some of the strongest attackers.
Yet she hadn’t panicked when he’d come at her. She had done her best to protect herself from what could have been a terrible outcome. Because the man had had his hands about her neck and his thumbs pressed against her larynx. She’d gasped and had felt her lungs tighten.
It had been over a year since she’d worked as a field agent and had exercised her defense skills. Had she gotten so out of shape and ineffective in such a short time?
“Get it together, Amelie,” she whispered. “Why did this happen?”
Because Amelie Desauliniers had been sent out of the country to hide under an assumed identity. But hide from whom or what hadn’t been made clear to her. Surely this hadn’t been a random attack. And yet she was undercover. Dark. Who had found her?
A quiet knock on the door preceded “Yvette? You okay in there?”
She closed her eyes.
“Yvette?”
“Oh.” Despite embracing the name, it just didn’t click sometimes. As well, she’d have to form words to reassure the police chief. Inhaling a quiet sniffle, she said, “Sorry. Yes, give me a few minutes. I’m a little shaken.”
“Thought you might be. I’ll be out in the living room. Another officer is on the way to pick up the perp.”
She waited until his boots echoed away down the hall. Amelie stood and walked to the sink. Twisting on the water spigot, she splashed her face but let out a gasp. She would never get used to the fact the water took a good three or four minutes to reach room temperature. But the frigid water did work to shock away her tears.
Pressing a towel over her face to dry it, she then nodded at her reflection. The agent she had once been must be tugged out of retirement. For survival purposes. “I can do this.”
But she couldn’t ask the sexy police chief for help. Her stay here in Minnesota was classified. And not knowing what she knew had suddenly become a detriment. She had to speak with her boss. And soon.
Returning to the living room, she walked around the prone body on the floor. The attacker was coming to, groaning. Another knock on the door sounded. Amelie jumped. A pair of gentle, warm hands settled onto her shoulder.
“It’s Alex, my assistant,” Chief Cash reassured her in a deep voice that hinted at the strength she desperately required. “Why don’t you sit on the couch.” He touched her upper arm, and she winced. “Looks like you got hurt. Your sweater is torn. I’ll take a look after I get the perp out of here.”
He opened the door, and the waiting police officer nodded and introduced himself to her as Amelie settled onto the couch. He was tall and attractive. Not handsome sexy, more like boy-band cute. The thought summoned her out of the heavy tension that had made her clutch the tactical pen. She set the pen on the coffee table and inspected her sweater.
She’d been hurt? She hadn’t noticed while shivering in the bathroom. Yet now that Jason had pointed it out, she felt the sting of pain in her biceps. Her sweater was torn and bloody. And...yes, the pointed tip of the pen was bloodied, so she’d caused her attacker some damage.
The two men picked up the suspect by his upper arms. He growled and struggled against the handcuffs. Both officers had to move him out of the cabin, kicking and gyrating across the threshold. As they exited, the attacker called, “I will be back for you!”
Amelie swore and turned to clasp her arms about her legs, pulling them tight against her chest. Her heart thudded up to her throat.
She knew something dangerous. It was locked away in her brain, and only she possessed the key to dredge out the information.
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