Vigilance

By Carmi Cason

Briel Cortez had set her life up for independence. From the moment she reached adulthood, she had shunned any relationship that required too much investment - until the day her security consultant job takes her undercover into a suburban home. Suddenly, Briel realizes that she regrets so many choices since her family died. Only when a psychopath holds her over the precipice of death does she realize what she really wants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carmi Cason
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005206475

Carmi Cason

Carmi Cason is a mother and grandmother with an undergraduate degree in music and a graduate degree in English. She dabbles in science and multiple foreign languages. From her earliest memories, she has loved stories.She sat in rapt attention at the feet of her maternal grandmother and grandfather, both of whom regaled her with tales of their families and the real-life histories that brought character to her home. Her father passed on his Hardy Boys collection, introducing her to the world of fiction. With a lot of direction from her mother, a gifted storyteller, Carmi has developed a deep passion for writing and conveying meaning through the stories she writes. She also believes that life has a purpose, that though we live in a broken world we are valuable and valued, and that no matter how dark life seems there is hope. She prays you will find that hope in her work.Her mascot is her cat, Oscar, a black tabby who fights against pestal incursions and loves to have his ears scratched.​{If you enjoy my work, please consider offering monthly support at Patreon or a one-time donation at either Patreon or PayPal. I am also available for biographical/autobiographical work or personalized children's books.)​

Book preview

Prologue

But she—her life was cold as a garret whose dormer window looks on the north, and ennui, the silent spider, was weaving its web in the darkness in every corner of her heart." ― Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

New Brunswick, Canada, ten years ago

Brielle blinked.

The air stilled around her as her body left her thoughts behind.

When her back peeled away from the seat, she gripped for her sketchbook that was sliding off her lap, but her fingers were too slow, and it tumbled to the floor, leaving her hands to clutch at empty air.

Somehow, her chest stopped its forward momentum though her head did not, and she tacitly wondered if her skull could separate from her spine.

It can, her memory insisted, but a lot of times it’s the loose objects that get you.

Brielle gripped for the sketchbook again, not wanting it to fly forward and hit her father, but her body was travelling away from the book, which had slid under her father’s seat. An instant of relief flushed through her – her dad would be okay. The book wouldn’t hit him.

But he wouldn’t be okay. None of them would.

Without warning, Brielle’s head smashed against the window beside her before bouncing back against the headrest. As her head swam, the clashing and screeching of metal reached her ears from much too far away.

Dazed, she blinked again, but once her eyes closed, they refused to open.

Mademoiselle Revelles, regardez-moi.

Look at you? she wondered silently. Had she slept? Brielle didn’t remember falling asleep. Where was she?

Ici, ma fille. A moi.

She blinked again, focusing on the voice that tugged her out of her lethargy. From a foot away, a copper-skinned woman with the blackest of eyes called to her, and Brielle was drawn to the gentleness and confidence she read there.

"Ça va aller. Comment appelez-vous ?

My name? Brielle, Brielle answered, and her voice scratched out like it was passing through gravel.

Je m’appelle Georgine. Nous allons à l’ambulance, mais vous êtes en bonne santé, d’accord ?

Was she fine? Brielle wondered, despite the woman’s reassurances.

Abruptly, Brielle realized that she was lying down, and above her stretched a skyful of stars. They were the manifold, deep pinpricks of light she had only encountered in the country, and they were scattered against the stygian darkness of midnight. Even as the pain began to creep into her consciousness, her mind took an image of the beauty.

When a spasm of agony stabbed through her side, the stars disappeared as Brielle cried out, and Georgine leaned over into her vision. Tu vas bien, Brielle. Seul un moment.

True to the woman’s word, a moment later, the steel doorframe of a large van interrupted Brielle’s view of the sky, and a hand slid over her face, unattached to a visible body. An instant of panic subsided as the mask slipped over her mouth and nose and the drug dragged her away from awareness.

Fading into sleep, Brielle noted the compassionate smile of Georgine, and allowed her eyes to close into unconsciousness.

Chapter 1

…life isn’t hard to manage when you’ve nothing to lose. - Ernest Hemingway

You’re sexy as hell, Briel, but you’ve got issues. -Text from Liam Monroe, May 2

Phoenix, March 21

Dammit!

Don’t be such a baby, Liam! Briel Cortes knew she was pushing it, but there were people watching, and if she ever wanted to lead a team again, she had to rein in her boyfriend’s disrespectful tendencies. Fight a guy if you want to beat the crap out of someone. If you want to spar with me, we use points. It’s about skill.

Liam Monroe stood only a couple of feet from the ropes, and a crowd had gathered in the gym to watch, despite Briel’s wish for privacy. When people showed up, Liam had to perform, and he tended to overstep the boundaries he otherwise would have stayed away from. When they were alone together, she was his audience, and he played at charm as often as not. Still, the audience would affect Briel’s fighting little – more than likely, the real performance would come only if she managed to beat him. She was so close, and her instincts told her to avoid pissing him off, but she wouldn’t let the threat of some later private retaliation hold her back.

