His lips flattened to something short of a smile. "And you did this…why?"

  "I needed to know if you were telling the truth."

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. "You have some serious trust issues."

  I couldn't argue. I did. But only because I preferred to remain breathing. At least that's what I liked to tell myself.

  Victor shifted on the cushion, the handcuffs clanking against the radiator. "Wouldn't you know it," he muttered under his breath.

  I raised my eyebrows in a silent question.

  "I always get turned on by the strange ones."

  I almost smiled. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

  He shrugged and leaned against the sofa's arm. The move was a relaxed one, and I couldn't help feeling relieved to see his fear fade and the Victor I'd known before take over. "Tell me something. After all our chats online, did you ever feel anything, or were you just looking for an apartment to use or a cheap stash of first aid supplies?"

  That was a question I shouldn't answer. I didn't regret what I'd done. Although I hadn't been thinking of Victor in a tactical sense in the time I'd spent chatting with him online, once my cover identity had been blown using him was an easy decision, one I wouldn't hesitate to make again. I should walk away and let him curse me or hate me or whatever he pleased. It would be easier that way. But after putting him through all I had, I couldn't do it.

  Or maybe, I just didn't want to. "I felt something."

  "Funny, you hide it well." He tilted his chin down and looked up at me, a smile tilting one side of his lips. "Unless you're just into handcuffs."

  The warmth of that smile pulled at me, made me want to reciprocate, made me want things I shouldn't. I'd just finished interrogating this man, telling him I'd poisoned him, leading him to believe he was going to die. How could he forgive me so suddenly? "Is that your way of trying to convince me to release you?"

  "That would be nice."

  "Not happening."

  "So you are into handcuffs. Or are you just into control?"

  "Today I am." I tilted my head, watching him. "You're a little forward for what you just went through. You aren't trying pull one over on me, are you Victor?"

  "You really do have trust issues, don't you?"

  I didn't see the need to answer.

  "So I'm that obvious?"

  "That depends on what you're trying to do."

  He laughed, a sound not harsh or even at my expense, but one of simple amusement. "I don't know if you really did feel something in our chats online, Carmen, but I did. And I'll forgive all that other stuff if I can just get what I've wanted from you all along. What I was hoping you wanted from me."

  "Sex?"

  "A chance."

  I forced myself to focus on my surroundings. The rumble of an El train passing outside of the apartment. Mozart pawing through kitty litter in the bathroom. The thrum of my pulse.

  I am ice.

  It didn't work. I'd had a feeling about Victor since we'd first bantered in that chat room. That he was unlike the men I'd met online or in bars. That as different as our lives were, we operated on the same wavelength.

  That maybe, between us, there could be something real.

  I'd kept the feeling at bay, kept myself from hoping for something I could never have. I didn't work in an office from nine to five. I wasn't even something as normal as an EMT. In my profession, relationships weren't an option.

  But that didn't mean I didn't want to be with a special man. That didn't mean I didn't dream of it at night when my subconscious broke free.

  Which is why I walked the hell out of there.

  My steps were shaky at first, but I made it out of the living room without turning around. I continued down the hall and checked on Kaufmann. He was sleeping fitfully. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

  "Carmen? You're not afraid of me, are you? I'm the one with the handcuffs on."

  My stomach was in knots, but it wasn't from hunger.

  Well, not that kind of hunger.

  I reminded myself that life or death situations often played hell with a person's libido. That after coming close to death, nothing reaffirmed life more than sex.

  Perhaps Victor was feeling the same way right now.

  Or perhaps Victor was a spy who wanted me dead.

  Nothing looked good in the fridge. I slammed the door shut.

  "Can we at least talk about this? I'll forget about you pretending to poison me. I'll even forget about you hitting me and tying me up. But it would mean a lot for me if you came back here and we talked."

  Shit shit shit.

  Despite my better judgment, my feet brought me back into the living room. I stood in front of him, my hands on my hips.

