Chapter One

R emy

The tires screeched as Remy Gallagher whipped the steering wheel hard to the left, careening around the corner in hot pursuit of the bail jumper's black sedan. Horns blared and pedestrians scattered as Remy roared through the city streets, the front bumper of his Mustang mere inches from clipping the rear fender ahead.

Remy gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles white and forearms flexing. His blue eyes laser-focused straight ahead, not daring to blink. Nothing else existed in this moment but that stolen car, and the bail jumper inside he had to catch.

"C'mon, c'mon," Remy growled through gritted teeth as he downshifted, the Mustang's engine roaring. At the next intersection, the bail jumper tried to shake him, cutting a sharp right. But Remy was already there, muscles coiled and reflexes primed. He cranked the wheel and hammered the throttle.

Rubber burned against asphalt as the Mustang fishtailed slightly before Remy corrected, never losing speed. His hands worked the wheel and stick in perfect rhythm, guiding the car with an almost preternatural skill. Damn, he was good. And he knew it.

"Not gonna shake me that easy," Remy smirked to himself. This dirtbag had led him on one helluva chase so far, but playtime was over. Time to end this and get home to a cold beer and Maximus, his German Shepherd who would be waiting on their celebratory steak dinner.

The black car ducked down a narrow side street. Remy yanked the emergency brake, sliding the back end around as he whipped the Mustang into the alley in hot pursuit, tires smoking and engine thundering off the close brick walls. The alley spat them out onto a main thoroughfare. Remy scanned the street signs, gears turning. He knew this part of town like the back of his hand, every short cut and side street.

"Let's dance, scumbag," Remy hissed, yanking the wheel to the left. The Mustang careened down a narrow cross street as horns blared. He threaded the car through the congested traffic, never losing sight of his quarry.

The bail jumper's car skidded around the next corner, brake lights flashing as he came to a street fair. He abandoned the car in the middle of the street and took off running, weaving through the crowd of startled shoppers.

Remy slammed on the brakes, his Mustang screeching to a halt, inches from the stolen car. Without hesitation, Remy leaped out of his car. "I love it when they play hard to get," he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk as he took off in pursuit.

His muscular legs propelled him forward, his eyes locked on the fleeing bail jumper. The street fair was a chaotic maze of stalls and vendors, but Remy's agility and quick reflexes allowed him to navigate the obstacles with ease.

"Excuse me! Coming through!" he shouted, vaulting over a pile of crates and narrowly avoiding a collision with a fruit cart.

The bail jumper knocked over a display of pottery, sending shards flying in every direction. Remy leaped over the debris, his feet barely touching the ground. He could feel the distance between them shrinking with each stride.

The bail jumper made a sharp turn, disappearing behind a row of stalls. Remy veered to the right, anticipating his next move. Ducking under a low-hanging banner, his eyes never left his target. The bail jumper was getting desperate, shoving innocent bystanders out of the way in a frantic attempt to escape. Remy pushed himself harder, his legs burning with exertion. The gap between them was closing.

The bail jumper stumbled, his foot catching on a loose cobblestone. Remy seized the opportunity, lunging forward and tackling him to the ground. They tumbled across the dusty street, a tangle of limbs and grunts.

"Gotcha," Remy panted, pinning the bail jumper down with his weight.

After dropping the bail jumper off at the police station, Remy sat in the receptionist area of the bail bondsman while he waited for them to cut his check. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, glancing at the screen. It was a text from a number he didn't recognize. The message contained a single name: Cori Sinclair.

The name seared through him like a branding iron, as it did every time. Five years. Five goddamn years and not a trace of her. Vanished into thin air like smoke. The one that got away. The one he let get away.

Why was someone texting him her name now?

He called the number.

"Hunter's Guild, Elite Bounty Services," a woman's voice answered.

"I got your text. I don't have any information on Cori Sinclair."

"One moment, sir."

Remy rolled his eyes as music from his high school days filtered over the phone line. Then a man's voice came on the line. "I'm John Hunter. I own Hunter's Guild. I'm looking to hire you to track down Cori Sinclair."

" Well, shit," Remy breathed, his mind reeling. The woman he'd loved, the woman he'd lost, was now his target. The cruel irony of it all hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Memories flooded Remy's mind. Late-night dates, stolen kisses, whispered promises. He had fallen hard for Cori, drawn to her quick wit, fierce intelligence, and unwavering sense of justice. But then, without warning, she had vanished, leaving him with nothing but unanswered questions and a gaping hole in his heart.

"Why me?"

"Because you grew up with her. You know her better than anyone else."

He gave a short laugh without humor. "I thought I did."

"Are you interested in the job?"

Was he? He closed his eyes, memories of their time together flooding his mind. The way she laughed, the way she fit perfectly in his arms, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief and passion. He'd thought they had a future together, but then she'd vanished without a trace, leaving him with a broken heart and a thousand unanswered questions.

