Page 6 of Colton’s Secret Identity

Dylan.

The woman he hoped to strike a deal with while wondering if she’d come here to kill him followed suit and lifted her shades, too, revealing all of her features.

Including her hazel eyes, brown flecks against a shade of green he associated with only one woman. Ever.

Veronica.

Dylan’s legs were rooted to the spot, his ability to move frozen by shock. He’d swaggered up to her well enough, emptying himself of Dylan Colton as he’d learned in improv and allowing Hawk Masters to run the show, so to speak.

But that was before he saw her eyes, was close enough to make out the facial features under the artful but heavy cosmetics, the familiar curve of hips that topped legs he’d dreamed about being wrapped around his waist through the loneliest nights these last five years. They’d called it quits before it had begun, joking that there had been “no harm, no foul” in having enjoyed their brief time together, as friends-only. A clean break, on paper. There had been no choice. He was plucked out of the police force and inserted into an FBI undercover op in Southern California within a week.

He’d never imagined or dared hope that he’d meet Veronica again. Or that if and when he did, it would be like this. In the midst of a deadly mission, with innumerable lives at stake.

She must be working undercover, like me. If he’d called in to Callum, maybe his brother would have warned him he’d be running into one of the task force operatives.

He had no time to think about it further as their gazes locked, but not in the familiar, best friend way they’d shared before. Her eyes reflected none of the welcome he’d once experienced with her. Within the span of a second Dylan registered defiance, shock and, finally, comprehension.

He waited until he was certain Veronica recognized him, that she realized that he wasn’t a threat. Lucky for them both, his two flanking stooges had stepped back, and at his quick head motion, given him enough space to look into Veronica’s eyes and shield her face from their hungry gazes with his form.

“Go back into the building and start hashing things out with her assistant.” He threw the quick order over his shoulder, not trusting himself to turn fully around to his underlings. He fought hard to tamp down the immediate, protective urge to snarl at his gang, to keep from telling them what he’d do to anyone who so much as looked at Veronica again.

Dylan’s stomach churned acid at how different this meeting would have gone for Veronica if he wasn’t now in charge of the ragtag drug ring. His deceased predecessor had been a sick player. His boys had made the mistake of bragging to Dylan about what they had done to untrustworthy traffickers, under their boss’s orders.

“I’ll make it a quick pat-down, sweetheart.” He used Hawk’s voice, loudly enough for the stooges to hear. With his face—visible only to Veronica—he mouthed, “Trust me.”

“Make sure you keep your word about it being quick. I trust no one and it’s too early in the day to mess up my nails.” The strong, sultry voice that rang out, also loud enough for his stooges to catch, bore little resemblance to the one he’d heard in his ears months ago. When they’d shared more than law enforcement training and interests.

“Don’t trust anyone here.” Spoken low, just for her ears. Letting her know that his stooges were definitely not on the task force, not on their side.

Then, more loudly this time, “Arms up, please.” He held his hands up in a ready-to-frisk position.

Veronica complied and the lifting motion made her breasts move under the very silky, very thin blouse she wore, the fabric teasing over her erect nipples. He’d had rare glimpses of her in civilian clothes, usually seeing her in either her uniform or PT gear. They were supposed to go on a date, right before he got recruited by the Bureau. The date had never happened. He averted his gaze from her nipples, tried to be professional. Which left her eyes the only other place to look at. The raw emotion in her gaze hit his solar plexus more effectively than if she’d jammed her fist into his gut. Her initial reaction to recognizing him had morphed into a hot anger. Fury.

“I have nothing on me, Mr. Masters.” It was hard to tell if her annoyance was feigned for this show or if she was disappointed at running into him this way. She’d been as surprised as he, which meant that someone somewhere in either one of their organizations wasn’t talking to the other. This meeting shouldn’t have been a surprise to either of them, for their safety and that of their respective operations. Law enforcement teams talked to one another more than when he’d started with the Bureau five years ago, but it still wasn’t enough.

She wore some new perfume, something that totally wasn’t her. It screamed “money” and “cheap” at the same time. But her new choice of fragrance wasn’t what sucker punched Dylan. It was the scent he picked up underneath the heavy musk, something he only knew about because of how close they’d once been. They’d never done more than talk five years ago, but he’d never forget Veronica’s essence, lighter and so much sexier than anything in a bottle.

He did his best to make the pat-down appear real while keeping it quick, with a light touch. It was as much for show as for his own sanity.

“Turn around.” Said gruffly for the stooges’ benefit, after which he finished ensuring she didn’t have any weapons tucked into her waistband. Her slim frame and snug outfit wouldn’t be able to conceal a handgun, but her tall boots might.

When he stood up, his hands off her, she spun back around on her stiletto heels, a smirk on her face.

“Are we done here?” Her tone was pure nightclub boss lady, but her eyes…100 percent Veronica.

“Almost. One more time, shall we?” He knelt down and patted her legs, covered in the thigh-high black boots. Hell’s bells. Her short skirt tempted his gaze but he stayed focused on the task at hand.

“No knife.” He stood. “We’re done. Your partner is Hank, I know, but I didn’t catch your name?”

“Monique. Monique Patterson.” Her brow rose, daring him to question her alias.

He held out his hand, wondering if she’d slap it away. “Nice to meet you, Moni. I’m Hawk.”

Veronica sneered at his hand before slowly raising hers to shake. Her alias and clothing were expertly done to present as a Monique, the nightclub manager who’d been around the block a time or hundred. But the derision on her face was genuine.

Veronica hadn’t forgotten, nor forgiven, him for leaving with zero explanations. No goodbyes.

“Nice to meet you, Hawk.” She drawled out his pseudo-nym as if he were her long-lost cowboy. She tugged at his hand, prompting him to take a step forward. Her touch, her nearness sent a bolt of awareness through his rib cage. It wasn’t sexual awareness this time, however, but something much worse.