Page 44 of Colton’s Secret Identity

She’d dreamed of having sex with Dylan for more than five years—for the entire the year they’d trained and worked together, and then of course after he left. It was about time the fantasies were laid to rest. This was all this was—

“Come here.” He was completely naked, on his haunches, his hand held over the console. Equally bare-assed, she placed her hand in his as she climbed up and over, aiming for the mattress. Dylan grasped her hips first, drew her up against his erection with exquisite precision.

“Dylan,” she gasped, “condom, now. In my go bag.” A long groan that began deep in her center purred up to her throat as their most intimate parts touched and she dug her fingers into his muscular shoulders.

“Already on, babe. I carry my own protection.” He kissed her deeply again, then sucked deeply on the side of her throat, her clavicle.

“Please, Dylan, now,” she begged, needing to feel him deep inside, needing this union more than she’d ever wanted another.

“Not yet.” His hand was hot on her breast, cupping and massaging, flicking her nipple, driving her to the breaking point and then backing off, taking her mewls in his mouth as he continued to kiss her, as their tongues met again and again.

Without warning his fingers expertly found both of her hardened nipples and tweaked, making her cry out and push on his shoulders, flattening him on his back as she landed on his erection.

Their gazes locked as she lowered herself onto him, wanting to rush but needing to take it slow, easy, as his girth filled her, stretched her. His hands were on her buttocks, and as soon as they were fully joined he began to move his hips, his grip urging her to do the same. Still looking at one another, he bucked up, up, until she moaned again and closed her—

“No, open your eyes, Veronica.”

She looked into his dark eyes a moment before she shared the most intense orgasm of her life with his.

It had been a long two days, especially after Veronica and Hawk had somehow survived Rex’s attempt to take them out. There had been a worrisome hour when it was uncertain if the correct vehicle had been followed, as it had been impossible to determine if the two idiots had been in the truck.

In that chaos outside of Frisky, there’d been no way of knowing if Veronica or Hawk had been hit by the gunshots that rang out from Slim’s underlings, Rex and Bulldog. If Veronica and the wannabe kingpin she drove off with had survived, what wheels would they use to escape? Several vehicles had left the parking lot at the same time as patrons scattered at the sound of gunfire.

The lifted truck had seemed so improbable an escape vehicle that it stuck out like a bull’s-eye, not only as it left the club’s parking lot but also as it continued down the highway. It had been a risk to follow it, to assume one or both of the targets were in the vehicle, especially when Rex and Bulldog had taken off after the Camaro. The entire investment into giving Slim this unexpected gift—an undercover cop’s head on a platter—could have been blown if they’d followed the wrong vehicle.

You’ve never lost track of them since.

Thank goodness. That ridiculous, raised-bed pickup had been easy to follow, and then monitor. But now Veronica and Hawk were heading back toward Red Grove, and not remaining in Canada to meet with Slim as had been expected. They’d been in the truck a long while before they’d gotten back on the road. From the foggy windows it didn’t take an expert to figure out what they were doing in there. Veronica must believe it was worth the sex to bring down the Hawk jerk.

Fools, both of them. Did they think they could go back to Frisky and start over? It was time to warn Slim.

But when they poised their fingers over the burner phone’s screen, ready to send the text, they hesitated. Slim still didn’t know that an undercover cop had been running the nightclub. The decision to not send Slim the cemetery photos had been made with purpose. Slim made his decisions quickly, and full proof of Monique’s identity as a cop was best given to him in person, in order to have the most leverage. To get what they wanted from Slim.

Slim would insist the cop be killed, of course, and the loser Hawk should be shot, too. Hawk would never have Rex’s or Slim’s status, no matter what he brought to the table money-wise. If Veronica was taken out before Slim knew, even better, it now appeared.

Rex had wanted to kill Veronica himself, no question, for whatever reason, judging by how he’d come out of the club screaming after her. Rex was volatile and never totally trusted by Slim, according to the persons closest to Slim. But Rex must have no idea that Monique was a cop. She’d already be dead if he did.

Only one person knew Monique was Veronica Martin, RGPD officer. As they followed the truck, the next steps became clear.

Slim’s methods, his orders had to be followed. Slim knew when to order a hit, but he preferred to be the killer, and he liked to watch his traitors and enemies suffer first. To give them a slow, sadistic death. Slim’s modus operandi also insured that traitors were the exception in the cartel. Rare.

Deep satisfaction that Slim’s objective had been met—the losers were located and within target range—was quickly squelched as fury replaced it. Hawk’s arrogance made it very tempting to ignore Slim’s orders to keep both targets alive. The objective here was to capture, secure, transport. But Hawk didn’t deserve to live any more than Monique did. They both deserved a bullet between their eyes. How dare Hawk think he could be a fraction of the man Slim was? It’d be too easy to take the scumbag out. He was a shadow of the kingpin Slim was. Hawk’s cartel was nothing compared to Slim’s and never would be.

The over-the-top pickup turned into Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Even better. With so much uncivilized wilderness, bodies weren’t easy to find. Coyotes took care of the DNA evidence that usually had to be buried or dumped into a ravine or lake, or river. All that was needed to bring to Slim was photos of their dead bodies. They imagined Slim’s pleased expression, the warmth he’d welcome them with into the inner circle.

This hit—hits—would be simple, maybe even fun. No one messed with Slim, or one of his hit men, even the one Slim didn’t know was out here, doing the heavy lifting.

“Time’s up, lovers.”

Chapter 19

Veronica sat in the passenger seat as they drove first west on Highway 23, turned south onto Route 85, and were again heading west on Interstate 94. Theodore Roosevelt National Park was minutes away. They’d remained silent for the last hour, and if Dylan was feeling any of the inner turmoil that she did, he hid it behind his aviator sunglasses and cowboy hat pulled low.

“This seems so counterintuitive, basically retracing our steps.” She broke the silence, needing to distract herself from obsessing between self-recrimination for giving in to her most base self and enjoying the not insignificant afterglow from the best sex of her life.

“But we’re not taking the same route, and Cal’s right. Besides having to swap out our vehicle, we need to pause while we can. There’s no telling when we’ll get the intel on Rex and Bulldog’s location, and then we’re going to have our hands full.”

“Do you think Rex or Bulldog killed Hank?”