the signal for intervention. She could do this, she told herself. What was the worst thing that could happen? He’d get a few good shots in before the cavalry arrived? That she could handle. She opened her eyes and allowed her muscles to loosen.

“No, no,” he breathed and lowered his lips to her cheek, “you, my bloodthirsty little minx, are going to kiss me, then tell me who your contact is.”

Jax jerked her head back and opened her mouth to tell him to go to hell, but she didn’t get the chance. His lips, hard, demanding, and warm, stifled her. His arm locked around her waist. She tried to bring her knee up, but he pressed his big body more tightly to hers, making any advance impossible. She felt each indelible inch of him against her body. She fisted her hands, intent on one-two jabbing him under the chin. He released her and caught both of her hands in one big one, yanking her straight up against him.

Immobilized as she was, she attacked with a different weapon. Her teeth. She bit him. Hard. On the lip. He flinched, then groaned. His blood, warm and thick, blended with her saliva. The thick, coppery taste of it didn’t gross her out. Just the opposite. It felt like what the initial rush of cocaine must feel like. Exhilarating. Wildly freeing. She hated responding to him.

She sucked his bottom lip. He made a sound half between a groan of pain and moan of pleasure and retaliated by biting her back. He bit her! So hard he broke her skin. And despite the shock of his action, her body snapped, her eyelids suddenly felt heavy, her body thrummed. He moaned as he laved her bottom lip with his tongue. His chest expanded as if he’d taken a deep breath and his body hardened more against hers. She licked him back and felt the prick of his teeth against her tongue. He made a sound so basic and so primal that Jax’s body spontaneously responded with a warm flood of moistness between her thighs. Violently, she wrenched her head back.

“Jesus!” she gasped. What was happening to her?

He pushed her away and turned from her. His wide shoulders moved up and down as he tried to catch his runaway breath. She was glad she wasn’t the only one affected by what had just happened.

“Who the hell are you?” Jax demanded, striding toward him.

Without turning around, he thrust his arm toward her, his long fingers splayed, his palm halting her.

“Don’t,” he softly threatened.

“Don’t what?” she demanded.

“Don’t play games with me.” He turned around then, and Jax nearly passed out. Holy mother of God. He looked as if he was about to tear her apart limb by limb.

Never had she been so terrified or sexually stimulated as she was at that moment. He stood before her, dark, hungry and so dangerous that she had to tell herself to breathe. Violence palpated from him. Like a panther at his kill, her blood glistening on his lips, eyes firece, muscles tightened. If released, he would do terrible things.

As she stared, his full lips parted, revealing strong white teeth, the incisors just slightly longer than normal. His crystal blue eyes mesmerized, his aura pulling her in. She felt like she had no control over her body.

He took a menacing step toward her. “You know who I am. And knowing who I am, you also know I don’t play nice. If you get any closer, I will destroy you.”

“Like you destroyed Amy Stover?” Jax blurted. He frowned. He knew exactly who she was referring to. Jax choked back her contempt. “No witness to you tossing Blalock off that tenth-story balcony, was she?”

His eyes flashed dangerously. “That girl was dead before I entered the apartment.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“You don’t know what I am or what I stand for. I don’t kill children.” He turned toward the door.

Jax touched her swollen lip, then licked their mingled blood. A sharp jolt of electricity speared straight to her womb. “What are you?” she whispered.

Cross turned. “I’m your worst nightmare. Stay away from me.”

Jax took a tentative step toward him. “Or what?”

Cross wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. For a long moment he stared at the crimson smudge on his skin before looking at her. The intensity of his gaze stopped her cold. “Or die.” He turned on his heel, and just as he touched the doorknob, she saw Dante and Shane striding toward the threshold on the other side.

Cross laughed and opened the door. Just as she thought the three men would collide, Dante and Shane walked into the café. As if Cross had never been there!

“What the hell?” Jax said, rushing at them. “Did you see him?”

“Yes!” they said in unison. Jax jerked open the door and ran out onto the busy street. She looked up and down the sidewalk. Though there were several pedestrians, Cross’s broad shoulders were nowhere to be seen.

Dante and Shane came up behind her. “We saw him through the glass. He was there!”

Jax stood stupefied. “He disappeared into thin air.”

“How do we search for a ghost?” Shane asked.

Jax stood silent for a long minute, unable to comprehend what had just happened, and not wanting to believe what she thought she’d seen. One thing was for sure. He’d be back. She slid her hand into the long, shallow pocket of her leather skirt and pulled out a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills.

“He’s going to want his money back.”

---

Marcus. Come to me, now.

The order ricocheted inside his head, angry and ominous, just as it had since he’d left his car to confront the woman. As blind rage and bloodlust fought a colossal battle inside him, Marcus continued to ignore Lazarus. Even worse, he hesitated and glanced behind him, tempted to finish what he and the woman had started.

Cursing, he strode away.

He’d chosen retreat because he’d been afraid of losing control.

It didn’t set easily with him, but he had greater matters to attend to. That meant keeping his sights on the big picture and forgetting what was trivial.

Forget that little minx had bested him!

Forget that she had his money and that she had made him look like an amateur when it had come to taking Tuturo out.

Forget his own foolishness for leaving his car and walking into her little trap just as she’d planned. And it had been foolishness. He’d ignored Lazarus’s call in a vain attempt to get answers.

Who was she?

Why did she make his blood boil?

What the hell did she want with him?

’Cause he sure as hell knew what he wanted from her.

He touched his lip even as his dick throbbed. Jesus Christ, her blood was more addictive than heroin. Worse, when she’d bitten him, he’d crossed a self-imposed line. He had sex because it made him feel human, but he’d never exchanged blood with a human and allowed them to live. Until her.

He had tasted her, wanted her and let her go. But God help him, he wanted more.

That had settled it for him.

She could have his money. She could keep her contacts. No way was he going back to that pond. She’d bring him to his knees. He knew it as instinctively as he knew he was going to kill that night. He continued his mad stride down Michigan Avenue knowing that if he didn’t feed his hunger soon, he’d lose all control. And when he lost control nothing good ever came of it. He turned down an alley. As he rounded the corner, he slammed shoulders with a local hood.

“Motherfucker!” the piece of trash yelled and pulled a pistol from his duster. Just as he leveled it at Marcus’s chest, Marcus snapped. He grabbed the thug by the throat and shook him so violently bones snapped. The pistol clattered to the ground. Marcus raised his arm over his shoulders, lifting the criminal off the ground. Violently, he slammed the thug against the brick wall of the building. Rage, spurred by passion for a woman he could not have, viciously ate at him.

Ignoring the thug’s screams for mercy, Marcus let the beast inside of him take over. He sunk his teeth into the pulsing jugular of the man who’d had the misfortune of tangling with Marcus Cross. It would be his last tango.

Minutes later, he dropped the carcass to the ground, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, licked the last vestiges of blood from his lips, and stepped over the dead man. He was sated, for the moment.

As the night turned to black, Marcus prowled the treacherous streets of south Chicago. No one dared cross his path. Tonight he was death to anyone who dared to look him in the eye.

And still, the vision, the scent, the taste of the woman permeated every part of him, reminding him of the promise he’d made her. Despite his best intentions, he knew they weren’t through with each other.

Not by a long shot. Not for long.