  "This is probably inappropriate," Victor said, "and I can't imagine the kind of day you had. But, damn, you really are one beautiful lady."

  My heart gave a little jump in my chest. I took a step toward him, then another. I must be out of my mind. I most certainly was, but I didn't care. After this day, I wanted to give that chance Victor had asked for and take one for myself. I wanted to know I was alive, to lose myself in a kiss, to feel the warm friction of skin on skin.

  I wanted to look at a man and have him look back at me the way Victor was now.

  I leaned over him and brought my lips down on his. The kiss was effortless, all hunger and heat. He tasted like he'd been drugged and unconscious for half the day, but I didn't care. My senses, so trained, so honed, clamored and blended until I couldn't tell one from another, like voices in a chanting crowd, like a symphony where all the instruments blended into one transcendent music. I wanted to get closer, to feel more, to lose myself in sensation.

  He brought his free hand up my cheek and buried his fingers in my hair. He cradled the side of my face, urging my mouth closer, my lips harder on his.

  Finally I ended the kiss and pulled the t-shirt over my head. My bra hit the floor next.

  I could feel Victor watching me, his gaze skimming over my breasts and down my belly, sexier than a caress. He cleared his throat. "Is it hot in here?"

  "That's just the niacin talking." I pushed the jeans down my legs.

  "And the old man?"

  "He's sleeping." I kicked off denim and slid my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and inched them down.

  "Who is he, anyway? I mean really? Your father?"

  His assumption made me hesitate, my panties half way down my thighs. Earlier his questions had been easy to brush off. But things had changed. Even though I still had him cuffed to the radiator, I realized I'd crossed a threshold. I trusted Victor. And more than that, impossible or not, I wanted there to be more between us, more than I'd hoped with any man in a long time.

  But this question felt more intimate than the skin I'd revealed, more intimate than any sex act could.

  I thought about the gift Kaufmann had given me before the amobarbital had dragged him under. Except for my very different bond with Kaufmann, relationships with men had always been elusive for me. Thanks to Cory, I'd lost any semblance of naiveté about the subject of love before I was fifteen. But I'd never wanted sex to be all about scratching an itch. I'd always sensed there was more, beyond my grasp. I just hadn't had the courage to reach for it.

  Not until now.

  I let my panties drop to the floor and stood naked in front of Victor. For a long time, I was still, letting him look at me, letting him see me. Finally I worked up the courage to step over the edge. "Yes. The man I brought here, he is my father. In every way it counts."

  Victor nodded, as if he understood, as if he sensed how much of myself I'd just exposed, the chance I'd just offered. He skimmed my body with his gaze, then focused on my face, and for the first time with any man, I felt like he was really seeing me. "Thank you."

  My throat felt thick. "For what?"

  "Trusting me."

  I had his pants around his ankles before he could say another word. He was miraculously quiet while I peeled his briefs over his hips and pulled them down his legs. He was half erect, and as I sized him up, his cock flexed toward me as if giving some kind of come hither.

  I leaned over him, kissing him again and using my knees to nudge open his thighs. I knelt between his splayed legs and took him in my mouth. He was hard with one stroke of my tongue up the underside of his shaft. Harder still when I encircled him with my lips and took him full into my mouth.

  He tasted lightly salty and smelled of Dial soap and Claiborne For Men and his own unique scent. The hair on his legs rasped against my breasts and teased my nipples. I opened my throat and made his whole body shake in a moan.

  I wanted him at my mercy, every nerve in his body focused on what I was doing to him, the sensations I was creating. I wanted him to turn himself inside out for me. With each lick, each nibble, each rasp of my teeth, I wanted to make him willing to do anything for me, be anything, anytime I needed him.

  I don't know if I felt guilty for what I'd put him through, but I doubted that was it. I'd done worse things to men and had never felt the need to make it up to them afterward, even if they were still alive. With Victor, I wanted him to want me, to need me, to be loyal to me. I wanted the touch of my hands and mouth to sear him like a brand.

  His hand moved through my hair, over my cheek. "Let me loose."

