"No, I want to be awake when you leave this time."

"I'll be back." I take a deep breath. "Maybe not for a few days. A new case has come up at work and I don't know what's going to happen exactly. If I disappear, that's why." I take another deep breath, realizing that no matter what Wilson finds, I need to make contact with the FBI closest to Lively. Find out what they know and where they might be at on an investigation. Please let there be an open case. "Might need to go to Miami. But soon."

She pours herself a cup and slowly turns in my arms. She's wearing that tank top and those tiny shorts I found her in last night, and they're hot. Everything about her is hot. Her curvy legs, from her long, sculpted calves to her soft thighs that feel so f.u.c.king good around my head. Her belly. Her waist and hips, curvy and tight in all the right places. Her t.i.ts, swinging free in this tank that I can totally see her nipples through. Driving me crazy already.

And her pretty face. But right now, her lips are twisted in worry, and her eyes...I like the way her eyes turn into happy half-moons when she laughs and widen when she has a dirty thought. I like everything about her eyes except the way her gaze cuts straight through my bulls.h.i.t. Like it's doing right now.

"Miami?"

"Yep." This is one of those things I don't want her to know about, but thanks to that reporter, I can see her putting two and two together.

"Awfully close to the Caribbean. Is this a business trip?"

"I'm not leaving the country. And the rest isn't for good girls to know." I say it softly, but there's enough steel in my voice, she should take the hint.

Of course she doesn't, at first. My girl isn't a pushover. f.u.c.k me. But she just stares at me, knowing enough to be wary, before brushing past me and heading for the living room s.p.a.ce. Knitting basket. Stripper pole. And in a large wooden armoire, a small TV. She turns it on and CNN immediately appears onscreen, which surprises me.

I go to the bedroom long enough to pull on my boxer briefs, then join her on the couch. "News before six in the morning? Black coffee? There are many layers to the Hailey onion." I play with her hair while she ignores me, her eyes glued to the stock ticker at the bottom of the screen. "Do you trade?"

She nods, her lips moving unconsciously.

Is it weird that I'm getting half hard at the thought of Hailey being a money wizard? It's not surprising, given her genes, but her very public rejection of the business world her family is steeped in on both sides makes me wonder...things. All sorts of things I want to know about this woman.

We finish our coffee in silence as she watches the numbers and I watch the B-roll behind a story on a riot in Cairo, then an interview with someone from the United Nations. It's all just noise, distracting the world from the real s.h.i.t going down behind the scenes that never makes it to news desks, but it's good to know what everyone else is being told.

"Do you want another cup?" I kiss her bare shoulder, my few-days-of-stubble catching on her smooth-as-silk skin. "I should shave before I come over next time."

She whirls around, our heads almost crashing into each other. "Don't you dare." She licks her lips and glances at my jaw. "I like it rough."

Jesus Christ. How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to leave for work when she says s.h.i.t like that? "I bet you do."

Her eyes go wide at the rough note in my voice. Really rough. G.o.d, I'll never get enough of her.

I grab both mugs and shove them on the coffee table before hauling her into my lap. "Are you done watching that stuff?"

She nods, and I make the most of the next twenty minutes, first on the couch, then in her shower.

It barely scratches the surface of my itch for her.

- - Ellie is setting a tray of fruit in the middle of the conference table when I arrive.

"Seriously?" It's a good job I scarfed an Egg Mcm.u.f.fin on my way in.

"There are bran m.u.f.fins, too." She points to the side table where a coffee carafe and the world's tiniest m.u.f.fins sit pertly on a plate.

"We're not girls."

She rolls her eyes as she walks past me, which I wouldn't catch except she whirls around. "Speaking of girls, you smell like one."

"Shut up."

"That's rude, boss. I'm guessing you don't own vanilla body wash."

f.u.c.k my life. "Sure don't."

"I'm guessing Hailey does."

"You know, my private life could be left as private, and that would be totally fine."

She wrinkles her nose as she taps her chin, faux-thinking about that for a second. "Probably the wrong place to work for that strategy."

"Get out." She laughs as she heads for the door. "And come back with bacon."

"I like her!" she hollers as she hits the stairs, heading back to her desk.

That makes two of us.

Right on cue, Jason appears. "I see you didn't take my advice."

"I don't remember hearing anything other than sleep on it'. I did that. I want to go to Miami."

