and carried her out into the cold night.
It was really happening. Bridget was being kidnapped, right out of a public place.
By Dean Willis. The FBI agent she’d spent the past several months loathing.
SPECIAL AGENT DEAN WILLIS had been following Bridget Donahue for three days. Long, painful days during which he’d mentally kicked himself a hundred times for ever letting this happen. Any of it.
He regretted getting involved with her. Taking advantage of her. Using her.
Falling for her. Hard.
Oh, she’d never believe it, especially because of the way she’d found out that he was working undercover. She’d known him as nice, solid, boring car salesman Dean Willis, with the ill-fitting suits, the shaggy hair and the crooked glasses.
He’d wanted her to know him like that. To like him, to trust him. And he’d played on that like and trust, needing to know—to be sure—that Bridget had not been involved with her employer’s financial games. Her boss had been cleaning up some filthy money for a couple of local drug-dealing thugs.
Bridget Donahue had been his bookkeeper.
Everyone—including Dean, at first—had assumed she was an accomplice. It was only after he’d met her that he’d begun to suspect everyone was wrong. He’d become determined to prove it, and he had—but only after he’d gotten close to her. Close enough to make her trust him. Close enough to make her care about him.
Close enough to care too much himself.
She had been—still was—the loveliest woman he’d ever met. Sweet and funny. Good-natured and intelligent. Everything he’d always wanted in a woman…but he’d had to use her.
So she had a right to hate him when the truth came out, when she’d walked into the dealership one morning and found him there, with his team, tearing the place apart and taking Honest Marty into custody. She hadn’t wanted to hear a thing he had to say. She’d brushed him off, not sparing him a second thought,
She wouldn’t have trusted him now if he’d come to her to tell her she was in danger.
So he hadn’t come to her. He’d stayed out of sight, certain she hadn’t spotted him. But oh, he’d definitely kept his eyes glued to her. Sometimes walking close enough behind her to breathe in the remnants of her soft, flowery perfume lingering in the air after she’d passed through it. He’d kept his hawkish gaze on her slim, vulnerable back, the long, light brown hair falling in a curtain over her shoulders. He’d caught tantalizing glimpses of her creamy cheek and her full lips when she smiled and heard the echo of her laughter more than once as she’d participated in her cousin’s wedding.
All the while knowing someone wanted to kill her.
“Damn it, put me down,” she snapped.
He complied, lowering her to stand on her own feet, though he kept one arm around her waist to prevent her from making a run for it. With the other, he unlocked the door of his SUV. It was parked out back, behind a Dumpster, near a few cars in private employee spaces. Unimpeded by the crowd probably gathering out front…with easy access to a rear alley. He’d left it here when he’d followed Bridget’s limo earlier this evening, anticipating the possible need for a fast getaway.
“Let me go!”
“Shut up, Bridget, we’re getting out of here. I’ll explain everything later.”
She wriggled and kicked, seeming to suddenly have eight arms and legs, all of which were battering at him, demanding her freedom. “I swear I’ll scream.”
“Nobody’ll hear you over the emergency alarm,” he replied, not a bit fazed by her threat. “Now get in and stay down… This is serious.” He pushed her into the backseat. Knowing he couldn’t trust her not to make a break for it the moment he moved to the driver’s seat, he took her chin in his hands. Staring into her blazing eyes, he said, “Someone’s been following you.”
“You,” she spat.
“No,” he replied, crouching down behind the open door. “Someone doesn’t want you to testify next week and they’re going to try to make sure that you don’t.”
Her mouth opened, then quickly snapped closed. Bridget’s eyes narrowed and her brow scrunched as she tried to make sense of his words. To process the idea that someone might actually want to hurt her.
He still hadn’t quite processed it. Because since the moment he’d found out—after being called in by the Bureau chief three days ago—he’d been operating on pure anger and adrenaline.
God help the bastard sent to harm her. When Dean found him, the guy was going to wish he hadn’t been born.
“Trust me, Bridget,” he asked, his voice low and resolute. He needed her to cooperate. Now. “I know you hate me, and that’s understandable. But I swear to you, I’m trying to protect you.”
She glared and he knew she was planning a sarcastic response. That sarcasm and strength were two of the things he liked about her, especially because they were so unexpected given her quiet demeanor and beauty.
Whatever she’d been about to say was cut off by the sound of sirens approaching. She glanced toward the building and the driveway leading to the front lot as if contemplating taking refuge among the crowd with the rescue workers. Then she looked back at Dean. The frown faded. And though the anger remained, the distrust disappeared from her expression.
The woman was furious, all right. But she was not stupid. She might hate him, but she knew he could protect her.
“All right. What is it you want me to do?”
2
DEAN HAD PROVED HIMSELF a liar several months ago when they’d met. But now, tonight, Bridget knew he was telling the truth. His tension and barely controlled fury spoke volumes about his genuine worry. For her. The star witness.
That was the only reason he was here, she knew enough about him to realize that much. It certainly wasn’t out of any personal regard. The kiss he’d just laid on her had rocked her world as much as the ones they’d shared in her office last August. But they hadn’t so much as caused him a tremor. She meant nothing to him—he’d made it clear that day when he’d let her be interrogated for hours by his other FBI buddies, who thought she had something to do with Marty’s not-so-honest dealings.
Letting her be interrogated had been the least of his crimes. Letting her care about him…that was the one she couldn’t forgive.
“Stay down,” he barked as he started the vehicle, gunning the engine hard.
She did as he ordered, crouched in a ball on the backseat. The SUV jerked and swayed, angling sharply to the right, almost knocking her to the floor. Dean’s big hand appeared out of nowhere, blocking her fall with a firm grip on her shoulder.
God, she hated her own weakness for immediately sucking in a breath of pure excitement at the rough touch of his hand. “I’m fine,” she managed to say between clenched teeth.
“Don’t move.”
As