Overhead, the high windows poured in shafts of light that filtered through the dust particles kicked up by shuffling feet. An early Spring warm front had pushed through the area, and apparently, the gym management had been caught off guard, since the air conditioner hadn’t kicked on. With the temperature inside the gym nearing the eighties, Briel was dripping with sweat. At least Liam is, too, she mused, swiping the back of her hand wrap across her forehead.

If this were a real fight… Liam accused.

If this were a real fight, Briel retorted, I would have gone for the groin. Or better, I would have had several guns, and you’d have a bullet between your eyes. There’s no debate that I’m a better shot. She never really challenged him in their personal relationship, but in the ring? She wouldn’t let him intimidate her.

Finally over his pity party, Liam bared his teeth at her in a wicked grin. He paused for several seconds, assuming that she would go on the offense. Why would I do what you expect? she smiled to herself. When he eventually grew tired of waiting for her to move, his muscles bunched in preparation to go on the offense. Her mind processed every ripple and swell of tension that passed through him, and when his shoulder crossed the midline of her body, she knew where he would hit.

He lunged at her with a powerful backfist, but she had anticipated the trajectory and dodged the punch easily. Spinning away from the blow, she utilized her momentum to whip into a back kick, delivering a sharp hit to the back of his knees, which buckled from beneath him. Match to me, she panted after landing, stepping away as Liam rose from the ground. That’s it.

Like hell it is, he growled, and he lunged at her again, knocking her to the mat and mounting her the instant she hit.

Liam… Briel warned in a low tone, not particularly wanting the newer Team members to hear the fury in her voice.

What’s the matter, Bri? he grinned, lowering his face toward her. Stage fright?

She took in the vein that had popped in his forehead, the irises almost swallowed in the black of his fully dilated pupils, the nostrils flared as his jawed tensed – all the signs of a firing amygdala. Was he going to attack her? No, he’s Liam – not a hostile. He’s going to kiss you. In an instant, her aversion to being bested stirred her own aggression response. He intended to establish his dominance by kissing her, right on the mat in front of everyone. Don’t be an ass, she complained in a low tone. You do not want to do this.

Liam didn’t let her up. Oh, I definitely do, he murmured, fixing his gaze on her mouth.

With her wrists pinned under his hands, she would not dare let anyone see her squirm. Instead, she waited patiently as he leaned toward her, letting him get close enough to close his eyes just before their lips met. Turning her head to the side, she thrust her hips skyward, knocking Liam off balance, and as his center of mass traveled over her head, she whipped her arms in an arc along the ground, ripping them out of his grasp. The motion forced him to throw his arms out, catching himself before he ate the mat.

Once his hands were down, she latched her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek into his stomach and gripping tightly. As she pushed with her legs, Liam had to arch his back to avoid a knee to the groin, and Briel took advantage of the moment to twist to the side, snagging his hand as she swung out and pulling him off balance so that he fell on his ribs.

If he had expected it, it never would have worked. But they almost never expect it, Briel thought smugly. By the time he recovered his balance, she had regained control, using her grip on his hand to roll him onto his back on the mat. She knew he was pissed on some level, but he wouldn’t lose it in front of so many people. Instead, he just huffed a laugh as if she had amused him. In a real fight, Briel would have used the opportunity to pull her gun or to flee, but a sparring match could allow some time to gloat. She didn’t think he would resort to too much brutality in a training situation.

Several of the observers laughed and clapped as Briel scrambled to stand, and Liam rotated back onto his stomach, pushing up into a plank before drawing his legs underneath himself and rising to his feet.

Just for that, he hummed as Briel turned her face to share a laugh with one of her teammates. Liam wrapped her around the waist with one arm, lifted her off the ground, and wedged his free hand behind her head, pulling her face to his for a kiss. If she resisted, her lips would split, so she just let it go.

The cheers transformed into whistles and whoops, and after a minute, Liam lowered Briel to her feet, sliding his hand from behind her head so that both hands encircled her waist as he set her on the ground and stepped back, breaking the kiss.

Ass! she accused, punching him hard on the chest padding.

Liam just grinned as he stumbled backward and Briel wiped her mouth. There were just so many reasons to dislike him. Still, he was so stupidly exciting, and she was a little addicted to the adrenaline. Without a backward glance, Briel aimed for the edge of the mat, and she stepped off just before he slid in front of her.

You’re not mad, are you, baby? he begged, walking backwards so he could see her face. In answer, Briel just rolled her eyes and kept walking. Let’s go out tonight, he urged, reaching for her hand. We’ll grab dinner.

Sighing, Briel pressed her lips together, pulling to a stop. He didn’t actually care that he had upset her, though he made a good show for the audience. At some point, if a person cared, they stopped creating the problem. I’m not mad, she claimed, somewhat disingenuously. When she realized Liam was staring at her lips again, she slid her arm past him and pushed him out of the way before focusing back on her destination. Try to kiss me again, and I will be.

