Burned (On The Hunt #5)

Prologue

Duncan

Almost nine years ago

Undercover work was like playing a game of chess.

It took time and a great deal of strategy to capture the elusive king.

In this case, the king was fifty-seven-year-old Erik Murray.

The world saw him as an upstanding millionaire with a philanthropic heart, but I knew better.

He was the lowest of the low, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

While Solace, his nonprofit organization, provided aid to poor and war-stricken nations, Murray was trafficking and selling illegal weapons hand over fist to the highest bidder.

We also suspected—though we had nothing tangible—he was knee-deep in something even more heinous, the sale of women.

He first popped up on the FBI’s radar six months ago.

Our investigation was just starting to ramp up when he fled the U.S.

to Ireland, where he held dual citizenship.

A short while later, my boss’s boss, Deputy Director Roger Ashland, pulled me into his office for a special assignment, one which had me on a plane bound for the land of leprechauns within a matter of hours.

The FBI often joined forces with the Garda Síochána, Ireland’s national police service.

In this case, I collaborated with Niall McGee from the National Drugs and Organized Crime Bureau, or NDOC.

He was the one who gave me my orders and the one who kept my ass from getting killed. My handler, in other words.

Growing up in the system, I had no family to speak of.

No one would miss me or ask damning questions if things went sideways.

For all intents and purposes, I was a nobody, which made me the ideal agent for this particular op.

It also didn’t hurt that I had the uncanny ability to slip in and out of various situations virtually unseen, earning me the nickname Ghost during my time at Quantico.

I’d been in Ireland for five weeks without dick to show for my efforts.

Trying to maneuver your way into the depths of a criminal organization was no easy feat, especially when they hid inside their expensive high-rise buildings.

My break finally came in the form of a text from a local informant.

Murray was scheduled for a lunch meeting.

A very public lunch meeting. Thoughts immediately began to swirl in my head.

The plan was simple, really. I needed to earn his trust. What better way than to save his rotten life?

There was only one problem. I didn’t expect her.

She was sitting in the corner booth at Shamrock’s, a little pub in the heart of Dublin, with her back to the door.

Something about her called to me like a homing beacon.

I should’ve walked away—found a different vantage point to keep an eye on my target—but like the asshole I was, I ignored the annoying voice in my head.

Sliding onto the bench opposite her, my breath stilled in my lungs. I was greeted with a scowl and an attitude, which did nothing to mar her beauty. The opposite, in fact. My cock instantly sprang to life.

“What if I said this seat was already taken?” the brunette replied.

“Then I’d say whoever left you sitting here alone was a fool, and he deserved to lose it.”

“What makes you so certain it was a he?” She lifted one perfectly shaped brow.

“Point taken.”

Raising my hand, I flagged down a nearby waiter, who rushed to our side.

After an intense stare-down with me, my feisty companion reluctantly gave in, grumbling her order of fish and chips.

I told the server to make it two, with the addition of a tall Guiness.

He dipped his chin, then hustled away, leaving me to face the consequences of my selfish actions.

“What are you doing?” She leaned forward, crossing her arms on top of the table. The move lifted her breasts, giving me a hint of the swells hidden beneath her pale-pink, V-neck blouse.

“Having lunch with a beautiful woman.”

“Listen, buddy—”

“Rogan.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Rogan.”

“All right, Rogan—”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m not in the habit of giving out my personal information to strangers.”

I smiled, something I rarely did. Her blue eyes—which were a few shades darker than my own—narrowed into slits.

Luscious chestnut hair kissed the tops of her shoulders, falling in soft waves around her slim face.

The urge to reach out and run my fingers through the strands to see if they were as soft as they looked was strong.

She was a natural beauty, a goddess, if you will.

Even the pout forming on her raspberry-tinted lips was adorable, and I didn’t find anything adorable.

“We stopped being strangers the second you threw sass my way. In some places, what we’ve started here is tantamount to foreplay.”

She rolled her eyes and my cock twitched a-fucking-gain. I should’ve known then I was playing with fire. Fortunately, I’d never been afraid of a little heat.

“Fine.” A puff of air left her mouth. “My name is Sloane.”

“It fits you.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

The waiter returned with my beer and a diet soda for Sloane.

Watching as her lips wrapped around the straw while she sucked the amber liquid through the thin plastic tube was pure torture.

In an effort to keep my dick from busting through my zipper, my gaze drifted around the restaurant.

Murray was sitting three tables away, tapping away on his cell phone, a scowl on his bearded face.

Guess whoever he was supposed to meet was running late.

Bad news for him, excellent news for me.

It meant more time with my mystery woman.

More time for what exactly had yet to be decided.

“Are you in Ireland on business or pleasure?”

“Both.” I cocked my head to the side, waiting for her to elaborate. “I was born in Dublin. When I was two, my mother moved us to the States. My father stayed here, so I spent my summers roaming these cobblestone streets. I visit him whenever I’m in the area.”

“Your lack of an accent makes sense now. And the business part?”

“I’m an accountant for an IT company. My time is generally split between here and London.”

“Smart and beautiful. The perfect combination.”

“Some people don’t see it that way.”

“Then they’re idiots.”

A pained expression flashed across her features before quickly morphing into a shy smile. Her next words though, left a mark on my heart.

“I’ll make sure to tell my father.”

I moved without thinking, stretching my hand over the table to lay it on top of hers. Electricity zapped through my body at the simple touch, making the hair on my arms stand on end.

“He’s a fool for not seeing the gift he’s been given.”

“My brother says the same thing.”

“Maybe it’s time you listened.”

Her hand spasmed beneath mine, a rosy blush creeping up her throat to settle on her cheeks. Sapphire eyes pinned me in place with their intensity. The world around us could’ve erupted into a ball of flames, and I would have let it burn to ash rather than look away from her.

