Page 3 of The Broker

Dante, to his credit, immediately identifies the problem. “You won’t be able to save data off it.” He nods decisively. “We’ll just take the computer.”

“No need.” I rummage through my backpack and triumphantly pull out a compact disk. “I came prepared.” I slide the disk into the CD-ROM drive. “Give me a few minutes.”

He taps his earpiece, a frown on his face. “Hurry up.”

I start copying data files. The process is glacially slow. It takes seventeen minutes to transfer everything I need, and my nerves are on edge the entire time. Finally, I hit eject and grab my disk. “Done.”

Dante lifts his hand, a tense look on his face. Then I hear it. Footsteps above us.

Shit, shit, shit.

His grip tightens on the hilt of a gleaming knife, his eyes focused and determined. He holds up three fingers. Three men, then. “I need to use you as a diversion, Valentina,” he whispers into my ear. “Can you scream? The shriller, the better.”

I nod, my heart hammering in my chest. We’re in enemy territory, and I have no illusions about my nonexistent combat skills. It’s three against one, and if something were to happen to Dante, I’d be defenseless.

Angelica isnine.

The room plunges into darkness. I instinctively turn to Dante, but he’s gone, melted into the shadows. For a moment, panic fills me, and then my brain starts to work again. He’s not going to leave me here. The Broker is like superglue, sticky, and impossible to get rid of.

I open my mouth and emit a scream, loud and shrill.

The men upstairs respond immediately, throwing open the cellar door and running down the stairs. I have only a brief glimpse of bulging muscles and guns, and then. . .

And then Dante attacks.

He moves with lightning speed, his movements fluid and precise. My eyes are still adjusting to the dimness, but I see enough. Dante steps between the two guys in the rear, smashes his fist into the jaw of the man on the right, shifts to the left and drives his knife into the other man’s shoulder. The guy in front barely has time to pivot before the Broker throat punches him and, for good measure, stabs him in the thigh.

When he’s done, all three men are unconscious.

Dante pats them down, taking their guns and knives. Then he holds his hand out to me, his knuckles covered in blood. “It’s good that they didn’t see our faces,” he says. “And to answer your earlier question, Valentina, Iamcapable of getting my hands dirty. Shall we go?”

My mouth has fallen open. Three against one, and the fight was over in seconds. Reluctant admiration stirs in me. That was. . .

Impressive.

Terrifying.

Hot as hell.

Remembering to close my mouth, ignoring Dante’s outstretched hand, I step over the bodies on the floor. “Sure.”

2

DANTE

Iwasforcedto use Valentina asbait.

She could have been hurt.

Shot.

Killed.

As we sprint back to our getaway vehicle, I’m so angry I’m shaking. “Drive,” I growl. If I take the wheel right now, I might wreck the car.

What the hell is Valentina doing, barreling headfirst into enemy territory? She should have told me if she had a lead, and I would have sent somebody into that farmhouse to get the damn computer she needed.

No. She didn’t do that. Instead, she put herself in danger.