So we’re on for dinner? he pressed from behind her.

We’re on, Briel agreed, not looking back as she stalked to the locker room.

Once he left, she would come back out to train for a couple of hours before their date, because she needed to blow off some steam. Most of the team would dissipate from the gym within the next half hour, and Briel could manage a much better session without an audience. After half an hour between the sauna and the whirlpool, she stepped out into the relative coolness of the gym, glad to see that the sky through the high windows had grown golden with the late afternoon sun.

She returned to the now empty mat and ran through a couple of drills, sending her mind into a steady thrum of focus and routine. Somehow, she had to make herself focus on the moment. She had to ask the relevant question. Like, why did she care so much about her current case?

Warm hands slipped around her waist, heat meeting in a firm clasp at her navel. His breath on her neck sent chills over her skin.

"Come out to the patio, Bri," lilted the rumbling baritone. Briel forced herself to breathe – she remembered the story he had told her about the time he had shoved his lover off the balcony. Could she figure out a good excuse to say no?

Pushing her hand forward with intention, she pulled her other arm back, using it as a lever to arc the front arm in a smooth circle. She forced air from her lungs, sweeping the memory from her mind with the motion. If she couldn’t make herself focus on the present, she would end up failing her client. She had enough unanswered questions in the here and now present. Like why were incidentals taking up more time than her primary mission? Why wouldn’t she restrict the marks to their place in her thoughts and move on? She sometimes struggled with getting too involved with her clients, but the family in Phoenix weren’t even clients – just marks to mine for information about her client. So, why did she care?

Because Briel hadn’t dealt with kids much since losing her little sister.

Because these people were in danger just like her client, and throwing them to the dogs did not gel with Briel’s internal moral compass?

Because she didn’t want to disappoint the people who would suffer if Felicity Miller disappeared.

Give me just a few minutes to finish this section, she insisted, motioning to the computer where her grad school paper sat halfway to a conclusion. He did not reply, just encircled her the rest of the way with his left arm as he brushed his right arm up to caress her face, holding it still so he could trace his lips down the sensitive flesh on the side of her neck.

She was fine. New York was over. Nothing like that had ever happened to her before, and it wouldn’t happen again. She would make sure of it. Sucking in one final, calming breath, Briel made her way toward the locker room to grab her stuff before heading home.

‘Finish the section,’ he murmured into her ear, obvious amusement in his tone. The people who will judge your abilities will not care about that paper.

What did that mean? Of course, a grad student had to write a good paper…why would he think otherwise?

Unless he knew the truth.

As he spoke, his hand brushed downward, tracing a feather touch along her neck. His arm was a vise around her waist, and she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.

In the instant that she had frozen, unable to process his assertion, the fingers on her neck had clinched a crushing grip, around her throat, her hands rising to clasp vainly against his grasp. The click from across the room, the shuffle of a step, the desperation, the terror, the slick, the explosion, the blackness.

About halfway down the hall, Briel halted as a muted scuff behind her pulled her up short. Was that a footstep?

When she glanced back, though, she saw no one, and the buzzing of her phone distracted her for a moment. Someone has shared a location with you, the message read, and Briel reached her thumb to press the message so she could figure out why someone would text her a location.

There it was again – the sandpaper brush against the rubber floor. The phone forgotten, Briel quickly assessed her surroundings, noting the several dark nooks that branched off the hallway on the way to the locker room. A sauna, a whirlpool, and an athletic training room – any of them could hold the intruder, since the extinguished lights had darkened the thresholds into shadow. Briel had to get to her locker for her gun.

Backing down the hall toward the locker room door, she stepped past it and reached for the handle, rushing in and pulling the door shut behind her. Though her pursuer obviously tried to maintain stealth, her heightened senses recognized the click of the latch. In the utter silence of the room, she could make out the bare shuffle of feet. As quietly as she could manage, she unlatched her locker and pulled out her firearm. She thought she could beat her pursuer out the door if she chose to, but she hated the idea that she would leave behind her someone who could come for her later. or who might go for someone else. Easing to the end of the row of lockers, she glanced around at the tiled-in showers beside her. If she could make it behind the end stall, it would provide basically a blind from which she could peer at the rest of the room, a barrier offering at least some protection from attack. She glanced around one last time and leapt the two yards to the space behind the barrier.

Immediately, a hand gripped her wrist that held the gun, and a body twice her weight smashed her against the wall with full force. Her muscles flexed in protection, but her arm that held the gun had been wrenched beyond her strength, and she could feel a strain in the muscle that would weaken her ability to fight back. When she took in the subdued violet hue of the shirt that rested centimeters from her eyes, her blood boiled.

Damn it, Liam! she hissed. That was so stupid. You could’ve gotten yourself shot.

