When He's Dirty (Walker Security - Adrian's Trilogy 1)

Chapter FourteenPRI

I aim my gun at the man who told me his name was Rafael. “You’re Adrian Mack.”

“Yes,” he says. “Rafael is my brother.”

“As in the singer?”

“Yes. He uses our mother’s maiden name. His name felt as close to honest as I dared.”

“Really? Nothing about what you did with me was honest.”

“There’s a price on my head,” he says. “That’s as real as it gets and it has to dictate my actions.”

“Therefore you had to kiss me? And make me look and feel like an idiot?”

He stands up, all kinds of gorgeous, and I shouldn’t be noticing, not now. What is wrong with me with this man?

“Nothing between us besides a meeting was planned, Pri. It just happened and things don’t just happen to me. You want to lower that gun?”

I don’t even think about lowering my weapon. “How do I know you’re not working for Waters? Maybe you’re the one who’s killing my witnesses.”

“I could have killed you several times over. I think you know that.”

His voice is low, calm. Mine is not. It’s slightly higher than normal, while my pulse is rapid, irritating me with the distracting pitter-patter in my chest. “I didn’t take the trade Waters offered and give him a deal,” I inform him. “Maybe that changed things.”

“Why would I play with you like that?”

“Why did Waters ever play with anyone?” I counter.

“Because he’s a sadistic bastard. I’m not. I even brought champagne.”

I blink with this odd announcement and follow the lift of his chin to the coffee table. “Why would you break into my house and bring champagne? What is this?”

“A way for us to toast to taking down Waters, you and me—we’ll get him.”

I want to trust him. I want to believe him, but I have to come to that decision safely. I already know I’m susceptible to him, perhaps dangerously so. I can’t do this alone with him. I take a step and grab my phone from the hall table where I’d set it automatically when I’d entered the house. “If you’re honest, you won’t mind if Agent Pitt joins us.”

I don’t know how he moves so fast, but by the time I pull up my phonebook, he’s in front of me. Another blink and he has my gun and phone, and I’m pressed against the living room wall, masculine spice teasing my nostrils, hard muscles pressed to my body. Our eyes meet, a battle of wills melding with anger and heat, as well as fear, that is frighteningly arousing.

What is wrong with me?

Rebelliously, my chin lifts. “Is this where you kill me?”

A low sound escapes his lips, and he shifts, his hands and legs that were touching me are gone, his fists pressed to the wall by my head, his arms and body caging me by simple proximity. It’s a confusing thing to be trapped and yet untouched. As if he’s reading my mind, he says, “I am trying not to bully you or scare you, woman, but damn it, do you want to get us both killed?” His voice is low, taut, with a rasp of what might be anger in the deep baritone.

“Pitt is one of the good guys,” I hiss.

“I can’t afford to trust anyone,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here now if we hadn’t gotten personal, but I felt I owed you this and it’s easier for Walker to operate if you’re in the know on who I am.”

“Pitt says he’s your friend.”

“No one outside of Walker is my friend.”

“You worked the case with him,” I argue. “He’s passionate about keeping Waters behind bars.”

“We don’t know who’s watching Pitt or listening in on his calls. And you and I together make a hell of a giant target.”

“You think I’m a target?”

“Anyone in Waters’ path is a target and will remain so every day he’s alive. The biggest mistake of my life was not killing him every time I had the chance. And I’ll say that on the stand under oath.” He pushes off the wall but he remains directly in front of me. “I have to be a last-minute surprise witness. And I want immunity.”

“Why would you need immunity? You were undercover.”

“I want fucking immunity. And now,” he adds, “I’m going to go drink the expensive-ass champagne I brought and already opened. Shoot me if you want to, but don’t call Pitt.” He starts to walk away.

I catch his arm and the muscle there flexes beneath my touch, his gaze colliding with mine, and the rush of awareness between us is scorching. It’s also comforting. This is real. This is not something he could fake. “Why would you need immunity?” I press again. “You were undercover.”

Tension ticks in his jaw. “That’s the deal. My testimony for immunity. And if you keep touching me, I’m going to forget why I shouldn’t have touched you.”