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In His Sights
Danica Winters
They both have secrets that could get them killed… As second-in-command of her family’s business empire, Mindy Kohl’s independent to a fault. But after she eludes death by inches and becomes guardian to her niece, Mindy needs help and Jarrod Martin steps up to take on the role.  But together can they outsmart those who want Mindy dead when they are both keeping secrets from each other?


They both have secrets that could get them killed…
As second-in-command of her family’s business empire, Mindy Kohl is independent to a fault. But after she eludes death by inches and becomes guardian to her niece, a five-year-old with Down syndrome, Mindy needs someone to have her back. Jarrod Martin, who is investigating the crime syndicate targeting the Kohl family, steps up to take on the role. Together, can they outsmart those who want Mindy dead when they are both keeping secrets from each other?
DANICA WINTERS is a multiple-award-winning, bestselling author who writes books that grip readers with their ability to drive emotion through suspense and occasionally a touch of magic. When she’s not working, she can be found in the wilds of Montana, testing her patience while she tries to hone her skills at various crafts—quilting, pottery and painting are not her areas of expertise. She believes the cup is neither half-full nor half-empty, but it better be filled with wine. Visit her website at danicawinters.net (http://danicawinters.net)
Also by Danica Winters (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)
Hidden Truth
Ms Calculation
Mr Serious
Mr Taken
Smoke and Ashes
Dust Up with the Detective
Wild Montana
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In His Sights
Danica Winters


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-0-008-90485-2
IN HIS SIGHTS
© 2019 Danica Winters
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)
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To Mac.
Thanks for always believing in me

Acknowledgements
This series wouldn’t have been possible without a great team of people, including Melanie Calahan and Clare Wood, my #1k1hr friends, Jill Marsal and the editors at Mills & Boon—thank you for all your hard work.
Also, thank you to my readers. You keep me writing.
Contents
Cover (#ubd8f2f5e-7068-5b4a-aa9c-23c8103cc601)
Back Cover Text (#u9728fe46-9fe2-56d1-b0c8-136d8b0c873e)
About the Author (#uae3adfe0-03e2-5039-a543-20da9deb07b2)
Booklist (#uef00a805-caa4-594b-9357-ccb1f5243e61)
Title Page (#ud6e4a49f-3e60-55c9-8e3e-20f69f6d146b)
Copyright (#u849c7fa3-00b1-5c69-a2ae-d8e94070ac6f)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u398c5a1c-5d84-5dfd-94ac-0023e4329da9)
Acknowledgements (#u3dd25a7a-7951-5850-b3a3-4bb883145a89)
Chapter One (#uc89f233d-0789-545c-9a6a-745f7a6f069f)
Chapter Two (#u7e10cf08-2d9c-517f-884f-c6a67c872067)
Chapter Three (#u5d2abe81-acab-59b6-ac12-106bf5f18d0a)
Chapter Four (#u79a585ba-a84a-5bef-9817-eb8496935e9b)
Chapter Five (#u53a5ab62-6f58-5bd3-95ea-ede76b78e08f)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)
It was impossible to change a person. However, it was possible to change a person’s opinion—given the right motivation. And, as it so happened, death was one hell of a motivator.
Jarrod Martin looked at the man strapped to the chair in the center of the interrogation room, deep in the guts of Camp Four within the confines of Camp Delta, also known as Guantanamo Bay or Gitmo. The air was hot, reminding him of his days in Iraq, but heavy with the dank humidity and the scent of sweat and fear.
As soon as he was done here he could make his way back out into the world…a world that didn’t outwardly appear to be at war. And yet, no matter where he was in the world or under what regime, there was always some unspoken or unacknowledged war—even at his new home in Montana, and it was one of the many reasons he was in no rush to head there.
For the good of the people and for himself, he was here—the man sent in to rectify security threats and take down terrorists.
“Cut him loose,” he ordered, looking to the two agents he had been given as guards.
“Sir, this man is a known criminal,” the agent nearest him said. He looked to be about twenty-five, and Jarrod swore he could even see a smear of milk on his upper lip.
He held back a chuckle. “What’s your name?”
“Agent Arthur,” the man said.
“Well, Agent Arthur, I didn’t ask for your opinion.” The last thing he wanted, or needed, was someone questioning how he did his job. He’d been involved in interrogations long enough to know what did and didn’t work—and he didn’t need some know-it-all rookie his boss had stuck him with rocking the boat.
“My apologies, sir,” the man said, walking over to their suspect and unlocking his restraints. “I just thought—”
Jarrod shot him a look that said shut up in every language. “His feet, as well,” Jarrod said, motioning in the direction of the shackles.
The rookie zipped his lip and set to work. Jarrod took one more look over his suspect’s file, for effect rather than the need to know. He’d seen more than his fair share of these kinds of guys—the corporate jerks who thought they were above the law…right until they found themselves sitting in his interrogation chair.
Daniel Jeffery, the young CEO of Heinrich and Kohl gun manufacturing, sat back in his chair and looked around the room. He looked like a wolf that had just been set loose from a snare. Jarrod held back a mirth-filled smile. Given enough time, he would turn this wolf into a pup who would beg to do his bidding.
“How are you doing, Daniel? Do you need anything? Water? Sandwich?” he asked, trying to ingratiate himself with the man.
Daniel brushed off the legs of his dress pants, attempting to rid himself of the detritus of captivity. “I could use a latte and a fresh set of clothes,” he said. “I don’t know why you think it was okay to bring me here. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Sure, he could argue all he wanted. But if he was innocent, the CIA would have never called STEALTH, Jarrod’s independent military contractor team and the CIA’s harbinger of dirty work. He and his team were like the Ghostbusters of bad guys—the government always called them in when they’d run out of legal ways to handle those who needed to be dealt with.
In fact, it had been a running joke among his brothers and sisters to the point that he had programmed his phone to notify him with the Ghostbusters theme song whenever they messaged him. And back at home, after a few rounds of whiskey, their nights always devolved into poor renditions of eighties hit songs.
The thought of his family made his core clench. He needed to be with them, especially after the death of their sister Trish, but he couldn’t bring himself to face them…not yet. For now it was so much easier to stare down corrupt businessmen, killers and thieves. They were people he could understand.
Jarrod motioned to the other guard. “Would you please run and get Mr. Jeffery a coffee?” He turned to his detainee. “You take cream and sugar?”
The man shook his head.
“Great,” Jarrod said, glancing back to the guard. “And grab him a pair of Gitmo’s finest. I’m feeling like a tan jumpsuit would be a good fit. It’s not quite as nice as the suit Mr. Jeffery has there, but it will get the job done.”
The agent gave him a tight nod and left the room as the detainee started to argue. Agent Arthur stepped closer to the man but stopped when Jarrod shot him a look.
