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Tears spring to my eyes, and I bite my lip as he worships me.I want this, him, me… us.

I lean down and cup his face, kissing him back, lowering to my knees in front of him so that we are at the same height.I’m not ready to let this go yet. No matter how selfish that might be.

I’m going after Grand. Yet I want to keep Julian--and everything else about my miraculous career. But I know I can’t have it both ways. There will be no delayed-reaction pills involved when Grand and I meet, no way to mask the killer. And to my surprise, it’s a sacrifice I’m prepared to make.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Daniels,”Tabitha Sanders smiles at me. “I know Mr. Grand is eager to speak with you again.” She turns and begins to move down the hallway.

My low heels make no noise on the carpeted floor. We are in Grand’s hotel outside of Santa Barbara, a golf resort and conference center. He’s taken over part of the top floor with his entourage. Secret Service line the hall, standing as silent, watchful sentries. Tabitha slows to a stop in front of an agent I recognize as the same one who patted me down when I first met Grand for breakfast.

“Maloney, right?” I say.

“That’s right, Ms. Daniels.”

I offer him my purse, and he takes it, opening the small leather bag and searching through it. Satisfied that I’m not concealing a weapon within its silky interior, he turns to my body.

Ah, my best weapon.

I suppress the smile that toys with my lips, moving my feet apart and spreading my arms for his inspection. His touch is the same as last time, professional and thorough… and he does not discover the tiny pistol tucked between my breasts.

Maloney opens the door for me, a waft of stale air seeping into the hallway. Taking back my purse, I step into the dark room, alone. The shades are drawn, and the only light in the office comes from a television tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station. Grand is sitting behind a large desk, a breathing shadow in the dark room.

The door closes behind me, and I sip air, waiting for Grand to turn his attention away from the announcer, who’s sputtering with rage about something.

“Angela,” Grand says, muting the TV and swiveling his chair to face me.

“Mr. Grand.” I mimic his tone—syrupy sweet and dripping with ownership.

“Please, sit.” He gestures to one of the two chairs facing the desk. I approach it, resting a hand on the upholstered back, keeping it between us.

“No thanks,” I say.

He shifts forward, his large leather chair creaking as he puts his elbows onto the empty desk top. “Temperance is still alive. Get rid of him, or I’ll expose you.”

“I’ll expose you right back,” I snap.

“You’ll be dead.” He says it like it’s final, as if there is nothing I can do to stop him.He is a powerful man, and I am just a woman.My chin juts up, and a spark of anger ignites in my chest.I am so sick of this power dynamic. So done with it.“I’ll expose you to our enemies,” he goes on. “Let them know you are an asset. That you are dangerous to them.”

“What makes you so sure I’m not dangerous to you?” My voice is quiet and sure.I am dangerous.

My hand takes the pistol from between my breasts without even really thinking about it.The anger made me do it.

There is power in women’s rage.

He grins when he sees it, bright teeth flashing in the darkness. “You can’t shoot me.”

“Can’t I?”

“No,” a man’s voice says behind me, followed by the cocking of a gun.It sounds bigger than mine. But it’s not the size of the weapon that counts. It’s how you use it.

“I may not be able to shoot you and survive. But I can shoot you.”

A side door opens, and a man, his white head bent over some paperwork, strides in. “Numbers in Michigan are looking great,” he says, raising his eyes to Grand, sitting behind his desk. He then scans the room and quickly finds me, the gun in my hand, and then the man behind me, and the gun in his. What a picture. The man's face goes almost as white as his hair. “What’s going on?” he asks. Then his head cocks slightly. “Aren’t you Angela Daniels?”

I smile my movie star smile at him. “Yes,” I answer. “Do you know that your boss is a Russian puppet?” His eyes widen but not enough.The man is a bad actor.

Grand laughs and stands, moving toward the employee, my aim tracking him. “Trying out her role for an upcoming movie, Philip. We are going over lines together.” Philip takes a step back as Grand’s thick hand lands on his shoulder. “Why don’t you see Angela out,” he says, turning to me.

My options are limited: shoot Grand and die. Or leave with Philip and hopefully survive. Our threats to expose each other are as menacing as Moscow and Washington’s threats of nuclear annihilation.We both want to live.