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“Do not move,” she said slowly.
Jackson stilled. “Anna...” he warned.
“I said, do not move,” she growled.
He complied, giving his mind a second to catch up and formulate a plan. He wasn’t prepared for this. For Diaz’s men, yes. For Anna, no.
“Reach your hand back and give me your weapon,” she ordered.
When he didn’t move, she pressed her pistol harder into his back.
His jaw jutted out and anger boiled in his chest. “Whatever you think I’ve done, I promise you I haven’t. Unlike your boyfriend, my word counts for something.”
“Give me your weapon,” she growled.
He weighed his options. If he gave her his weapon, he might not get out of this alive.
But then again, she already had a pistol pressed into his back. One shot and he’d be dead.
He loosened his grip on his pistol and slowly reached behind him.
She grabbed it from his hand.
“Turn around, slowly,” she commanded.
He turned, facing her. She was still in the same clothes she’d been in earlier, the same bloody T-shirt. But her eyes were different tonight. Wild. Unpredictable.
“Anna,” he said slowly, warning her. “We’re on the same team.”
She scoffed, taking a step back. “I don’t think so, Jackson. You lied to me. You told me Diaz’s men were following me, but those were not Diaz’s men at the maze—and if they’re not his, then whose men are they? Diaz knows nothing about those men, and he would. Even if they were Dominic’s men.”
He searched her eyes, looking for her secrets. But he couldn’t stay there long or he’d get lost in her swirling eyes.
He forced himself to concentrate before she pulled the trigger.
“And you think they’re my men?” he asked incredulously. “If they were, you killed four FBI agents today. Do you think my boss would let that slide because you’re prepared to make a deal? You’ve given me nothing to use so far, and trust me, my boss is not real keen on this deal. He doesn’t believe you can be trusted. I’m starting to think the same thing,” he said, letting his anger burn through his words.
He saw something flicker in her eyes, but she didn’t back down.
“Whose men were they?” she asked, her words clipped.
Jackson realized he didn’t know for sure. They’d assumed Diaz’s, but he’d asked himself several times why Diaz had brought in men that weren’t known associates. Sometimes, he thought, when things began to crumble, people did crazy things—things like standing in his kitchen pointing a weapon at him.
“If they’re not Diaz’s, they’re Dominic’s. No one else has a reason to have men follow you.”
“Diaz would know,” she said, but she sounded less confident.
“Maybe not. The brothers are business partners, but from what I can tell, Dominic calls the shots. He’s the man behind the scenes making all the big decisions.”
Her jaw ground, her eyes piercing his. She didn’t respond but Jackson had no idea if he was getting through to her or not.
“How did you find my house?” he asked. His address wasn’t listed publicly. His alias wasn’t listed.
“Whose men were they?” she pressed again, unrelenting.
“I honestly don’t know,” he admitted, looking into her eyes. “But I promise you, they were not mine.”
Her eyes softened. It was barely noticeable, but he saw it.
