“I can handle this,” Blake finally replied. “I’m staying the course.”

“Whatever you’re thinking about this woman, think again. It’s too big a coincidence that you were just put on a plane to San Francisco from Denver with no notice, and she’s there waiting on you.”

“I’m doing this.”

The elevator dinged and Kyle cursed, clearly having heard it. “Damn it, Blake, stay alive. If your brothers find out I helped you go after Alvarez and let you get killed, we’ll both be dead.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Blake said dryly, “but don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere but to my meeting.” The doors slid open and Blake ended the call before stepping onto the shiny white and gray tile of the sleek triangle-shaped lobby.

“Nice to see you’ve arrived safely, Mr. Wright.” the pretty twenty-something blonde behind the massive oval- shaped desk greeted him, using his alias. He’d never met her but he was clearly expected by her and, no doubt, Ms. Tiffany Snow. The woman waved him to his left. “Straight down the hallway. It leads directly to Mr. Mendez’s private offices.”

The fictional character he’d carefully crafted as Blake Wright, down to a birth certificate, and a name close enough to his own to make any slip-up seem an accident, was arrogant, an egomaniac who would expect to be escorted to his destination.

Appropriate to that character, Blake shot her an annoyed look and headed the direction she’d indicated. No doubt Mendez was trying to downplay Blake’s importance, to shoot down his confidence despite a fictional track record of being good enough at neutralized threats of a lawful affiliation to those who lived unlawfully, to make him worth pursuing. What Mendez didn’t know, but soon would, was that the only thing Blake planned to neutralize was him and his Kingpin boss, and no one, not even pretty little Tiffany Snow, was going to get in the way of making that happen.

***

He was tall, dark, and deadly if she’d ever seen a man who fit the description. Impossible to forget. Impossible to avoid apparently, too, since he was here in San Francisco where she was, and not in Denver where he was supposed to be.

Kara Tatum (AKA Tiffany Snow and Kara Michaels) watched Blake Wright saunter towards her desk in a loose-legged swagger, his jeans and a leather jacket and all that thick raven hair tied at his nape, giving him a rough, tough, edgy look that was sinfully hot. And somehow, some way, she managed to remain cool and composed on the outside when she was a volcanic eruption of fire and ice on the inside. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d found out about his arrival an hour before and had time to strategize his impending visit; she was far from ready for another dose of this man.

This man. No. This monster. He was one of them, part of the cartel, and yet a week before, he’d managed to stir something inside her he shouldn’t have. Made her want him when she should do nothing but hate him. Made her hesitate to drug him when she should want to kill him. And that was far more dangerous than the knowledge he possessed that could destroy her and people she loved, because it made him a weakness she couldn’t afford.

Kara pushed to her feet to greet him, putting the persona of a cold-hearted woman that she wished she could be into place. Then maybe the torment she’d seen in this man’s eyes when they’d been stripped naked wouldn’t have made him feel human.

“You look surprised,” Kara commented as he stopped in front of her desk, giving him a cool-as-cucumber lift of her lips. “I do love surprising people.”

He towered over her petite five foot three height by close to a foot, his rich brown eyes fixing intensely on her. He was big and broad, and she wished she didn’t know just how deliciously carved to muscular perfection he was beneath his clothes.

Long seconds ticked by without him speaking, his hot stare sliding over her pale pink silk blouse to the top of her black fitted skirt, then lifting, the look in his eyes telling her he remembered all too well what was beneath her clothing. Heat spread over her shoulders and down her arms, and her mouth went dry.

One of his dark brows arched and he finally broke the silence. “Surprise? Is that what you call this impromptu meeting?”

“Were you expecting me?” she challenged.

He studied her for a second, maybe two, that felt like another eternity. “Were you expecting me? That’s the real question now, isn’t it?”

“I have you on the schedule, Mr. Wright.”

“Mr. Wright? Aren’t we a little beyond formality?”

“No,” she said tightly. “We aren’t. We were business.”

“Business?”

“Richter, the head of the Denver division used to work here,” she explained. “He wanted to know you could stumble and cover your tracks before he recommended you to my boss.”

“And he asked you to help?”

“He was certain you’d recognize his staff.”

“And Mendez knows about this?”

She shook her head. “It’s our secret.”

His eyes glinted, narrowed, and he moved suddenly, leaning forward, his hands on her desk. He was close, so close she could smell the spicy, wonderful scent of him. “Why would you, or Richter, keep this our secret?”

“I don’t know. I just know he told me to keep it a secret.”

“For leverage over me.”

“I don’t know.”

“And what did you get out of this?”