Stone Cold Undercover Agent

But no one had ever touched her that way and she’d finally gotten to a point where she didn’t think it would happen. That was her own stupid fault for thinking this could be her normal.

The man finally took off his sunglasses. His eyes were almost as dark as his hair, a brown that was very nearly black. Everything about his demeanor changed; the swagger, the suave charm, gone.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a low voice.

Maybe if she hadn’t been a captive for eight years, she might have believed him. But she didn’t, not for a second.

“You’re just going to need to play along,” he continued in that maddeningly gentle voice.

“Play along with what?” she asked, pushing as far into the corner as she could.

“You’ll see.”

Gabby wanted to cry, which had been an impulse she’d beaten out of herself years ago, but it was bubbling up inside her along with the new fear. It wasn’t fair. She was so tired of her life not being fair.

When the man reached out for her, she went with those instincts from the very first time she’d been brought there.

She fought him with everything she had.

* * *

JAIME ALESSANDRO HADN’T worked his way up “The Stallion’s” operation by being a particularly nice guy. Undercover work, especially this long and this deep, had required him to bend a lot of the moral codes he’d started police work with.

But thus far, he’d never had to beat up or restrain a woman. This woman was surprisingly agile and strong, and she was coming at him with everything she had.

He was very concerned he was going to have to hurt her just to get her to stop. He could stand a few scratches, but he doubted The Stallion was going to trust him with the next big job if he let this woman give him a black eye—no matter how strong and “feisty” she was.

God, how he hated that word.

“Ma’am.” He tried for his forceful FBI agent voice as he managed to hold one of her arms still. He didn’t want to hurt the poor woman who’d been here eight years—a fact he only knew because she’d just told him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised at this point. He’d learned very quickly in his undercover work that what the FBI had on Victor Callihan, a.k.a. The Stallion, was only the tip of the iceberg.

If he thought about it too much, the things The Stallion had done, the things Jaime had done to get here... Well, he didn’t, because he’d had to learn how to turn that voice of right and wrong off and focus only on the task at hand.

Bringing down The Stallion.

That meant if she didn’t stop flailing at him and landing some decent blows, he was going to have to restrain her any way he could, even if it caused her some pain.

Though he had her arm clamped in a tight grip, she still thrashed and kicked at him, very nearly landing a blow that would have brought him to his knees. He swore and, though he very much didn’t want to, gave her a little jerk that gave him the leverage he needed to grab her from behind with both arms.

She still bucked and kicked, but with his height advantage and a full grip on her upper body, he could maneuver her this way and that to keep her from landing any nasty hits.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help you, I promise.”

She spat, probably aiming for him but missing completely since he had her from behind. It was only then he realized he’d spoken in Spanish instead of English.

He’d grown up speaking both, but his work for The Stallion and the identity he’d assumed required mostly speaking Spanish and pretending he struggled with English.

It was slipups like that—not realizing what language he was speaking, not quite remembering who he was—that always sent a cold bolt of fear through him.

He needed this to be over. He needed to get out. Before he lost himself completely. He could only hope that Gabriella Torres would be the last piece of the puzzle in getting to the heart of The Stallion’s operation.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Jaime said in a low, authoritative tone. Certain, self-assured, even though he didn’t feel much of either at this particular moment.

“Then let go of me,” she returned, still bucking, throwing her head back and narrowly missing head-butting him pretty effectively.

He tried not to think about what might have happened to her in the course of being hidden way too long from the world. It was a constant fight between the human side of him and the role he had to play. He wouldn’t lose his humanity, though. He refused. He might have to bend his moral code from time to time, but he wouldn’t lose the part of him that would feel sympathy. If he lost that, he’d never be able to go back.

Jaime noted that though Gabriella still fought his tight hold, she was tiring.

“Be still and I’ll let you go,” he said quietly, hoping that maybe his outer calm would rub off on her.

She tried to land a heel to his shin but when that failed she slumped in his arms. “Fine.”

Carefully and slowly, paying attention to the way she held herself and the pliancy of her body, Jaime released her from his grip. Since she didn’t renew her fight, he took a few steps away so she could see he had no intention of hurting her.

When she turned and looked at him warily, he held his hands up. Her breathing was labored and there were droplets of sweat gathered at her temples. She had a pretty face despite the pallor beneath her tan complexion. She had a mass of dark curls pulled back and away from her face, and he had to wonder how old she was.

She looked both too young and too world-weary all at the same time, but he couldn’t let that twist his insides. He’d seen way worse at this point, hadn’t he? “I’m not going to harm you, Gabriella. In fact, I want to help you.”

She laughed, something bitter and scathing that scraped against what little conscience he had left.

“Sure you do, buddy. And this is the Taj Mahal.”

Yeah, she’d be perfect for what he needed. Now he just had to figure out how to use her without blowing everything he’d worked for.

Chapter Two (#ua443a2e0-39b1-5b8e-9c7c-2ae6decd0d50)

Gabby was wrung out. Physically. Emotionally. It had been a long time since she’d had something to react so violently against. Her breathing was uneven and her insides felt scraped raw.

She wanted to cry and it had been so long since she’d allowed herself that emotional release.

She couldn’t allow it now. Not with the way this man studied her, intently and far too interested. She had become certain of her power in this odd world she’d been thrust into against her will, but she didn’t believe in that power in the face of this man.

She closed her eyes against the wave of despair and the need to give up on this whole surviving thing.

“Gabriella. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I’m going to say it even if you don’t believe it. I will not hurt you.”

The worst part was that she was so exhausted she wanted to believe him. No one had promised her safety in the past eight years, but just because no one had didn’t mean she could believe this one.

“I guess it’s my lucky day,” she returned, trying to roll her eyes but exhaustion limited the movement.

“I know. I know. I do. Don’t trust me. Don’t believe. I just need you to go along with some things.”

“What kind of things? And, more important, why?” She shook her head. Questions were pointless. The man was going to lie to her anyway. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Do whatever you’re going to do.”

“You fought me.”