Thirty-two year old Dean Bendis was in deep cover. He was also in deep shit. The black ops undercover cop was suddenly and inexplicably up to his ass in it as what was fast becoming his worst nightmare played out right before his eyes.

They'd brought the woman to him, roughed up and bloodied, expecting him to finish the job. He was, after all, Frank Clovis' lieutenant, his enforcer, his hired gun. Judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one neat, well-muscled package. He had killed before at his boss' behest putting a 40-caliber Fang Face squarely between Johnny J's squinty little rat eyes but this was different.

Johnny J, one of Clovis' many minions. Johnny J, who liked to play with matches. Johnny J who, when sent to torch the home of one of Clovis' fiercest rivals, neglected to give the wife and children fair warning before setting the place ablaze. In fact, it was rumored that Johnny had tied the lot of them together and, after dousing them with gasoline, had thrown a lit book of matches at them. In essence he had used mom, pop and the kiddies as the writhing, screaming source of the fire that eventually burned the man's home to the ground.

Franklin Clovis, a moderately handsome, obscenely wealthy drug kingpin and arms dealer masquerading as a well-respected businessman, and Mike Killeen's, aka Dean Bendis' employer, had, in his own perverse sense of right and wrong, applauded Johnny Jerome's initiative in burning his rival to a crisp. He drew the line, however, at murdering the man's wife and kids. Business was business but a man's family was not always a part of that business, Frank had proclaimed and, as a final test of Dean Bendis' loyalty, had ordered the overzealous torch's elimination.

Dean had done the job quickly and efficiently and without remorse, simply shooting the maggot with his HK USP Compact then leaving the body on the well-tended lawn of Clovis' estate for someone else to clean up. The fact the little fuck stick had tried to gank him with a shive instead of heeding his warning to leave town...forever...left Bendis with a clear conscious and the world a better place. Yeah, whacking a psycho had been easy but this cluster fuck was a whole 'nother Oprah.

Frank Clovis, his normally placid and pale face red with rage, and Carlo Fiore, a fat fuck of a man with barely visible pig eyes and greasy black hair, had burst into Bendis' quarters in the large guesthouse tucked neatly behind Clovis' mansion on the spacious estate literally dragging someone between them. Although her usually immaculate appearance was now thoroughly disheveled, Dean recognized the woman immediately, her once spotless white blouse torn and stained with drops of her own blood. A wet smear under her nose matched the angry red welts that colored and marred her flawless cheeks and Dean wondered immediately where the 'ape', who usually accompanied her when she met with Clovis, was.

Placing the book he had been reading face down in his lap Dean cocked an eyebrow and, although he was seriously concerned about the situation, feigned annoyance at the intrusion and demanded to know why Clovis and Fiore were standing in his 'home' with the poor unfortunate woman wavering unsteadily between them.

His stomach sank when Fiore, between sucking great gasps of air into his lungs, his hurried march across the lawn taking its toll, said, "This bitch ain't who she says. She's DEA. "

Disrespecting both men by staying seated and further dismissing Fiore out of hand Dean turned his head to look up at Clovis expectedly.

"Special Agent Erin Scott," Clovis added, her real name and title dripping from his tongue distastefully as if they left a bad taste in his mouth.

Dean's stomach proceeded to tie itself into knots as his gaze turned directly to the woman he knew only as Sarah Miles. Sarah Miles, a high roller in the long, protracted, high stakes bidding war which Clovis had instigated, was a stunning woman with platinum blonde hair cut in a severe yet flattering elongated bob. She had steely blue-gray eyes and seemed to have ice water in her veins.

Purported to be from St. Louis she had come with a half dozen others into LAPD's backyard, as it were, to vie for the huge cache of drugs and weapons Clovis had placed on the block two weeks before. When the dust had settled she was one of only two buyers left standing and, up until a few moments ago, Dean would have bet that she had been the front-runner, in direct competition with his boss, Carter Shaw, as they went head to head vying for this particular Holy Grail of contraband.

Although Dean suspected that the lone female in the group had used her brain as well as her feminine wiles to achieve her objective, to buy the lot out from under Carter, he hadn't been overly concerned. If she had prevailed, by whatever means, he, Carter and the others would have simply stepped in and arrested her right along with Clovis and Fiore. Things had now taken a nasty turn no one had expected, a turn for the worse.