Jarrod could remember the days when he had been a young, dumb newbie, just waiting to jump in and take control in every situation. Thankfully, he’d had his father to show him the ropes in STEALTH—and the man, though he had his fair share of faults, had been as patient as a saint. In moments like these, he reminded himself of his father’s words: The only thing you can do well without thinking is falling in love. The rest of the time you got to shut your mouth and pay attention.
“Now, Mr. Jeffery, do you know why you are here today?” he asked, taking a chair from the corner and moving it directly in front of his detainee.
“All I know is that I was visiting our company’s office in Washington, DC, when you and a bunch of fed clowns thought it was okay to come in and take me down like I was some kind of goddamned mob boss.” Daniel pointed at Jarrod, his actions aggressive and angry. He would need to calm the man down.
“I’m sorry you feel like it was an invasion of your professional life,” Jarrod said, trying to empathize. “I know you’re the boss and under a lot of public scrutiny.” He held Daniel’s eye. “It’s my goal to get you back home as quickly as I can. I’m your advocate. And perhaps we can even make this all work in your favor.”
The man sat in silence for a moment. “I appreciate that.” He stared daggers at Agent Arthur, who stood in the corner.
“Absolutely,” Jarrod said, even though he was struggling to keep his personal judgment of the man at bay. “So, according to what I’ve been told about your case, they believe you may have been selling state secrets to foreign governments—North Korea, to be exact. Is there any merit to their claims?” he said, careful to distance himself from the authorities.
Daniel gave him a look of complete disbelief. He opened his mouth and shut it a few times before finally speaking. “I…I don’t know about any of that. And I sure as hell didn’t sell anything to North Korea.” Strangely, his gaze kept slipping to Agent Arthur as though he feared the man.
“If that is the truth, then I think everything should go well here today.” Jarrod sat down in the chair across from Daniel. He put his knee between the man’s knees, just close enough to be inside of his personal space, but not so close as to make him clam up.
“So, you believe me?” Daniel asked.
He didn’t believe the guy any further than he could throw him, but he wasn’t there to be judge and jury—he was only there to find out exactly what this detainee knew. “Unless you give me a reason to mistrust you, I think we can be friends. I believe in the American system of justice—innocent until proven guilty.”
In reality, almost everyone who worked in law enforcement felt exactly the opposite. Everyone was guilty of something. Maybe not for the crime they were investigating, but there wasn’t a single soul out there who wasn’t guilty of some wrongdoing—and it was his job to find out exactly what.
The man let out a long exhale. “But what about him?” He paused, pointing in the direction of Arthur with his chin. “I wish I knew what you are doing here.” There was an odd strangled sound to Daniel’s tone.
“Don’t worry about him,” Jarrod said, waving him off.
“How do you work with all these meatheads and not lose your mind?”
Jarrod chuckled. “I know you met us on a crap day, but some of them aren’t so bad. I’m sure you’ve got employees at Heinrich and Kohl who are about the same way—duller than a butter knife.”
The man laughed, loosening up. “You know it. There are days where I swear some of my employees ate paint chips as kids.”
Good, he was establishing camaraderie.
“Any of those employees at H&K got it out for you?”
The man shrugged, staring down at the floor. “If you’re a giraffe, there’s always going to be hyenas nipping at your ankles.”
“You think any of these hyenas could be behind this leak?”
Agent Arthur shuffled his feet like he was growing bored with the interrogation. No doubt, he wanted to handle it differently, but Jarrod didn’t care. What he really wanted to do was send the rookie out, but the CIA had made it clear that he needed a guard with him at all times. They should’ve known by now that he could take care of himself, and yet that kind of hubris made him more like the rookie Arthur than he cared to admit.
Daniel looked over at the offending agent and then back to him, weighing them both in a glance. “There’s always someone gunning for me. I’m sure that whatever it is you think I did, it was done by someone else. I have no interest in implicating myself in some political nonsense. I already have more than enough to keep me busy.”
“You’re not hurting for money or resources?” Jarrod asked.
“No, I make a really good salary. Our stocks are running high, and the long-term forecast looks great.”
Though the man was nearly the picture of innocence, Jarrod didn’t buy everything Daniel was saying. The CIA wouldn’t have brought him here if Daniel didn’t have some strong motivation to sell secrets about his weaponry and government contracts.
“Let’s go back to this idea of your hyenas,” Jarrod said. “Is there anyone you suspect might have set you up?”
Daniel looked torn, like there was something he wanted to say. He looked at Agent Arthur and then back to Jarrod. “For starters…” He stood up.
Agent Arthur took a step toward him, the action unnecessarily aggressive. “You need to sit down,” Agent Arthur ordered.
Daniel ignored the man, instead reaching in his pocket.
“Get your hands out of your pockets, now!” Agent Arthur roared.
“Agent, take a step back,” Jarrod said, trying to regain control. They didn’t need this getting out of hand when they were just starting to get somewhere.
Daniel pulled what looked like a pen from his pocket. As he moved, a picture fell down, drifting to the floor. The team must have frisked the man, and he had gone through a metal detector.
“Where did you get—” Jarrod started.
“Put down the weapon!” Agent Arthur yelled, pulling his gun and pointing it straight at the man’s center mass.
If Jarrod hadn’t been shocked, it would have made him laugh to have the agent call a pen a weapon.
Daniel clicked the pen, and as he did, a shot rang out. The percussive blast roared through the room, momentarily deafening him. Instinctively, Jarrod’s hand went to his gun.
Daniel crumpled to his knees and dropped the pen. His hands moved to his chest. Blood seeped from a tiny hole directly over his heart. He looked at Arthur, then down at his hands. Blood collected at the creases of his fingers and dripped downward. “Arthur, you two-faced bastard.”
“What in the hell did you do, Agent? It was a goddamned pen!” He rushed to Daniel’s side just as he slumped to the ground.
“He was drawing a weapon. I thought he was a threat,” Agent Arthur said, waving his hand at the offending man like his choice to shoot was obvious. “My actions were completely justified.”
Applying pressure, Jarrod tried to stop the bleeding even though he knew his efforts were in vain. The blood soaked through the man’s clothing and spread over the ground, wetting Jarrod’s knees. So much blood.
He looked to the pen. There was something off about it, and as he picked it up, he noticed that it had a tiny pill-like plastic piece filled with powder instead of a nib. He could only guess what was inside, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been cyanide.
Beside the pen was a picture of a young woman. She had long brown hair and a playful, confident smile. He flipped the photo over with the tip of his fingernail, careful not to disturb the evidence. On the back it read: “She will be next.”
This time, death had won, but if he acted fast, and found the woman in the picture, perhaps he could stop another person from falling victim to life’s fickle master.

