Chapter 1 Temptation on Release Day

# Chapter 1: Temptation on Release Day

The concrete felt different under my heels after three years. Freedom had a peculiar scent—car exhaust, stale cigarettes from the guard station, and something else. Something like opportunity.

I adjusted my skirt—prison-issue, but I'd modified it with a razor blade stolen from the infirmary. The hem now sat high enough to make the parole officer flush when he stamped my release papers. Not that I cared what he thought. There was only one man whose reaction mattered today.

"Valentina Costa." His voice came before I saw him, leaning against a black sedan across the street from Ravenhill Correctional. Special Agent Dominic Graves—or "Reaper" as the underworld called him. The FBI's attack dog, sent to monitor my release personally.

I smiled, tasting freedom and danger on my tongue. "No welcoming committee? I'm disappointed, Agent Graves."

His eyes—steel gray, like the handcuffs dangling from his belt—never left mine as I crossed the street. Three years, and he still looked at me like I was both prey and predator. His jaw had a new scar, a thin white line that disappeared into his collar. I wondered what other marks he'd collected while hunting me.

"The bureau doesn't waste resources on welcoming criminals," he said, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He'd been counting days until this moment. I knew because I had been too.

"Then why are you here?" I asked, stopping close enough to smell his cologne—sandalwood and something metallic, like gun oil.

"Monitoring high-risk offenders is standard procedure."

I laughed. "I'm flattered you consider me high-risk. I only stole some jewelry."

His eyes narrowed. "You stole the Kazanov diamonds and left the security guard in a coma. Three men died in the Meridian heist. The Duchess of Windsor's necklace is still missing."

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You forgot the Tehran emeralds."

His pulse jumped in his throat—my favorite spot to watch when he was angry. Three years I'd spent memorizing his reactions during interrogations. Three years of him trying to break me while I studied him like a blueprint.

"I didn't forget anything about you, Valentina."

The way he said my name—like he was both caressing and crushing it—sent electricity down my spine. This was the game we played. Hunter and hunted, though sometimes I couldn't tell which was which.

I walked past him, deliberately brushing my shoulder against his chest. "Need a ride?" he called after me.

"I've arranged my own transportation," I replied, stepping off the curb without looking.

The screech of tires came first, then the impact—calculated to the inch. The taxi driver slammed his brakes, but not before the bumper kissed my hip. I fell forward, theatrical but controlled, my palms scraping the asphalt.

In seconds, Dominic was there, hauling me up with unnecessary force. "Are you trying to get yourself killed on your first day out?"

I let my weight fall against him, feeling the gun holstered under his jacket. "My hero," I murmured.

The taxi driver was shouting, witnesses gathering. Perfect chaos. Dominic's hand moved to the small of my back, ostensibly steadying me, but I felt his fingers search for weapons.

"I need to get her to a hospital," he announced to the crowd, flashing his badge to silence the taxi driver's protests.

"I don't need a hospital," I said, loud enough for witnesses. "Just a ride home."

Five minutes later, I was in his car, exactly as planned. The black sedan smelled of leather and coffee—and faintly of gunpowder. His domain. On the dashboard was a file with my name, deliberately visible. Classic intimidation tactic.

"That was quite a performance," he said, pulling away from the curb.

I smiled, crossing my legs slowly enough to draw his attention. "Who says I was performing?"

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Three years in Ravenhill, and you're already back to your games."

"Life is a game, Agent Graves. Some of us are just better players."

He took a corner too sharply, forcing me to brace against the door. "Where am I taking you? Your parole officer said you listed an apartment in Brookside."

"Changed my mind. Take me to The Gilded Cage."

His jaw tightened. The Gilded Cage was a high-end jewelry store—the kind that served champagne to customers and kept the real treasures in a vault that could withstand a nuclear blast.

"Testing me already, Viper?" He used my underground name—a slip that revealed how much he'd been obsessing.

"Just window shopping. A girl needs inspiration."

Instead of arguing, he made an abrupt U-turn, sending me sliding across the leather seat. "Fine. Let's see what catches your eye."

