At that point, Jordan would take any moment she could get.

Then he shook his head. “Nice try. But I don’t think you’d shack up with McCall after he threatened your brother.”

“Our whole relationship was a setup. Because of the bugs in your office, the FBI knew you were having Nick followed. They made me play along—told me I needed to pretend he was my boyfriend.”

“And going to Napa with him—was that part of the setup, too?”

Jordan paused, not having realized Xander knew about that. “It was a previously scheduled business trip, and Nick thought it would look more convincing if he went with me.”

She prayed that he bought it.

“I gotta hand it to you, Jordan—you’re good,” Xander said with a humorless laugh. “I almost believe you. But your days of playing me are over.” He gestured with the gun. “This whole thing nearly worked out perfectly for you. You got your brother out of prison and snagged a boyfriend in the process. You even managed to work in the romantic trip to Napa you’ve always wanted. And you got it all at my f**king expense,” he said through clenched teeth. He pressed the gun to her temple, his hand shaking.

Jordan closed her eyes. Oh God.

“You destroyed my life,” he hissed. “I’ll lose everything over this. My restaurants, my home, my wine collection—Martino’s money has touched everything, and the Feds are going to take it all.” He dug the gun harder into her skin. “I’ll go to prison. If Martino doesn’t get to me first. I’m a dead man, Jordan. Because of you.”

As she lay on the floor of her store, trembling, Jordan realized that she hadn’t thought about what would happen to Xander when the investigation was over. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to. “Xander, I—”

“Don’t.” His hand shook. “You ruined me, and now I’m going to return the favor. I’m getting the hell out of here. Taking off to a faraway place that doesn’t have an extradition treaty. I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, worrying who will find me first—the FBI or Martino. Not the way I thought things were going to work out for me. But at least I’ll have one thing: the satisfaction of remembering the look on your face when I pull this trigger.”

He was desperate. Jordan could see the sweat beading along his brow and knew she was looking at a man at the end of his rope. So she pushed through the fear that threatened to overwhelm her and played her last card.

“My father will pay you anything you want,” she blurted out.

Xander went still. She had his attention.

Then she heard voices outside the front door.

NICK PULLED UP in front of DeVine Cellars just in time to see two uniformed Chicago police officers approaching the door. They stopped a few feet from the store as he parked haphazardly along the curb. He jumped out of the car and quickly assessed the scene—noting the closed shades on the windows and door—and hurried to the back of his car to pop the trunk. He flashed his badge with one hand as the police officers came over, and reached for a midsized metal lockbox inside the truck.

“FBI,” he said in a low voice, not wanting Xander to overhear them from inside the store.

“We received a call that you guys were on your way,” the older cop said.

“Have you made contact with anyone inside?” Nick asked.

“Just got here seconds ago, right before you pulled up.”

“We may have a hostage situation.” Nick opened the lockbox with a key on his key ring, and heard another car pull up as he grabbed his spare gun and lock-pick kit. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a familiar Ford LTD Crown Victoria come to a stop behind him. He was closing the trunk of his car just as Jack Pallas and his partner, Wilkins, strode over.

Pallas wasted no time with preliminaries. He handed Nick a bulletproof vest. “What’s the plan?”

Nick slipped the vest over his shirt. It went without saying that he was in charge. It was his investigation, and more important, Xander Eckhart had his girl in there. He’d be damned if anyone else tried to call the shots.

“I’m going in through the back door,” he said. “Jack, you cover me. Wilkins—you guard the front.” He nodded to the two uniformed cops. “They can serve as backup.”

“I’ll let you know when we’re in,” Jack said to Wilkins, pointing to the small receiver in his ear. Wilkins wore a receiver in his ear as well, and both men had transmitters wired to the collars of their bulletproof vests. “Don’t move until you get my signal, Sam.”

Wilkins pulled back the slide on his gun, ready. “We’ve got a second team on the way that’ll be here in minutes,” he told Nick. “You sure you don’t want to wait?”

“We’re not waiting.” Nick took off toward the alley, with Jack following him.

They cut through the alley and stopped at the back door to DeVine Cellars. Nick saw that the lock was a standard dead bolt and prayed Jordan didn’t have a chain on the inside of the door that would prevent quick and quiet access.

He glanced over at Pallas as he pulled out his lock-pick kit. “I’ll take Eckhart. You make sure the scene is clear—it’s possible that Trilani is in there with them.” He got to work on the lock. He moved fast and steadily, but still it took time he worried they didn’t have.

In his head, he kept playing over and over what might be happening inside Jordan’s store. And he knew one thing: he was a f**king fool. His job, being the top undercover agent, his stupid pride—it all meant nothing. The only thing he wanted was to know that she was safe.