Chapter Two (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)
She hated this, being stuck in yet another stupid meeting. Sometimes she could have sworn her job was to do nothing more than listen to the mindless ramblings of the H&K board and their endless stream of guests.
Mindy Kohl looked down at her watch, trying to subtly check the time without making the members of the Swedish parliament, the Riksdag, think she was being rude. She had to follow the rules of etiquette or risk offending the leaders who would determine the fate of her company’s expansion, but it didn’t make her any less squirmy.
She hated this job. Pandering was best left to those who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and the glory that came from winning. It was really no wonder her half brother had loved it, right up until he had become CEO of Heinrich and Kohl. Even in his new role, he’d still hovered, constantly reminding her that she was to do her best, as they had much to lose.
Then again, not everything was terrible about her new position: it afforded her a great deal of travel and leisure—though this time she got to stay home in the heart of NYC. She was relieved that after this brutally long and drawn-out meeting, she could go home.
There was a man standing to her left beside the table. His name badge said Jarrod Martin. She didn’t recognize the man, but he appeared to be in his early thirties and comprised entirely of muscle. He’d come in with the entourage that accompanied the parliament members, and was likely acting as a guard. But, instead of bringing her comfort, every time she looked at him, she felt an unwelcome warmth cascade through her.
If only it were a year ago, when her life had been focused on nothing more than giving in to the whims of her heart, she would have easily made the man her lover. She caught herself glancing down, hoping to see if his back was as scrumptious as his front. She wasn’t disappointed.
Her contact, and lead ambassador for the Riksdag, Hans Anders, cleared his throat as he took the floor. He was sitting three down from her at the conference table. His fingers were tented in front of him as he spoke, a look of distaste forming when he addressed Mindy directly. He clearly thought a woman in gun manufacturing was some kind of farce. She’d always thought that the Swedish were more progressive when it came to empowering women, but clearly there were some men in every culture who thought it best for a woman to stay in the kitchen.
Needless to say, she hated the bastard.
“Furthermore,” Hans continued, “it is not in our best interest to allow a machining plant in our countryside. While we welcome international businesses with open arms, by bringing in a gun manufacturer, it could be misconstrued as our implied consent and role in the international gunrunning trade.”
“Sir, while I appreciate your thoughts and hear what you are saying, I humbly disagree,” she said, forcing herself to remain seated even though all she wanted to do was stand, face him down and put an end to this argument. “My company is in no way an advocate for international violence. We pride ourselves on our stellar record within the global market. While we cannot control where or how our guns are used, the same can be said about many other incredibly lucrative businesses—such as pharmaceuticals. Would you deny a person access to a lifesaving medication because you are afraid of the medication being misused?”
Hans opened his mouth, no doubt wishing to rebut, but she didn’t give him the chance to speak. She had the floor, and no matter what some man thought, she was going to keep it.
“What you are talking about is a what-if, while you—and the entire Riksdag—should be focused on the bottom line of our proposal. This year alone, our plants in the United States have brought in $7.2 billion in taxable income. We believe, should you allow us to open our plant, we will either match or exceed this figure every year for your country.”
Hans looked as though he had swallowed a sour grape. Money always took precedence. Really, this endeavor would be a win-win for both parties. All she had to do was prove it.
“Why don’t we take a little break, and we can come back and discuss this further after lunch.” Hans stood up and shuffled through the papers of her proposal.
Though Hans wasn’t the head of the parliament, he sure acted like it. Without his approval, this would go nowhere. She’d spend the next six months apologizing to her brother and the board, and trying to find a suitable replacement for the warehouse and manufacturing building they had purchased in Sweden.
“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “And please note, my family’s company always strives to create a healthy environment for employees. It would be an honor to have our company located in a place that has an empowered and ambitious workforce.”
Smiles appeared on the faces of the men and women around the table.
Maybe she wasn’t so bad at pandering after all.
The guard to her left, Jarrod, stepped closer to her. “If you’d like, I’d love to escort you to lunch. I hear there’s a great deli just around the corner.”
Her mouth watered, but she wasn’t sure if it was because of the man who’d asked her or the prospect of salty, fatty meats. Either way, she was happy to oblige. “Of course, though I thought you were with the parliament members.” She motioned to the group around them.
He smiled. “I doubt anyone will miss me. As it is, I was brought here just to be a visible presence in the meeting room.”
“Oh yeah? Did they think that I was the kind of woman who would jump on the table and threaten them if I didn’t get what I wanted?” She stood up and made a show of her petite, but heavyset frame. “I’m hardly equipped—or likely—to throw my weight around.”
“I’ve always found that one shouldn’t underestimate the power of an angry woman.” He laughed.
“If you don’t feed me soon, you’ll get to see exactly how hangry I can get,” she teased.
“Well, I’m only going with you if you promise not to take me down,” he said with a laugh.
A wave of torrid thoughts washed through her mind. She couldn’t help the heat that rose in her body and colored her cheeks.
She tried to cap all of her dirty thoughts, but it was a losing battle. She hadn’t had sex in six months. A girl only had so much willpower.
Maybe she could just take him during their lunch break. They had an hour, and with the way she was feeling, that would leave them plenty of time to cuddle afterward.
Oh goodness, what was wrong with her?
Maybe going with him to lunch wasn’t such a great idea after all. If things were going to devolve into some midday rendezvous, she was probably better off staying in her office.
Whenever her body took the lead, it never seemed to end well.
When she had been younger, to say she had been a bit of a party girl was an understatement. Until her father’s death, she had been spending her time—and her father’s money—shopping, traveling, hanging out with her friends…and having her heart broken by men.
Throughout the years, people had told her she was spoiled. However, she had never really seen it that way. Though she had been economically gifted, it came at a price. Her mother had died when she was young and her father’s success had taken its toll. During his rare appearances at home, he had spent all of his time in his office yelling at hapless underlings or business associates. He rarely had actual free time, but when he did he liked to spend those days on the golf course. Mindy didn’t blame him for his parental failings. However, she was extremely tired of having to justify how she had become such a headstrong and wild woman—she couldn’t have been anything else, thanks to her free-range childhood.
She allowed the members of the Swedish parliament to exit in front of her in a gesture of goodwill. Jarrod stayed by her side. His arm brushed against hers, making the hairs on her skin stand at attention. It was as though there were a charge between them, something resembling static electricity, but she tried not to pay it any mind. Maybe it was nothing more than her thousand-dollar shoes scuffing against the carpet. It struck her as funny that even now, after all of her dalliances with men, it was still possible to mistake attraction for actual electricity.
That was what it was—her attraction to him was science. They were like two magnets drawn to each other by nature’s cosmic forces—nothing more. But dang, those forces felt good.
