Free Sex, Lies and Surveillance by Stephanie Julian Page B

a porcelain doll.
    Swallowing a sigh, she went to stick her head through Nic’s open office door when she realized Mal was in there with him.
    “Not a big gun fan,” he said. “I like knives. German made. Fit the hand better.”
    “Nah,” Nic said. “Give me a good semi-automatic, and I’m happy.”
    “How’d you get the scars? They look like knife cuts.”
    “Night after graduation from RIP, my buddy swerved to miss a deer. Went through the windshield.”
    “Hurt bad?”
    “Nah. A few stitches.”
    A few stitches, her ass. He’d needed more than a hundred in various parts of his body. As silently as she could, she inched forward until she could just see into the office.
    “You were in Somalia, right?” Mal asked. “That was a bitch. Hot as hell.”
    Whoa. Where had that bad boy come from?
    Oh, she knew it was Mal, but somewhere between the time she’d last seen him—when he’d kissed her for the second time—and now, he’d transformed himself from computer nerd to totally hot undercover agent.
    And, oh my, what a difference. He’d exchanged his baggy cargo pants for a pair of worn jeans that defined an ass so fine it made her gut clench and her thighs tighten. A black T-shirt clung to broad shoulders and a wide chest she wanted to pet like a cat while the short sleeves exposed biceps that made her mouth water.
    No meek computer nerd here. He looked…dangerous.
    No, dangerous was way too simple a word.
    Freaking awesome might be overdoing it. Then again, maybe not.
    Jeez, if she wasn’t careful, he’d be picking her off the floor at his feet. And wouldn’t that be completely embarrassing?
    “Yeah,” Nic answered. “Took a bullet in the side about six years ago. They wanted to put me on desk duty after that. Took a medical discharge instead.”
    “Sounds like you saw a lot of action.”
    What was it about a tight black T-shirt that could reduce her to a quivering ball of lust? She’d never wanted to squeeze into a pair of jeans with someone else in them before.
    “Hey, Janey? What’s up?” Nic’s voice caught her by surprise and she tore her gaze away from Mal’s ass. Her brother never took his eyes off the gun clip he was loading, but his half-assed grin said he knew she’d been standing there awhile.
    Steeling her spine and biting her lip so her mouth didn’t fall open, she walked in. Mal glanced at her, then quickly looked away.
    Was she mistaken or had he just blushed?
    Why had she come here again? “Ah, Lieutenant Coggio called for you a couple minutes ago. He wants you to get in touch with him as soon as possible.”
    Then she couldn’t help it. Her gaze slid in Mal’s direction again, locking on to that perfect chest.
    “Must be about this deal,” Nic muttered as he picked up the phone to dial, hopefully missing her tongue falling out of her mouth.
    With every breath Mal took, the T-shirt stretched. She swallowed as she watched him strap a holster around his shoulder. Then he slid a SIG Sauer into the holster and bent to check the knife in his boot. A pair of well-worn black combat boots.
    Okay, that was enough. Now she was lusting after his boots. She dragged her gaze away.
    Focus. She needed to focus.
    “Are we ready to go?” she asked.
    “Yeah.” Mal reached for the buckle of his belt. “We were just coming to get you.”
    Janey’s heart revved like Nic’s vintage motorcycle. And when Mal pulled a small blade from the buckle, she nearly melted.
    He handled that knife with the skill of a pro. He had big hands, capable hands, hands that looked entirely too comfortable with those knives.
    Come to think of it, he looked much more comfortable in those jeans and T-shirt than he did in his chinos and dress shirts.
    It didn’t fit. Nothing about this man fit into a neat package.
    ***
    A half hour later, Janey stood beside Mal, trying to talk a scared German teenager into selling them a cache of hot guns.
    Nic had agreed to do a favor for Luke Nabosny, who needed to know