"I appreciate the assurance, but my answer is still no." Wrapping my lips around the glass, I let the Cognac drift across my tongue before sliding down my throat. I'm done with Alex Hassan and his offer, and he knows it, sliding out of the booth and pulling on the cuffs of his white dress shirt nonchalantly.

"If you change your mind, I'm going to wait twenty-four hours to ask anyone else." He wanders away toward Eva before I can tell him not to waste the time.

"You're a fucking fool," Wolf says and rests his elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands. "That's a lot of money to turn down based on some bullshit moral code."

I pin him with my glare and speak with my teeth clenched together. "I'm not getting involved in terrorist shit, Wolf. You fuckin' know it. Don't ever mention my name around anything that has to do with it again, especially to him. Got me?"

"Yeah, man. But he's not a bad guy."

"We're all bad guys. Remember that." I glance around the Loft, taking in our surroundings. There isn't an honest person here, only people out for themselves and a mountain of cash.

He downs his glass of vodka before slamming the empty tumbler on the table. "I'm out. I have a job to do tonight. You take care, Nix. Let me know when you pull your head out of your ass." He's on his feet and heading toward Hassan and Eva before I can reply.

Eva's eyes meet mine from Hassan's side and darken. Her tongue darts out, toying with the metal around her lip that captured my attention. All I can think of is how it would feel against my cock as I tangle my fingers in her hair, bumping the back of her throat with each thrust and listening to her moan like a bitch in heat.

But unlike Hassan, I don't welcome strangers into my bed without knowing their full background. I'm not willing to spend the rest of my life in jail for some head, no matter how spectacular.

3.

Kennedy

Wolf approaches the bar and half shrugs as Alex studies him.

"He ain't gonna change his mind," Wolf says. "But I know some other guys I can recommend."

Alex scoffs. "Other guys are sloppy. I want Phoenix. This deal is too big to take any risks."

"I can't change his mind. He doesn't want to be part of it."

"Keep trying," Alex says darkly. "He wouldn't be at the top of the game if he was ethical."

I'm taking notes in my head as they speak, remembering every word and sentence spoken. I learned to do this at the Greenlight academy. It would have been a handy skill in college, but I didn't join Greenlight until six months after graduating college.

Across the room, Phoenix gets up and walks toward the door, staring down at his phone.

"I have to use the bathroom," I murmur to Alex. Still focused on his conversation with Wolf, he doesn't even look at me.

I keep my shoulders back and walk with purpose. There's something about this walk that men always seem to notice. Nix is no exception.

"Taking off 'cause you figured out Hassan's an asshole?" he asks me, looking up from the screen of his phone.

I'm taken aback for a second, because Nix has an intensity that feels heavy, warm, and overwhelming now that I'm alone with him. His brown eyes are rimmed with the deep amber shade of the drink he was sipping back at the table, and his thick, dark hair is unruly in a very sexy way.

"Going to the bathroom," I say, arching a brow. "And do you know who you're running your mouth about right now?"

"Alex Hassan," he says, his tone laced with confidence. "International arms dealer whose family is a lot more powerful than he is. Cokehead. He's really just a spoiled rich boy when all is said and done."

"Are you new here?" I ask, incredulous.

"Not as new as you might think. I've been around a few years."

"And what brings you to New York? Other than an apparent death wish?"

His smile is relaxed. "Business. And I'm not afraid of Hassan. Or anyone else for that matter." In a heartbeat, his expression turns serious. "And what brings you here, Eva?"

"Guess I just like to walk on the wild side."

"Don't bullshit me."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm not. I'm here with Alex."

"You don't even like him."

After a short note of laughter, I say, "Who do I like, then? You?"

"I'd be damn lucky if you did."

The intensity of his gaze makes my heart pound nervously. I force myself to at least look calmer than I feel.

"Yes, you would. But like I said, I'm here with Alex."

"Don't ever play poker. You're full of tells."

I hum my skepticism. "You're full of swagger."

"I can see it in your eyes. You can't even stand the guy. If you liked him, your eyes would be wide and dreamy. But they're calculating."

"The only thing I'm calculating is the distance to the bathroom," I say shortly. "Have a good night, Phoenix."

I feel like I could jump out of my skin as I walk to the bathroom. I'm a fraud, and Phoenix can see right through me. If he can tell I'm pretending, can others see it, too? My life depends on my ability to convince everyone around me that I am who and what I say I am.

Once I'm safely inside the bathroom, I lean back against the wall and take a few deep breaths.

I'm out of my league. This work means everything to me, but I can't make the world a better place if I get myself killed. I should have started in the Greenlight office, but no. Impulsive, fearless Kennedy just had to work in the field.

Even after taking a minute to gather myself, I'm too rattled to stay at the club. I text Alex that I'm going home because I'm tired and then slip past him while he's talking to a group of people. The guards at the elevator don't say anything to me as I step inside.

