“You’re remarkably well-informed.” He hadn’t moved as she talked, his stillness a contrast to Rhodes’s fidgeting. “I can see there are some loose tongues in this office.”

Dickhead stiffened.

Ignoring him, Kouros eyed Gabi. “What qualifications do you have for playing a decoy, Ms. Renard? I’ll admit you’re motivated-and because of that I doubt you can be objective. You’re the right age. You’re pretty enough, probably smart enough. But you’re not an agent; you’re support staff-a social worker. Why should I use you instead of an agent?”

At first she hadn’t seen any way to help. She was a counselor, not a field agent. Then she’d checked the agents they planned to use. “It doesn’t matter if I’m objective or not. I’m not going to work the case, just play decoy. Second, you only have three agents for decoys, not four. As far as I know, none have visited BDSM clubs before.”

His face hardened at the further evidence of how much information she’d obtained, and she continued hurriedly, “I have experience.” A little and long ago, but who’s counting?

He sat forward like a cat scenting a mouse. “You’re submissive?”

She nodded.

“You’re not seriously considering using her,” Rhodes burst out. “She’d blow the whole operation.”

As Kouros studied her, his gaze drifted over her face, lingered on her cheek. “How’d you get the scar?”

The ugly memory sliced her as easily as the knife had sliced her flesh. Her hands fisted. “Wrong place during a gang war.” And she’d promised herself she’d never willingly get near violence again. How plans do change.

“You’re braver than you appear.” Kouros actually smiled. “You might just do, Ms. Renard. As it happens, I need a decoy for the Shadowlands.”