Page 51 of The Contract

Caleb hesitates, his eyes darting nervously. “Just… driving. Clearing my head.”

A dry chuckle crackles through the speaker. “Clearing your head? Is that why you’re cruising around with Dante’s girl?”

Fire scorches my veins. I am not Dante’s girl. Even if my traitorous heart skips at the mention of his name.

The voice on the line snaps impatiently, “Pull over.”

Caleb bites out a fuck under his breath. “Why?” Caleb’s question is strained.

“Because I’m right behind you, and I want a word with the girl.”

Okay. I don’t know who this asshole thinks he is, but calling me the girl isn’t doing him any favors.

Caleb checks the rearview mirror and swallows audibly, disconnecting the call without another word. He swings the car sharply into a parking lot of a run-down thrift shop. I twist around, watching as a sleek black sedan smoothly pulls up behind us. But it’s not the driver who steps out. It’s someone from the back seat—a man in a flawlessly tailored suit, carrying himself with cold, Napoleonic authority.

“What kind of Fed has a driver?” I hiss, shooting Caleb a glare.

He stares straight ahead, expression carved from stone. “The kind who can make both our lives a living hell.” Caleb cracks my window an inch, his voice dropping dangerously low. “He wants to talk to you? He can do it through the glass. Stay inside, Riley. Don’t get out. No matter what Shaw says.”

“Who the hell is Shaw?”

“Vincent Shaw. My boss. Special Agent in Charge. And he’s not someone you trifle with. Or trust. Anything you say will be used against you. It’s just a matter of time.”

Caleb exits quickly, moving to intercept Shaw before he can reach my window. Through the narrow gap, I hear them clearly.

Shaw’s charm is chilled. “Want to explain why you’re hell-bent on fucking up my investigation, Knox?”

“I’m not,” Caleb bites out sharply. “I’m securing an asset.”

“Now she’s an asset?” Shaw straightens his tie, his calculating gaze sliding toward me. “Then you won’t mind if I confirm that for myself.”

Caleb stiffens, shifting protectively, subtly blocking Shaw’s path. “She’s in. You said if she’s in, she’s mine to handle.”

Shaw simply moves past him. “Not until I verify we’re all on the same page.” Without another word, he strolls up to my window, a stodgy man in a pristine suit.

His gaze on me feels intrusive. Predatory.

I bite my tongue and let my fingers drift along the door handle until they trace the sharp edge of frayed steel.

It slices my skin, the familiar sting cuts through the chaos, quieting the roaring pulse in my ears.

Just enough to hold still.

Shaw speaks, abrupt and cold. “I hear we have a deal. Do we?”

“Like I said,” Caleb murmurs bitterly, “she’s agreed. Riley gives us what we want, and we give her what she wants.”

Shaw barely acknowledges Caleb, smirking. “Shouldn’t be too hard, considering…”

“Considering what?” I snap, annoyance flaring in my chest.

His smirk spreads into something crude and uncomfortable—a grin that even clowns would sidestep. He leans down, and suddenly I’m grateful the window is as high as it is. “Don’t play naive. If you’re acting, save it for Dante. If you’re not…” His gaze drops blatantly to my breasts, tongue sliding across his lower lip in a slow, disgusting appraisal. “You won’t stay naive long.”

I inhale sharply, pressing harder into that jagged edge until the sting of pain grounds every raw nerve, bringing clarity. My go to hell factor in full swing. “And if I don’t agree?”

“Don’t agree?” He scoffs, his stare sharpening, pinning me to the spot. “I’m offering you FBI protection on a silver platter. But let me be crystal clear—I want your cooperation, but I sure as hell don’t need it. Just like I don’t need a real reason to lock you up for seventy-two hours.”

“You can’t do that.”

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