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“What do you want me to do?” Short of murder, there wasn't much he wouldn't do for Tori. It was a new, sad state of his obsession that he realized just how far he was willing to go.

“Can you keep a tracker on her?”

“I already track everyone through cell phones and the GPS in your cars.” Did Tori know? His other sad, sick fascination was pulling up her location on an auxiliary screen while he worked, watching her red dot blink, teasing him with all the things she might be doing.

“No, I mean, something she wouldn't take off or intentionally disengage.”

So Tori knew. Had she given him the shake before?

Emery checked his rearview mirror. He'd hit a quieter side street and the only lights behind him were overhead. Coast was clear. He pressed the accelerator, kicking up his speed.

“What do you have in mind?” Tori had a way of leading people into her plans. Smart, because she wasn't seen as the instigator. The others never noticed, and truth was, Tori had a sharp mind for strategy, but she wouldn't play those tricks on him.

“Roni broke the clasp on her necklace. I picked it up and was thinking . . . could you do something with it?”

“Not sure. I'd need to see it.” He could picture the necklace in detail—both twins wore them. Gold chain, nothing too fancy, with a locket smaller than a dime and a charm featuring one of her saints. He'd never figured out which one of the Russian Orthodox figures it was because he rarely allowed himself to get that close.

It was one thing to admire Tori, to be conscious of her movements, but he'd drawn the line at seeking her out. Being in close proximity to her. Girls like her didn't exactly date the resident geek.

“Well . . . that's what I called about. I was kind of hoping you were home, but I guess you're out tonight.”

“Where are you, Tori?”

“Your house.”

He glanced at the phone, itching to pull up her location via the tracking app he'd created for their team. She was at his house? Tori knew where he lived? The only team members who'd been inside his house were CJ, Kathy, Julian, and Adrian. The rest more or less ignored him unless something was broken or they needed a bit of tech.

“I'll be there in fifteen. There's a gate to the left of the house. Go through it and wait on the patio.”

“Yes, sir.” She chuckled and he could hear the squeak of the gate. “I knew you lived in a nice area, but I don't think I realized how fancy it was.”

The house was another government seizure they'd handed down to him. From the paint to the knickknacks, even some of the photographs, it wasn't his. He might sleep and eat there, but the house would never bear his thumbprint.

“Man, we need to have pool parties at your place.”

“Anytime.” The pool and the converted shed were the only features he made regular use of. What would it be like to take a break from work, go out by the pool, and find Tori sunbathing?

It was temptation, the likes of which he didn't need.

Chapter Two

Tori Chazov peered through the rear windows into the large den, dining area, and kitchen that made up the back of the first floor of Emery's home. She'd been in the house once, maybe a year ago, when Emery had taken his security off-line for some massive overhaul. He'd informed them, like the good Fed he was, and she hadn't been able to help herself from sneaking inside for a little look around. That was probably when her fascination with the Walking Brain had begun. She'd wanted a glimpse of who he was, and for some silly reason she'd thought being in his house would tell her more about him, but it said nothing. His Tesla had more personality than his home.

She tiptoed down the flagstone path toward the shed. From things Emery had said, she'd picked up that his computer stuff was housed out here. The two windows on either side of the white door were shuttered and blacked out from the inside. She eyed the keypad, tempted to try her hand at bypassing it.

Emery would know it was her. She could guess that there were several cameras aimed at her right now, but it was the challenge of it.

Could she do it?

She glanced over her shoulder and slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a flashlight. Some girls didn't leave home without lip gloss; Tori was more of a tools girl. She examined the keypad and the exterior casing. It was a fairly common model, which made it easy to customize. The question was, what had Emery done to it? There was no doubt in her mind it was tricked out more than her racing Lancer.

Tori might soup up cars and push them to their limits, but what Emery did was so much more fascinating. If she made the wrong move, what would happen? Was there a bomb inside?

“Two-six-seven-nine-five-seven-five-nine.”

She froze, her whole body going on alert. She hadn't even heard him.

Tori tilted her head to the side, enough so she could see Emery's big frame silhouetted against the evening sky. With the moonlight to his back, she couldn't make out his expression, but her mind supplied the details. Strong features, hazel eyes, light stubble, brown hair. He had a brooding, hottie-next-door look that drove her crazy. All she wanted was for him to see her, notice her, but she doubted he did, apart from his checklist of responsibilities. This fascination had to go.

She blew out a breath and punched in the numbers as Emery strode slowly toward her, hands in his pockets. He wore a light gray suit and a green-and-silver striped shirt. It was a drastic change from his typical jeans and pearl-snap shirts, but she dug it. Another facet of Emery's personality to file away for her fantasies, of which there were many.

