Page 23 of Pulse

None of her colleagues would be surprised to hear she was once again the lone person in the office well after closing time.

“There’s a chance you need a life,” she muttered as she began to pack up her things. At least her favorite local restaurant would be open for another hour, so she could order some delivery and have it arrive around the same time she’d return home.

Perfection.

She pulled her phone out to open her favorite delivery app only to freeze mid-swipe as a noise that sounded suspiciously like the main door opening caught her attention. Her office wasn’t too close to the entrance, but the door scraped the floor—something they’d been meaning to call a repairman to fix—making a distinctive screech whenever someone came in the office. During the day’s hustle and bustle, they rarely noticed it, but at night alone, the sound was akin to nails on a chalkboard.

Talia frowned, setting the phone on her desk. “Hello?” she called out. “Margo?” Maybe her boss had forgotten something and returned to retrieve it. This wouldn’t be the first time.

When she didn’t get a response, the hairs on the back of Talia’s neck rose, and a prickle of unease rippled across her skin. It was the kind of itch that said something was off. Call it women’s intuition or a gut feeling, but she knew on a cellular level that whoever came into the office wasn’t there to bring her a gift.

Instead of drawing more attention to her location, she swiped her phone to open the keypad. The local police station was less than a mile away. Could they get to her before—

“I’m just here to talk.”

She jolted so hard she dropped the phone. It landed on her carpeted floor with a soft thump she could barely hear over her hammering heart.

Her gaze flew to the door where a man with olive skin, dark, gelled-back hair, and a well-fitting suit stood with his hands extended in a pose probably designed to put her at ease.

It didn’t.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Five minutes. To talk. Nothing more than talk.” He had the barest hint of an accent, almost as though he’d worked to Americanize his speech. “May I sit?” he asked, pointing to the empty chair opposite her desk.

“No.” Talia stared him down with as much menace as she could inject into her gaze despite how her insides quivered like a child scared of the boogie man. No matter what happened, this man would not see her fear.

His lips quirked in the barest of smirks as he stepped into her office. He had a tan file folder tucked under his arm.

“Who are you?”

He placed the closed file on the desk and slid it in front of her with one finger, though he did respect her wishes and remained standing. “Please take a look through that.”

Talia narrowed her eyes. Following orders wasn’t her specialty. No one would ever accuse her of being a pushover, and she wasn’t about to start now. “Who. Are. You?”

“Someone who wants to help a client of yours make a smart decision.”

Talia stilled.

Part of her wanted to shove the file across the desk, hell, onto the floor, and tell this guy to kick rocks. But now he had her curious, and she’d spend every night for the next three weeks staring at her ceiling, wondering if she’d made the wrong decision if she didn’t investigate the file.

The asshole still hadn’t told her who he was.

They could stay in this stand-still stare-off for the rest of the night, or she could open the damn file and move this charade along. With a heavy sigh, she flipped the folder open to find a high-resolution photo that had her heart stopping dead in her chest.

“What the fuck is this?” she whispered as she flipped to another photo. If she’d been hoping the first was a prank, she was sadly mistaken to find the second photo containing the same damning evidence as the first.

A clear picture of Pulse in a black jacket with white letters on the back.

DEA.

In one photo, he wore dark glasses covering his eyes while holding a walkie-talkie in front of his mouth in a clear position of authority as he spoke to other agents.

A million questions ran through her head, but she felt too sick to open her mouth.

Is he an undercover agent assigned to the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club?

What is his angle?

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