Prologue

Katrina Perkins barely contained the anger that simmered inside. Robert Mason, her boss, always made her wish she could just draw her sidearm and shoot the bastard. It wasn’t a matter of if she wanted to put a bullet in him, it all boiled down to what body part she’d aim for first. It was a tough decision at times between his nuts or his big mouth. She fisted her hands behind her back to resist the urge to target both.

“I’m going to prove these New Species bastards are criminal. They use their sovereign status to get away with shit. No more!”

Katrina watched her boss pace. She wanted to stick her foot out and trip him every time he passed. He often ranted about his paranoid and idiotic theories that New Species were really public enemy number one. She was tired of hearing it. He’d been on a real tear for days after she’d overheard him ordering other agents to track the movements of a man named Jeremiah Boris, otherwise known as Jerry Boris. The person seemed to have disappeared and her boss believed the NSO was involved. It felt personal to Kat, though, as if her boss knew the guy or had a special interest.

“I’ll keep digging until I can prove they played a part in the disappearance of Jerry if it’s the last thing I do.” He shot her an angry look. “He works for them.”

She took a deep breath. “At Homeland or Reservation?”

“Fuller Prison.”

That surprised her. “I’ve never heard of the place. How is the NSO connected to a prison?”

“It’s classified.” He lowered his voice. “Unofficially, it’s where they incarcerate anyone who used to work for Mercile Industries.”

Her respect for her boss lowered even more. She’d be fired and he’d bring her up on charges if she shared restricted information the way he just had. She didn’t pry, not willing to be a party to his breach of conduct. Curiosity tugged at her though, making her wonder where it was located and if the NSO actually ran it.

“Jerry is a good man but he is afraid of them.”

She kept her lips sealed, refusing to be baited. Anyone who was a friend of Mason’s couldn’t be upstanding. She’d wondered how he’d gained the position ever since he’d been transferred to lead her department. He was rash, too emotional, bordering on nuts in her opinion. The only explanation she could think of was that he’d either kissed some major ass, blackmailed his way to the top or was related to someone important enough to call in some favors.

“They also do vile things to women. I think they drug them and get them addicted to something similar to heroin. It’s the only reason women would allow those bastards to stick their peckers in them.”

She decided to try reason again. “Sir, I don’t believe that’s true. I’ve watched a few of those women interviewed on television and didn’t spot any indication that they were drugged.”

He glared.

“Their pupils appear normal, their speech clear and their movements are fluid,” she explained, resenting that she had to. Signs of drug use were taught to every agent.

“Maybe it’s a hormone thing,” her superior muttered, pacing again. “You know, like making them nuts. Someone would have to be insane to allow one of those animals to screw them. It’s sick. Women might as well start going on all fours in front of their dogs and just avoid the NSO completely.”

She flexed her fingers, which were almost itching for her gun again, and hated her boss with a passion. She took that insult personally. “It’s not their fault what they are, sir. They were created by Mercile Industries and didn’t have a say when someone messed with their genes. It was against their will. They are victims.”

He glared at her. “Right. You have a dog. You’re an animal lover. You probably want to protest the standard procedure of putting down dogs that kill people when they attack.”

It depends on who they kill. I’d reward a dog with a juicy steak if he tore into your ass. I’m not forgetting your remark about women who own dogs either.

She silently watched him. Nothing good would come out of her mouth at that point and she didn’t want to be placed on suspension for insulting her superior. She did manage to shake her head, the appropriate response, which she figured he expected.

“I am assigning you to a mission, Special Agent Perkins.” A gleam lit Robert Mason’s eyes. “I’m sending you into Homeland, undercover. You’re going to find out their secrets and expose those animal bastards for what they are. I also want you to locate any information about Jerry Boris. He’s probably a prisoner there. You will assist in his escape if you locate him.”

Surprise tore through her. “What?”

He nodded. “You’re perfect for this assignment. You’re very attractive. They’ll be drawn to you like bees to honey. You look very feminine so they won’t realize what a hard-ass you are.” He chuckled. “You’re going to be very helpful.”

She swallowed back a protest.

“You’re the right man for the job.” He reached out and clasped her shoulder. “They’ll think you’re a harmless set of tits but we both know what you really are.”

She was too stunned to even punch the son of a bitch for what he’d just said. Is he losing his damn mind? It wouldn’t surprise her in the least.

He winked and squeezed tighter. “I did a full background check on you. There’s no reason for alarm. You look a bit pale but it’s perfect. You’re perfect. I’m the only one who knows your secret. We have a hell of a lot in common, Perkins.”