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“You mean to tell me we’re the only two who know about this, this opportunity? You’re telling me that you haven’t mentioned it to Rex? Or is it his idea to begin with?” She placed a hand on her hip for emphasis, leaned in. “Because I don’t tolerate liars, Hank. No matter who they work for.”

Hank’s eyes widened and she caught a quick flash of fear before he held up both hands in protest. “I swear, boss, this is solely between you and me. I just got the text from this new opportunity, and I’m not supposed to meet with Rex until later tonight. This is all about you and me and getting our share of the prize. Scout’s honor.”

She bit her inside cheek, hard, to keep a honk of laughter from spilling out. There was nothing honorable about any of this, and she doubted Hank had ever been a Scout.

Your pursuit of justice is honorable. The words her mother had said when Veronica had told her she was going into the police academy reminded her to stay on task. And kept her from blowing her cover with a laugh.

“Who, pray tell, is this savior you speak of, Hank?”

“Hawk Masters.”

“Hawk?” Another too-obvious name for a drug runner. What was with hardened criminals and their names? “Rex” was obvious enough, and now a “Hawk.” “Are you serious?”

Hank shrugged. “A lot of folks around here have Native blood in their veins. Maybe Hawk does, too, but I have no idea.” Another fact she already knew, but that a woman who’d moved here only recently might not. “Hawk’s a big deal. He’s a man who is looking to merge resources. He wants to propose a business arrangement with you.”

“Fine. Have him come in and I’ll meet him downstairs in the main room, before opening.” Since it was too risky to have anyone back into her claustrophobic office, she preferred the main nightclub room as it was more open. And easier to escape from if need be.

“That’s not going to work, boss. Hawk’s going to be on the other side of town in forty-five minutes and we need to meet him there.” He mentioned an area that boasted row after row of distribution warehouses as he looked at his flamboyant, oversize watch, which she assumed was a reflection of either low self-esteem or small penis size. Probably both. “We have to leave right now to be on time, boss.” Hank really didn’t want her to miss this meeting, or his chance to put one over on their boss. To grab some cold hard cash for another gaudy wristwatch, no doubt.

Veronica detested Hank’s love of chaos. The lackey’s adoration of drama was the least of her concerns, though. If she had an opportunity to meet one of the biggest drug dealers in the area, a possible rival to Rex, the risk was more than worth it. If this was some sort of sick test by Hank or Rex or even Rex’s higher-ups, she’d figure out a way to outsmart them. She wished there was time to contact her real boss, Stark County Sheriff Callum Colton, but for once opted to make the decision to play along without his input. There wasn’t time, and she couldn’t make a call with Hank anywhere nearby.

The decision was a no-brainer.

“Let’s go, then. I’ll drive.” She’d need an escape vehicle if this meeting turned deadly. And the weapon she kept in its glove compartment, as backup. Because everything about her undercover life was deadly.

It wasn’t easy following the new hire and her assistant, especially when they turned toward Red Grove’s warehouse district. Correction: Tailing them was easy, staying undetected by the two was the challenge.

They’d have to put a tracker on her beater as soon as there was a chance. For now, keeping tabs on all the woman did was the only objective. A nice paycheck awaited once the images were captured and sent to the big boss.

Chapter 2

“Tell me this isn’t a waste of my time.” FBI Special Agent Dylan Colton growled as best he could as he stared down the three punks who worked for him. No one answered for a long while.

His persona as Hawk Masters was far out of his comfort zone, but nothing about this assignment was comfortable. Dylan took his undercover role as a drug kingpin with the utmost gravity. He had to. The success of his mission meant justice for the thousands of North Dakotans who had died because of the ungodly influx of meth, cocaine and fentanyl into the region over the last several months. Years, in fact. And it was only getting worse.

He’d learned to enjoy the role-playing part of undercover work. Thanks to the improv class he attended when he’d had more than a few days in Los Angeles, his home base, he’d been able to outfox the worst of the worst. He thought he’d seen it all in the last five years of FBI undercover work, but this mission had the potential to either be the means to his next promotion, or the end of his career. It was that important.

When his supervisor had called him into his office six months ago and informed him that he was being put in his deepest cover to date, he’d been eager to accept the role of Hawk Masters. He’d never dreamed the job would bring him back to his home state, though. A place that he’d been ripped out of just as he was finding his place in law enforcement, just as he and—

Can’t go there. He wasn’t the fresh-faced RGPD rookie who’d become best friends with his female colleague and then blown town with zero explanations. He was here as Hawk, not Dylan, and Hawk had no personal contacts in North Dakota.

You’re only in Red Grove until this is finished.

Sure, his immediate family knew he was working locally, but that was it. They had no clue what he was specifically doing, which was for the best. He didn’t appreciate that his parents, Emily and Jonathon Colton, knew he was in North Dakota at all. If several of his siblings weren’t in law enforcement themselves and able to protect the family, he wouldn’t have dumped his personal belongings at his father’s house, wouldn’t have told his mother over the phone during a catch-up call that he was in the area.

Utilizing the skills he’d learned on that improv stage—often the scene of his regular humiliation—he first made certain that his underlings were paying attention to his actions. Then he looked at his phone, frowned and took his time to make eye contact with the three hoodlums who’d accompanied him to the dilapidated warehouse.

Curly, Larry and Moe.

Scar, Slash and Brick bore no physical resemblance to the trio of slapstick comics he’d watched in black-and-white as a kid alongside his Gramps—but it helped him stay sane, made sure he kept a piece of himself alive while he worked undercover as the soulless Hawk Masters, drug boss. His three henchmen weren’t the brightest bulbs, but they were smart enough to avoid being on the receiving end of Hawk’s displeasure. They’d break, and soon.

One, two, thr—

“If Hank says he’ll be here, he’ll show.” Scar was the first to talk. “Hank’s always cool to deal with. You said you wanted to meet someone who worked directly for Rex, and Hank’s it.”

“He was late for the last deal we did with him.” Brick glanced at Dylan, brows raised in an expression of “it’s not my fault.”

“That was over two years ago, you dipshits. He’s been promoted since then.” True to his name, Slash cut to the quick. He hadn’t wanted them to come here, had expressed his concern privately to Hawk that he believed this was all a setup. “Like I already said, no way does Hank’s boss want to share his piece of his pie with anyone.”