Page 5 of Steel Vengeance

He glanced at the screen.

Ha! Good luck with that, buddy. It had a thumbprint lock.

Without a word, he reached for her hand and pressed her thumb against the button. To her overriding shame—or maybe it was fear—she let him, like a puppet on a string. His hand was warm, firm, and calloused. So different from Matthew’s. A working man’s hands.

The phone unlocked, and he dropped her hand like a hot potato.

She swallowed hard. The spot where he’d touched her still tingled.

Oh God, Matthew was going to kill her.

Who was this guy anyway? What right did he have to look through her phone?

She considered grabbing it, telling him to back off and get out of her apartment. But something told her he’d just ignore her. For starters, he was double her size. No way she’d win that battle. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

Not. Funny.

She was naked, unarmed, and completely defenseless. He was none of those things.

The phone lit up as he scrolled through her photos, stopping at the shots of the three men who’d met Omari at the coffee shop.

He held it up so she could see the screen. "Recognize these guys?"

Her stomach dropped.

Not waiting for an answer, he flipped through more of her pictures. Omari walking down the street, going into shops and teahouses, and standing outside what looked like his house—a two-story building with a secure garage and a gated entrance.

"Nice vacation photos," he said dryly.

Her legs finally gave out, and she collapsed onto the bed, still clutching the towel in front of her. "Mind if I put some clothes on?" she croaked.

He looked her over, his icy gaze lingering on the towel like he could see right through it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had x-ray vision. He seemed... otherworldly, like some kind of wild beast.

"Tell me what I want to know, and then you can get dressed." He pulled the gun from his waistband again but didn’t point it at her. Instead, he held it casually like it was an extension of his arm.

She hesitated.

"Your name?" His voice was a low growl.

"Sloane Carmichael. I wasn’t lying about that."

"Special Agent Carmichael, is it?"

Shit. Talk about breaking every rule in the CIA handbook. A lump formed in her throat, and she nodded.

Way to go, Sloane.

In under ten minutes, she’d let this guy ambush her, unlock her phone, get her real name, and find out she worked for the Agency.

Fantastic.

To be fair, he wasn’t the type of man you said no to. Just looking at him, she knew he was dangerous. No—lethal. Probably a killer.

Those eyes... Cold, hard, unreadable.

"Why’s the CIA so interested in Abdul Omari?" he asked.

She glanced at the door, and then up at him, a hulking shadow in the rapidly darkening room. By sitting down on the bed, she’d effectively cut off any possible escape route. He’d be on top of her the moment she moved. Stupid, rookie mistake.