If it was true and Sarah Miles was, in fact, a federal agent no one from her agency had bothered to notify LAPD of DEA's obvious interest in Clovis. If they had Captain Maynard would have told them, in no uncertain terms, that his men, Dean Bendis in particular, had been inside and privy to almost every aspect of Clovis' operation for roughly three months and to back the fuck off.

Eleven weeks, six days and twenty-six minutes to be exact for Dean. Time well spent, first getting close enough to Clovis to catch his attention, then toadying to him, doing whatever it took to impress him and to gain his confidence including killing a man.

SOP precluded the two agencies from interacting and to Dean's knowledge nothing outside of a couple of busted surveillance ops had ever happened before, certainly nothing of this magnitude.

"One of Carlo's men recognized her and picked her up before she could hook up with that other asshole. My guess is that he's DEA, too, so I need you to go after him as soon as you finish with her."

Dean listened to Clovis with half an ear as his mind went in a million different directions as he tried to figure out what he needed to do next, his churning emotions masked by his poker face as different scenarios quickly played out in his mind. Simply doing as Clovis asked even crossed his mind at one point but executing the woman wasn't an option...yet...and he shoved that idea deep down into his last resort box. He then opened up his twisted, sick fuck box and selected an idea that was pretty horrific but one that might buy them some time.

"Looks like Smith wins by default," Clovis announced and Dean looked up at him, his eyes staring coldly, as if he really didn't give a shit. Clovis swallowed and continued. "I'll tell him in the morning but, in the mean time, get rid of this garbage." He shoved the woman forward forcefully.

Dean stood up slowly and, with his head back and slightly cocked belying his 5' 11" stature, discarded the book in the chair and silently appraised her.

When Clovis spoke up again she started and turn away from Dean's icy stare.

"You're not adverse to killing a woman are you Killeen?" Clovis wanted to know.

A quiet laugh escaped the undercover cop. "Nope, not at all. Only this one is…special." Circling the DEA agent smoothly and silently like a cat she jumped a second time when his finger touched the nape of her neck and, although it was quite warm in the bungalow, a shiver ran the length of her body.

"You want her? She's yours," Clovis offered magnanimously with a humorless and insincere laugh.

Fiore opened his thick-lipped mouth to protest and Dean knew he had to stake his claim on her right then and there. "She was mine from the first moment I saw her," he said icily, no mistake whatsoever in his insistence and intent.

At the sound of his quiet and deadly voice Erin Scott's heart began to beat even more wildly and her breath came in ragged pants that she tried valiantly to control her fear but to no avail.

Dean heard her and, looking into her eyes, wished he could allay the fear he saw there but knew that, for her sake and for his, too, he couldn't divulge his true identity until the op was over... if even then. Right now he needed to subjugate her quickly and wrapping his hand tightly around her throat he backed her up against the arm of the upholstered chain in which he'd been sitting.

One could hear a pin drop in the room as he hiked up her skirt, his face mere inches from hers, and pulled on the silken material hidden beneath. Her panties tore like melting butter in his strong grip and the DEA agent just stared at him, her blue eyes clouded, her mind numbed by the savage treatment she'd received at the hands of Clovis and Fiore after events had quickly spiraled out of control.

With one hand wrapped around her slender neck, Dean unfastened his belt with the other and pushed his David Lance slacks down over well-muscled thighs. Oblivious to the bug eyed stares and rasping breath of both Clovis and Fiore as they watched what was unfolding before them, Dean leaned in and whispered into her ear, "It's either me or Fiore or Clovis...maybe both."

Her eyes widened with understanding and a faintly whispered "No" was all Dean heard before he turned her away from him. With a look of disgust on his face he bent her over the chair's well-padded arm. Let them think he couldn't bear the sight of her battered face when, what he really couldn't bear to see, why he had turned her away, was the look in her eyes as he raped her in the richly appointed living room of Clovis' guest house, staking a tenuous claim on her in what was a vile and most likely futile attempt to keep her alive.