The door beeped and the locks disengaged. Emery reached past her and grasped the handle, whisking it open.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. Music played softly in the background and a couple of lamps gave the room a low glow that was completely invisible from the outside.

“Go in.” Emery pressed his hand to her lower back, ushering her inside.

Tori stepped over the threshold, trying her best to not stare.

“Reinforced and soundproofed?” The shrubbery hid just how big the shed really was. It had to be at least twenty-five feet long and twelve feet across.

“Yup. Had to or else the neighbors would complain.” Emery strode ahead of her, through the racks of—whatever they were, and into the back half of his domain, out of view.

She turned in a circle, noting the futon that appeared much more slept in than the bed inside. There was a mini fridge, microwave, and hotplate that certainly weren't for show like the big chef's kitchen. If she had to guess, Emery didn't see the inside of the house very often, because everything was right here, down to a rolling rack of pearl-snap shirts and jeans, with a laundry basket stowed on the bottom. She inhaled, drawing in a hint of his scent and—bananas? A basket of brown fruit sat on top of the microwave under a stack of napkins. Emery was brilliant, but sometimes the normal things flew over his head.

Tori plucked the ruined fruit from the basket and dropped them in the wastebasket.

This had to stop.

“Do you have the necklace with you?” Emery called from the back of the shed.

“Yeah.” She passed the racks of humming electronics and pulled up short. Emery was tugging a pair of blue jeans up to his hips. She stopped breathing as her brain screeched to a halt. The man had an ass she could bounce a quarter off, and those shoulders . . .

She'd often wondered what he'd look like shirtless. Scars had never been part of the vision.

Puckered skin crossed his back, drawing lines over his shoulders and sides. She couldn't begin to imagine how painful those wounds must have been. It made her stomach twist in knots at the thought. No one deserved that kind of treatment.

Emery grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it on, his scowl deepening.

“Sorry, I didn't realize you were changing.”

“The necklace?” He fastened his jeans and tugged the zipper up, presenting once again the face she always saw: unreadable, with a bit of a permanent scowl she suspected was more a sign of his deep thoughts.

“Here.” She pulled the necklace out of her pocket. The jeweler had put it in a plastic bag for pickup.

“What saint is this?” Emery plucked it from her fingertips and carried it over to the lamp in the corner to examine.

Tori followed, watching him pour the necklace out into his palm and pry the locket open. She resisted the urge to snatch it back, to keep the locket's secrets private. He was doing her a favor, she reminded herself.

“I don't know.”

He glanced at her, his brows drawn down in a line. She could practically hear his unspoken question:
What do you mean, you don't know?
Emery had a tendency toward silence. At some point she'd begun to imagine him speaking. It made these moments less awkward. For her at least. She'd never really gotten a feel for what he thought about her. If he liked her, tolerated her, or hated her. He was simply there. A silent, ever-present shadow and partner in this crazy mess of an operation.

“They were family heirlooms. Roni and I both got one, but we were never told which saints they're supposed to be. And really, when they're this small, what can you tell about them? It could be Baba Yaga for all I know.”

“The Russian witch? Unlikely.”

“Hey, you never know.” She blinked, surprised he'd caught that reference.

He prodded the tiny photographs inside the locket. “If I can pull the picture out, I can put a chip in the space behind it. I'll need to set up the tracking. It'll take a few minutes.”

“So it's possible?”

He blinked at her.
Yes, it is. Make yourself comfortable.

Emery turned and walked to a worktable that bisected the rear half of the workshop. Against the wall, a bank of monitors formed almost a semicircle. A few on the side displayed security-camera feeds from outside, some from Classic Rides, the Shop, three from Aiden's house. There were even two that showed her front door and the parking lot outside the apartment she shared with her sister.

She knew he kept an eye on all of them, sort of like their personal protector, but she never knew how or where to look for him. These cameras and microphones were nearly invisible. The monitor showing her apartment didn't switch to another image. It just sat there; nothing interesting going on. Maybe she should be disturbed by the breach of privacy, but she wasn't. Actually, it was kind of comforting.

“Do you really watch those all the time?” She leaned over the desk, pointing at the feeds.

He glanced up from the table to the monitors.

“Yes.”
Someone has to make sure you're safe, and that's my job.

If Emery could hear her mental conversations with him, he'd probably have some nice men with white jackets come keep her company in a padded room. She had to get this obsession under control. Maybe what she needed was a night out where she could find some big, buff guy with dark hair and hazel eyes like Emery's. Yeah, that was a bad idea. Sure, Emery was attractive, but that wasn't what had drawn her initially. It was the way he handled himself.

