Beauty and the Beast by Janet EavesA Ladies of Legend Novella...
Special Agent Polly Chapman has multiple identities..
She is known to many as a savior. To others she is a killing machine. But all who know her, or think they know her, believe her untouchable.
Until she's injured.
Now the man sent to piece her back together when "The Agency" considers her broken has only two choices-- Catcher Stevens must fix her, or kill her.
CATEGORY: Contemporary
HEAT LEVEL: Sapphire
LENGTH: Novella
An excerpt: “Move and you die.”
Polly Chapman remained as still as possible but her mind worked frantically for an escape that wouldn’t further rile the Powers That Be. For three months she’d followed this man – against orders -- waiting impatiently for red tape to be resolved so she’d get the go-ahead to nail his sorry ass to the wall. It didn’t come too late, it never came at all, and he’d done the unthinkable before she could save the innocent.
The mess she was in now was her own fault. She was supposed to have waited for backup, kept hidden until Ballard or Angustine arrived to take the perp down. She’d been given direct orders to keep her hands off him – to let local law enforcement collar him. Now she not only loss the advantage of surprise, she might very well lose her life to some sorry son of a bitch she could break into tiny pieces if allowed.
“Who else is out there?”
A line of heat met her throat where he held the knife. She licked her lips, refusing to whimper as heat turned to pain. “My backup,” she bluffed.
“How many?”
Inch by careful inch Polly slid her hand across her stomach until her fingertips reached the small Tazer tucked into her black slacks, but lost concentration when he ground his pelvis against her bottom.
“Don’t fuck with me, Sister.”
Feted breath caressed her cheek making her gag. As far as she could tell he hadn’t detected her movements, but was referring to her bluff. She fought taking a deep breath, certain she’d vomit from the dumpster-smell of his rotting teeth. Taking short sharp breaths through her mouth, she nearly cried in triumph when she grasped the stun-gun on her second attempt.
“Move that hand and I’ll take it off.”
Indecision was a new and unwelcome problem. She remained still; regret formulating with the certainty that she wouldn’t make it out of this alive if she followed orders. Fury simmered at the restrictions she’d been made to endure regarding this man. He was refuse, sludge, and expendable as far as she was concerned, more-so now than before, but she’d been forced to back off.
She had her orders – get counseling and leave him to others. To take him down now would spotlight her disobedience. To obey could and most certainly would cost her life - a condition she’d never given thought to before. How could she let go of life when she hadn’t even lived it yet? She’d given Uncle Sam everything. Twice-over. And he’d paid her back by letting the very people she’d sworn to protect, die.
She didn’t want to die, too. Not by this man’s hands.
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