It was a quick and brutal assault and, even though her face had been turned away, if he allowed it the quiet pleading 'no' would echo in his mind for a very long time. Pulling out of her Dean hiked up and refastened his slacks. He swallowed hard to keep down the bile that threatened to erupt and spew out, the way his hatred and anger wanted to wash lethally over the two men who stood smiling, clearly aroused by what had just taken place.

Fiore took a step toward the woman but Dean stopped him with a hand on a beefy arm. Both he and Clovis strained to catch Killeen's next words. The quiet iciness with which they were delivered left no doubt as to the hired killer's desires.

"Until the moment I kill her…she's mine."

Looking into Bendis' face and seeing green eyes like ice staring back at him, the threat unmistakable, Clovis cleared his throat and ran his hand nervously across his chin. "Just make sure she doesn't leave here alive," he said lamely, again not really sure who was in charge, him or the taciturn Killeen.

A brittle laugh escaped Bendis' tight jaw between gritted teeth, the sound of it unnerving, as the two men left the room, one after the other, without further comment.

Once outside Clovis shook his head. The psycho son of a bitch could have her; fuck her 'till the cows came home then practice necrophilia after she was dead for all he cared. The bitch was good looking Clovis acceded. Probably the only reasons she'd gotten as close to him as she had. But being good looking wasn't enough to keep her from being recognized and it sure wasn't enough to keep her from being iced.

"You outta get rid of 'im, too. He's bat shit crazy. I can see it in his eyes," Fiore recommended once they were out of Bendis' hearing. Just being in the same room with Killeen put the fat man on edge, gave him the creeps if he was honest about it. He had hated Clovis' man from the moment he'd first met him and the assault he had just witnessed only reinforced his opinion of the whipcord thin, dark haired man. "He's spooky if you ask me," Fiore continued, "Stares at you like a goddamned retard."

"I thought of it," Clovis admitted and wondered if he could ever get close enough to Killeen now without getting bitten, "But he's too good at what he does."

When word had come down to Clovis that there might be a Fed stinking up the works he had immediately thought it was Mike Killeen so he had ordered him to take care of Johnny J. The tight lipped killer had executed the poor schmuck without a backward glance and Clovis figured that if he were truly a Fed there was no way he could have pulled the trigger. On the other hand, if he were a bona fide sociopath, pulling the trigger would have been child's play. The reasons he had promoted Killeen to the position of his lieutenant was because he was ruthless and maybe a little crazy and now he expected the same results with regard to Miles or whoever the hell she was and if the crazy bastard wanted to play with her for awhile before killing her so be it.

Entering his home Clovis locked the solid back door firmly behind him. He felt a little more at ease with some distance and a secure lock between himself and Mike Killeen and was satisfied that the bitch would soon be just a distant memory.

Erin Scott, aka Sarah Miles, was tough and smart and had played hardball throughout the negotiations but now Dean Bendis needed to force her to play his game, his way. If she worked against him one of them, or maybe both, would end up dead.

After the assault Erin remained standing, her eyes no longer confused but hard, dark with anger and murderous in their intent. The realization of the futility of her circumstances pumped her full of adrenalin-fueled bravado and, as she realized she was now caught in an interminable situation with apparently neither recourse nor avenue of escape, her stance became defiant. She lifted her chin ready to take on her assailant against all odds.

Dean immediately saw it in her eyes. She had nothing to lose and he could almost hear her thoughts as she came to the same conclusion and, closing the gap between them in a fraction of a second, he backhanded her viciously sending her crashing into a small table. Grabbing her wrist painfully he pulled her up and propelled her into the bedroom where he shoved her hard. She fell in a heap on the bed and lay, her head spinning, her ears ringing, while Dean ripped open his closet door. He grabbed a handful of expensive Dior Homme neckties and began securing her limbs to the four posters of the bed.

Regaining her senses and resolve to live a little longer Erin Scott began to fight back. Kicking and scratching, grunts punctuating every move she made, she tried to disable him and struggled valiantly up until he hit her in the jaw. She now lay unconscious, stripped naked and tied securely to the bed.

Stepping back Dean assessed his injuries touching his cheek gingerly. She'd gotten in a few well-placed kicks and a trio of deep scratched that stung ferociously marred his handsome face. For the moment she was restrained and safe. Now he had to make her partner disappear.