Prologue

Candy held the phone away from her ear. “You have got to be kidding me,” she mumbled. Miranda Worthington was a piece of work. She let the woman ramble on before eventually interrupting her, midsentence.

“Not interested, Mrs. Worthington.” Candy’s voice emerged hard and devoid of emotion, something that usually got her what she wanted, fast, but the bitch on the other end would not cooperate.

“You don’t understand, dear.”

This had Candy fuming. Nobody called her “dear.”

“Agent Dunsky, who’s an old friend of mine, referred me to you.”

Dunsky is a dead man.

“And he said you’re temporarily on leave and could use the money I’m offering.”

True, I could use the money, but to locate a missing twenty-seven-year-old guy for some old, rich bitch? What the fuck?

“You’ve said he’s not a relative, Mrs. Worthington, so fill me in on why you want this Huxley character? And why me?”

Miranda Worthington was about to lie. No way would she tell Candy―a.k.a. agent Candy Lane―what she really wanted, and Candy knew it. She would listen, but not believe.

“Mr. Abelard owes me money, dear. A great deal of money.” Miranda paused then dropped a bomb. “And I know, from Ken Dunsky all about the job you just wrapped up. I admire a woman of your talents, and I think we’ll get along well together.”

Yup. Dunsky was screwed. Not only had he given out Candy’s name and telephone number, he’d leaked intel on a bust…and why? Who was this old lady? A rich aunt he’d inherit a shitload of money from? Considering what the bitch offered to track down Huxley Abelard, she must have a vault full of dead presidents. Still, Candy didn’t bite.

“Sorry, lady. You’ve got the wrong person.”

Mrs. Worthington’s voice turned the corner from sickly sweet and cajoling to hard and determined. “You should reconsider, my dear. I could tell the wrong people who you are and where to find you.”

Nothing in those words made Candy happy. Fucking bitch and fucking dead-man-walking Dunsky. If anyone found out her real identity, or the part she’d played in the bureau’s latest takedown, Candy was the one who’d be cold and cadaverous. Fuck. She had to take this bullshit job, and she wasn’t happy.

Candy stayed silent, watching the clock, to see what came out of the woman’s mouth next. Let the battle ax swing in the wind. Candy had all the time in the world to make Worthington doubt her method of coercion.

It took exactly forty-two seconds before the woman caved. “Fine. I need your help, and I’ll sweeten the pot. You can’t blame me for using all the tools at my disposal to get you to say yes to my request.” Her voice turned smarmy. “Releasing your name would be a last resort and extremely distasteful.”

Candy supposed that was the closest the entitled bitch would come to an apology. Whoever she was, she must get her own way a lot, but Candy wouldn’t let her new employer underestimate her for a single moment. “Let me suggest that, if my name gets leaked, before I become a dead person, you’re a goner first. Do you get me, Mrs. Worthington?” Candy dripped the threat warningly off her tongue and waited for the response.

“I understand you perfectly…dear.”

Fucking standoff.

“Oh, and you’ve got my rate wrong.” Candy named a sum, double the amount Worthington had offered. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.” There was no hesitation. “As long as you locate and bring Huxley Abelard to me.”