He gives me a look of genuine surprise. "Oh?"

"And meet with the local FBI there."

"Oh." He shakes his head. "PRISM is concerned the Feds won't move quickly enough."

"Meet with, and help them find what they need quickly. Maybe in a way that forces their hand."

"I like the sound of that better." He leans over the table. "Melon. Yum. Let's see what Wilson says."

"About what?" Our ninja hacker strolls in just as he hears his name. He's wearing yesterday's t-shirt and jeans and his hair is standing on end-I'm guessing he never left last night. The lack of sleep has clearly futzed with his testosterone levels because he too gets excited about the melon, grabbing three pieces before he flops into a chair. "Nice fruit tray. Good idea."

"Never mind about the d.a.m.n fruit. We need something to shut down Lively this weekend. Before Morgan Reid goes there. Before..." I sigh. No, that's not right. "Or maybe at the same time. Jesus. Maybe I need to step away from this, I'm not objective anymore."

"Finally. I'm glad you see that." Jason grabs a strawberry and points it at me. "Now we can use that power for good instead of evil."

"I'm not following." I scowl at him before turning to pour myself a cup of coffee and grab a teensy-a.s.s m.u.f.fin. I start pacing back and forth as I consume both. "I don't have enough distance from this to make the hard decisions."

"Or maybe you've finally found something to believe in and now you can fight for what you feel is right." Jason and I both swivel our heads to look at Wilson, who yawns. "What? Aren't we the good guys, deep down inside?"

I'm really not sure anymore.

"Listen," Wilson says, scrubbing his hand through his hair. "I know I'm the last person in the world to talk about doing the right thing, but there are young women, right now, trapped in a s.e.x slave ring for dirty motherf.u.c.kers who are too powerful to be taken down by conventional law enforcement. And we're sitting on our hands because the timing has to be just right."

"Well, it does," Jason said drily. "If we take things into our own hands and take out the wrong peg at the wrong time, it could spell disaster on an international event kind of level."

"Could." Wilson snorts. "I could be one of those crazy conspiracy theorist guys, spouting predictions and nonsense. Or I could stay up all night combing through the internet history of teenagers who have no idea they're a breath away from being kidnapped because they look like Britney Spears or Kate Middleton, which is what I did do, and I gotta say, after that dark f.u.c.king s.h.i.t, could doesn't sound nearly strong enough to keep me from blowing this a.s.shole into a million pieces."

Tag comes in just as Wilson says that, and despite the tension that's twisted my shoulders into a solid block of granite, it's funny as f.u.c.k that he doesn't even blink before saying, "Good morning to you, too, sunshine."

"I'm in the middle of something here, douche nozzle. How about you show up on time for once?"

"I was too busy kissing your mother goodbye." Tag chuckles as he helps himself to some breakfast. I'm not even surprised for a second when he makes positive noises about the f.u.c.king fruit tray. No doubt Ellie will be pleased it went over well, and next meeting we'll have smoothies.

Wilson shoots him a dark glower, but continues on his original tack anyway. "So I've been thinking about Cole going to Miami. What he could deliver to the Feds that would bring down Lively, save those girls, and not destabilize the global financial markets in the process. And I think I have a lead. Actually, two of them."

He swipes at his tablet, sending a picture we all recognize to the large screen on the wall.

"Tabitha Leyton?" We all lean forward. The twenty-something singer-songwriter is every marketer's wet dream. She's drop-dead gorgeous...and notoriously private, even though her dark red hair and swollen lips are plastered on billboards all across the country. I frown and look back at Wilson. "What's going on?"

"She's one of two women I think we should talk to," he mutters, his lower lip caught between his teeth as he taps at the tablet. Another picture appears, and below both, dates and cities. Different dates, different cities. The other woman is blonde, gorgeous, and a complete mystery. Wilson doesn't leave us hanging. "And this is Clara Forrester. She's an artist, lives in New York City. I think both of them have spent time with Gerome Lively. Enough time that they would know things. Probably have seen some of the missing girls. Rumor has it, he doesn't hide them.

And both women have stopped visiting Lively-I spent hours tracking through their travel records, and the common points with Lively stopped three years ago for Leyton and eighteen months for Forrester."

"Where are they?" I'm ready to run for the door. The chance to help a witness come forward about Lively...my heart is pounding.