She waited for a few moments, until they were alone in the room, and then she turned to Jarrod. “Look, if you have a job to do, we can always meet after work.” It came out sounding far more lurid than she had actually wanted it to. Rather, she had hoped it would be an invitation for a real, grown-up date…one that wouldn’t resemble anything like the Netflix-and-chill dates of her past.
He gave her a melting smile. She got the impression that a real smile was something he didn’t experience often. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m here for your protection.” There was something in the way that he spoke, like each beat was measured and well thought out, which made her wonder if there was something he wasn’t telling her.
“I don’t believe I’ll need a bodyguard with a bunch of old Swedes.”
Jarrod’s smile widened, but a veil of mystery moved over his eyes. “I don’t believe that was quite it.” He helped her with her jacket, slipping it over her shoulders, and then he handed over her purse and phone.
It wasn’t particularly cold outside, but fall in New York was a mercurial thing. One minute it could be sunny and seventy, and the next snow would be floating from the sky with a nor’easter on its heels.
They rode down in the elevator, sandwiched between strangers and so close that she could feel his breath against the back of her neck. Their bodies touched as she was pressed farther into the elevator with each descending floor. Heat radiated from him, and she tried to stop herself from moving any closer. They were already treading on dangerous ground.
It seemed to take forever to get to the lobby, and she counted her breaths in an attempt to think about anything besides the painfully handsome man behind her. If she closed her eyes, she could make out the shapely contoured goatee and the slight curve of his lips. Oh, those lips. She could kiss those lips.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and once again brushed him—making a fire course up from where their bodies had touched, burning into her cheeks.
When the elevator doors opened, she nearly sprinted out—it was her only chance of escaping. Yet, as soon as she reached the glass doors at the front of the building, she turned around and waited for him.
She could control herself. If nothing else, this was a test. If she could refrain from jumping his bones, she had made significant strides in her personal development. If not, well… She’d have a little more work to do when it came to her boundaries.
“You okay?” he asked, finally catching up to her.
She nodded. “Absolutely, though I have to admit I have a hard time in such enclosed spaces.”
He gave her an odd look, like he was deciding whether or not he should believe her. “From the meeting, it seems as though Hans has something against you. What did you do to the poor guy?”
She was thankful he was changing the subject. “Actually, Hans has always had a thing against my family. My father purchased a building and started developing it for H&K’s expansion some five years ago. Hans has been blocking our move into their country ever since. We’ve finally reached a place in our growth where we’re going to have to do something or start looking at other countries. Unfortunately, our father invested a large sum of money into the development of this plan and if we walk away now, we’d lose all of the time and money that has gone into it.”
Jarrod gave a thoughtful nod. “Did your father ever let you in on why Hans didn’t want you there?”
She shook her head as they walked out into the New York air. She both loved and hated the way the city smelled of people—sweat and body odor—cars and industry. In many ways, she didn’t miss this city when she spent time at H&K’s DC offices.
Though she hadn’t talked to him in a couple of days, Daniel was probably chomping at the bit to learn how this meeting had gone. They had a lot riding on this deal and it was her first run of this kind. Just the thought of letting him down made her stomach ache.
Ahead of them in the mash of people was Hans. His bald head looked like something on a bobblehead doll, bouncing as the man walked among his guards and the other members of the parliament.
Her heels clicked on the concrete and they stopped at the crosswalk. “From what I know about Hans,” she said, motioning in the direction of the devil in question, “he had a distaste for my father. I think it had something to do with a former business deal gone bad. Something in the nineties. My father never went into great detail, but it’s abundantly clear that Hans is the kind of man who can carry a decades-long familial grudge.”
“I know all about those,” he said.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
He looked at her for a moment, like he was deciding if he wanted to answer. Or maybe it was more about how much he wanted to reveal to her—she couldn’t be sure.
“My family is from here, the Bronx, actually. However, we just moved to Montana. I’m here finishing up some last-minute things before heading west.”
“Montana?” She’d heard wonderful things about the state and its picturesque scenery and wildlife. “Aren’t you afraid of the bears?”
“Once again, I find angry women far more terrifying.”
“That sounds like it comes from some dark and horrific place. I’m going to need to hear that story,” she said, giving him a teasing smile.
“I wish I were kidding, but I have a faint bite mark from one of the women I had to guard. It’s just above my knee,” he said, lifting his leg like she could see the mark beneath his dress pants. “I swear it gets sore to the touch before any major storms.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. And I would hate to ask what the woman was doing that had her at knee height.” As she spoke, he seemed to gain a bit of color.
The crowd shuffled and they were pushed nearer to Hans, who was standing precariously close to the passing New York traffic.
“Sir,” Mindy said, tapping Hans on the arm, “you may want to take a step back. Cabs pull right up to this curb.”
Hans gave her a look like she had murdered his first grandchild. “Are you kidding me?” he asked, his voice flecked with his Swedish accent. “First you think you can tell me what I should do with my power inside the parliament, and now you even wish to dictate how I cross the street? You Americans think you know everything.”
As the last words fell from his lips, there was the screech of tires and a man’s yelling. The sound was strangled, some foreign tongue that Mindy didn’t recognize. But even not knowing exactly what the man was saying she could tell by the look on Hans’s face that it wasn’t good. As the car grew closer, something pitched out of the window. From where she stood, it looked like an envelope. As it hit the ground a plume of white powder erupted into the air. Jarrod grabbed her and threw her to the ground, covering her with his body.
She couldn’t breathe, but she wasn’t sure whether it was because of his weight or how he had pinned her. As she struggled, her throat burned and her eyes began to water. She tried to push Jarrod off out of some instinctual need to survive. After what seemed like an excruciating amount of time, he rolled off her. As she took a breath, her lungs burned.
He looked as she felt. Tears were streaming down his face and there were dabs of saliva at the corners of his mouth and goatee. She glanced around, a few paces away from them, where Hans was lying on the ground. He was coughing, his body in a fetal position. When he rolled over, she could see that his eyes were swollen shut and blisters had erupted on the skin of his eyelids. There was blood dripping from his face and mouth.
Hans moved as though he was looking at her, even though he couldn’t possibly have been able to see her. And then she heard the scream, her scream. Hans reached out in her direction, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Though she knew she should act and help the man, she feared moving any closer to him. Hans rolled on the ground, his body convulsing.
Whatever the man in the car had thrown at them, it must have been some sort of poison.
Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a wet wipe. It would probably do nothing to help, but she couldn’t simply watch Jarrod deteriorate like Hans.
Jarrod took the wipe from her and cleaned his face. “Thank you.” He looked dazed, but he got to his feet, tugging her up with him. “We have to get out of here. Now. You’re not safe.”
From what she could see around her, no one was safe.
She grabbed her phone, dialed 911 and threw the device to the ground in hopes that it would be traced—she could get another phone, they were a dime a dozen.