“Maybe,” she answered softly.

Unfortunately, our waiter didn’t get the memo.

The heat of her touch was lost to me when he set two platters down in front of us.

With the moment gone, we dug into our food, continuing to chat in between bites.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, like two people who’d known each other for years rather than minutes.

Despite having grown up in completely different worlds, our likes and dislikes were eerily similar.

It wasn’t until I discovered Sloane shared my love for the great outdoors that I knew, without a doubt, I didn’t want our time to end.

We’d met for a reason. Who was I to fuck with divine intervention?

Niall would blow a gasket if he knew how easily I’d become distracted. I’d forever be grateful he hadn’t insisted I wear an earpiece because I was so utterly focused on Sloane, I nearly missed when Murray’s lunch companion finally showed up.

The man sitting across from my target wasn’t someone I recognized.

He appeared younger than Murray by at least two decades, possibly more.

But what had me sitting up a little straighter in my seat was how closely they resembled one another.

Both had deep coppery-red hair, matching clefts in their chins, and the same soulless moss-green eyes.

The two were unmistakably related, what I needed to know was how we missed it?

Erik never married. He was a player, a perpetual bachelor who enjoyed being photographed with more women on his arm in any given week than some men bragged about bedding in a lifetime.

Up until two seconds ago, I would’ve sworn he’d never fathered a child.

Now, as I looked across the crowded pub at the two men, I’d stake half my paycheck on the opposite.

Fuck.

“I should probably get going.”

Double fuck.

She reached for the bill as the waiter placed it on the edge of the table, but I was quicker.

“When can I see you again, Sloane?” I asked, holding her gaze as I fished a credit card out of my wallet.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly nervous. “I don’t know.”

“Let me rephrase. Do you want to see me again?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

“Good. Then we’ll take it slow. One day at a time. Let me see your phone.”

She withdrew a sleek black phone from her shoulder bag and after keying in the passcode, handed it over to me.

The picture on the screen was of Sloane with a snow-capped mountain range in the distance behind her.

What had my lips tipping up for a second time was the fact only half of her face was visible.

“My arms aren’t long enough to take a good selfie,” she explained with a shrug.

“You look beautiful.”

“I look like Rudolph with my bright-red nose, but the view was worth being a human Popsicle.”

“Where was this taken?”

“Scafell Pike in England. It’s one of my favorite places to hike.”

“Maybe you can take me there sometime.”

My words hung in the air as I quickly added my digits to her contact list, then sent myself a text. Once my own device vibrated against my ass, I passed hers back.

“One day at a time,” I reminded her. “I’ll call you tonight and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay.” She nodded, sliding out of the booth, while hoisting her purse up onto her left shoulder.

Sloane was petite, standing a good foot shorter than my six-foot-six frame, even with the wedges on her feet.

She had on a pair of white silk pants which fit her like a second skin, showing off her trim waist and the slight flare of her hips.

Her body was made for sin, and I desperately wanted to be the one who corrupted her.

My fingers spasmed at my side the moment she opened the door to the pub, crossed the threshold, and disappeared from sight.

It took an exorbitant amount of effort on my part to watch her walk away, but my objective hadn’t changed.

Returning to the table, I reminded myself of exactly the reason why I’d become an FBI agent to begin with.

In my early years, I was moved around so often, there wasn’t enough time to feel safe and secure.

Each new foster home placement came with a different set of worries, a different set of fears.

For the most part, I was left alone. Being well above average in size helped, although there were some who decided to shoot their shot anyway.

After my fourth foster father gave me a black eye, the social worker assigned to my case performed the greatest miracle of all.

She took me to Rogan James. He was a firefighter by day and my hero all the time.

He not only taught me how to defend myself, he drilled into me the importance of protecting the defenseless.

I lived with him from age ten until six years later when the towers fell in New York City.

Rogan saved countless lives before losing his. He died a hero, buried beneath the rubble of destruction. His sacrifice would not be in vain. I chose to honor him the only way I knew how, by ensuring people like Erik Murray weren’t allowed to breathe free.

Movement across the pub snapped my attention back to the present. Showtime. Murray and his young doppelg?nger were heading out. I followed, keeping an appropriate distance between us. My phone rang the instant my boots hit the sidewalk.

“This would’ve been much easier if you’d worn an earpiece, Duncan,” Niall bitched.

“Gotta make it look natural.”

“I swear you’ll be the death of me.” His tone flipped from teasing to terse. “Fifteen seconds. Coming in hot. Stay loose.”

Pocketing the phone, a flicker of unease rolled through my gut as I saw two armed men exit a blacked-out SUV across the street.

The window of opportunity to execute my plan was closing fast. Erik held up a hand to the men, halting their progression as he stepped onto the crosswalk.

With that gesture, he’d unknowingly made my day a hell of a lot easier.

I heard it then, the loud rumble of an engine, tires squealing as a white lorry careened around the corner. From twenty-five yards away, I took off at a dead run. Shouts from his guards made Murray’s head jerk up, but they wouldn’t make it to him in time.

This was gonna hurt.

My body slammed into his with only a second to spare.

Given the fact the front left bumper kissed my thigh in the process, I’d cut it way too close.

We hit the asphalt with a jarring thud. His men were on us in an instant, with one yanking me up while the other helped my mark to his feet.

I shook off the guy’s weak attempt to contain me and the next thing I knew, the barrel of a gun was jammed into my side.

“What the fuck, man?”

“Put it away, Roarke,” Murray barked as he approached me. “What’s your name?”

“Rogan James.”

“Thank you for saving my life, Mr. James.”

If only I knew then what it would cost me.