Her apartment felt too hot for her. Under the spray of the shower, Camille leaned her head against the cold tiles, letting the water rain on her, but as soon as she closed her eyes, she was back in the car. The ghost of Kade's knuckles against her thigh made her thighs clench in desire. She could feel the heat of him, the way her breath had hitched, the dangerous magnetic pull that had nothing to do with her mission and everything to do with her own traitorous body.
Focus, she snapped at herself, stepping out and wrapping a towel around her damp skin.
She sat at her laptop, pulling up the encrypted Agency nodes. She tried to work. She tried to cross-reference the names from the meeting with the smugglers' list. But the lines of code blurred. Her instincts were screaming, agitated and restless.
She wasn't going to get anything done tonight. Not like this.
She traded her robe for a pair of dark, slim-fitting jeans, a black silk camisole, and a leather jacket. She didn't want to go to a club. Loud bass music and grinding sweaty bodies wasn't what she needed right now. She didn't want a walk either.
She climbed down from the taxi and let her eyes drift over the beautiful Italian building around the corner, with dim lights lining the road. Its soothing lights were going to give her the peace that she sought.
The cool night air helped, but as she turned the corner, her internal radar pinged. A familiar silhouette stepped out of a black sedan half a block down.
Kade.
He wasn't in his work jacket. He looked leaner, more dangerous in a charcoal overcoat as he walked into a narrow alleyway, a place no billionaire businessman had any reason to be.
Camille's training took over, the restless energy in her limbs sharpening into a cold, professional focus. She stayed in the shadows, moving with the silent, practiced gait of a ghost. She reached the mouth of the alley just in time to see Kade speaking to a man in a hooded sweatshirt.
The stranger was agitated, speaking in a low, panicked hiss.
"...he's asking questions, Wilder. The shipment at the docks isn't just hardware. If they find out—"
"I told you to handle the docks," Kade's voice cut through the air, vibrating with a lethal edge. "Leave the rest to me."
"B-but—" The stranger broke off as Kade took a menacing step toward him.
"If you can't keep your people quiet, I'll find someone who can—"
Kade stopped abruptly.
The air around him seemed to stiffen. He tilted his head slightly, his grey eyes narrowing as he turned with terrifying speed toward the crates where Camille was crouched.
Camille didn't wait. She melted back into the shadows of the street, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She moved fast, looping around the block, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts.
She needed a cover. Now.
She ducked into the first open door she found, a small, dimly lit Italian bistro with red-checkered tablecloths and the heavy scent of garlic. She took a seat at a corner booth, tucked away in the back, and opened a menu, her hands steady only by sheer force of will.
She had just ordered a glass of red wine when the bell above the door chimed.
Cold air followed the newcomer inside. Camille didn't look up, but she felt the hair on her arms stand up.
A shadow fell over her table.
"Rough neighborhood for a late-night stroll, isn't it, Miss De Luca?"