Jarrod took her hand and pulled her away from the area. She wanted to stay to help, but Jarrod was right. The safest place for them right now was as far away as they could possibly get from the effects of the powder while they waited for EMTs to arrive. For once, she didn’t just have herself to think about… Now, she also had Jarrod.

Chapter Three (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)
It had been a long and painful night stuck in the confines of Mount Sinai Beth Israel Hospital. The place was constantly in motion, just like the rest of New York City. It reminded him entirely too much of Camp Delta. Every time he tried to close his eyes after the nerve agent attack, he found himself thinking of all the lives that had been extinguished around him just within the last month. First Trish, then Daniel, and now Hans—everywhere he went, it seemed as though he left corpses in his wake.
Throughout the night, he had made his way down the hall and to Mindy’s room to check and make sure she was doing better. For the most part, she had seemed only mildly phased by the chemical attack, but the EMTs had been adamant about bringing them in for all kinds of testing. Luckily, aside from some irritation in his lungs, he had been given the all clear—a far cry from what had happened to Hans, who had died almost instantly on scene. They had taken his body to the morgue, where he was being kept in isolation until they could determine the chemical that had been used in the attack.
He ran his hand down his face and sat up from his hospital bed. Somewhere down the hall he could make out the shrill beeps of an IV pump that had run dry, the monotonous trill of an EKG machine, and the thump and whoosh of a ventilator. The whole place stank of the terror of the long-ill and bedside commodes.
He couldn’t stand being in this place another minute. It was worse than being a prisoner of war. At least there, he would have felt he had better odds of making it out alive.
He went to the closet and opened up the melamine door. His clothes were MIA, but there was a small white plastic bag with Beth Israel printed on the side. It contained his wallet and small personal belongings.
He should have expected as much. Of course, they would have disposed of anything that could have been contaminated. He was just fortunate that the hospital staff had stopped using full-blown bodysuits—ones that looked like something straight out of a nuclear war zone—every time they had come in to check on his status.
Thankfully, they hadn’t been forced to remain in isolation for long once it was established that the nerve agent used had already dealkylated and run through its half-life. Leaving nothing to chance, he’d already made sure to have the hospital staff send a sample off to his people within the CIA.
A draft worked its way through the back of his gown. It was going to be a breezy walk.
Unlike him, Mindy had seemed to welcome the reprieve from her daily life. She had barely woken once since they had been brought here, possibly an effect of the sedative they had received. His dose had worn off rather quickly, but it had left behind lethargy.
All night he had been thinking about who could have pulled this off and why. He’d come up with many options—ranging from the Swedish government itself all the way to his enemies within the Gray Wolves, a crime syndicate responsible for his sister Trish’s death in Turkey.
The Gray Wolves hadn’t been exactly quiet about their distaste for Jarrod and his family—and their leader, Bayural, had left them with a warning that he would soon be coming for the entire Martin family. Jarrod had no doubt that the man would come through on his word.
Still, the attack wasn’t typical of something the Gray Wolves would have put together. They were far more crass and deliberate. They certainly weren’t the type who would hit and run; rather they would face him down as they drew their weapons. Bayural wanted him and his family to know exactly who was pulling the trigger and why.
So, in essence, he had been left with no real answers—only more questions.
He tied the back of his gown as tightly as he could and made his way down the hall one more time to Mindy’s room. Nurses rushed from one room to the next.
At the nurses station stood a man who appeared to be visiting the floor. Jarrod guessed he was in his midthirties, with a high and tight haircut and a stiff back. As Jarrod approached, he made sure to walk closer to the wall, masked by the comings and goings of the staff and visitors, and outside of the man’s direct line of sight. Something about him felt off, but he couldn’t attribute that feeing to anything obvious about the man’s appearance.
Jarrod passed behind him just as the man said something to the nurse at the counter.
Had the people responsible for the nerve agent attack found them? They had to have known they would end up at a hospital.
To be safe, he and Mindy had to get out of there, but at the same time, he didn’t want to alarm her. She’d had enough happen in the last twenty-four hours. If she caught a whiff of their being under further attack she might bolt—and likely end up dead.
He tapped on the closed door of her room, and the TV inside the room clicked off. “Come on in,” she said.
His body clenched at the sound of her voice. He had known she would be fine, but there was still a tremendous amount of relief in hearing her sound so healthy.
He looked toward the nurses station one more time, but the suspicious man had turned and was now walking down the hall in the direction of Jarrod’s room. He opened her door and slipped inside. He was probably making something out of nothing.
“Hey.” He walked over to the window, carefully holding the back of his gown shut.
“Hey.” She gave him a look that made him wonder if she was as much at a loss for words as he was.
What could they say about what had happened out there on the street? The nerve agent attack wasn’t something a person was forced to endure very often.
For a moment, he considered making a joke about the weather, but he remained silent.
“Feeling okay?” Mindy asked.
He nodded. “You?”
She nodded. “Were you a man of this few words yesterday, too? Or is this something new?”
He cracked a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m super chatty.”
“Wow, if that’s true then you must think I never shut up.”
He laughed. “I know for a fact you are quiet sometimes. Last night, for example, you only snored a little bit.”
She covered her face with her hands but peeked between her fingers, the action uncomfortably endearing. “You did not come in here when I was sleeping, did you?” she asked, sounding slightly embarrassed that he would have seen her in such a vulnerable state.
“Not in a weird way,” he said, trying to make her feel better. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
She motioned down her body. “As you can see, I made it through unscathed. And I am so ready to get out of here.”
“Have you looked in your closet?”
She shook her head. “Why?”
“Well, you and I are going to have matching gowns on the way out. That is, if you want to go AMA with me.” He hitched his thumb toward the open door, beckoning her. He tried not to sound hurried or alarmed, but his thoughts kept moving back to the man at the nurses station. If one of them had been the intended target of the nerve agent attack it would be no time at all before the perpetrators found them and finished them off.
“I should’ve known you were a rebel.” She got up from the bed and walked over to the closet. When she opened the door, there was only a plastic bag filled with her wallet and personal items.
“Crap.” She took the bag out and put it on the bed as she rifled through it.
“What?” he asked.
“My phone. It’s missing.”
“You threw it on the ground, remember?” He could still hear the sound of the glass of the phone crunching as it hit the concrete. He was impressed she had thought to sacrifice her phone for the greater good.
“Dammit… Okay, first stop, I need a new phone.” She looked up at him, appearing somewhat frantic at the prospect of being cut off from the outside world.
“If you need to get ahold of someone, like your boyfriend or whatever, you can use my phone.” He lifted the bag he was carrying for her to see. “It’s in my briefcase.” He reached inside his bag and pulled out his cell phone.