  I shook my head.

  "I hope you've figured out even if you let me loose, I'm not going anywhere."

  "Maybe I just have a thing for handcuffs." I flicked him with my tongue and watched his forehead buckle with the effort to stay in control.

  "I want to use my hands on you. My mouth."

  I circled his tip with my tongue and then took him into my throat again. I could imagine his hands moving over me, caressing my breasts, delving between my legs. Shivers worked over my skin at the thought of his warm mouth suckling at my nipples and scattering kisses over my belly. A small shudder took me, and I could feel his tongue delving between my legs as clearly as what I was doing to him now.

  I moved deeper between his legs and took his balls in my mouth. A shudder moved through him and another moan. I looked up at him, past the tower of his erection. His eyes were laser sights on me, drinking in what I was doing, and I felt more satisfied than I had in years. He really wasn't going anywhere.

  "My turn," he grunted. "Please."

  With one last stroke of my tongue, I skimmed my body up his, his cock leaving a moist trail between my breasts and down my belly. I claimed his mouth for a moment in a rough kiss, my tongue delving into his mouth and tangling with his. Then I rose over him and positioned myself against his lips.

  His free hand snaked behind me, grabbing my ass, pressing me to his face. The first touch of his lips turned my legs into rubber. But his strong arm kept me on my feet, kept me trapped against his probing tongue. At first, it was just gentle licks, never staying in one spot too long, never allowing a rhythm to build. Then stroking became softer, quicker, darting in and out of me, gently taking my lips in his own, sucking softly.

  I grunted, deep in my chest. I felt the orgasm welling up inside me, the pressure building. I wanted more friction. More contact. I moved closer, trying to capture his flickering tongue, but he kept pulling away, kept teasing me, even as I ground against him.

  "Please," I urged. "Please."

  He slipped his hand between my legs, his finger penetrating me, and he began to give my clit the slow, fat licks that I needed, that I craved.

  Shudders wracked my body, doubling and redoubling. I heard a scream and somehow recognized the sound was coming from my throat. Pure sensation crashed over me, waves of pleasure ripping me to pieces and rebuilding me again. My legs shook so badly, I couldn't stand up anymore.

  I sank down. Spreading my thighs to sit astride him, I let him enter, crying out again at the delicious pressure. So full. Too full. It was almost pain, almost too much. And then he began moving, thrusting upward with his hips, filling me further, pushing me toward the edge of another crest.

  Pressure built, my body squeezing. I could smell our mingling sweat, sharp and clean, mixing with the salty tang of sex.

  His hand circled to my buttocks, grasping me, lifting me, driving upward into me. I arched my back and he buried his face in my breasts and captured a nipple in his mouth, coaxing me, urging me to another climax.

  I shuddered, spasms tightening my body. He drove harder, faster, and I moved with him. Heat built to burning. Our flesh slapped a rhythm. Our breathing blended into one.

  I couldn't say how long we moved like that, thrusting into each other, yet one. Dizziness spun over me. Something like happiness. I felt drugged, no longer in control, no longer even wanting to be.

  I shuddered again and he gripped my hips, pushing me down onto him, filling the hollow inside me. He cried out then, a feeling more than a sound. A tremor shook him and held, held us both.

  The spasms slowed, then stopped. I sat still, his face in my chest, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, his neck, cradling his head, clinging to him. I wanted to soak in the feeling as long as I could, the tangible sensation of skin on skin, his cock still inside me, the certainty of our connection. But all too soon the fighting flutter of pigeon wings erupted outside the window. The scent of a neighbor's slow cooked roast beef dinner teased the air. And I could feel the heat and connection and certainty ebb like a retreating tide.

  "You're human, so you'll want to form attachments. Once you do, it's time to get out of the game. If you care about people, you can be manipulated and compromised. Field agents have to keep relationships superficial. Love kills."

