Keeping secrets is her job. Uncovering the truth is his.
Adopted into a fierce sisterhood of vigilantes, Gracie Parish has seen her most precious relationship destroyed by the truth. She learned the hard way to protect her family’s secrets and her heart.
Special Agent Leif “Dusty” McAllister will do anything to expose the Parish family’s covert operations. Gracie is his ticket in. He’ll use everything he’s got — fair, unfair, or just plain wrong –to uncover the truth. But the more he gets to know Gracie, the harder he starts to fall.
As the smoldering attraction between Dusty and Gracie heats up, his investigation ignites a deadly threat from her past and the haunting reason someone wants her dead.
With danger closing in, Dusty must choose between his job or helping Gracie. But Gracie must decide if she can trust Dusty enough to let him help. Now it’s not just her vigilante lifestyle in jeopardy, it’s her life. And that of her son.
Gracie Parish had learned three valuable things in the last two excruciating hours driving around Mexico: The fetal position was only comfortable in the womb. Her deodorant wasn’t trapped-inside-a-hidden-compartment strength. And blood circulation could be lost in your forehead.
There had to be an easier way to break into a sex-slaver’s home than smooshed inside this malodorous secret compartment, while her brother and his frenemy, Victor, drove into the compound posing as mano-a-mano live “entertainers.”
Sweat salted her eyes, slicked her skin. The good news? If she died, the House of Hades would feel like an oasis. A spacious oasis.
This was it. This was absolutely the last time she took part in her family’s insane vigilante schemes. Ugh. Sometimes she wished she’d never been adopted into this mess. She needed a vacation on an island. A Canadian island. Someplace cold.
With a flick of her jaw, she clicked her mic. “How much longer, Justice? I’m roasting.”
“Please, you’ve been in there for two hours. People smuggled out of Mexico stay in that compartment for days.”
Days? Days pretending to be the back seat of a car, while your legs were tucked, foam padding stuck to your skin, your right arm went numb, your right hip screamed, and you could taste exhaust. “Yeah, well, not me. If my cyber skills weren’t needed to rescue your boyfriend, nothing could get me into this Dante’s Inferno. Nothing.”
“Chill your white privilege. You’re almost inside the compound.”
Her sister scored zero on the empathy meter. Zero. “Easy for you. You’re on a hilltop, stretched out, overlooking this whole scene through a scope.”
“Just playing to my strength. I’m the best shot.”
She wasa good shot. Hey.No.“You know, this bull-poop has been going on since childhood. ‘Gracie’s the smallest, she can fit in that pipe.’” She mimicked a child’s high-pitched voice. “‘Gracie’s the smallest, let her squeeze through the vent system. Gracie’s the smallest—put her in the smuggling compartment so she can break out Trojan horse style inside the compound.’”
“Bull-poop? If you cursed, you’d realize bullshit is way more satisfying.”