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“Put your palms flat against the wall and step back.”
The color faded from her cheeks. “What?”
“You have a hearing problem? Put your hands against the wall and step back.”
Her mouth began to tremble. For a couple of seconds, he almost told her to forget it. He’d seen her naked; he knew damned well she didn’t have a gun…
But this wasn’t about guns, it was about control.
“Do it,” he snarled.
She swung away from him. Pressed her palms to the wall. Stepped back…and, of course, had to spread her legs to keep her balance.
/> He moved in. Reached around her. Cupped her breasts. He made sure his touch was impersonal. Still, she jumped as if he’d touched her with a hot iron.
“Stand still.”
“No!” She swung toward him, eyes glittering with hatred. “You can’t do this. You don’t have the right.”
“Correction, baby. I have all the right.”
“The hell you do.”
Matthew smiled. Drew his gun from the small of his back. Watched her eyes widen when she saw it.
“This gives me whatever right I need. Now turn around and get your hands on that wall.”
“You’re a pig,” she said, her voice shaking with contempt.
“Now, that really breaks my heart,” he said, and spun her away from him.
He moved his hands over her quickly, expertly, checking her belly, her legs down all the way to her ankles, then coming up again and touching the insides of her thighs.
He hesitated. Then he put his hand between her legs and cupped her.
She made a little sound of despair. He imagined how he could change it to a whisper of desire. All he had to do was move his hand. Stroke her. She hated him, yes, but memory of that kiss told him she’d damned well respond to him, just the same.
She’d be a thousand times easier to handle, if he made love to her.
Matthew shut his eyes.
One of the reasons he’d left the Agency was because he’d known he was losing the ability to separate what was morally right from what was practical and expedient. Could twenty-four hours in his old life turn him into that kind of man again?
No. It couldn’t. This was right, and it was expedient. Mia Palmieri was running drugs. Whatever it took to stop her, he would do.
He took a step back. “Okay,” he said briskly, “turn around.”
She swung toward him, her eyes as hard and cold as amber. Good. From now on, she’d behave. All he had to do was decide what to do with her.
It was, he thought glumly, a damned good question.
Hamilton had only asked him to find out what had happened to her. Well, he’d found out. She’d run away. In theory, he could just let her keep running.
But not if she had a stash of uncut cocaine. He’d put in too much time and sweat stopping drug runners to let that happen. Alita had died, to keep it from happening.
Letting Mia Palmieri go wasn’t an option, not if she was on the run with dope.
If he found the stuff…well, that would give him other options. He could flush it down a toilet and let her walk away. He wasn’t a cop; he wasn’t even a spook anymore. He had no obligation to bring her to justice.