  I climbed off Victor's lap. Without a word, I picked up my clothing and padded out of the room alone. I could feel him watching me, sense his unspoken questions hanging in the air, but I didn't turn back. I needed to think about what had happened, what I wanted, what I'd felt. But my mind wouldn't cooperate. Whatever bond might be growing between Victor and me, it was a fragile one, slight as the remnants of a dream, and I couldn't shake the feeling that if I examined it too closely, it would cease to exist.

  I took a shower and then studied my injuries in the steamy bathroom mirror. I'd picked up new bruises thanks to the steps outside the John Hancock Center. My shoulder had resumed its throbbing, and I gave myself another shot to deaden the pain. A vague nausea claimed my stomach, and I wasn't sure if the cause was physical or emotional. Or maybe it was just exhaustion. Not that it mattered. I couldn't afford to rest. If my stomach settled, the best I could do was raid Victor's fridge and hope a rise in blood sugar would do the trick.

  I threw on the robe hanging on the bathroom door. Slipping into the master bedroom, I checked on Kaufmann and rifled through Victor's closet. I pulled out a pair of silk blouses, one teal, one royal blue. I selected the blue along with another pair of jeans from Victor's lady friend's collection of clothing. Pulling them on, I had the urge to ask Victor about her. Were they exclusive? If he had a woman who stayed here, keeping clothing in his closet as if marking her territory, why was he flirting with me online, asking me to dinner, having sex with me on the living room sofa?

  I got dressed, finger combed my hair and let it air dry. Instead of returning to the kitchen, I headed for Victor's office.

  I sat down at Victor's computer and pushed thoughts of him from my mind. If I wanted to stay alive, like it or not, I had to concentrate on more than my sex life. I accessed the Internet drop box and retrieved the fingerprint I'd taken from the double I'd killed on my way to recover Kaufmann. I doubted I'd get any closer to an identification than I had with the print from the woman at the health club, but it was worth a shot. I had very few leads, I had to work them all.

  I wasn't shocked when the database failed to provide a name. Then the computer showed a record that I'd already scanned the fingerprint.

  Something must have gone wrong. I entered the first finger print again.

  Again the website failed to give me a match, and it reported the same print had been entered three times.

  I stared at the screen, quieting the questions pinging through my mind. I asked the site to compare fingerprints from the first woman I'd killed with the second.

  A match. An exact match. According to the database, not only did the two hitwomen look the same, they were the same.

  Not possible.

  I'd killed the woman in the health club. I'd stake my life on it. And that was no zombie who had almost killed me outside Victor's apartment. So how could they have the same fingerprints? Two people never had the same whorls, loops and arches. Even identical twins each had their own prints. Theoretically, even clones should.

  I stared at the pad of my thumb. I was conscious of time passing, a clock ticking in the apartment. The hum of the refrigerator. Mozart's low purr as she rubbed against my leg. Finally I scanned my own print. I hit enter and waited for the result.

  An exact match.

  The background sounds of the apartment rose like a buzz in my ears. I checked the results. I made a new scan and checked it again.

  Not only were the two women I'd killed the same person, but I was that person, too.

  I forced myself to breathe. In and out. Slow. Calm. The buzzing started to fade, and I heard traffic on the street below and water rushing through pipes. I reached down and scratched Mozart under the collar.

  The phone rang.

  Victor's answering machine picked up on the third ring. "Probably at work. Leave a message."

  Trying not to notice the little jolt of pleasure I took from the sound of his recorded voice, I pushed up from the chair. There had to be an explanation for the fingerprints. I needed to focus on finding it.

  The answering machine beeped. "Chandler, it's me."

  My heartbeat stuttered and for a second, I couldn't breathe. I hadn't seen him since I'd finished training, but his voice was always in my head.

  The Instructor.

  "Chandler, I'm in a car parked out front. We need to talk."

  SOME TIME AGO

  "You've been specifically chosen for Project Hydra based on a specific set of criteria," The Instructor said. "Training will be challenging. Once you begin, you will not be able to quit. The only way you're leaving the training facility is in a body bag."