. The sprawling Manhattan apartment was all sleek lines and floor-to-ceiling windows, the city's skyline glittering like a battlefield under

in the army-counterintelligence, explosives, and a bullet scar from Kandahar-made her untouchable. Here

's mind, a mission directive as clear as any she'd received in the field. But the memory of Alexander's body pressed against hers behind that curtain-his hands on her hips,

jacket, revealing a crisp white shirt that hugged his toned 6-foot frame. He moved

anning the room out of habit-corners, exits, shadows. "I need your security syst

s studying her with that maddening intensi

z around unchecked. I trust my own eyes, Holt." Her voice carried the edge of Kandahar, where

, and offered her the whiskey. "You're in my house,

eir fingers brushing, the contact sparking like a live wire. "Fine," she muttered, stepping

ing room, where a wall of monitors glowed with feeds from Holt Enterprises' security cameras. She set the glass down, her focus sharpening as

yboard, military precision in every move. "Voss was with him. If they're gra

he main office, but Crane has access to a secure vault in the basement. Sensitive contracts, prototypes-things w

Basement vault. I'll start there tomorrow. Tonight, we lock down y

chiseled chest. "You don't give orders here, Eleanor," he said,

alive, not stroke your ego. Crane's a step away from sinking your empire, and I'm not playin

back up, the air between them thickening. "You're infur

but this felt personal, dangerous. His hand lifted, as if to touch her face, and she froze, her body warring with her

e not doing this. I'm here to find your traitor, not... what

pped, but hi