You’re way too predictable for that, Liam hummed as he lowered his mouth to her neck. In the same motion, he slid the gun from her hand and tucked it into the back of his waistband. Briel lost her complaint for a minute when his tongue flicked along her collarbone, and the pain in her arm receded. When his lips rose to hers, though, the protest resurfaced in her mind. He leaned back so he could grip her waist and lift her off the ground. As soon as her mouth was free, she growled her irritation. If you don’t put me down, I’m out of here.

Though Liam looked like he wanted to test her claim, he lowered her to the floor with a grin, and Briel slid from between him and the wall so she could move back to her locker. When she rubbed her arm, she knew she would be fine, it was just the principle of the thing. Instead of confronting him about it, though, she just brought up a less concerning complaint. What was that stunt you pulled on the mat? she demanded.

What stunt?

You know I don’t play to an audience.

No, you don’t, he leered, taking a seat on the bench between the lockers. Except to humble me.

Briel rolled her eyes. You were being a baby - or maybe a bully, since you wanted to stop point play.

You’re always saying you want a real fight –

No, I want a hard fight. I’m not stupid. I know that the best men are faster and more agile than I am, and I don’t hold much chance without weapons. But if I can go hard against you, then I can manage a pretty good fight against pretty much anyone else. I want you to go hard enough for that, so I can get better. But that doesn’t mean you get to go full force in the ring. You could literally kill me.

Fine, Liam conceded, reaching for her waist again. He pulled her down to straddle him, and though he looked like he wanted to kiss her again, she stopped him with a glare. You’re right, he allowed. I was being a bully.

That’s closer than I usually get to an admission of guilt, she considered. What do you mean?

I was kind of mad at you, but I wouldn’t have hurt you -

You did hurt me, she countered silently, but only said aloud, You just turned it into a game of domination.

Liam bared his teeth at her. Maybe I did. I needed some way to get your attention.

That was not the way to do it, she complained.

He didn’t respond, just pulled her body against him again and began to attack the skin along her chin with his lips and teeth. And neither is this, she complained, though her tone had gone breathless. Let me go. When he didn’t respond, she tried to get her hands between them so she could push him away, but he crushed her against him so tightly that there was no room. The black eyes were back, though his near-ebony irises would have masked the fact from even a few feet away. Too, his respiration had sped significantly, and Briel felt her own matching his – though for a completely different reason.

In the next few seconds, she needed to send him a clear message. Flitting through her self-defense tactics, she landed on the least painful one she could think of. She slid her hand up over his hair and gripped tightly, pulling his head back to separate his face from her skin. Stop, Liam. Now.

Instead of stopping, he tugged against her grip, his short hair slipping out of her hands with ease because of the strength of his neck and his high pain tolerance. In return, he slipped his hand behind her neck, wrapping his fingers toward the front of her throat to hold her in place. Even if he had squeezed, it wouldn’t have choked her, but the feeling was so close – too familiar. As he lowered his mouth to her collarbone, her heart began a wild thrumming, though not from excitement. Didn’t he know how that would feel to her? Didn’t he recognize what memory that would fill her mind with?

Fingers tightening around her throat. Breath sucking against an unforgiving vacuum. The moment of frozen disbelief and the denial that flitted through her mind as explanations. The slow realization that if she didn’t fight, she would die. The fear that she had waited too long, that she may have breathed her last breath.

Then the shot.

The echo jerked her back to the present, and the recognition of Liam’s fingers pressed with only the slightest of tension onto the tender flesh of her neck. For a moment, Briel didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t in New York – Liam wasn’t about to kill her. But Liam was lost in a moment that she didn’t know how to pull him from. She had told him no. She had punctuated her words with action, and instead of stopping, he had escalated his intensity, and she didn’t know just how far he would lose himself when they were so utterly alone.

Liam, please! Stop! She hated the distress in her voice, the sign of weakness, but she knew exactly how strong he was, and she knew that a fight against him was more likely to result in her serious injury than his. Was that where this was going? He thinks it’s a game of domination, a voice in her mind informed her, fighting her rising anxiety. And he isn’t thinking about New York. You just have to make sure he knows you’re serious. Still, though she wasn’t sure exactly how intentional his disregard, she had to stop him, had to get him to pay attention.

Raising her hands, she slipped them over his and clinched hard and sudden on her middle finger, slipping his that lay under it out of formation. She then used all her hand strength to bend the loose digit in on itself with as much force as she could manage.

Shit! Liam complained as his fingers flexed reflexively against her throat. It hurt Briel, but at least she had halted his focus.

I told you to stop, Liam.

Damn! he complained again, jostling her head a little more strongly than necessary as he relaxed his grip on her. Just talk more next time.

Just listen next time, she countered, trying to slide off his lap as she breathed her rapid heartrate to a slower pace. Everything is fine. He’s not coming after you. He hadn’t attacked her that day in New York – he had saved her. Still, she didn’t want to acknowledge the panic that he had caused her with his hand on her neck. It had been an obvious sensual touch, but just because he wasn’t trying to kill her didn’t mean he got a pass for his disrespect.

