Chapter 1

Jet Brooks looked around the room and nodded at a few of the women in their designer evening gowns. He should be used to this mating dance now, but anticipation thrummed through him at the thrill of the chase. He should be getting too old for this but he was strangely excited by it all.

With his silver hair, charming smile and well-above-average looks, he knew he made an impression. He may have fit right in with this crowd but he knew how different he was. Their clothes by top designers, their jewelry worth tens of thousands. They had no idea there was an impostor in their midst, his clothes the only genuine thing about him. The name was much less real than the Rolex on his wrist, an identity to be used and discarded when it was no longer convenient. Or when people got too close for comfort.

Jet was an expert in keeping people far away. It was the only way he was successful at his job. And he was very successful at what he did.

He leaned against the wall, watching the crowd, scanning for the perfect mark. These pre-dinner mixers gave him the best opportunity to study and observe the groupings, to decide who to approach and charm. Their necks, wrists, and fingers glittered and sparkled with precious stones and expensive metals and each one caught his eyes for a nanosecond before he continued onward. He'd know the mark when he saw her. And it would be a her. Men were too suspicious, too hard to get close to. Though he was damned good at getting close to people. At least in this role.

Jet moved through the crowd with ease, flirting with one matron, nodding to another. His identity was flawless and many of the socialites had embraced him from the moment they met him eighteen months ago. None of them would ever suspect a traitor was in their midst, someone who would charm the jewels right off them and never feel a moment of regret.

He crossed the marble floor, glancing up at the chandelier that sent prisms of light over the expanse. On a nearby serving table, there was a glass of higher-end champagne, more than he could ever afford, with his name on it.

As he worked his way around groups of people, he saw her. His mark. And she took his breath away.

Black hair swept up with tendrils tumbling down. Creamy skin. Tall, statuesque. The black, sparkly, halter dress dipped down very low in front displaying an emerald and diamond necklace that took his breath away. At least he told himself it was the necklace and not the woman. Her green eyes fastened on his and he knew he was in deep trouble.

Keep your mind on the job, Jet.

His body ignored the warning, turning to hers as he lifted two glasses of champagne off a platter. "Evening."

Gingerly, her right hand ghosted along the opposite side of her neck, where her spider web tattoo used to be. She felt almost naked without it, exposed. Still surprised the removal left no visible scars, Abby moved her hand to the necklace she wore, realizing how nervous playing along her neck made her look.

Scanning the crowd as she fiddled with the jewelry that cost more than her yearly paycheck from NCIS, Abby had to wonder at the brilliance of the director's plan. And Mike Franks' decision to go with it. It had been years since she'd been out in the field, having decided she was much better off in her safe, clean lab, without the daily threat of bullets bouncing around her.

But now, here she was, undercover and acting as bait for a Naval Commander. How she was the perfect bait, she still didn't believe. No matter how much Tony teased her about her looks, or Franks said it was her duty.

Sure, she was young, single, and the perfect mark to help move the Commander's drugs. And with her cover — a recently widowed Marine wife — she would seem to be an easy target. Easy? Ha, not with the stun gun in her bag, thanks to Ziva.

And here she was, in the middle of money, power, influence, and she was supposed to figure out exactly which one of the dozen plus Commanders in the room was the one shuffling drugs. Yeah, okay, she thought caustically, I fit right in. She was going to get Tony for suggesting her.

Take a deep breath, Sciuto, and remember that young Marine who overdosed on bad drugs. There had been something wrong with the drugs; something added that sent the poor boy into convulsions. That something was still being run through her babies when she'd been coerced into going undercover.

Suddenly, a shiver went up her spine as she felt eyes on her. Turning her head slightly, her green eyes met the extraordinary blue ones staring intently at her. Stunned into silence, it took a jolt of her heart restarting for Abby to come back to her senses.

Silver hair, blue eyes. Those were her only thoughts until she realized with a drop in her stomach that this was probably her contact; either the man himself, or someone who would take her to him.