Then John Hunter named a price that would keep Maximus in precooked dog meals for over a year—the good stuff too. "What do you have to go on?" he asked.

"She's been running cons on some of Long Island's most notorious businessmen. Exposing their dirty secrets, stealing their ill-gotten gains, and disappearing into the wind. But her latest target, Damian Blackwell, is more dangerous than the rest. We need you to bring her in before she gets in over her head."

Remy nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. They had grown up together in Babylon. He knew some places to look now she was back in town.

"All right, I'm in."

They spent a few more minutes nailing down the details, and by the time he was done with his phone call, his check was ready. Time for celebratory steak dinners for him and Maximus. And he'd try not to think about Cori too much.

***

C ORI

Cori Sinclair leaned in close, batting her long lashes and letting her fingers trail lightly down the lapel of the middle-aged businessman's expensive suit jacket. "So it's a deal then? You'll invest the full million dollars in my offshore account by midnight tonight?"

The businessman swallowed hard, his eyes glazing over with desire as he nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes of course. Anything for you, my dear, and of course, the fifty percent return."

Cori smiled slyly, triumphant. Another one hooked, and this time it was the big fish, the CFO of Holloway Pharmaceuticals. The same company that had cruelly denied her mother's insurance claims for the experimental cancer treatment that could have saved her life. They were going to pay, one way or another.

She still remembered that fateful day five years ago, standing in the sterile hospital room, clutching her mother's frail hand as the doctor delivered the devastating news. "I'm sorry Ms. Sinclair, but your insurance has denied coverage for the treatment. Without it, I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do."

Hot tears had rolled down Cori's face as rage ignited inside her. It was so unfair. These corrupt corporations raking in billions while leaving the sick and vulnerable to suffer and pay the ultimate price. In that moment, staring down at her mother's ashen face, Cori knew what she had to do. Her estranged father knew just how to beat the fat cats at their own game, using their greed against them. She just had to become someone she and the man she loved would hate.

Snapping back to the present, Cori gave the CFO a coy wink. "Wonderful. I'll be waiting for your call to confirm the transfer. Until then ..." She turned on her stiletto heel and sauntered away, feeling his lecherous stare boring into her back.

One step closer. This money would fund her next big con, and Holloway Pharmaceuticals would have another scandal to add to their reputation. Sooner or later, the whole damned company would be exposed for the frauds they were. It was her life's purpose. It had to be. It was all she had left.

Now, she had to hurry. She had one more mark to fleece today, and then she could go back to her hotel room and enjoy a complimentary bottle of champagne.

Cori walked briskly down the bustling city street, her sleek black trench coat billowing behind her. She glanced at her reflection in a storefront window, adjusting the blonde wig that concealed her short black hair. She spotted her target, a wealthy businessman known for his shady dealings, exiting a sleek black car just a few feet away. Like clockwork, he was visiting his mistress while his wife was home with their special needs child.

Cori quickly adjusted her posture and expression, transforming into a wide-eyed, innocent-looking young woman. With a purposeful stumble, she collided with the businessman, sending his briefcase tumbling to the ground.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!" Cori exclaimed, her voice laced with genuine-sounding concern. She bent down to retrieve the briefcase, her fingers brushing against the businessman's hand as he reached for it simultaneously.

Their eyes met, and Cori flashed him a disarming smile. "I'm such a klutz. Please, let me make it up to you. Can I buy you a coffee?"

The businessman hesitated for a moment, then returned her smile. "I'm busy at the moment, but maybe I could take a raincheck, Ms ...?

"Roxy Jones," she replied, her tone warm and inviting. "And you are?"

"James Monroe."

"Let me give you my number." Cori gave him her burner phone's digits and put an extra wiggle in her walk as she sauntered away. This time next week, she'd have him eating out of her hand and begging to get her into bed and invest in her guaranteed fifty percent return scheme. In return, Cori would set up a trust for his soon-to-be ex-wife and their child. Minus a small percentage for her fee, of course.

She had been a little bit nervous coming back to her old hunting grounds of Long Island. But the offers had been there, and she was good enough to get them done and get out again before anyone knew she was there.

Avoiding the police wouldn't be a problem, but there was one police officer she did want to see. She wondered what Remy Gallagher was up to these days. Had he made Captain yet? Did he still think of her? Or did he hate her for ghosting him five years ago?

She couldn't be a cop's wife and take down Halloway. So she left him to learn everything her father could teach her about grifting, the short con, the long con, whatever brought in a payday. Her father was in Rykers now, and probably would be there for another ten years. Cori made sure she didn't make his mistakes. There was always a risk, of course, but she never took a job unless the person hiring had no other choice, and the target deserved it.

Business was surprisingly good.