He had twenty-seven text messages. Most of them were from his sister Zoey, who had pulled data about the attack and immediately pieced together what had happened. The farther he read down into her texts, the more frantic they had become, with the last unanswered text reading, I’m on my way to NYC if I don’t hear back from you. Plane leaves in three hours.
That had been two hours ago.
He tapped out a quick message to let her know that he was okay, but no doubt she would still be beside herself with concern. It was one of the things he loved about his brothers and sisters—or rather, sister…now that Trish was gone.
God, he was never going to get used to that.
He was nowhere near ready to go to Montana and face his family and the ranch without his sister. Though logically he knew it wasn’t his fault, he still felt responsible. He was the one who had picked the job. He was the one who had put their family right in the middle of the Gray Wolves crosshairs. If he had just jumped on another ticket and taken another contract instead of this one, they could have been a thousand miles away and unknown to the men who now wanted them dead.
“Everything okay?” Mindy asked, looking at his phone as she walked over to the sink and washed her hands. “Your wife freaking out?”
He couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped him. “No wife. No kids. No home base.”
“Ah,” she said, drying her hands. “I see. You are the rootless man.”
“Is that this generation’s way of asking if I’m a playboy?” he asked.
She giggled, the sound melting away even more of his resolve to stay emotionally detached from the beautiful woman standing in front of him with nothing on but a hospital gown. “You aren’t that much older than me, are you?”
He wasn’t stupid enough or young enough to fall into the trap of asking her exact age, but he guessed she was about twenty-eight. “I’m sure we are within a few years of each other. But I turned in my cool card years ago.”
“Clearly,” she said, grabbing a clean hospital gown that was folded and sitting beside the sink.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“You may not care about flashing the outside world, but I need a little more coverage.” She indicated her backside.
He laughed. “You and your rear end have nothing to worry about. You have me for coverage.”
“Are you saying you want to…cover my rear?” she asked, giving him a disbelieving and yet alluring smile.
He would have been lying if he said no, so he grabbed her bag. “I admit nothing.”
“Okay, I see how it is.” She took the second gown and slipped it over the first, this time putting the back in the front. “There, now you won’t be so tempted…”
Two little hospital gowns and the bedhead she was rocking wouldn’t stop the way he was feeling about her. His only option was to get the answers he needed and then get the hell out of Dodge. If he stayed with her too long, he’d have to face his most challenging enemy—his feelings—and as the leader of his family and STEALTH he didn’t have time or the freedom for such a mind-set.
He peered out the door of her room and waited for a nurse to turn the corner. “Let’s go.”
She followed behind as he tried to seem as nonchalant as possible while making their way to the back stairwell.
He held the door open for her, and she started downward. Her footfalls echoed in the concrete stairwell, sounding like spring raindrops clearing away the dusty remnants of his wintery soul.
He took one more glance behind them, but the man from the nurses station was nowhere to be seen.
Yes. He was making something out of nothing. Perhaps the attack had been intended for Hans and they had merely been bystanders.
Regardless, they were lucky to be alive, and it was his mission to keep it that way for as long as it took to get the information he needed about Mindy and her family’s role in the stolen government secrets.
At least, that was what he needed to tell himself in order to remain at arm’s length from this woman. If he let this get personal, he was going to find himself in trouble. And trouble was one thing already rampant in his life.
“I get that we are leaving AMA and all, but why are you acting like we’re being chased?” she asked, stopping at the entrance to the second floor.
He wanted her to keep moving, so he made his way past her hoping it would urge her along.
“You don’t think whoever was behind this attack was coming after me, do you?” she pressed.
Her…him… Hans… He couldn’t be sure.
Maybe whoever had pitched the nerve agent was trying to take all three down in one fell swoop.
“Is there a reason you think that may be the case?” he asked, giving nothing away.
She looked away from him, but not before he saw the flicker of concern and fear move across her face.
She held secrets, but he was certain he could get her to loosen her grip and hand them over to him. All he needed was a little more time, a bit more pressure and an increment of fear. Maybe now was the time to talk of murder.

Chapter Four (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)
The Lyft driver hadn’t spoken to them, which was just fine by Mindy. She hated the formality and awkwardness that came with forced small talk with a single-serving stranger. It wasn’t that she wasn’t nice or didn’t want to be kind to others; it was just that with everything in her own life, giving any more emotionally—even ten minutes to a stranger—threatened what little control she had left. She was so tired.
As they arrived at her Upper West Side brownstone, Jarrod got out and walked around to her side, opening the car door for her. The gesture was as welcome as it was unexpected. It was a rare New York man who still had manners, or perhaps it was just that the prep-school kind of men she dated had let manners fall by the wayside. Maybe this man could finally bring a bit more civility and old-world charm into her life.
“Thanks,” she said, holding her hospital gowns in place like they were a Givenchy cocktail dress instead of the blue checkered fabric that had been worn by countless others.
She couldn’t wait to take a shower. Yet, if she left him alone in her apartment, she would be the one devoid of manners. Assuming that he was coming in. He probably had better places to be, including reporting back to his Swedish bosses.
“You are welcome, ma’am.”
Oh no, he didn’t… Old-world charm be damned.
“Ma’am? Really?” she asked, raising a brow. “What am I, eighty?”
He laughed, the sound rich and baritone, as strong and virile as the man it belonged to. “I’m sorry, I guess my upbringing is showing. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
She didn’t believe that for a second. Maybe he hadn’t meant to call her old, but he had meant to imply that she had the upper hand in whatever social hierarchy lay between them. On one hand, the feminist in her loved the idea of holding the power, but on the other, if they were to become anything more than friends… Well, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would be willing to have the woman in the driver’s seat. But he had yet prove he was the man she assumed he was.
She fished in the hospital’s plastic bag until she found her keys. “You’re fine.”
None of what she thought or felt about the man really even mattered. This was nothing, just a man being chivalrous after a near-death experience. She couldn’t project some kind of hero fantasy on him. He barely even seemed interested in her.
“I appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to see me home,” she said, unsure whether or not she should ask him in or let him go.
The thought of being alone made her hands shake, and she struggled to put the key into the lock.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, taking the keys and unlocking the door.
Damn.
She hated being this weak in front of a man like him. Her confidence was her armor, and up until the moment she’d met Jarrod, it had been seemingly impenetrable. Now here she was, so far away from her safe emotional space.
Yep, he had to go.
Still, she hated the thought of being alone.
If she had been the target of the attack, for all she knew, there could be someone waiting just behind these doors. The thought made chills tumble down her spine.
She had to be confident. She had to be strong. She had to let him leave and walk through the door alone. It was the only way she could fall back into her normal life.
“Do you mind if I use your restroom?” he asked.
Ugh. There went her mantra and any measure of self-control she had left. She could hardly let him stand out here on her stoop, but letting him in now wouldn’t be just good manners—she would be letting him into her life.
