pair of ridiculous shoes and practically fell toward him, looping her arms around his neck.
His hands locked on her waist, and then her lips were on his, just the briefest touch before he set her back on her feet.
“Brenna,” he groaned. “We can’t do that. Carlton—”
“He’s not here right now,” she cut him off, not wanting to think about Carlton and the dangerous mission she’d begged to get assigned to. Because all she could think about was Marcos. The boy she’d never been able to forget, morphed into a man she couldn’t stop thinking about. She leaned back into him, and she could tell she’d caught him off guard.
Before he could protest again, she fused her lips to his. Just one real taste, she promised herself, and then she’d back away, leave him alone and go back to her mission.
He kissed the way she’d imagined he would in all those childhood fantasies she’d had, where she grew up and got out of those foster homes she’d been sent to after the fire. Like a fairy-tale ending come to life.
Except this wasn’t a fairy tale. And Marcos was a drug dealer.
She pulled away, feeling dazed and unsteady. He didn’t look much better; he actually seemed shocked he’d kissed her back at all. But as she stared up at him, breathing hard and trying to pull herself together, she could see it on his face. He was thinking about kissing her again.
And, Lord help her, she wanted him to.
“I warned you to stay away from her!”
Carlton’s voice boomed down the hallway, making her jump. She almost fell, but braced herself on the wall as Carlton strode toward them, fury in his expression and ownership in his voice that made a chill run through her.
Then he snapped his fingers and his thugs pounded down the hallway, too.
Marcos put his hands up, trying to placate him, but it didn’t matter. One of the guards slung his semiautomatic rifle over his shoulder and punched Marcos in the stomach, making him double over.
As Brenna gasped and yelled for Carlton to stop them, the thugs each took Marcos by an arm and dragged him down the corridor.
And she knew what was going to happen next. They were going to kill him.
Marcos tensed his muscles, but it didn’t stop the pain when one of Carlton’s guards slammed an oversize fist into his stomach. The punch doubled him over, his eyes watering. They’d been hitting him for five minutes, and he could feel it all over his body. Gasping for air, he staggered backward, giving himself a few precious seconds to gauge his options.
Fight or flight?
His car was a few feet behind him, his DEA phone secreted in the hidden compartment, his keys always in his pocket. But there was no way he’d make it. Both bodyguards had semiautomatic weapons slung over their backs. He couldn’t run faster than they could swing the weapons around and fire.
Fighting was a problem, too. These two might have looked like more brawn than brain, but they weren’t stupid. They were staying on either side of him, one at a time stepping forward for a hit, the other keeping enough distance that he couldn’t take on one without the other being able to fire.
Besides, Brenna was still inside. He could hear her, screaming at Carlton to stop them. And it didn’t matter what deal she had with the drug kingpin. If Carlton was this angry at Marcos for a simple kiss, what would he do to Brenna for choosing Marcos over him? Marcos couldn’t leave her.
Not that he was going to have much of a choice, the way things were going. The guy came at him again, before Marcos could fully recover, and swept his feet out from underneath him.
He hit the concrete hard, pain ricocheting through his skull. Black spots formed in front of his eyes and bile burned his throat. His biggest undercover assignment, and he was going to die all alone in the middle of the Appalachians. Would they even find his body? Would his brothers know what had happened to him?
The thought gave him strength, and as he made out a size thirteen crashing toward him through his wavering vision, Marcos rolled right. His stomach and his head rebelled, but he held it together, shoving himself to his feet. He was unsteady, but standing.
And then he spotted her. Brenna stood in the doorway to the house. She was screaming, he realized—it wasn’t just his ears ringing. Carlton had his arms wrapped around her, lifting her off the ground, but not moving as she swung her feet frantically, trying to escape.
Fury lit Marcos, and it seemed to intensify the pain in his head. He must have swayed on his feet, because the guards both moved toward him at once, smiling, and Marcos recognized his chance.
The first guard swung a fist. Instinctively, Marcos ducked, then stepped forward fast, getting close enough to slam an uppercut into his chin.
The guard’s head snapped backward, but Marcos didn’t waste time with a follow-up punch. He twisted right, bringing his palm up this time, right into the second guard’s nose. Blood spurted, spraying Marcos as the guy howled and staggered backward, his hands pressed to his face.
In his peripheral vision, he could see Carlton’s surprise as he let Brenna go. She stumbled, losing one of her shoes as she came running toward him. Behind her, Marcos could see Carlton’s hand reach behind his back—surely where he had his own weapon.
He opened his mouth to warn Brenna to duck when the first guy he’d hit shoved himself to his feet. Marcos barreled into him, taking him to the ground hard, his only hope to grab the guy’s weapon and shoot first.
It was a desperate move, and unlikely to work, but he didn’t even have a chance to try, because the second guy pulled a pistol that had been hidden under his T-shirt. He was swinging it toward Marcos when Brenna slammed into him, taking the guy down despite the fact that he must have outweighed her by a hundred pounds. They fell to the ground together, but Marcos didn’t have time to do more than say a silent prayer neither of them had been shot as the guy underneath him suddenly rolled, bucking Marcos off.
He shoved to his knees, ready to slam into the guy again, but he’d somehow managed to yank his AK-47 up toward Marcos.
Marcos’s breath caught and then a gunshot rang out.
Shock slammed through him, and it took several seconds before he could process it. He hadn’t been hit. The guy in front of him was down, though, eyes staring blankly at the sky, gun lying uselessly at his side.
Marcos glanced over at Carlton, but the man looked as surprised as Marcos felt. Carlton’s weapon dangled in his hand, like he’d been getting ready to use it but hadn’t been fast enough.
Swiveling to stare at Brenna, Marcos watched as she slowly lowered the weapon she’d somehow gotten away from Carlton’s other bodyguard. He lay half underneath her, moaning in pain.
She was breathing hard, blinking rapidly, and he knew instantly that she’d never killed anyone before.
Marcos saw movement from the corner of his eye, and he knew before he looked up that Carlton was raising his gun hand. Marcos gauged the distance to the nearest AK-47, but