Though Liam smoothed his motions, he slid his arm behind her back to keep her from rising. She would have taken advantage of her improved position and started a fight right there, but she could read the cool control that had replaced whatever ravaging heat had gripped him before. He just misunderstood, her thoughts assured her, and so she let herself relax a little as he took on an admonishing tone. What the hell is going on with you? he challenged, and Briel felt the defensiveness swell in her throat.

Besides that my boyfriend just forced me to kiss him, even after I asked him to stop? Her mind was already explaining away his actions, but she couldn’t let him dig too deep about her mental state, not with the recent cracks in her sanity.

Baby… he crooned, brushing his hand down her cheek. I wouldn’t do that. Are you sure you didn’t just think the words? You know I would have stopped if you had asked.

No, she wasn’t sure. She was less sure of everything after New York, at least outside her missions. On a mission, her mind turned into a machine, a finely tuned instrument that missed almost nothing. Whatever had triggered in New York, though, had sent everything outside of the mission into chaos. I said it, she insisted. If you can’t pay attention to something like that, then maybe I need to back off a little.

No, come on, Bri. He cast his eyes down to the button on her shirt. I didn’t mean to be pushy. I just feel a little desperate lately.

Desperate? Is that why you’ve suddenly turned into a raging adolescent?

He bared his teeth at her, sliding his hand just under the hem of her shirt and compressing his fingers in a rapid squeeze. When have I ever been anything else? But that’s not what I mean. He returned to his serious demeanor. There’s something going on with you, and I feel like you’re slipping away. I need you to come back to me if you want me to stop pestering you.

Come back to you? she challenged as she pressed her hands against his chest.

You’re doing the thing again, with your case. I’m losing you.

You’re not losing me to a case, she contradicted, and she finally made it to her feet as he released his arm from her waist. You’ve never lost me to a case.

Are you having blackouts again?

Blackouts? What are you talking about?

You told me about your blackouts before we came to Phoenix. Are you back with the therapist? I told you then that you need help.

Briel knew she hadn’t told him about the blackouts, and she had to wonder how he had found out. She hadn’t told anyone but the very unhackable spiral notebook hidden in a locked box under her bed. When she made it home, she would need to check on that if she could remember. As he often did, though, Liam confused her with his subtle accusations about her mental state…you need help. How many times had she thought the same thing since New York?

Still, even if she did, was Liam really one to talk? With his sadistic tendencies and obsessive compulsions? She should have dug into how he knew about the blackouts, but of the two topics, she most wanted to avoid his question about the therapist, so she just opted for the safer route.

I’m not having blackouts, she countered, managing to slide off his lap. It was true, in a way, but what she had was worse. The blackouts had morphed into strange, disorienting visions, incoherent flashes of memory that the blackouts had hidden before. They arrested her and sent her into a sort of catatonia as she fought to identify the details of the vision. So far, they had only come when she was alone, but what if that changed? A flashback like that on a mission could cost a lot of people.

So, you lied to me? he challenged.

No, I didn’t –

Are they blackouts or not?

I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I never told you I was having blackouts.

You did, and even if you hadn’t, I would have known that something was off. From what I’m seeing, this is worse than New York. Following her to her feet, he stepped closer, and when she inched away from him, the cold from the metal locker just brushed against the back of her shirt.

It is not, she contradicted.

It is, and I think it’s the honeypot.

Briel almost blushed, though she would have called it a flush of anger, and she turned to her locker to make sure he didn’t see. It’s not a honeypot, Liam. I haven’t even kissed him.

Is it because he’s married?

Briel had to pause for a second, confused by the question. Wait, you mean Brendon Miller?

Who else?

With an act of will, Briel held back any overt expression of either aversion or guilt. I wouldn’t try to seduce someone who’s married, she bristled.

I don’t know why not, Liam thrummed, leaning in and murmuring against her jawline. Some of my favorite ops have included seducing married women.

She almost walked out on him right there, but with a slow breath, she ignored his obvious attempt to rile her. Instead, she turned her back to him and began folding and refolding a sweatshirt she kept in the locker as an excuse not to look at him. Well, I’m not involving myself with someone who’s married. And my other assets on this mission haven’t involved any kissing.

There are lots of things you can do without kissing, he countered, reaching for her waist from behind, pushing her chest up against the locker.

Though the feel of his body pressed against her almost distracted her from her irritation, she recognized the danger of letting her focus waver again. Let me go, she insisted in as terse a tone as she could manage. I have things to do right now.

But I can show you what works, he murmured against her ear.

I know what works. She raised her hands between herself and the locker and shoved as hard as she could. Fortunately, Liam seemed to realize that he was nearing the end of her patience, and he released her before lowering himself back to the bench. As much as you always tease me about wanting to move in with the guy in Portland, she continued as she turned back to him, it never really bothered you, and I’ve done way less here.

