LITMIR.BIZ

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ended now. He was going to walk into that cutesy little shop where Adriana Garcia thought she was so safe, prove she was her fugitive self, and have his team on her so fast she’d never see it coming.

      Then maybe he could sleep again.

      With one more glance at the phone screen to cement her image in his memory, Colt tucked the device in his pocket and pushed open the door of the Challenger he’d borrowed for this operation. He missed his truck, but he couldn’t drive his own vehicle for an undercover assignment, and this loaner was only for a couple of hours. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his black leather jacket, he kept his head down, though his eyes never stopped watching as he walked quickly across the parking lot.

      Relax. He rolled his shoulders and swallowed the anger that had burned in his chest for weeks now, ever since Greg was strangled with a woman’s scarf, a bracelet belonging to Adriana Garcia at his side.

      Ever since Greg’s fiancée revealed his treachery. The pair had worked with the Garcia cartel to fund a lavish lifestyle and bankroll their expensive wedding until Greg was murdered...and Lena tried to kill Kylie.

      Wincing, Colt pulled in another stinging cold breath. Nope. Now was not the time to dwell on those memories. When he opened the door to that shop, he had to become Colter Beckett, antiques collector and big-time drug runner.

      And Austin was right. For his undercover persona to be convincing, he had to think of the woman in the shop as nothing more than who she pretended to be—Danielle Segovia, small business owner.

      Even if he was dead certain she was one of his team’s most wanted fugitives.

      A two-toned beep sounded in the back room as he pulled the door open and stepped inside, the warm air a rebellious blast against the chill outside.

      No one greeted him.

      Funny. Someone had been by the window a moment ago.

      The shop was small, uncluttered, tastefully decorated, as though the owner took great care with each piece. Dark blue carpet, white walls and soft lighting gave the place the feel of an art gallery. Along the back wall, a low glass counter ran the width of the shop, housing small Mexican artifacts that appeared to be authentic. An open door stood behind the counter. Likely, his suspect had ducked in there.

      He’d check, but he had to look like he was simply here for business. If he acted too nosy, she’d tuck tail and run, dragging the investigation back to its beginning.

      Colt relaxed his shoulders, inhaling the slight smell of cinnamon and coffee that permeated the small space. Around the room, small cloth-covered tables held displays of pottery and small trinkets, most of which were replicas. Colt lifted a statuette and turned it over in his hands. Very well-done replicas. Was Adriana Garcia planning to go into counterfeiting, as well?

      “May I help you?” The voice, low but confident and friendly, came from his right.

      Colt reviewed a mental image of Adriana Garcia so he’d have it firmly in place when he turned toward this woman, untainted by her actual appearance. He wanted to be sure—dead sure—she was their target.

      When he lifted his head, she stood near the counter. A bright red button-down shirt tucked into slim black pants accentuated her silhouette. Her height and build matched the profile. But it was the face, framed by that long dark hair, that truly caught his attention.

      His heart thudded harder. He’d studied surveillance photos and official documents for days preparing for this moment.

      There was no doubt. Danielle Segovia was Adriana Garcia.

      She stood with one hand on the counter, her fingers curved around the back edge. Probably suspicious of everyone and wary of being caught, she likely had a gun just out of sight but at the ready.

      Which meant he had to handle this delicately, when what he really wanted was to cuff her right now and drag her away. For having Kylie’s informant murdered. For turning his best friend to the dark side, and then discarding him like a broken toy when he’d outlived his usefulness. For a thousand other crimes they could pin squarely on the woman who stood in front of him with an air of fake innocence and manufactured friendliness.

      But he couldn’t. Forcing a smile, he settled the statuette gently back to its pedestal and stepped toward her, keeping his posture relaxed even though every muscle in his body wanted to fight. At his side, the heft of his pistol tugged, a comfort as he stood facing a woman who’d dealt death without mercy.

      Her past exploits said it all.

      If Colt made one wrong move, there would be a gun battle. And in all likelihood, neither of them would survive.

      * * *

      Danielle Segovia tightened her fingers around the edge of the counter until the glass dug into her palm and tried to tell herself there was nothing to worry about. Likely, the man who was setting off every one of her internal alarm bells was browsing her shop right before closing only a few days before Christmas looking for a last-minute gift for his wife.

      Except he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

      His girlfriend then. Her shop wasn’t cheap, which surely meant he was buying a present for someone he liked enough to splurge on. So why did she sense so much anger behind his eyes?

      She kept her eyes from drifting to the can of Mace she’d purchased to appease her younger brother Justin, who kept insisting she buy a pistol instead. Since the shop had been ransacked by vandals a couple of weeks before, she’d felt eyes on her all of the time. Probably paranoia. Most likely nothing.

      But this guy... He radiated a tension she couldn’t ignore.

      The man looked at her without raising his head, his brown eyes finding hers under lashes that it was so not fair a man had gotten. His hair was short, but not military short like some of the soldiers from Fort Bliss. He was built like one of them, though. Even though he wore a dark leather jacket, she could tell. He was strong. Muscular. Like he’d earned his physique and not just sweated it out in a gym.

      A slight smile tilted the corner of his mouth—knowing, almost like he’d read her thoughts from across the room.

      Her face had better not be pinking up the way it felt. Danielle cleared her throat. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

      “I’m sorry.” He finally lifted his chin, and the smile he’d quirked tilted both sides of his mouth. “I was noticing the replica you have here. It’s a very good one.”

      “Thank you. I’ve been working in pottery and sculpture for years.” Finally, her stomach unclenched. If he was dangerous, he’d have attacked by now. “If you’re interested, that one’s not for sale, but I have some similar ones I can show you.”

      He lifted the statuette again and cradled it gently, almost as though he understood the value it possessed. “What’s so special about this one?”

      His gentleness undid the last of her apprehension, and she crossed the room toward him, standing on the other side of the pedestal where the piece usually rested, close enough to smell the spice of his cologne. “It has my mother’s thumbprint on the bottom.” She held out her hand and he laid the piece in it so she could turn it over and point to the small print at the corner of the base. “It’s the last one we did together before she died.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.” The stranger nodded and took the statue back, running his thumb along the print, his eyes following the motion. “I understand, though. I lost someone close to me when I was a teenager. And if I had something like this...” He stopped, cleared his throat and settled the piece back onto the pedestal before he looked at her again, a teasing glint replacing the somber expression he’d worn a moment earlier. “So, would you happen to have one with your thumbprint on it?”

      Wow. Just when she’d thought he might be different than all the rest, he had to go and flirt with her. Awkwardly. “Sorry. No.” Danielle huffed out a breath, done with this conversation. “I’m about to close.

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