Page 103 of Deep Cover

2

Annie

He was watching me again. Ever since I came back from Portland, he'd been watching me. It was enough to make a nun feel like she'd done something terribly wrong.

When a man as intense and smoldering and dangerous as Cole St. Martin watches you with close attention, your every move is double and triple-checked before you make it.

When I first fell into his care, it was after Jesse had been killed in a gang shootout. I hadn't even been there, in my Lily persona, because my father had been hospitalized after a series of heart attacks for what turned out to be the beginning of several hospitalizations and procedures and much complaining from him, freaking out from my mother, and bitchiness from my three sisters.

My father's the only one in my family who understands me, and only because he's a career cop. He was never undercover, but he worked narcotics and vice a lot. He was my hero and my inspiration for becoming a cop.

So he needed me to help defray the smothering care of my mother and three sisters, all of whom are frilly and lacy and child-producing even if they have to go through multiple starter marriages before getting to that point.

I needed a 12-step program for my family. Hi. I'm Annie Knox. I don't belong in my family.

I didn't really belong with my fiancé Mark Tomlin anymore either, not by the time Jesse was killed, because I'd been fucking Jesse for months and telling myself it was part of the job.

Now I was here, kicking a fentanyl problem and trying to make sense of Cole St. Martin, billionaire, philanthropist, sadist. The last time I'd tried to run from him it was because he sold me in an auction at a dinner party he’d hosted for five other super rich men and their wives or slaves.

One minute I was thinking I was getting the hang of being under his control. The next he was selling me to a man with dead, scary eyes, for 5.5 million dollars and the irony was the money was going to charities to combat human trafficking.

I'm not big on irony.

"Ready to turn back?"

Cole's voice cut through the cold desert air behind me. My shoulders tensed up because this was a test. Everything was a test. Most of the tests were rigged. I could feel myself getting wet just at the random thought of what he might do to me if it was a test and I failed that test.

I'd never let him know it.

If I said keep running, he might take that to mean I didn't want to go "home" to the compound.

If I said I wanted to keep running it might mean that I was experiencing body issues and he'd feed me fish for breakfast because no way was I developing an eating disorder on his watch.

If I said turn back it might mean I was a quitter and needed to be brought back into line, to be whipped into shape, sometimes literally, so I'd work toward my own cure.

Make a decision!

Too late. Cole's arms went around my waist from behind. It only felt like I could race ahead and lead him. He's six-four to my five-six. He will always run faster than I do.

He pulled me kicking and screaming under his arm, my head and shoulders facing behind him. His left arm was wrapped around my waist, keeping me from moving, and his right hand yanked down my tights so hard they tore.

He didn't believe in warmups which was really bad when the day was cold and my ass was cold despite the tights.

"Please, sir!" I yelped. "Let's keep running!" Way, way too late.

He gave a chuckle that chilled my heart. "Oh, you will," he said. "But first let's talk about making decisions." His hand slammed down on my ass with the first statement. "You're a police officer, Miss Knox." Slam. "If you hesitate too long on a simple decision." Slam. "What might you do on something truly important and life or death?" Slam! Slam! Slam!

I was already making promises I'd never be able to remember, let alone keep. I thought as I got started with Cole that I'd build up some kind of immunity to the pain side of things but his hard hand hurt almost as much now as it had when I was first sold to him.

Damn Samuels. If I ever found him, I'd sell him to something.

We ran an extra two miles before Cole thought it was a good idea to head back to the compound for the rest of the morning routine. Thirty minutes of weights, twenty excruciatingly boring minutes of yoga, meditation during which I usually reviewed my choices – find a lawyer who could tell me if Cole's contract giving myself to him in addition to Samuels selling me to him was valid – made more difficult by my never leaving the compound alone. Or at all.

Once free of Cole's control, then what? I had probably six months before Seattle PD would come looking for me, and my family and semi-ex-fiancé were convinced I was back on the job. Before everything blew up, I was so deep undercover they wouldn't hear from me for months.

That was good. Because I still loved Mark Tomlin and every time I was with him I wanted to marry him. Probably. And have some version of a normal life.

I thought.

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