Angel Eyes -- Available Now
Undercover Intrigue Series -- Book Three
After a near fatal wound, undercover FBI agent Roy Hansen trades in his gun and badge to be part-owner of a nightclub in Texas. His first day in Houston, he’s blown away when he’s reunited with a woman he met twenty years earlier.
Since her husband’s death five years ago, accountant Summer Snow has focused on her career and her children. She refuses to open her heart to any man in fear of loving and losing. Meeting Roy again, he ignites feelings in her she hasn’t felt in a long time—some she’s never felt before.
Roy patiently chips away at Summer’s resolve, desperate to learn what they could share together. When his undercover past roars back into his life, he vows not to let it tear them apart. But first, he’s got to stay alive.
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Jimenez, the skinny bastard, rattled a set of handcuffs in Roy’s face. “Boss insists you wear these.”
Any other time, any other job, any other person demanding such an asinine request, FBI agent Roy Hansen would walk out. But he’d agree to anything at this point—the thorough strip search he’d endured minutes ago a testament to that. A year undercover near Hades’ drug operation and he’d never even caught a glimpse of the elusive, powerful drug lord.
Roy held his hands out in front of him.
Jimenez, Hades’ right hand man, shook his head. “Behind your back.”
He turned his back to Jimenez and slid his hands behind him like he heard the request every day.
At the click of the handcuffs snapping around his wrists, he almost felt trapped.
But the undetectable wire in his ear and camera on the top button of his shirt ensured him backup would witness everything. Agents were positioned around the Miami mansion, listening and watching, ready to break in when Hades showed up to initiate Roy into his drug ring. The kilo of cocaine he’d been instructed to bring was on the red velvet bench behind him.
This transaction would finally nail Hades on drug charges.
The FBI had raided ten drug rings in Miami the last two months and suppliers were scarce. Word on the street was that Hades’ distributors couldn’t keep up with the demands for crack, snow, ecstasy, ice, or primos—the hottest drug of choice on the streets—a marijuana joint laced with cocaine. Hades needed Roy and the drugs he dealt.
But first, Roy had to go through this initiation. He’d heard no rumors of what it entailed, and honestly, had no intention of finding out. When Hades showed up, backup would storm in and arrest him.
“Boss will enter when he’s ready.” Jimenez, his expensive suit loose on his tall body, snatched up the cocaine and strode out the door.
Roy sat on the bench where the drugs had been while two watchdogs, Juan and Miguel, reclined in black leather chairs. This room, the study, had white shag carpet, red walls, and a desk made from black stone.
Over the fireplace hung a replica of C.F. Holbeck’s famous marble relief, The Abduction of Persephone. Driving a chariot pulled by a team of horses, Hades, an expression of enchantment on his face, snaked his arm around Persephone.
A mirror took up the wall across from Roy. Other pictures about the room depicted black horses, overflowing treasure chests, and a mural of a three legged-dog—all symbols of the mythical god Hades.
A tableside lamp provided the only illumination, which suited Roy fine. He always worried bright lights might reveal too much—like the green contacts shading his light-brown eyes or the long brown wig he wore. He’d been using this disguise on another assignment when he met Jimenez and learned of Hades’ operation. To help camouflage his eyes, he also wore black rim glasses, and even though he’d grown his hair out and an FBI team of makeup artists dyed it the same color as the hairpiece, they could never get his hair to look the same. So he continued to wear the damned wig.
The men discussed a UFC fight that had been televised the night before, then had a lengthy debate on boxing versus ultimate fighting.
A beep sounded.
Miguel pulled a phone out of his coat pocket.
Hades never permitted cell phones on his property, not even his own men were allowed to carry them. Everyone knew of the man’s obsession with security.
Juan scrambled out of his chair and pulled a gun from his shoulder holster, pointing it at Miguel. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Miguel ignored him and punched buttons on the phone, clearly texting.
What the hell? Uneasy pulses flashed through Roy’s veins. He stood.
Instantly, the guard dogs flanked him and jammed their guns into his temples. Miguel dropped his phone.
“Take it easy, guys. I’m just stretching.”
“Sit your ass down.” Miguel dug the barrel of his gun deeper into Roy’s flesh.
Reviewing his options, he only came up with two. Sit down and wait for backup or stay standing and wait.
“What’s keeping your boss?” He tried to buy time, hopefully giving the cavalry time to bust in. Backup should have a good view of his situation because the camera on his shirt was pointed at the mirror across from him. Did two men pointing guns at him warrant their intervention?
Since the guns were at his head, Roy thought so.
An eerie prickling slithered down his spine.
Over the years, he’d learned to listen to his inner voice and right now it screamed, Get out! He couldn’t wait for reinforcements.
If you take the man on the right, God, I’ll take the one on the left.
The last twenty years he’d made more deals than he cared to remember. Some with God, but most with devils. Living, breathing demons.
He checked the reflection in the mirror. Miguel, on his right, stood even with Roy. Juan, his black eyes hard and unblinking, loomed four inches taller to his left. He studied Juan in the mirror and noticed a tremor in his hand holding the gun.
“Sit down.” Miguel snarled.
“Fine, I’ll sit. Don’t get your balls in a knot.”
You’ve got the right, God.
Roy ducked, as if preparing to sit back down, but turned left and head-butted Juan in the groin instead.
The man staggered backwards, arms flailing.
A blast erupted over Roy’s head.
He quickly glanced over his shoulder to find Miguel sprawled on the floor, blood spurting through his white shirt. When he spun back, Juan was staring at Miguel in disbelief. Roy body-slammed Juan, pinning him to the floor.
For half a second, they were face to face. Juan growled and struggled to point his gun at Roy. Roy shifted his weight and bit Juan’s hand.
The thug yelped, popped his wrist, and dropped the weapon.
The door burst open. “Miami PD.”
Miami PD? What the hell?
Roy rolled to his side on top of Juan’s gun.
“Watch out!” someone yelled.
What now? Roy twisted to his back.
Juan crouched over him, arm pulled back. The blade of a knife flashed.