I duck into an alcove by the Landwolfe lecture theater, and slide my thumb over my phone’s fingerprint scanner. I don’t have long.

The screen flashes to life. I navigate through a couple of folders to a bland app icon. I tap it, reconfirm my fingerprint, and an encrypted messaging platform fills the screen.

Nate: Any update on the Muerta Brigade operatives? Did you get anything from that present I gift wrapped for you? I’m flying blind here.

Within seconds, a response flashes onto my screen. I wince. That means my handler, Natalie, is directly involved. I can picture her now. She’s probably pacing around the dimly lit operations Center with a face like she’s bitten into a sour grape.

Operations: You need to move things up. We are getting pressure from the agency. They are not happy about the lack of progress. Maybe it is time to bring the girl in, find out what she knows.

My heart stops dead. I can’t allow Paragon to get their hands on Kim. She’s only just coming out of her shell. If something like that happens now – and worse, she finds out I had a part in it…

Crap. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

It’s not only that she’ll never forgive me. I can deal with that. This is my fault, all of it. No, what’s much worse is that it’ll shake her newfound confidence. I can’t let that happen.

Nate: No. Not happening. She’s my asset. You don’t get to touch her. That’s not how this works. The undercover operative calls the shots.

Operations: You aren’t producing. You’ve got forty-eight hours. We can always find another operative.

I clench my fist. I want to fire back an angry response. I stop myself. It won’t do any good.

Nate: I’m about to rustle the bushes. I need time to pick through whatever comes hurtling out.

I hit send and wait for an answer, staring transfixed by the screen. There’s no reply. I let out a deep, angry hiss as I finally release the contents of my lungs. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath. I’m vibrating with tension now.

I know what Natalie is doing. She’s playing me. She’s trying to get me fired up. In the past, it might have worked. Old Nate’s pride would have been pricked. Old Nate would have done anything to prove his manhood. But now, I have something much more important than my ego on the line.

“Mister Foster?”

I turn to see my PA smiling at me. When she sees my face, however, she flinches. I soften my expression. I didn’t realize my anger was standing out so obviously.

“Are we ready, Casey?” I say, killing the messaging program as I turned. I tap the icon harder than necessary. It doesn’t do much to improve my mood.

Casey flicks her long blonde hair like a horse trying to escape the attentions of a particularly persistent insect. She rests her hands on her hips with irritation. “It’s Carrie,” she says with a bite.

Of course, she’s annoyed. It was apparent from the moment she laid eyes on me that the woman wanted me. I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind… once.

Then Kim entered my life for the second time, and I put that thought on ice. Still, that’s no reason to be rude to her. The truth is Carrie doesn’t even register on my radar. She’s an attractive girl, but she doesn’t start anything inside me.

Think she’d appreciate it if you told her?

“I’m sorry,” I grin. I don’t say her name, just in case I mix it up … again. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“It’s nothing,” Carrie says, eyeing me up again. She brushes some imaginary lint off my shoulder. I know it’s just an excuse to touch me. “I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to –,” she licks her lips suggestively, “help.”

My phone buzzes. I exhale gratefully, and push past my overly forward assistant. I make a mental note to have her transferred. I glance down at the screen, once again bright with life.

Kim: Do you have to come to this, too?

Nate: Look up.

I slip the small device into the inside pocket of my suit and step through the double doors. I emerge into a crowded lecture theater. The heat of every one of Landwolfe’s employees’ stares burns the back of my skull. I don’t have to look up to know that most of them would rather be anywhere but this room.

There is a lectern waiting for me on-stage. I walk towards it.

Three hundred pairs of bored eyes stare back at me. I guess they have to do this kind of thing all the time – long, bureaucratic training seminars that get nowhere, and do even that slowly. One hand rises from the crowd.

I scrunch up my eyes as I look back. The bright overhead light makes me wince, but I find him. Is this guy for real?

As soon as I pick the guy out from the crowd, I have my answer. He’s wearing a wide, bright pink tie and a thick pinstriped suit. It looks like he saw a newspaper cartoon of what a banker is supposed to wear, and then went out and actually bought the conclusion of his spurious research.

“Hey! Excuse me!” he shouts out in a loud, self-important, American accent “Yeah ,you. Buddy – can I just get a check on how long this is going to take? Some of us have real business to take up our time, you know what I’m saying?”

I lean forward and tap the microphone. A loud echo rings out around the room. “Just checking,” I grin. Three hundred stern faces look back at me. “Tough crowd…”

“Hey, guy!” the banker in the pink tie bellows, standing up, “I’m not here to listen to your jokes –.”

“Sit the hell down,” I growl. “You’re here because I want you here. The sooner you get that through your thick skull, the better.”