Liam peered at her as if he thought she might be right, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he seemed to have given up pressuring her. Well, then, maybe it’s the kids.

Of course, she didn’t want to give credence to his suspicions, but she paused in thought as she considered the three Miller kids – sweet, needy Alex, administrative little Noah, and adorable chubby-face Nicolas with his huge blue eyes. Maybe she didn’t really like kids as a rule, but she certainly hadn’t needed to include any in a case before – it had definitely affected her. I think you’re right, Briel allowed. This is tougher than I thought, with their mom in danger and me stuck on the periphery.

We could go to Banff right now…

We would have nothing to go on. We wouldn’t even know which exec to target.

Bill Henry.

The whole plan was to go for the low-hanging fruit, manage an easy grab. Bill Henry is CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company and the head of an international crime syndicate. He will have intense security, including – if I’m right about my hunch – Jase Hamilton.

Liam’s hesitation at the name raised her eyes to his, and the look on his face when she mentioned her old mentor conjured images in her mind of a rabid dog. I don’t know why you’re so scared of that guy, he growled.

Scared is not the right word, Liam. She reached down for his hand, stroking her thumb over the back of it, as if to soothe the animal. Still, she wanted him to understand. I respect him – professionally. And if you had ever encountered him you would, too. If I’m right, and he is the man you saw near the Miller’s house, I advise you to figure out how to respect him now unless you want to get your ass handed to you.

She didn’t tell him that ever since New York, memories of Venice – of the inky blackness of the cellar, of the rancid smell of alcohol, of Jase’s smirk appearing through the darkness – had haunted her sporadically. She didn’t tell Liam that she had a vague sense of someone following her. She also didn’t tell him that Jase seemed interwoven into far too many thoughts and vague sensations of late. How long had it taken her to stop thinking about him after he had dumped her, partially from longing and partially from fury? A year? More? Now, he was back in her thoughts, though not with any sense of longing – more like a hovering presence. What did it mean in conjunction with the flashbacks? She didn’t know.

Look, Bri. Liam grabbed her other hand and pulled her back to his lap, though he held her loosely. I don’t give a shit about Jase Hamilton or the Miller kids, and I don’t really care about your client except the check he will write you when you hand his daughter back to him. What I care about is that you don’t get away from me again.

Again? When did you ‘have me’ before? she countered. There’s no ‘again.’

No, because you go way too into your marks – you get personally involved – and for months, you didn’t even notice that I was sending out signals. I should have had you two years ago. You need to pay more attention to the world around you.

What is that supposed to mean?

You looked like you wanted to shoot me when I followed you into the locker room…

Because I thought you were a hostile!

Did you not see me sitting on the bench watching your drills? I mean, that and reading some briefs on my phone, but I was sure you had looked at me a few times. I even smiled at you and thought you responded.

Studying the curve of his chin, Briel racked her brain for the sight of him. There was nothing – she had not seen him. With her distraction lately, though, could she say with confidence that he hadn’t been there? I…I guess I was really into my workout. Suddenly, her justification for pulling the gun seemed shaky at best.

It’s okay, baby, Liam crooned, and she raised confused eyes to him. The vague sense of the flashbacks had overwhelmed her for a moment, and she felt like a cat that needed to shake water out of its ears.

I know this business can get to you, Liam continued, and she just nodded dumbly in agreement, but you have to remember that I am one person you can trust. Outside of us, you need to remember what is a job and what is personal. His fingers tender on the back of her neck, he lowered his mouth to hers in the gentlest of kisses.

Briel didn’t remember why at the moment, but she felt certain that kissing him like that was a bad idea. When he threaded his fingers through the hair on the side of her head and ran his lips along her jawline, her chest tightened in anxiety.

She needed to get out of that locker room.

Okay, then, Liam, she allowed diplomatically, as if unaware of his mouth on her skin. This is personal. She turned toward him and lifted her hands to vise his face. Lowering her mouth to his, she kissed him long and hard on the lips as she slipped one hand behind his back and pulled him against her. With a swift motion, she slid off of his lap, clasping the gun from his waistband and standing to her feet.

When she spun toward the door, she didn’t feel or hear him move behind her, and when she glanced back as she reached the door, Liam just sat on the bench staring at her. She breathed a sigh of relief when she had twisted the knob and pulled the door open. I’ll see you tonight, she called over her shoulder. And you might want to get out of the ladies’ locker room just in case someone comes in for a last-minute workout.

The last thing Briel spied as the locker room door shut was Liam’s amused grin.

Interlude

Undetermined post-New York

He was there again, on her mission. Jase Hamilton. How many had it been now? She couldn’t remember – with the memories of her marks so blurred and indistinct. Was it only one mission? Was it several? Why did she have no idea?

