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told her to. Because it was the only thing she could do.
    “That’s better,” he said when her face relaxed. “Now, back to what we were discussing. You said you were spying. Are you implying you were spying on the CIA for the CIA?”
    “Yes,” she managed, gritting her teeth through the pain that was, thankfully, now easing. “I mean . . . the Pentagon—”
    “I’m not buying it, honey.” He snipped another button from her shirt. Only one remained.
    A red haze lowered over Eve’s vision. He was trying to intimidate her. But this was Sawyer, not some terrorist. He wouldn’t really hurt her. Would he?
    She struggled against the chair. “This is bullshit.”
    “Ah, but you like bullshit. You spin it so well.”
    Pain shot up her arms. “Why are you doing this?”
    “Why? You tell me, Eve.” He leaned close to her ear. So close she could feel his lips brush her skin when he whispered, “Think hard. About the phone call you made to me. Just after the raid. When I was lying on the floor of that Huey bleeding out. Remember what you said?”
    Eve’s whole body went cold. And that day—a year ago—flashed in her memory. Not fuzzy and watery as everything else, but crystal clear.
    “ ‘ I never lose. ’ Ring a bell, Evie?”
    Bile rose up in Eve’s stomach. This was not the same caring man she’d once thought of leaving the CIA for. Whatever gentleness used to be inside Sawyer—no, Zane Archer—was gone, thanks to what she’d done.
    “There are all kinds of ways to go about getting the answers I want,” Archer said softly in her ear. “If you cooperate and tell me what you know, I’ll try to make it . . . pleasurable. You remember how nice I can be, don’t you, Evie?”
    Unfortunately, she did. She remembered everything. Every secret touch, every stolen kiss, every nip and lick and suck and thrust. And she remembered how he’d made her feel. Not dead inside as she’d felt since Sam’s death, but alive.
    Only this, what he had planned for her here—something in her gut told her this was not going to end up being sweet or romantic or anything like she remembered. The man she’d once known was nowhere to be found in the one at her back. Fear—true fear—slithered into her chest. Unless she found a way to make him listen, this was going to be bad.
    Think, dammit. Archer knew all too well how important control was to her, and he was taking that from her now. Exposing not only her secrets but her body in the process, using that to intimidate her. This was a mind fuck, nothing more. He wouldn’t really hurt her.
    Or so she hoped.
    “I-I didn’t compromise your team in Guatemala, Archer. I-I wasn’t the one who turned you over. I found out the raid had been compromised after it was too late to get in touch with you.”
    “You always were good at the lies, Evie.” He snipped the last button on her blouse. It hit the floor and rolled away, leaving the two halves of her shirt to swing open and a chill to slide over her bare skin.
    His boots echoed on the floor as he came around to sit in front of her again. Eve’s adrenaline amped all over. “I’m not lying,” she said quickly. “When I called you after—when you were in the chopper”—she glanced at his leg and realized he’d limped around her chair. “I didn’t call to gloat. I called to make sure you were still alive.”
    “Lies, Eve,” he said calmly, way too calmly, “come so easy to you.” He opened the blades of the scissors, positioned them at the hem of her skirt, and sliced through the black fabric.
    “I’m not lying,” Eve said again. “I only acted like I was gloating because I didn’t know who might be listening. Archer, there are moles in the CIA. My unit hunts them down. That’s what I was doing in Beirut. What I’ve been doing since.”
    He opened the scissors and sliced again. Her skirt opened to just above her knee. But unlike before, when he’d yelled at her, there was too little emotion on his face.