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“Christopher does not disappoint in her second DEA thriller. There’s no shortage of heart-stopping action and explosive encounters. ‘Page-turner’ is definitely an apt description for this story because the surprises just keep on coming.”
— Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Deadly Desires
* * *
How can you plan a future…
After a desperate struggle to sever ties with her husband, Kira Gregory is suddenly a free woman. She can start a new life without guns, drugs, dirty money, or fear. But Kira’s newfound independence seems too good to be true. And it is…
When you can’t outrun your past?
DEA Special Agent Dexter Brady spent months trying to get Kira’s husband, Kareem Gregory, off the streets, but he has never come to terms with his growing feelings for Kira. He knows that any sort of a relationship with her is a recipe for disaster, but when danger finds Kira again, Dexter will bend every rule, face any enemy, and make any sacrifice to keep the woman he loves safe from harm…
So did you see my list?” She handed him a pad from the table and waited while he read it. “All the things I need to do to get my life together. Well,” she shot him a wry grin, “it’s a good start, anyway. This should keep me busy for a while.”
“Impressive,” he said, meaning it. “And what will that look like—when you get your life together?”
“That’s easy. It’ll look like me being a self-sufficient and productive member of society for the first time in my life.”
“Yeah?”
“And I want to feel content, for once.” Curling her legs under her, she shifted and came closer—dangerously closer. Close enough for him to see how bright her enthusiastic eyes were. “And I want to be proud of myself. You probably always feel proud of yourself, don’t you?”
He stared at her, thinking of all the times in the past year when she’d come to him for help and he’d questioned her motives and then sent her away, back to the monster who’d made her life a living hell before raping her and giving her a concussion.
Swallowing hard, he prayed he had enough voice left for a coherent sentence and produced only a rough croak. “Not always, no.”
“That’s hard to believe, Brady. What did you do—jaywalk once ten years ago?”
“I’m not real proud of the way I’ve treated you, now that you mention it.”
This was the wrong thing to say because it made her question his motives.
“Is that why you’re here, then? Pity for a crime victim?”
“No,” he said softly, holding her gaze and willing her to see. “That’s not why I’m here.”
He’d wounded her pride, so it took a couple of long beats for her to switch gears and come up to speed on this subject he hadn’t meant to broach just yet. But now it was here and he wasn’t going to turn away just because the path was twisty and he couldn’t see the end.
He couldn’t turn away.
“Brady,” she gasped, her eyes widening with slow comprehension. “Are you telling me you like me?”
The utter astonishment in her voice was understandable. Hadn’t he bent over backwards, twisting himself into advanced yoga poses to keep his fierce attraction to her under wraps the whole time he was trying to bring down her husband? Hadn’t this made him surly and gruff around her? Hadn’t he forbidden himself from ever giving her so much as an appreciative glance? And, worst of all, hadn’t he tried to hate her for being married to someone else—the worst possible someone else—when he wanted her so much it threatened to choke the life right out of him?
“Like you?” he echoed, trying it on for size. “Yeah. Let’s go with that. For now.”
Taking advantage of her drop-jawed silence, he got up, found his coat and went to the door. This wasn’t the time, and it wouldn’t be the time for a while yet, if ever. And she needed to decide because she’d had way too many decisions snatched away from her capable hands.
“I’ve gotta go. You take care of yourself, okay? I won’t be seeing you for a while.”
This snapped her out of her temporary paralysis. “What? Why?”
He tipped his head toward her notebook. Because you need time to get yourself together, like you said. And I’m trying not to pressure you, but I’m not the Boy Scout you seem to think I am, so I’d better make myself scarce so you can have space.”
“But–”
“And because—” he paused, taking his time to get to the heart of the matter so she’d have the chance to see it coming— “I really hope that, when and if you ever get ready, you’ll come to me and we can find out whether we have anything to talk about other than your first husband.”
Their gazes locked across that space of ten feet or so, and he was pretty sure, honest to God, that he heard her shallow breathing stop. He was gratified to see that she didn’t recoil in horror, thrilled to see the deep flush of awareness that crept up her neck to her face and made her wide eyes sparkle.
“Brady,” she began.
“And when you come,” he continued, because he could feel the growing and absolute certainty as a part of himself, the same as his pulse or his heartbeat, and there was no longer any question in his mind of if now, only when, “I want you to work on calling me Dexter.”
He left, taking care not to let the door bang behind him.