The thought of Jase seemed linked to a very specific time and place, but it might have happened any time since New York. Now she stood in a dim space, an impalpable sense of a room at the edges – the scent of candles, the warm lamplight, the haze of comfort – but Briel couldn’t remember how she had arrived in the apartment, and she didn’t recognize the person that sat across from her at the dinner table. She could make out the lean masculine form that consistently haunted her memory, and she could remember her frustration as he unfolded his story to her.

Of course, she couldn’t remember his exact words for some reason. Whatever the man had said, Briel now knew for certain that Jase Hamilton was involved in her case. Not that the unscrupulous op had left tracks, exactly – he was too good for that. Briel had just known him long enough to recognize him from the description. Dark hair, dark eyes, stalked like a panther, stuck to the shadows. Beyond the description of Jase by the witness, Briel also recognized the usual preferred vehicle and the location of the intercept. How many times had her path brushed against his over the years? Only a handful.

But why was he there? Did his interests align with hers – or was he working against her? Unfortunately, Briel couldn’t trust herself to seek out Jase and try to discern the truth. Instead, she sat at a cozy bistro table in a mark’s industrial-style studio apartment interrogating the man about Jase – trying to seem as if she weren’t. The man sat across from her, shrouded by the flickering light.

All she could sense was how completely she hated manipulating this man’s emotions for a mission. Still, her guilt complex, or the unassailable Jase Hamilton? Her naïve attraction to Jase as a recruit and the few fleeting moments of affection had almost rendered her a fool, and her humiliation at the thought sent her mind fleeing from any hint of seeing him again.

You said he was a couple of inches shorter than you? she prompted, reaching over to grip her companion’s arm as if in concern. Was that a tension pouring from the mark? A longing to stand up and slide around the table so he could kiss her? Briel thought so, but she was so inept at reading men in that way. Weren’t all men just a few heated looks away from turning into ravenous predators at any given moment?

Seemed like, her mark acknowledged, not pulling away. I thought he was a delivery man, to be honest. Still think that most likely.

Oh, you’re probably right, Briel appeased, pulling her hand away when he leaned closer – well beyond a casual distance. As she raised her eyes in search of his reaction, she knew she was not cut out for the game. Her heart sped with an unusual anxiety as she peered up at the indiscernible features. She definitely sensed skepticism emanating from him.

So, you agree with me? Which completely explains why you’re being so persistent in identifying someone who walked on a sidewalk…

I told you, she fought to recover, when I showed up a couple of days ago, I thought I saw my ex-boyfriend walking around the neighborhood. I don’t want him creating an issue with security at my job.

Her lanky companion stood and made his way around the table, as she had envisioned a few moments before, and when he reached for her, he pulled her to a stand so he could wrap his arms around her. He was just a guy, Bri, and he didn’t seem overly curious about me or the house – he just seemed like he was waiting for someone. You’re going to be fine.

I’m going to be fine, Briel agreed, murmuring inwardly almost as if to convince herself of the truth of her words. Not that she was worried about the guy hovering outside. No, it was the arms around her at the moment that terrified her – the sense of comfort that enveloped her with the smell of his shirt and heat from his skin.

Whatever he said, she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be fine. Standing pressed against his chest, she found herself far too close to believing him, to settling into a sense of security she hadn’t felt since her childhood in Normandie. Briel did not relax, and she did not attach herself to other people. Hadn’t she suffered enough loss in her life? She had learned her lesson young, and she didn’t intend to suffer that way again.

On her missions, though – with her marks – she had to access emotions to make herself believable. There were, of course, tactics that people in her occupation used to protect themselves from the façade they had to wear on a mission, but for Briel, she used those tactics in her everyday life even more. For some reason, since she knew it was pretend on a mission, she invested herself more in the moment. Some deep investment in the success of her goals and the fear that holding back would lose a mark. And so she often found herself more connected to her marks than to the people in her everyday life. She knew it was a problem, and it was why she had tried to invest a little more in her teammates. Still, the marks drew more from her than the real world.

She wasn’t an idiot, though. The cover was artifice. It was a game of charades, and when the buzzer sounded and she was done with her case, the image would shatter.

No, she would not submit to a fantasy because anything but the most brutal realism would result in her rapid destruction. When the mark spoke again, Briel ignored her desire to answer honestly, and she forced the façade. She would regret the destruction she left behind when she disappeared, but that was not a problem she could worry about.

Did you really come over here to discuss your ex? he interrupted her thoughts.

Reining in a sigh, she leaned her head against his chest so she didn’t have to feel his indiscernible gaze on her anymore. No, I’m sure it’s fine. Just…if you see him again, call me right away. If I can get a glimpse of him, I’ll put in for a restraining order.

That bad? He tightened his grip on her, and she forced herself not to turn to ice.

Well, he’s not someone I’m willing to let come around at the moment.

If Jase did come around, he would no doubt screw up a lot of things. The mark somehow sensed her anxiety, and he stepped back to release her, only keeping a hold of her hand as he led her to a seat in front of the television. Once she settled on the couch with him and let herself relax into the movie he turned on, Briel realized the serious issues she was facing. A guilt complex with her mark and the presence of Jase Hamilton. Yes, she needed to put an end to the fantasy as quickly as possible. If she had to throw her marks to the dogs, she would throw them to the dogs to accomplish her mission.

