Page 25 of Tainted Obsession 1

“Yes,” he replies, firm and unrepentant. “I will always protect you, Evelyn.”

I have to acknowledge that his actions back up that promise.

He protected me from the man who tried to roofie me in the bar.

He jumped in front of a bullet for me tonight.

But he’s associated with the cartel somehow.

Maybe he’s a good man. Maybe…

“Are you working undercover?” I’m grasping at straws. “Is George?”

I already know the truth in my heart, but I have to ask. A tiny spark of hope still flickers in my chest.

His beautiful features twist into a scowl.

“Yourfiancé,” he spits the word like it’s poison on his tongue, “isn’t working undercover. He’s corrupt. He’s a dirty agent. The coward ran. He abandoned you. I saved you.”

“You don’t even know me,” I protest, thoughts tangling as my heart is crushed beneath the weight of the awful truth.

I don’t understand why Massimo is so committed to ensuring my safety if he doesn’t work with Interpol. If he isn’t one of the good guys, why does he care?

“I know you’re innocent. I know you’re a good woman. That’s reason enough.”

But how does he know that?

Is she innocent?he’d asked in that basement, during my nightmarish ordeal with the cartel.

He was in the market last weekend, watching me.

He was in the bar at precisely the right time to scare away that creep.

And he was in the alley tonight, as though he’d been waiting to rescue me.

My blood runs cold. “You’ve been stalking me.”

His jaw ticks with something like irritation, and his arms tense around me ever so slightly.

“I’ve been stalking Crawford. He’s working withLos Zetas.I’m just doing a favor for a friend.” He shakes his head, glossy black curls swaying around his sculpted face. “At least, that’s how it started. I won’t lie to you. I’ve been after Crawford, but you’re the one I care about. You’re in danger because of him—because of his negligence and selfishness. He’s not worthy of you.”

My stomach churns at the implication.

“And you are?” I shoot back, fear finally surging to the fore along with my defiance. “You’re a criminal. You work for the cartel, don’t you? Let me go!”

I wriggle in his arms, but he doesn’t budge an inch. He simply holds me, fixing me with a shining glower, until I stop struggling.

I cross my arms over my chest and tip my chin back, making my outrage apparent even though I can’t physically fight him off.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says.

It’s a decree, a vow.

My stomach drops.

“I don’t work for the cartel,” he continues. “But Stefano Duarte is my friend. Yourfiancé,” his lip curls in disgust, “is working for his rivals. I’m doing Duarte a favor.”

George’s awful conversation in the alley plays through my mind in a sickening loop.