Page 17 of Drawn Blue Lines

A wide smile parted my lips. “I guess you could say I’m an international trade specialist.”

“Sounds vague.”

“Mm-hmm,” I agreed, taking another small but lethal sip from my glass. Although I somewhat enjoyed our banter, I’d grown bored with small talk. Propping my elbow on the bar, I rested my chin in my hand and leaned in. “So, is this what you do since getting fired from the district attorney’s office, Brody?”

Twisting around, he slammed his glass onto the wood, his disinterest shifting to suspicion. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No, but I know you. Your Harcourt family scandal made national news, and your face is hardly forgettable, Brody.” I had no purpose in saying his name twice, other than watching the instability flicker behind his eyes. He didn’t anticipate being confronted with the fall of Houston’s own version of Camelot. Maybe he thought his mask was just that good, but dark-rimmed eyes and nervous twitches betrayed even the most well-crafted façade. It was obvious he’d been balancing on the edge of a breakdown for some time now.

“My last name doesn’t define me.”

“Well said.”

“It seems you have me at a disadvantage,” he accused, eyeing me cautiously. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours. You plan on telling me?”

I cocked my head. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Well, my last name didn’t define me either, so I got myself a brand new one. Thanks to you, of course.”

That was the moment the pieces fell into place and the puzzle clicked. Beads of sweat traced the seam of his upper lip as he stopped looking at me and finally saw me.

“No, it can’t be.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners?” Sliding off the stool, I stood barely a breath away and extended my hand. “My name’s Adriana.” I waited until all the color drained from his face before driving in the final nail. “Adriana Carrera.”

Chapter Six

Brody

All I could do was stare at her outstretched hand as if it had fangs just waiting to sink into an exposed vein and inject tainted venom filled with retribution and penance.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Adriana fucking Carrera.

Speak of the devil, and she walks in your bar.

I remembered seeing the blurry college photos of her Leo managed to scrounge up when I first contacted him, but the woman in front of me looked completely different. Her hair was shorter, and the way she was dressed made it damn hard for a man to look her in the eye.

Back then, I had no idea the shitstorm I was about to unleash.

After the dust settled, Val sent men looking for her, but no one could find her. Not a damn thing. That’s what made her so dangerous. It was hard to fight an invisible enemy.

But here she stood, dressed in a tight pencil-thin black skirt, a white blouse a few sizes too small, and the highest fuck-me-heels I’d ever seen, claiming to be the missing heiress to the Carrera empire.

I didn’t have to know what Marisol—or Adriana—or whatever the hell she wanted to be called, looked like to realize my past had caught up with me. Paybacks were a bitch.

And so was the woman standing in front of me.

Curling my lip at her offered hand, I turned my back to her. “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve showing your face here.”

I felt Adriana’s eyes boring into me as I drained the piss warm beer left in my mug. I knew she still had her arm extended, seething as she waited for me to kiss her ass, so instead, I lifted an eyebrow and waved the glass at bar bitch. Like the dutiful half-wit she was, my employee raced around the bar like her ass was on fire, sorting through chilled glasses until she found the perfect one then busied herself at the tap.

“Neat trick, Pavlov.” Adriana’s sultry voice trailed over my shoulder. “You might want to think about spaying her, so she’ll stop humping your leg.”

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