Chapter 2

Is it possible that even my latest fear is sheer delusion? – H.P. Lovecraft

San Antonio, one month later

The message that flashed across the screen of the phone mounted on the dash pulled Briel back to the present, and she forced her mind through the dark tunnel of memory to take in her surroundings. Why was her chest so tight? Why had her throat closed? The memory had been pleasant – almost sensual – yet her body spoke terror. Was she so afraid of emotional connection?

Or had my memory known I was about to be strangled? Somehow, she didn’t think the two memories went together. If they had – if she had let herself go so far down the road to connection with a man she knew to be a criminal – then maybe that explained the harrowing split that had rent her mind into chaos. Certainly, the idea of having lost herself that much terrified her.

No, she couldn’t deal with it yet. Not while she still had a mission. The mission. She narrowed her focus to take in the words on the phone she had pulled off the dash.

It’s Mexico City. Pin to follow.

Another message? Just like Phoenix. Briel had never figured out who had shared the location with her the month before, and the new text seemed destined for the same obscurity. How could someone send a personal message from a five-digit number? The tip had panned out, so maybe this one would hold some promise as well. Of course, Briel had spent hours researching the location of the original tip, first finding the ProtoComm annex in Banff, then locating the Henry property outside of town, and then finally gaining access to the cameras that had shown her Jase – had confirmed he was working for Bill Henry.

She had known then, had figured out where Jase was holding Felicity, and less than forty-eight hours later, Briel had retrieved her mark and had set in motion the events that led her to San Antonio, and to a trafficking clearinghouse with pathways into several Central and South American centers. Was the new message offering another direction for her mission? For an instant, excitement thrummed in her chest, and she wondered if the whole thing would be over by next week.

When lights flickered in her rearview mirror, her enthusiasm evaporated instantly. One moment of distraction to read the message, and Briel had broken some minor traffic law that would promise yet another court date. She smashed her hand against the steering wheel in frustration. Though she wanted to blame the message, she knew the truth – it had probably been the flashback. If the flashback hadn’t sent her head into the hemisphere, she wouldn’t have lost sight of the road.

For the past several months, her usually ordered mind had fractured into unpredictable turmoil – likely because of the attack in New York. It had been one of the hazards of the profession, yet the flashbacks had begun to bleed through when she tried to suppress the memory of the man’s hands on her throat. For years, she had trained her mind to compartmentalize her missions, retaining the important information and pressing all connection to her marks into inescapable cages. Literally, she had dissociated herself from the thoughts, and if she tried to remember faces or impressions, specific moments of connection, the images blurred and faded away.

It was a protection, and she needed her mind to play along with the intentional separation. Now, though, vague images peppered her memory, interrupted her rational stream of thought to create chaos through shattered impressions. The chaos unleashed in her mind had so affected her that she regularly lost sight of the things around her as her mind tried to force her to examine her memories.

Instead, she spent far too much time engaged in internal battles, heedless of her surroundings. Like whatever traffic situation had led to her current irritation. Glancing behind her again, Briel pulled over to await the swift lash of justice as unleashed by the offended San Antonio Police Department. Placing both hands on her steering wheel, she watched in extended time as the obnoxious cowboy boots sauntered toward the driver’s side of her car.

As if the day hadn’t started off badly enough, what with returning from a wasted trip across the country and Liam’s punishing fight in the ring that morning. The heat outside the ring was worse in San Antonio than Phoenix, but at least everyone in Texas was highly dependent on their air conditioners, so the gym was cool – not to mention that the humidity minimized the dust.

Liam, though? Liam had poured on the heat in the gym. In the last month – since Banff, actually – Liam had cooled down his attitude. Probably because she had left the Millers and Jase Hamilton behind. Apparently, her intense reaction to Liam’s little game in the locker room in Phoenix had communicated that he was nearing a line he did not want to cross. Since then, he had managed civility to a degree she would not have predicted.

Not today. Today, Liam had seemed unusually irritated. Something must have happened in the past couple of days – something she had said or done. She never really knew what would set him off. In the session she had just left. he had ignored the point system and gone after her with unusual aggression, landing several bruising blows, including one on her scar. When she had cried out, he had immediately stopped the fight and apologized, and she had not known what to think.

It was difficult to hit her scar unintentionally, but not impossible. Even if it had been an accident, the bruises on the back of her thighs – the lingering effects of a brutal back kick – offered her enough reason for anger. Those had been intentional, and he had not apologized.

Whatever she had done to piss him off, she was going to have it out with him soon. When she called him out for illegal moves, he had started the trash talk, the personal insults that he would deny if she confronted him. Fortunately, he hadn’t made a spectacle of kissing her again – he wasn’t that stupid – but something was stirring