I wanted to untie that halter top and let the scrap of fabric covering her breasts fall to the sand and see how pink her nipples are against that moon-pale skin. And that thought has me picturing what I’d have to do next-run the tip of my tongue between her breasts to find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
The next jumble of images that crowd my brain raise a snarl in my throat. Annabel on her hands and knees with me behind her, riding hard. Her hair wrapped around my fist like a leash.
Jesus, fuck. I’m not that guy. I’m respectful to women. I don’t throw them down and take what I want like some kind of… beast. Fuck. But I am a beast now, aren’t I? And the urges are only getting stronger.
Is that what my father did to impregnate my mother? Did he force himself on her? Was that why she was always scared of him? Christ, I wish I could talk to her. Ask her about what happened, but she thinks I died in combat ten years ago. The government faked my death and gave me a new identity. I can’t show up like a ghost and demand answers.
I consider texting her now just to report my current situation, but that’s stupid. I won’t report until the job is done, and it sure as hell isn’t complete yet.
In fact, I’m fairly certain I’ve fucked it up. Which means my life is in danger.
But that’s nothing new.
What’s new is thinking people are something more than people, something different from human. The mind-fuck of finding out I’m a werewolf has me doubting every reality I’ve ever known, thinking my mark might be some kind of paranormal.
That’s stupid.
He’s a criminal who knows I’m after him. Just like any other marks. I just need to figure out another way to bug him.
I follow him out of the resort to the parking garage. And I totally lose him. I mean, he vanishes, completely. No cars start up, I hear no sound of footsteps.
But he’s gone.
Dammit.
Annabel
MY BOSS, Lucy Tentrite calls me at work the next morning. Her voice is tight. “Annabel, I heard you called Director Scape.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s true. It was for a personal matter.”
“Yes, your father’s death. Listen, I’m going to level with you as your boss and as a friend. I don’t know what you’re poking into, but between you and me, they don’t like it. I’m giving you a direct order-drop the investigation. Are we clear?”
“Wow. Okay.”
“You know the business we’re in. We trade in secrets. There’s some secret there, and it’s above your pay grade. It doesn’t matter if it involved your father. They don’t want you to see it.”
I don’t say anything because really… what do you say to that?
“You’ve been searching internal records-ones you shouldn’t have had access to. I could have your job for that. Hell, I could have you prosecuted for it.”
I catch my breath. They found out.
“Leave it alone.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s the word on Lucius Frangelico?” She changes the subject abruptly.
“Our operative is still in play.”
“What’s taking so long?”
I’ve wondered the same thing. I’ve had no check-in from Dune although that’s not unusual. He won’t call until the job is done. “I don’t know. I’ll find out.”
“Do that. And update me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Because I’m shaken, not because I like to reach out to the hunky agent, I text a message to Dune. “Headquarters wants an update.”
To my surprise, he calls immediately. “Secure line?”
“Switching.” I reroute his call to a burner phone I keep for talking with agents. “Go ahead.”
“What are you holding back about this guy?”
I pause to cover my surprise. Quickly, I open the Lucius Frangelico file and scroll through it for clues. I tap my finger lightly on the keyboard as I read.
“Annabel?”
He used my first name again. I shouldn’t love it so much.
“I’m here, just trying to figure out what you mean.”
“Every bug I’ve dropped he’s destroyed within minutes. This isn’t an ordinary target.”
“Okay. I see he has a propensity to disappear without a trace. Questionable comings and goings. Possible murders in which the victims may have been shot at close range after death.
“So, how were they actually killed?”
“Unknown. Their brains are usually blown out. In one case, a man was decapitated.” I fight a wave of nausea as I flip through the photos. And guilt. Because I should have researched this case deeper myself before I sent Dune. I guess I was too wrapped up in my personal research.
“Does the organization actually know what they’re after here, or is it a mystery investigation?”
“Unclear.”
“Permission to terminate suspect if engaged?”
A prick of fear creeps up the back of my neck. I try not to worry about agents getting killed-especially because I’m the one sending them out, but a foreboding chills me. Dune knows he’s in danger. Still, I give the only answer I can. “They want him alive.”
Dune curses softly. “I need different technology. He sweeps for bugs. Everything I’ve dropped on him has been destroyed.”
“I’ll contact R & D.”
“In the meantime, I’ll stay on him personally.”
That chill of foreboding returns. “Have you been made, Charlie?” Now I’m using first names, too.
He blows out a breath. “Possibly.”
Again, ice cold fear, like fingers squeezing my heart. I speak without thinking. “Come back in. I’ll reassign it.”
“The mission’s not lost yet.”
“Get back to L. A. That’s an order.”
Dune makes a noise that sounds like huh and says, “Copy that.”
I end the call, trying to shake the bad feeling I have. I’m not one to believe in intuition, but it seems like something’s telling me Charlie’s in danger.
Which makes me think of my dad’s death again. I’ve been mulling it over, and I remembered an old family friend, Sean Flack. He was a Marine, like my dad, but when I applied to the CIA, my mom said I should call him because he’d gone on to become the director of the agency. I hadn’t called because I don’t believe in using personal favors to get a job.
Sean was at my dad’s funeral. I remember him standing in his crisp suit, comforting my mom. After I joined the CIA, he left and become a politician. He’s a senator now.