“Go for it,” she said, slipping off her Hermès flats, the only piece of clothing the hospital hadn’t cut her out of. She pitched them into the garbage pail inside the coat closet.
He watched her with curiosity as she closed the closet door. “You know, your shoes are probably fine to keep. Whatever they used on us, it’s worn off by now.”
“It’s all right,” she said with a shrug.
“They looked expensive.”
They had been, but it didn’t matter. If she kept them she would think of the attack every time she put them on. She would already have to pass by the street corner every time she went to her office. She didn’t need any more triggers—at least none beyond the man who stood in front of her.
“It’s okay, I have another pair just like them.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she wasn’t ready to completely open up to him. “If you’d like, you are welcome to use the shower upstairs. We can call out and get you some new clothes, as well.” She looked him up and down, trying to estimate what size he wore, but a flirtatious expression forced her eyes away.
“If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great. You’d save me from going back to my hotel room in a hospital gown. Did you see the way the Lyft driver looked at me when he came to pick us up?” He chuckled.
“We really did look like two escapees, didn’t we?” She waved down at her gown. “This is one look that I’m happy to see go. In fact, I may take a shower in my en suite when you take yours.”
He raised a brow. “How big is this place?” He stepped into the living room, and his gaze moved to the original Picasso that hung over the mantel.
She’d always loved that piece, a bit of surrealism in a traditional world. In a way it reminded her of herself, a woman working in a man’s world. Sure, it wasn’t unheard-of to have a woman hold a seat on a board, but a woman at the seat of a gun manufacturer’s board was unusual.
She shrugged. “Big enough?” She gave him a half grin in an attempt to downplay her elaborate dwelling.
“Is that a real Picasso?” he asked, pointing at the colorful painting.
She nodded. “He was a friend of the family’s in the 1930s. He made it specifically for my great-grandfather, but he never particularly liked it so it sat in storage for years until I took over the place.”
Jarrod walked across the room, staring at the painting. “Beautiful.” He looked back at her. “Why don’t you have security staff?”
The thought of hiring security had crossed her mind many times, but she rarely spent enough time here to concern herself. She’d have to start looking into changing things. “I’m new to living completely in the public eye and drawing all the scrutiny that comes with it. My father was the former CEO for Heinrich & Kohl. That is, until he passed away last year.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your father’s death. From what I’ve heard, he was a good man.”
She was surprised that, working for the Swedes, he had heard even a single good word about her father. “So, you know about my family?”
“A little bit, but not much. Just what I could glean from the meetings I’ve attended.”
She wasn’t sure if he was trying to be vague or if he really didn’t know much about her. Either way, it was strangely endearing. “What do you do for the Riksdag?”
“I don’t work for them,” he said, all of his attention back on the painting.
“Okay, so who do you work for?” She walked over to her white couch and sat down, arranging her gown to cover her knees.
He turned to her, and his gaze dropped to her hands. She covered her naked ring finger with her other hand, his simple action making her feel almost naked…and vulnerable.
“I work where I’m needed and when I’m called upon.”
“That sounds dangerous.” And sexy as hell. “If you tell me, would you have to kill me?” she teased, but from the tense look on his face the joke had fallen flat.
He was silent for a moment too long. “Let’s just say I’m a man who understands the value in keeping a personal life sacrosanct.”
Maybe they had more in common than she had initially thought.
“You’re naive if you think that you’re safe,” he continued.
She felt her hackles rise. “I don’t know who you think you are—”
“I didn’t mean any offense,” he said, raising his hand and motioning her to stop. “I was just saying that I don’t think I should leave you here alone. At least not until the NYPD and the FBI get their hands on whoever was behind the attack.”
“I’ll hire people,” she said, trying to gain control over her anger. Whether or not he had meant it, it had still hurt. She didn’t need anyone telling her that she was stupid.
“I’m sorry again,” he said, sitting down beside her on the couch. “I really didn’t mean it like that. Please forgive me.” He looked her straight in the eyes and took her hands in his.
Sweat rose on her skin as she stared into his bottomless blue eyes. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen eyes that exact shade before. They reminded her of the color of the deepest ocean, and it seemed that they held just as many mysteries.
But she couldn’t forget who she was or change for any man, no matter how handsome. “I don’t appreciate being put down. Ever. I know it was unintentional, but don’t think that you can talk to me that way.”
He looked contrite, bowing his head. “I know. I made a mistake. I just… Well, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
What bothered her the most was that he was right in his castigation of her. It had been naive of her to think that she was safe on her own here. She had chosen this place, without a doorman, living a life halfway between obscene wealth and a recent college grad. Her brother had warned her that this day would come, the day when things would change and she would have to start really taking her life and safety into consideration. With a business like theirs, it was only a matter of time until they were on the receiving end of the guns they made. They worked in a volatile business, one full of secrets, underhanded deals and political warfare.
Until now, she had thought they had done a pretty good job of staying out of it.
When it came to dealing with corruption, it was best to walk away—no amount of money was worth dying for.
“I appreciate your apology.” She paused, studying his thick, wavy hair. “It’s too bad you’re working for someone else, or else I’d think about bringing you on as my chief security advisor.”
He jerked, looking up at her.
As his gaze pierced through her, she wished she hadn’t spoken so fast although she had meant what she said. He would be a valuable asset to her life, especially when it came to her well-being and safety. She wasn’t sure that he would be as sound an addition when it came to her heart. Though she was almost certain she could trust him, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself.
“I—” he said.
“The shower is upstairs, third door on your left,” she said, intentionally interrupting him, fearing what he was about to say.
“Oh, okay,” he said, some of the tension leaching from his voice.
“Towels are in the linen closet in the restroom.” She motioned toward the stairs, afraid that if she spent one more moment alone with him she would say something else that would bring him even deeper into her life.
He nodded and silently made his way out of the living room and up the stairs. His footfalls echoed on the marble steps, their sad sound cascading down upon her. As the sound quieted, she exhaled long and hard. She needed to get a grip on herself.
She sat down on her couch, picked up her landline telephone and dialed her brother. Daniel’s phone went straight to voice mail. “Hey, Danny, I hope everything is going well in DC. Things up here… Well, give me a call when you can.” There was a crack in her voice as she spoke. No doubt Daniel would pick right up on it and be worried. “I’m fine, everything is fine, but I hope Anya’s okay. Just call.”
Ugh.
That wasn’t how she had anticipated that going. Once he got her message, she would have to talk him down off a cliff. He’d always been the worrying type. She hung up the phone, half expecting to get a call from him, but nothing came.
She waited for a moment before ascending the stairs to the third floor and to her bedroom. It was just as it had been yesterday, understated but tasteful. She could still pick up the scent of her Mademoiselle perfume as she entered the bathroom.