Twenty minutes later, we were walking into The Gilded Cage, his hand firmly on my elbow. The security guard recognized him immediately, nodding with professional respect. No one recognized me—my mugshots never captured my essence.

"Ms. Costa is helping with an investigation," Dominic told the manager, who appeared from behind a curtain of gold chains. "We need to see your new acquisitions."

The manager—a thin man with nervous hands—led us to a private viewing room. "The Moroccan collection just arrived. Would you care to see the sapphires?"

"Please," I said, enjoying the way Dominic's fingers dug into my arm.

When the manager left, Dominic released me. "What are you doing, Valentina?"

I unbuttoned the top of my prison-issue blouse, revealing the edge of a tattoo—a viper coiling across my collarbone. "Reminding you why you're obsessed with me."

His eyes darkened. "I'm not obsessed. I'm doing my job."

"Is that why you visited me seventeen times during my incarceration? Why you requested all the surveillance footage from my cell?"

He stepped closer, using his height to intimidate. "You're a criminal. I study criminals."

I laughed. "You study me. There's a difference."

The manager returned with a velvet tray of sapphires that caught the light like captured stars. I reached for a particularly stunning piece—a teardrop pendant on a platinum chain.

"May I?" I asked, and the manager nodded, clearly swayed by Dominic's FBI credentials.

I held the necklace against my throat, watching Dominic in the mirror. His eyes followed my fingers as they traced the gemstone's facets.

"This would look stunning at the Fremont Gala next week," I said innocently. "I hear the McClellan diamonds will be on display."

Dominic's hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist. "Put it down."

I complied, but not before leaning close to whisper, "Arrest me, Detective. I dare you."

In one fluid motion, he pulled handcuffs from his belt and snapped one end around my wrist. "Excuse us," he told the startled manager, dragging me toward the store's back exit.

In the alley behind The Gilded Cage, he pushed me against the brick wall. "Is this what you want?" he growled, dangling the other cuff. "To go back to prison on your first day out?"

I tilted my head, exposing my neck. "This time, I want you to search me yourself."

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't tempt me, Valentina."

"Why not? Isn't that why you're here? To be tempted?" I raised my free hand to his face, my thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where a drop of coffee had dried. "You've been watching me for years. Now you have me."

He caught my wrist, but not before I'd tasted the coffee on my thumb—and slipped the tiny capsule of truth serum under my tongue. A special blend I'd perfected before my arrest, absorbed through the mucous membranes.

"I have you because you're planning something," he said, his pupils dilating as the serum made contact with his skin. "The Fremont Gala. That's your target."

I smiled, counting the seconds until the serum would take effect. "Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see you again."

His grip loosened slightly as the first wave hit him—confusion, then a pleasant warmth that would make his tongue loose and his inhibitions lower.

"Why did you really come today?" I asked, my voice soft.

He blinked slowly, fighting the chemical. "To make sure you don't disappear."

"Why would you care if I disappeared?"

His eyes locked with mine, the steel gray softening to smoke. "Because you're the only one who understands."

"Understands what, Dominic?"

"What it's like to be haunted."

For a moment, I forgot my plan, caught in the raw honesty of his gaze. Then his phone rang, breaking the spell. He released me, fumbling for the device.

"Graves," he answered, his voice thick.

I used his distraction to unlock the handcuff with a pin hidden in my sleeve. By the time he ended the call, I was three steps away.

"I have to go," he said, the serum making him strangely vulnerable. "Stay out of trouble, Valentina."

"No promises." I backed toward the street, memorizing the confusion on his face. "See you at the Fremont Gala, Agent Graves."

As I walked away, I could feel his eyes burning into my back. The game had begun again, but this time, I had new pieces on the board and a score to settle that went beyond stolen jewels.

The truth serum would wear off in twenty minutes, leaving him with hazy memories and a pounding headache. By then, I would be long gone, preparing for our next encounter.

After all, he wasn't the only one who'd been counting days.