Page 10 of Dangerous Seduction

I eyed him suspiciously. “And why would you do that for me?”

“Because I believe in you,” he said. “And because I owe it to Matt to see this through. He was one of us; we don’t leave our own behind.”

My throat tightened at the mention of Matt’s name, but I forced myself to focus on Morrow’s proposition. “What do you need me to do?”

“First, we have to get you out of that DEA mindset,” he said, leading me down the hallway toward the file room. “You must become someone else. Someone who can infiltrate the cartel without raising suspicions.”

The file room was a dimly lit cave filled with rows of metal cabinets, each bursting with classified information. Morrow navigated the maze with practiced ease, stopping before a cabinet labeled ‘Reyes Cartel.’

He pulled out a thick stack of files and handed them to me. “Study these. Memorize every name, every face, every detail about the cartel’s operations. You need to know them better than they know themselves.”

I nodded, flipping open the first file and scanning the pages. It was daunting, but I was determined to see it through. “And then what?”

Morrow reached into his jacket and produced another file, this one noticeably thinner. He handed it to me, and I opened it to reveal a dossier on a woman named Eva Morales.

“This is your new identity,” he explained, watching my reaction closely. “Eva is a celebrity stylist who’s just moved to Miami. She’s glamorous, confident, and she has a knack for getting close to powerful men.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“If you want to get close to Dante Reyes, you’re going to have to seduce him,” Morrow said bluntly. “Eva’s profession is the perfect cover. It gives you a reason to be in his orbit, to gain his trust.”

My mouth went dry, the implications of his words sinking in. Seducing Dante Reyes wouldn’t be just a job; it would be a dangerous game of cat and mouse with the highest possible stakes.

“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach. “I’ll become Eva Morales.”

Morrow nodded, satisfaction in his eyes. “Good. You’ve got six weeks to transform yourself. Study these files. Work on a Spanish accent. You need to be flawless when you step into Eva’s shoes. Oh, and there’s one more thing you need to work on.”

“What’s that?” I asked, my brow furrowing in concentration.

“You’ll find it in your new place. Let’s take a drive.”

I paused as we approached the apartment building.

“Eva,” he said, using my undercover persona. Are you ready for this?”

I met his gaze with a steely determination that matched the confident, alluring persona I would soon embody. “I’m ready,” I said, my voice sharp and distinct. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Morrow nodded as he handed me a set of keys. “This is the key to your new identity. Your home away from home, so to speak.”

I took the keys, letting their weight settle in my palm, a tangible symbol of the mission I was about to undertake. “What’s this key fob for?” I asked, looking up at Morrow with curiosity.

A rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s for your Porsche. Consider it a part of your cover. You must make an impression, and arriving in style will help.”

I raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. “A Porsche? That’s a pretty sweet ride.”

Morrow chuckled, the sound surprising in its warmth. “You’ll find it in the garage. Just remember, this isn’t a joyride. It’s a tool for your mission.”

I nodded, my fingers curling around the key. “Understood. But I can’t deny it. I’m a little excited to give it a whirl,” I confessed, throwing in a playful wink.

The apartment was pure luxury, from the ornate crystal chandelier casting a dazzling glow overhead to the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a breathtaking view of the Miami skyline. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, my eyes landed on the walk-in closet, its double doors standing ajar. My heart raced with excitement as I crossed the room and peered inside, my jaw dropping at the sight.

Rack upon rack of designer dresses, blouses, and skirts lined the walls, a kaleidoscope of colors and fabrics that would make any fashionista swoon. Chanel, Dior, Prada—the crème de la crème of haute couture filled every inch of space. It was like stepping into a dream, a fairy tale come to life.

I ran my fingers over the silky material of a crimson Valentino gown, marveling at the intricate beadwork that adorned the bodice. This was a dress that belonged on the red carpet.

A low whistle escaped my lips as I plucked a sparkling Judith Leiber clutch from the shelf, turning it over in my hands. “You went all out, didn’t you?”

Morrow nodded with a smile playing across his lips. “We spared no expense. Eva Morales needs to look the part, doesn’t she?”

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