I consider walking home, but Nix's words left me feeling exposed, so I take a cab instead. I don't want people looking at me right now. Usually, I'm bulletproof, but doubt occasionally sneaks its way in.

Once safely inside my apartment, I peel off my boots and slide the blue wig from my head. Olivia is sleeping, likely exhausted from her trip. As I sink back against the couch, I close my eyes and exhale deeply.

It takes someone like Rae to be a Greenlight field agent. Someone mentally and physically made of steel. Not someone so shaken by one comment that she slinks away in shame, missing out on valuable intel from both Hassan and Phoenix.

I'm buried in self-doubt. But soon, my worry softens and fades as sleep takes over.

The ringing of my phone wakes me up the next morning. I sit up, bleary-eyed and feeling like my mouth is full of cotton. I'm so groggy that I don't know if the ring is coming from my work phone or my personal one.

Even after I pick up the phone from the kitchen counter, I haven't yet registered that my work one is still in my bag from last night.

"Hello?"

"Kennedy, did I wake you up?"

"Oh, hey, Mom. No, I was kind of waking up already."

"How are you, honey?"

"Oh, you know..." Last night comes rushing back to my mind, and I groan. "I'm okay."

"You sound tired. Is that boss of yours running you into the ground?"

"No, I just..." What excuse can I give for my mood? I can't tell her the truth. "Yeah, maybe a little."

"Your father can help you get a new job, you know. He still has influence."

My father is a disgraced retired senator who was exposed last year for having a mistress and a secret family. He's with my mom openly now. I'm one of his two illegitimate children. And though I still love him, I don't want any favors from him. Twenty-two years as one of his dirty secrets left a bad taste in my mouth.

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

"You're coming home for the Policemen's Run, aren't you? It's next weekend."

"Shit, I forgot."

"Kennedy." My mom's tone is admonishing. "You haven't missed one since Uncle Jeff died."

"I know."

I'm assigned to work the Loft every weekend. There's no way I can get out of it. But I can't tell her that. She thinks I'm a personal assistant to an executive.

"This is how we honor him." Her voice breaks. "I really want you there."

I feel a lump in my throat. "Mom, I'm sorry. I want to be there, but I can't."

"Why not? What's more important than this?"

"It's not about importance. It's just that I have to work."

"On a weekend?"

"Yes."

She sighs into the phone. "Can't you tell him about the run?"

"I wish I could, Mom, but...I can't be there. I'll send a donation in Uncle Jeff's name."

"I'll let you go, then."

The hurt in her voice is tearing at my heart. When she hangs up, I shake my head and walk back to my bedroom, tears blurring my vision.

Uncle Jeff was my mom's only sibling. He was a police officer and more of a father figure to me than my own dad was. Since Dad had been splitting his time between his two families and was also a busy senator, he hadn't been around much. Never on major holidays. And even when he was there, he was careful about not being seen out with us.

So it had been Uncle Jeff who took me to my father-daughter dance in junior high. He'd been my brother's Cub Scout leader, had coached my softball team, and had made every Christmas a joyful occasion by arriving right after sunrise with a bag of presents and then spending all day putting together our new toys and playing with us.

But eight years ago, he pulled over a motorist for speeding, and as soon as he walked up to the open driver's side window, he was shot and killed. The driver had cocaine in the car's trunk with a street value of more than $100,000.

I close my bedroom door and take the silver-framed photo of Uncle Jeff and me from my dresser. I'd been a smiling ten-year-old when it was taken, thrilled with the fish I'd just caught on our annual summer camping trip. Uncle Jeff was beaming with pride.

It cuts me deep that I'll miss the Policemen's Run in my Maryland hometown that benefits the scholarship fund in my uncle's name. That day is just for him every year.

If only I could tell my mom why I'm missing it. That I'm not really working for a demanding executive, but for a black ops agency trying to stem the flow of illegal weapons and drugs.

I thought of Uncle Jeff when I was in training at the academy. Every time I got punched, kicked, or knocked down while learning to fight, I thought of him and pushed myself harder. At the firing range, I imagined him looking over my shoulder and reminding me that not only could I do it, I could own it. And I had, finishing at the top of my class.

Though I couldn't save him, I can save others. Stopping men like Alex Hassan is how I honor my uncle, and I'll stop at nothing to do it.

My phone rings from the living room, and I swipe the tears from my cheeks, put the photo back, and pull my work cell from my bag.

It was a text alert from Rae. The message reads, I'll see you soon.

The message means she wants to meet with me ASAP at a cafe that's one of our meeting spots. It's the first time I've gotten this message since becoming an agent. My stomach churns nervously as I wonder what's up.

She must know I cut out of the club last night. How will I explain it to her?

I quickly change into jeans and a black T-shirt and run a brush through my hair, then put on a baseball cap. After I grab my bag, I'm out the door, texting Rae to tell her I got her message.

It takes me around twenty minutes to get to the cafe by subway, and when I do, Rae is standing outside.