It was as if nothing had happened.
A towel hung on the hook next to a clean washcloth and bathrobe. The cleaning lady must have come, and all had been replaced and freshened. In fact, the only thing out of place in the entire house was her.
She pulled off her hospital gowns and tossed them in the bin as she turned on the shower and waited for it to warm. Steam began to rise around her as she stood examining herself in the mirror. For all intents and purposes, she seemed the same. Same eyes, same nose, same cheeks, but nothing felt the same. In one moment everything had changed.
She wasn’t entirely sure if it was because of the attack or because of the strange feelings she was experiencing with Jarrod.
It was though she were drawn to him by some invisible force. The words that came out of her mouth even worked to pull him closer. At the same time, all she wanted to do was push him away.
She wrapped a towel around her body and made her way out to her closet. Surveying the racks of clothes, she wasn’t sure whether she should go with business attire, or leggings and sweatshirt. Whatever she wore, it would send a message to him, but what she wanted to do was put on comfortable clothes and binge-watch Netflix all day.
She grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. A happy medium, for them both.
As she reached into her drawer of undergarments, a draft brushed against her bare shoulders. She started to turn, but a hand wrapped around her neck.
She dropped her clothes. “What in the—”
“Shut up, dammit.” A man’s hot breath wafted against her skin.
She tried to turn around, but as she struggled, the man’s hand tightened. Reaching to her left, she grabbed her Manolo stiletto.
“You can thank your boyfriend for this.” His accent was thick, guttural.
“Who are you?”
The tip of a knife pressed into her side. And his hand loosened slightly.
She stole the moment. Raising the shoe, she slammed it down as hard as she could into the man’s thigh. She rolled out of his grasp, grabbing her other shoe as he dropped to his knee in pain. He yelled, something in a foreign language she couldn’t understand but was sure was a string of expletives.
The man struggled to stand up, limping on his good leg, slashing at her with the knife. She pressed back into her closet as blood poured down the man’s leg. She had hit him perfectly in the inner thigh.
“Don’t come any closer,” she yelled. “Jarrod is coming. He’s here. He’ll kill you. Jarrod!”
The man lunged at her with the knife. She watched his eyes darken and his shoulders move toward her. His breath froze as the knife in his hand moved immeasurably slowly and the world stopped around them. She held the shoe high and bore it down. The heel pierced the soft, pudgy flesh of the man’s neck.
Blood pulsed from the hole she’d left as she drew the shoe back and slammed it down again.
The man fell as the red fountain sprayed from him, coating the clothes to her right. In a few beats, it slowed. The pool of crimson blood grew around him, staining the faux fur area rug that adorned the closet floor.
She stared at the shoe that was protruding from the man’s neck. The swooping swan-style jewels on the shoe were covered in tiny drops of blood.
Dang.
She’d always loved those shoes, even though they were too narrow and had done nothing but sit in her closet since the day she’d bought them.
At least she had finally gotten her money’s worth.
No matter what—or who—was to come, she couldn’t be taken by surprise again.

Chapter Five (#u063db92f-43d5-5d89-a60a-888c5ab3905f)
“Oh,” Jarrod said, standing at the doorway of the closet. He held the towel tight around his waist as he stared at the scene in front of him. “Yeah. Okay,” he said, stunned by what was unfolding.
“I… I…” Mindy stammered, pointing at the dead man on the floor.
“It’s okay,” he said, sidestepping around the man’s body and moving to her. Like him, she was wearing nothing more than a white bath sheet. “Don’t worry about this,” he said, looking down at the knife that still rested in the fat man’s hand. “Are you okay? He didn’t cut you anywhere, did he?”
She seemed surprised, as though she hadn’t even thought to check her body for any harm. She glanced down at her body, inspecting it. “I… I think I’m fine. Just… I don’t know.”
“You’re in shock. This is normal. You have been through a lot in the last forty-eight hours.” He took her gently by the arm and helped her navigate around the body and out of the closet. “Let’s just get you into the shower and then we’ll get out of here.”
There was blood on her hands and splattered over her white towel. In an effort to keep her from being even more traumatized, he moved her through the bathroom and kept her from seeing herself in the mirror. He let go of her and turned his back. “Hand me the towel. Then get in. I’ll get you some clothes. Anything you prefer?”
His question was met with silence. After a moment, there was the click as she opened the shower door, and then she gently handed him the towel.
He walked out of the bathroom, loudly closing the door behind him so she could be more comfortable. He made his way back to her closet and the body.
The dead guy was in his midthirties, obese and starting to bald. His features were familiar, but he wasn’t sure from exactly where.
There was no way anyone from the Gray Wolves could have known where he would be, or with whom, unless they had been following him. It didn’t seem possible. This man had to be here for her.
Which brought him back to the reality that, regardless of any feelings he held for the woman, he couldn’t do anything about them. He had to find out the truth and that was that.
He sent a quick email, with picture, to his people at the CIA and followed it up with an email to Zoey. Between his teams, it would only be a matter of time before he had an ID on this guy. Meanwhile, he had to get her out of this apartment and out of New York.
Only one safe place came to mind—Montana.
The Widow Maker Ranch, his family’s new acquisition, was the safest place he could think of. There, they would be surrounded by family and out of the limelight.
However, if Mindy was more involved in the underbelly of the gun world than he assumed, it might well be like inviting the fox into the henhouse.
There were plenty of people on the lookout for him and his family. There had to be a bounty on their heads.
He couldn’t bring trouble back to his family.
But where else could he take her? She was a somewhat well-known figure in the world, had been in her fair share of magazines as an up-and-coming heiress to the H&K fortune. He had even once seen her on the pages of People at a benefit at the Met. Anonymity would be hard to come by.
She was a major liability no matter where they went or what he chose to do with her.
His phone buzzed with an email from his handler at the CIA acknowledging what had gone down. Thankfully, they would take care of the body and get rid of any evidence once he and Mindy left.
At the far corner of her closet, there was a rack of men’s suits and incidentals. He glanced down at his towel. He had planned on calling out for fresh clothes, but they didn’t need anyone else coming or going from this house.
He grabbed a pair of the suit pants and a white button-up shirt. He’d have to go commando. Even if he found some skivvies around there, putting on another man’s underwear was a step too far. The pants were a size too large and the shirt was a bit snug in the shoulders, but both would work well enough to get them out of this place and onto a flight—anywhere away from here.
He grabbed her a pair of jeans and a comfortable-looking shirt. The top had little blue flowers, bright and cheery but still tasteful—just like the woman it belonged to. Hopefully, he wasn’t way off the mark and she’d like what he’d picked out. He glanced down to the clothes she had dropped on the floor. They were similar. Good. But what if they would remind her of what happened?

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