I feel like I’m back at school, in the second leading up to a fight. Half the room is focused on me, spellbound; the other half is staring at him. It’s a battle of wills. I’m not losing. I don’t look away.

The banker holds his hands up. His cheeks puff with air, and I can tell he’s spitting mad, but he sits down. The crowd gives off the slightest of disappointed groans – just a chorus of air escaping their collective lungs, really. They were expecting something more exciting.

“Thank you,” I smile sweetly. “This meeting will run a lot smoother if everyone lets me speak. My name is Nate Foster. Not a lot of people in here will know who I am.”

I pause, rest my hands on the lectern, and look out into the crowd. I want to turn up the heat. Someone, or some ones, in this crowd are responsible for moving money for the Templar cartel. I need to watch out for any sign of nervousness …

… except, my mouth suddenly goes dry. My gaze stops sweeping across the crowd, and comes to a halt on one person.

Kim. She smiles at me, and my stomach does a backflip.

Kim’s dressed in a gray jacket and a white shirt. It hides those delicious curves I love so much, but she is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I want to stare at her and her alone. I want to talk to her and let her know that I’m here to protect her; that I will keep her safe.

But I can’t.

I shake my head to clear it. I look away from Kim. As I do, I think I see her waving at me, but I can’t be sure. Someone coughs in the crowd. I hear the hum of the stage lighting. I take a sip from a glass of water.

“I was brought in for one simple reason;” I say, getting back to business, “to hunt down traitors in our midst.”

Okay sure, if you accused me of being a touch overdramatic, you’d be right. Thing is, I wouldn’t care. It’s having the effect I want. Suddenly everyone in the crowd is sitting up a bit straighter.

A few people are glancing around, looking at each other. They are unsure. I can almost sense what’s running through their heads. I can see them trying to figure out who I’m talking about. I can feel them worrying that I’m talking about them. I can taste the nervousness spreading across the crowd.

My pocket buzzes. I reach in and set my phone onto the lectern.

“It’s a big word,” I growl, “but it’s also a pretty big crime. Someone is stealing from this bank. I promise that I will not rest until I find out which one of you it is.”

I pause and look out into the crowd, searching for any sweating faces. I can’t help but zero in on Kim’s face. She’s wearing a thoughtful expression, like I’ve got her thinking. She looks down at something in her lap.

I glance down at my phone.

Kim: You look good in a suit.

I can’t hide my smile. I wipe it from my face immediately. It doesn’t give off the right impression, not when I’m trying to scare a room full of bankers witless.

The phone buzzes again.

Kim: You looked better when it was on my floor.

Kim: Are you coming over tonight?

Kim: I’m wearing a surprise…

I run a hand through my hair. Suddenly the room feels a whole lot hotter than it did a second before. I’m glad I’m standing behind this wooden lectern; otherwise, my sudden flush of desire would be a lot more obvious…

I turn my phone over. It buzzes again, and it takes everything I have to stop myself from looking at it. God, I want to know what she’s saying. My Kiss is turning into such a minx. Nothing I can give is too much for her.

It buzzes again. I clear my throat. I look up, and suddenly realize that everyone’s waiting on me to say something.

“I…”

My eyes sweep over where Kim is sitting. I can’t tell them to stay away from her. I’m addicted to the sight of her: the touch; the taste; all of it. If it was up to me, I’d call her out of that crowd right now and take her somewhere private.

If she wants to tease me with a text like that, I’ll show her what she’s missing.

The crowd rustles. I can feel them getting restless. I’ve got to bring this to an end, quickly. But I’m not leaving without what I came for – a lead on who is working with the cartel.

“If anyone knows anything, anything at all, then I urge them to come straight to me. Maybe your boss is forcing you into something you’re not comfortable doing. Maybe you got caught up in something. Maybe you’re in over your head.”

I soften my voice.

I look directly at Kim.

I’m talking to her, alone, even if she doesn’t know it. I’m saying the things I wish I could say to her face.

“I can help.”

The man next to Kim shifts in his chair. He’s a short, squat man with a balding scalp. His face rings a bell. I’m sure I’ve seen it before, but where?

At the briefing.

I switch my gaze to him. His name bubbles up from some muddy depth inside my mind. Peter Donaldson. He quails underneath the heat of my stare. He tugs at his tie, making room for breathing, as if he’s suffocating. His eyes flicker back and forth – looking everywhere except my face.

It’s him, I know it is.

I turn up the heat. If Peter really is the one I’m looking for, then the next step entails spooking him into doing something stupid.

“You see,” I say, making up every word on the spot, “I already have my suspect in mind. The police are involved. You can’t hide. It’s only a matter of time.”

I walk offstage. I don’t bother holding Peter’s eye. If it’s him, he’ll slip up. I know he will.