Caught by You. Kris Rafferty

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      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Kris Rafferty

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Kensington Publishing Corp.

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      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: March 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0813-8

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0813-2

      First Print Edition: March 2018

      ISBN-13: 1978-1-5161-0816-9

      ISBN-10: -5161-0816-7

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To Michael. You know what you did.

      Chapter 1

      “Deming? Are you insane?” Special Agent Vincent Modena was in the back of the FBI’s surveillance van, kneeling knee to knee with Special Agent Cynthia Deming, the task force’s profiler. It wasn’t Deming who was the problem; it was the five-pound flounder she held by the gills. It was staring at him, and smelled hideous.

      “Your cover is a week-long fishing trip. You’re too clean.” Deming narrowed her blue eyes, and then slapped the fish against Vincent’s chest.

      “Stop!” He grabbed her wrist, processing the moment. Rich, blond, gorgeous Cynthia Deming, in a black Dolce & Gabbana suit and heels, was on her knees swinging a fish. Nope. He was living it and still didn’t believe his eyes. Meanwhile, the flounder hung limp in the air between them. “I’m supposed to keep Avery Coppola in the diner, Deming. Hit me with that again, and the smell will chase her out.” She broke his grip, seemingly teetering between agreeing and having another go at him with the fish.

      Special Agent Jack Benton, FBI task force team leader, jumped from the van’s passenger seat into the back. “What the hell?” He grimaced, glaring at the profiler and Vincent, as if Vincent had anything to do with the fish. He didn’t.

      “Exactly,” Vincent said. “What the hell, Deming?”

      “What’s with the fish?” Benton’s black hair hung in his face, obscuring the intensity in his blue-eyed gaze. His year-long deep embed with Dante Coppola’s syndicate crashed and burned yesterday, requiring the task force to extract him. His split lip hinted at the bruises and abrasions hidden beneath his conservative black suit and tie, but it was the banked rage that made his team nervous. Benton hadn’t taken time off to shake his role of gunrunner, and some deep embeds needed more recovery time than others, but he’d escaped with a lead, so Benton wasn’t going anywhere. The lead was, Coppola hired contract killers to find and kill his ex-wife and her little sister. Rumor had it, when she’d divorced him three years ago, the ex-wife left with incriminating files. Now, Coppola knew where the ex-wife was, and so did Benton. It appeared as if the task force lucked out and got here first.

      “The fish is necessary for authenticity,” Deming said. “Modena’s too…” She waved a hand at him. “Handsome.”

      “Hey, Benton.” Vincent held Deming gaze and then winked. “Deming thinks I’m handsome.”

      She shook her head, barely paying attention to Vincent. “Maybe clean is a better word. After a week of backcountry camping, he wouldn’t be this clean.” She used the back of her wrist to nudge a blond lock off her cheek. “No one sleeps outside for a week, lives off fresh catch of the day, and doesn’t suffer from puffy face and bad hair. Avery’s clever and distrustful. She’s had to be to escape detection for three years with a sister in tow. With contract killers on her scent, she’ll smell a rat if Modena doesn’t commit to his backstory.”

      “She’ll smell something.” Special Agent Harris Gilroy was the task force’s official driver. Blond hair cropped to his head, brown eyes, mid-thirties, he looked like an Irish bare-knuckle fighter, crooked nose and all.

      “His backpack is enough of a prop,” Benton said. “Get rid of the fish, Deming.”

      “Fine.” She tossed it into a Styrofoam cooler, СКАЧАТЬ