Yours In Black Lace. Mia Zachary

those photos, doesn’t mean I don’t feel violated and threatened. Some creep is following me around, watching me…”

      She squared her shoulders and gave him a challenging stare. “The question is, how do I handle it? I want to set up some kind of countersurveillance—”

      “I think you should disappear.”

      Her straight, golden eyebrows arched toward her hairline. “Excuse me?”

      He slid the pictures back inside the envelope, handling them carefully by the edges. While his actions were slow and methodical, his mind raced with possibilities. Braga was sending a message, but damned if he knew exactly why, or how Stevie could be involved. He had to get her out of danger’s way until he could figure out what Braga was after.

      “Whoever is stalking you may be a shy admirer, but more likely they mean you real harm.” Emelio glanced at the thin gold watch on his wrist. “You’ve got twenty minutes to wrap up whatever files are on your desk. Is there someplace you can stay?”

      She shot to her feet. “Wait a minute. I’m a professional in an agency full of other professionals. I’ll admit to being a little freaked out, but there’s no reason—”

      “Nineteen minutes and forty seconds, Stevie. Come get me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”

      She crossed her arms defiantly, enhancing her cleavage as the cotton material stretched across her breasts. Her round, full, perfectly shaped breasts. Emelio dropped his gaze but found himself eyeing her slim hips and sleekly muscled thighs instead.

      “I’m not running again.”

      “Again?” He looked up.

      Her eyes darted away, then back. Her tone had revealed more than she’d intended. “I did my best secret-agent impression to get a cab here this morning. It looks more fun in the movies.”

      “Then don’t think of it as running. It’s a strategic retreat.” The telephone rang before she could retort. “Yes? Put her through, Tiffnee, thank you.” Emelio cupped one hand over the receiver. “Seventeen minutes, fifty. Go.”

      This was unbelievable. She still wasn’t being allowed to do fieldwork, not even on her own case! She felt her temper shift from annoyed into irate. Another good-looking, arrogant, overbearing male thought he could control her life.

      “Hola, Connie. How are you?” He shot a pointed glance at the door in a bid for privacy.

      And infuriated was on the horizon. Emelio had just blatantly dismissed her to take a call from one of his girlfriends, and she wasn’t going to stand for it. After giving him a nasty look, she flopped back down on the guest chair.

      Emelio sighed and began to speak in Spanish. Stevie gave him the courtesy of turning her head, but she couldn’t shut her ears. His voice was affectionate and warm, and, though she didn’t understand what he said, his tone held an underlying tenderness that cut straight to her heart. She felt jealous, embarrassed at eavesdropping on his intimate conversation, but she wasn’t going anywhere, damn it.

      Finally, he said, “Okay, cariña. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

      She snapped at him before he’d even hung up the phone. “You know more than you’re saying, Emelio. Since this involves me, tell me what’s going on.”

      He held her gaze, searching for something, obviously debating how much to reveal. Then he set his features and lied to her, she’d swear to it.

      “I don’t know anything, Stevie. I only suspect. So, you’re taking a leave of absence from work until I can get to the bottom of this.”

      “I’m not some damsel in distress that needs a big strong guy to keep me out of trouble. It’s my life that may be in danger—”

      “Trust me. You are in danger.”

      She cocked her head to one side, baiting him. “But you just said you don’t know for sure. So let me do what I’ve trained for. I’m nobody’s victim, Emelio.”

      Not anymore, Stevie thought. Never again.

      THE MADISON WOMAN had seen far too much and she could not be allowed to talk. She could ruin everything he’d worked toward. She had to be silenced.

      Rogelio Braga studied the photograph on the table before him, brushing his fingers lightly over the slick surface. She was quite lovely, despite her short hair and masculine name. What made her most attractive was her usefulness as an instrument of revenge.

      His gaze shifted to the man beside her in the picture, the man he planned to destroy. Emelio Sanchez had made the grave error of allowing his feelings to show and the camera had recorded the moment. Falling in love would be the death of him; Braga would make sure of it.

      He lit a cigarette and imagined another face, another time. Braga crushed the photograph in his fist. Yes, Sanchez would pay. First with the Madison woman’s life and then with his own.

      THEY’D SPENT THE LAST ten of her twenty minutes in heated debate.

      “I don’t see why you’re being so unreasonable. If it were Jason or one of the other guys, you’d be all for it.”

      “Fine, I admit it. I’m an old-fashioned guy with a protective streak toward the fairer gender. But my decision is based on level of experience—”

      “This is the twenty-first century, Emelio. A woman can do just about anything a man can. She doesn’t need to hide behind him. I don’t need to hide.”

      He came around the desk and loomed over her, as if trying to use his size and stubbornness to intimidate her. “You know what I’m suggesting is the most logical solution. If you want to be treated like a professional, then act like one.”

      His attitude was all it took for her to hit seriously pissed off. Stevie got in Emelio’s face, her height and two-inch heels putting her almost at his eye level. Stevie tried to concentrate on her argument, but the citrus and spice aftershave Emelio wore kept distracting her. She could feel the warmth emanating from his incredible body and the dark wisps of chest hair visible in the opening of his shirt was turning her on.

      It didn’t matter that he was a walking pheromone, though. He was still a domineering dictator seriously jeopardizing her chance for career advancement. Her therapist would be proud that she’d, one, identified her emotions and, two, focused on the source. She was just about to follow step three, voicing her feelings, when the receptionist walked in.

      “Jeez, Emelio, you got, like, a ton of mail today.” Tiffnee bounced over to where they stood glaring at each other, oblivious to the tension in the air.

      He finally broke Stevie’s stare to acknowledge the bundle of mail thrust at him with a brief nod. “Thanks, Tiffnee.”

      “No problem, boss.” The perky brunette grinned at him, revealing a wad of bright pink bubblegum. “Hey, Stevie. Great sweater. Beau-tique, right? I saw it last time I went shopping at Aventura Mall.”

      She was irritated by the interruption, but being nasty to Tiffnee was a sin on par with kicking a puppy. So she listened as the girl launched into an inane conversation about the latest fashions. Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie recognized a small pearl-gray envelope. She saw Emelio tuck her ninth erotic note in his back pocket and continue to sort through the mail.

      “Tiffnee.”

      The receptionist turned her head in the same instant Stevie did, both of them alerted to the tone of his voice. In the space of a heartbeat Stevie realized that Emelio held a plain manila packet in his hand.

      “Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you.” Tiffnee pursed her rosebud lips in apology. “The messenger who just left said that one was, like, urgent.”

      Emelio dropped the mail and sprinted for the door.

      “Urgent means right-away-immediately-now, Tiff.” Stevie bent over and snatched