Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

Sara!”
    She slammed the door shut, furiously checked for a way to lock it.
    The door pushed open. She fell backward. Will grabbed her arm. He jerked her toward him. Sara slapped at him as hard as she could. He caught one of her hands. She punched him with the other one. She hated him. She wanted to scratch out his eyes. To tear his heart out of his chest the way he had torn out hers.
    “Sara, please—”
    She punched him again. She couldn’t stop. Hitting him felt too good. She slapped his face. Her fingernails drew blood. He caught both of her hands in one of his own. Sara couldn’t break free. He pushed her back against the wall. Her head banged against the cinder block. She brought up her knee, but Will was too close for her to do any damage.
    He kissed her. Their teeth clashed. His fingers gripped open her jaw. His tongue filled her mouth. Sara slammed her fist into his chest. He ripped open her jeans. Sara didn’t stop him. She helped him. She felt numb. Every emotion had drained away but one. She was sick of taking care of people. She was sick of being the good friend, of doing the right thing, of letting things go.
    Will spit in his hand. It wasn’t enough. Sara gasped as he pushed inside of her. He went deep. Too deep. It took her breath away. Still, she gripped his shoulders, holding tight, meeting each thrust until her body took over and she felt herself give.
    Sara’s mouth found his. She sucked his tongue. Bit his lip. Her heels dug into the backs of his legs. Will flinched when her hands slipped underneath his shirt. She didn’t care. She scratched the scarred flesh on his back. Words came out of her mouth—filthy words that told him exactly what to do. Again and again she met each thrust until she had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming.
    There was no slow build, just an uncontrollable rush that flowered deep inside her. The ecstasy was unbearable. Sara bit down on Will’s shoulder. She tasted the salt of his sweat. Every molecule in her body pulsated from the intensity. She cried out his name. She couldn’t help herself, couldn’t stop the exquisite torrent of release.
    Will collapsed against her. Neither one of them could stand. They slid to the floor, both breathless, both shocked by what they had done.
    “Sara—”
    She covered her face with her hands. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t acknowledge what had just happened.
    “Sara—” Will’s mouth was close to her ear. The brush of his lips brought an involuntary shiver. “Oh, God,” he whispered. “Sara, please—”
    She pushed him away. She could still feel him throbbing between her legs. She felt craven. Deviant.
    “Sara …”
    She shook her head, wishing she could disappear. “Go,” she begged. “Please, just go.”
    “Sara—”
    “Go!” she screamed.
    Will struggled to stand. She heard him zip up his pants, tuck in his shirt. There was a loud click as the door opened, then again as it closed.
    Sara looked up.
    He was gone.

11.
FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE RAID
    LENA SAT IN the cramped surveillance van with her hands thrust into her jacket pockets. There were three monitors in front of her. The computers under the desk were blowing out heat. De-Shawn and Paul were wearing short-sleeved shirts. They were both sweating, but Lena was so cold she could’ve been sitting in an igloo. She was only six weeks pregnant and already her body was out of whack. This was why pregnant women were always so cranky. Their thermometers bounced up and down like Ping-Pong balls.
    DeShawn scrolled through the security cameras, asking, “Where are you, Mr. Snitch?”
    “Mr. Snitch,” Paul echoed, giving the name a showman’s flourish.
    All confidential informants had code names. Protecting a CI’s identity was part of the devil’s bargain. You used the name on all your paperwork. You used it in the field, where the slip of a word could mean the death of an informant. “Mr. Snitch” wasn’t the most creative name, but it suited the junkie they’d turned a few days ago. There was something about the man that was slithery, like a snake. Lena thought maybe it was his scaly skin and beady little eyes.
    “Come on, Snitchy.” DeShawn tapped the keyboard, togglingback and forth through the cameras outside the Chick-fil-A. “Here, Snitchy-Snitchy.”
    Paul reminded him, “We padded in an extra hour for a reason.”
    Lena watched the monitors change as DeShawn scrolled through the different angles. She’d always hated