UNDERCOVER TO MY HEART

I came here to put monsters behind bars, but the first ghost I saw was the boy I buried seven years ago. The Rusty Anchor smelled like spilled beer, old sweat, and cheap gun oil. I dragged my rag across the sticky wooden bar, keeping my face calm while my eyes mapped out every exit in the room. My heart hammered against my ribs, right where the cold plastic of the hidden wire pressed into my skin. Outside in an unmarked van down the block, my ATF handler was listening to every heavy breath I took. "Hey, new girl!" a loud voice yelled from the far corner of the room. "Where are those beers?" "Coming right up, honey," I called back, keeping my tone light and sweet like a harmless girl who just needed a paycheck to pay her rent. I moved down the counter, picking up a heavy tray loaded with dark glass bottles. I slowed my steps near a booth tucked into the back corner, leaning in close under the excuse of clearing away trash from the floor. Five guys wearing heavy leather cuts with Iron Serpents patches were leaning over a sticky wooden table, their voices low and sharp. "Xavier wants it done quiet," one guy whispered, tapping his dirty fingers on a folded map. "The ship docks at pier nine." "What time?" another asked, leaning in closer. "Midnight sharp. Be there with the trucks, or he will have your head on a pike." Pier nine. Midnight. I memorized the details, carefully shifting my weight so the tiny microphone tucked under my collar could pick up every single word. This was the exact break we needed. Six months of chasing shadows, and finally I had a solid time and a place for the human smuggling drop. I turned back toward the bar, ready to slip away and send the signal to my team, when a huge shadow fell over the counter. "You are slacking on the job," a deep voice said. The voice hit me like a splash of ice water. It was quiet, low, and smooth, but it carried an edge that made the tiny hairs on my arms stand straight up. I stopped in my tracks and looked up, forcing my fake bartender smile onto my face. The smile vanished before I could stop it. Standing on the other side of the counter was a tall man in a dark leather cut. Across his chest, a silver patch read Sergeant at Arms. Right above it, stitched in bold white thread, was the name Jack. He had a strong jaw, short dark hair, and a thin scar cutting through his left eyebrow. His dark eyes were cold and sharp, staring right through me like I was made of glass. My knees went weak. The glass bottle in my hand slipped, almost dropping to the floor before I caught it at the last second. Jack. "Jack?" I breathed, the word slipping out before my brain could stop my mouth. It was impossible. I sat in the pouring rain seven years ago and watched his family lower a closed casket into the cold earth after his car went off a high cliff in flames. I wept for months over him. I carried his memory like an open wound while I worked my way through the police academy and into the ATF. He did not blink. The soft, gentle boy who used to hold my hand in high school was completely gone. In his place stood a hardened man who looked like he could snap a neck without thinking twice. "Do I know you?" Jack asked, his voice completely flat. "No," I stammered, pulling myself together as fast as I could. "No, sorry. You just look like someone I used to know a long time ago." "Is that so?" He took a slow step closer, resting his heavy hands on the edge of the bar. "You do not look like you belong in a dive like this, sweetheart." "I am just here to work," I said, step by step rebuilding my cover wall. "I need the cash. The manager hired me an hour ago." "The manager makes bad choices," Jack said softly. He reached across the counter. His movement was so fast I did not even have time to flinch or draw back. His broad, calloused fingers wrapped tight around my wrist, pinning my hand down hard against the wood. His grip was solid as iron. "Hey!" I hissed, trying to pull my arm back. "Let go of me!" Instead of pulling away, he yanked me forward, dragging my upper body across the bar until my face was only inches from his. I could smell rain, leather, and faint gun oil on his jacket. His dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with a sudden, wild heat that scared me more than any weapon ever could. "Listen to me very carefully," Jack growled, his voice so low only I could hear it over the noisy crowd. "You chose the wrong bar, Isabella." My breath hitched in my throat. Hearing my real name come out of his mouth sent a shockwave straight down my spine. "Jack, please," I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Walk out that front door in five minutes," he whispered, tightening his grip on my wrist just enough to make his point clear. "Pack your bags and get out of this city. If you stay, you leave this place in a box." My mind raced as I stared back into his dark, cold eyes. I tried to pull my wrist free again, but his hand was like a vise around my flesh. The noise of the crowded bar seemed to fade away into complete silence, leaving only the sound of my fast breathing and the heavy thud of my heart in my ears. He knew who I was. My entire undercover mission was falling apart before it even started, and the man holding my fate in his hands was a ghost I loved a lifetime ago. "I am not leaving," I said, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and anger as I held his gaze. "You do not tell me what to do anymore, Jack." Jack leaned in even closer until his lips almost brushed the shell of my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "You always were stubborn, Isabella. But this is not a game, and these men are not people you can reason with. If you do not walk away right now, I will not be able to save you when things go bad."