It was the first flip job they'd done as a crew—and Tori's first ever. Sure, she'd stolen a car a time or two when she was really in a bind, but she didn't make illegal activities a pastime, at least not until coming to Miami.

That night, Aiden had everyone running a tight shift, barking orders. The Feds had denied them backup, so their plan had been to steal the cars, remove the drugs, then clean and flip the cars for profit they could put back into their operation. She'd gotten through stripping the car of identifying features, but she'd been nervous about the car's internal computer. They were different make to make, model to model, and if they didn't do everything just right—their flip job on the car would flop.

Maybe it was nerves, but she hadn't noticed Emery's arrival, at least not until CJ, their FBI handler, tapped her on the shoulder and introduced her to tall, dark, and wordless. Emery had nodded to her. That was it. No greeting, banter, or get-to-know-you. Just a stoic nod and down to business. Emery had handled the job with confidence that impressed her, and from there she couldn't soak up enough of his presence.

“I tried to talk Roni out of going to Orlando.” She sank into a worn-out armchair and turned to face him, curling her legs under her.

“She thinks they'll find Canales, and she's bored.” Tori rolled her eyes. “I'm worried about her.”

Emery bent over the table, miniature tools between his fingers. He was such a big man, and yet he operated with such finesse. She propped her chin in her palm and watched him, enjoying the rare opportunity to simply observe Emery in action.

He extracted the small photograph with a pair of rubber-grip tweezers. The images were so small and blurry they were hardly legible. It was partly by design on her and Roni's part. After all, if the images couldn't be scanned for facial recognition, they were safer. At one point, Roni had suggested getting rid of the keepsakes, which was probably the safest thing to do, and yet when it came down to it, neither of them could make that move.

They'd lost so much of who they were and where they'd come from over the course of the years since the hit on their father. The necklaces were all they had left. They didn't bear the darkness of his touch. The heirlooms were from their mother, though Tori wouldn't put it past their father to have lied about that, too.

“If she's so set on going, why worry?” Emery glanced up from his work.

It took her a moment to realize it wasn't his voice in her head she was hearing.

“Because she's my sister.”

Emery shrugged and flashed the tiny portrait at her. “Who's this?”

“No one. Done yet?”

Family was one thing she couldn't talk about. Not even to the people on their crew. The best thing for Tori and her sister was if all knowledge of their past and their family died with them someday, hopefully a long time away. It would make the world a better place.

* * *

Emery studied Tori. Her auburn hair gleamed in the low light and her skin had a slight glittery sheen to it, as if she'd applied some sort of lotion or powder. She smelled of soap and citrus. Was that the lotion? Or her body wash? Did she wear perfume?

It was rare to see her without a smudge of grease or dirt on her skin. The first time he'd met her she'd worn dirty, torn coveralls. She'd glanced up at him and there under her eye, slashed across her cheekbone, was a bit of grease. His fingers curled at the memory. He'd had to hold himself back to keep from wiping it away, not that she cared. Tori was a capable woman, which was one of the things he liked about her. She never hesitated when it came to tackling a problem.

He inhaled again, parsing out what her scent was supposed to be.

Grapefruit.

She smelled of grapefruit.

There weren't grapefruit-scented perfumes, were there? Then it had to be soap. Which meant she must have showered before coming to his place.

Soapsuds, the spray of water on her—

Tori stared at him. He had the vague notion that he'd heard her voice while lost in the memory.

He replayed the moment, aware the silence was moving into the territory of awkward.

“Almost,” he replied at last and bent once more.

He applied a bit of adhesive to the inside of the locket and placed a tiny chip, no bigger than the head of a pin, to the sticky stuff.

“This won't track in real time,” he said.

“What does that mean?”

“Every thirty minutes this will transmit a location.”

“But what happens during that thirty-minute window? What if we need to find her?”

He could picture the answer as a process flow inside his head, but that didn't necessarily translate to words. The only people he talked to on a regular basis didn't do all that much talking. CJ handed over what needed to be done and Aiden showed up whenever he wanted an even fight. Even the criminal clients he interfaced with didn't want to talk that much.

“If I need to force the transmission I can for a one-time-only location. After that, the chip is dead.” He slid the picture back in place, nudging it with his nail until it fit perfectly back into the locket.

Emery didn't want to hand the finished product over to Tori, not yet. Who was the woman in the picture? The two babies had to be Roni and Tori. He'd never heard them speak of a mother or any female family figure.