Deep (The Deep Duet 1)

The back of the car was now completely smashed and bent, so it looked like the car had skidded off the road and plunged down the embankment. She shivered. Under her coat, she only wore a thin dress, one that clung to her curves. But it was part of the plan, so she’d pushed past the mortification. It would all be worth it soon.

She clasped her forehead, rubbing at the stress ball of tension that had settled behind her eyes. Now or never.

The entire scene had been meticulously planned. With a deep breath, she scooted around the guardrail and held her breath as she started down the nearly nonexistent trail. Sand and razor-sharp rocks were more than happy to mingle with her toes and cut up her feet, but she kept moving.

The son of a bitch had better take the bait. He will. This whole plan banked on Rafe DeMarco being a decent enough human being to care about someone else potentially being hurt. Either that or curious enough to stop and see what the hell was going on.

The glass was hard to ignore. She just prayed some other stray motorist didn’t decide to be a Good Samaritan. But this was an access road, rarely ever traveled.

She shoved aside the lingering feelings of doubt and concern and guilt. This man had taken everything away from her, deliberately and systematically. She was going to return the favor. And she was going to get her life back. It didn’t matter how long it took.

She shivered again when she remembered his dark eyes peering at her from behind the mask. He’d just killed her father. Two bullets in the skull. Cold. Efficient. His lips had been set in a firm, grim line.

She’d gasped from her hiding place, the fear and the shock and despair leaking through her body like a chemical spill. She still remembered the sound of his voice as he muttered a single word. “Fuck.” When he’d pulled aside the curtain, she’d been so sure he was going to kill her too. Positive he was going to murder her like he’d done her father. But he hadn’t. He’d let her live.

That was his first mistake.

Maybe he’d assumed she’d be so traumatized by the situation that she wouldn’t remember. Maybe he thought she’d be grateful he hadn’t killed her. Maybe he thought she’d forget his face, his voice, the way he made her feel.

Bad luck for him. She remembered that day in startling clarity. The day he’d turned her family upside down. Come to think of it, she needed to have a slogan for when she saw him again. Like in The Princess Bride.

“My name is Diana Vandergraff. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” She wasn’t the villain here, so she wasn’t going to have some long, drawn-out bragging speech. But he would know. She’d make sure he understood the series of events that had led to his world crumbling.

She wanted him to know.

Before she got her revenge, she’d get the answers she’d been searching for her whole life. Her father hadn’t been particularly affectionate or demonstrative, but he’d always been gentle with her. She couldn’t imagine any reason that he would be murdered other than for his money. Even as sheltered as she’d been, Diana had seen how people treated them all because of their wealth.

There were quite a few men who had approached her brothers about her simply because she’d inherited such a large trust fund. Men whom she’d had only brief conversations with were suddenly ardent admirers once they found out she was the Vandergraff heiress.

Well, she was an heiress no more. Hell, she didn’t even recognize that version of herself, the one who represented her family at society functions, wearing a ball gown and an insipid smile.

That girl was soft. That girl was vulnerable. The moment Diana was out of school, the only identity she knew was avenging angel.

Diana rubbed her hands up and down her arms when she reached the outcropping. The man she was targeting was a killer and a criminal. He had this coming. To do what she had to do, she couldn’t be Diana Vandergraff. She needed to be Diana Renquist.

chapter three

“It seems our old friends at Interpol want you back.”

Rafe lounged against the far wall of the intake room. He would think after all this time he would be used to rooms with no windows. “What can I tell you, Alan? I’m a likable guy. But no thanks. I like being a civilian. You know, drinking pumpkin ass-tasting lattes or whatever at Starbucks.”

His handler didn’t seem impressed with his jokes. “Can you be serious for a moment?”

Rafe forced his shoulders to relax. Normally everyone was telling him to loosen up. He used to be a company man, followed the rules to the letter. But hello, disenchantment, my old friend.

He didn’t miss this. The secrecy, the hiding out. He still checked in every week like clockwork out of habit. Because there were active cases he had worked on for years. And even though he was a Blake Security man now, he wanted to see those cases play out. Thankfully that was coming to an end.

He’d given his family up for the job. Well, no more. He was done doing favors. He had Lulu back now. He wasn’t getting dragged back into some undercover gig.

Right about now, he was in the zero-fucks-to-give category. Besides, it would be next to impossible to make undercover work for him. And he wasn’t leaving Lulu vulnerable again. It had been an overly interesting year already. It wasn’t like Noah wasn’t strong enough or deadly enough to protect his sister. But they’d just gotten their lives started, and he didn’t want to bring trouble to their door. Not that trouble didn’t seem to find them.

Or at least that was how he rationalized it. “You’ve got my full attention.”

“Glad to hear it. Right now we’ve got problems from an old friend of yours.”

His inner killer, the part of himself he kept chained up in the dungeon of his brain, started to stretch out. Easy. We don’t do that anymore.

“What now?” He rolled onto the balls of his feet. Ready, poised for action. And that was the underlying problem. He was always ready. Always poised for action.