Wilson grins, a rare expression for him. "You and Tag will go to New York to talk to Clara Forrester. Jason and I will go to L.A. and track down a rock star. And then we'll need to sit on whatever they tell us-their security has to be our highest concern. But hopefully by the time you go to Miami-and I think you should-one of us will be able to escort a reliable witness there as well."

Jason nods, then pins me with a stern look that he doubles up in Tag's direction as well. "No telling your women."

Like I would ever in a million years involve Hailey in this. "Of course."

"Tag?"

He shakes his head. "Like Kendra would believe me even if I told her."

"I'm sorry, man." Wilson gives him an exaggerated look of faux-sympathy. "Must be hard to be used for your body by someone who doesn't even like you."

My lips twitch, because actually it's not so bad.

Tag just tosses a chunk of melon in the air and s.n.a.t.c.hes it in mid-arc with his teeth. "Meh. Whatever. At least I'm getting laid without having to pay for it."

"All right, kids, that's enough squabbling." Jason claps his hands together. "Let's book some flights, yes?"

-eleven-.

Hailey.

The knock at the door the next night isn't a surprise, really, but it still throws me for a loop.

It's so soon. So normal.

So completely out of character for the brooding man on the other side of the door that I'm instantly wary, reverting back to the comfortable armour of a good scowl.

"I'm not giving you a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b."

It's only been thirty-six hours since I would have happily sucked him off, and maybe I still will-seeing Cole looming in my doorway has a way of chasing the pain of cramps away, at least momentarily-but I'm a different woman.

A hormonal, cranky woman.

He just grins from the other side of the threshold. "Wow, you've got a low opinion of me."

I don't. I'm just b.i.t.c.hy and may have lost my filter. Plus I had a s.h.i.tty day at work. "G.o.d, no. I'm sorry. Hi."

He doesn't look offended, but he doesn't make a move into my apartment. Maybe he forgot I was going to be indisposed for a few days. I did tell him in the middle of s.e.x, in the middle of the night.

"I have to warn you, I'm not very good company tonight. Lady problems." I step back, giving him the option to stay, because he's big and strong and smells good, but I'm wearing leggings and an old oversized t-shirt and a scowly face.

I'm genuinely surprised when he steps inside and holds up a brown paper bag. "I thought you might like some vanilla bean ice cream. With chocolate sauce."

"I don't understand."

He leans in, pulling me close. He stares at me for a beat before groaning and kissing me softly on the nose. "That's f.u.c.ked up s.h.i.t, right there. You don't understand why a guy would bring you ice cream when you're having your period?"

No, I really don't, not even as one does. That's the stuff of rom-com movies and married people. My heart swells a bit. "Okay, you have a secret sweet side and I'm a b.i.t.c.h for a.s.suming otherwise."

"Don't apologize too quickly. Now I'm trying to figure out what I'd have to do to get that b.l.o.w. .j.o.b back on the table."

"Wait a few days." I grin.

"Noted." He kisses me again, this time on my cheek, but right on the corner of my mouth. A stealth near-s.e.xy kiss. He's good. "Have you eaten dinner yet? Should I put this in the freezer or serve it up immediately?"

I tilt my head toward the kitchen, and he follows me. "I just made a BLT, do you want one?"

"Definitely." He sticks the ice cream in the freezer, then leans against the counter as I prep the sandwiches. "I'm sorry I didn't call you yesterday."

"I asked you not to ignore me for weeks, not hours. You said you might be busy." I shoot him a smile. "You brought me ice cream within a very reasonable time frame of using me for filthy s.e.x. No worries on staying in my dirty-secret good books, okay?"

He narrows his eyes at me, like I chose the wrong words, but he doesn't say anything, so I just turn back to the sandwiches. "Mayo?"

"Please."

"Salt and pepper?" I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and he nods, smirking.

"Two slices of bacon or three-ee!" I squeal as he shoves the sandwich fixings further onto the counter and spins me around, pressing his entire body against mine. "Enough sandwich talk?"

"Like three questions ago, beautiful." He kisses me slowly, a belated, extended greeting that warms me from top to bottom. I open for him, and he strokes his tongue against mine, his solid, commanding thrusts silently rewriting our narrative.

He's not my dirty secret.

This isn't just s.e.x.