by Norris, Kris
Other Books by Kris Norris
SINGLES
Centerfold
Keeping Faith
Iron Will
My Soul to Keep
Ricochet
Rope’s End
SERIES
‘TIL DEATH
1 - Deadly Vision
2 - Deadly Obsession
3 - Deadly Deception
BROTHERHOOD PROTECTORS ~ Elle James
1 - Midnight Ranger
2 – Carved in Ice
3 - Going in Blind
4 - Delta Force: Colt
COLLATERAL DAMAGE
1 - Force of Nature
DARK PROPHECY
1 - Sacred Talisman
2 - Twice Bitten
3 - Blood of the Wolf
ENCHANTED LOVERS
1 - Healing Hands
FROM GRACE
1 - Gabriel
2 – Michael
THRESHOLD
1 - Grave Measures
WAYWARD SOULS
1 - Delta Force: Cannon
2 - Delta Force: Colt
3 - Delta Force: Six
COLLECTIONS
Blue Collar Collection
Dark Prophecy: Vol 1
Into the Spirit, Boxed Set
COMING SOON
Delta Force: Crow
Delta Force: Six
Wayward Souls
Kris Norris
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Excerpt ~ Delta Force: Crow
About the Author
Delta Force: Six
His sixth sense never saw her coming…
Knowing when things are about to go sideways has been Casey “Six” O’Reilly’s saving grace for as long as he can remember. It saw him through a decade with Delta Force, and it’s still keeping him one step ahead of his targets as a recovery agent with Wayward Souls.
So, why his gift has decided to take a siesta with respect to his new partner—Kameron Monroe, ex-Military Intelligence officer and current pain in his ass—is a mystery. It’s bad enough the feisty blonde is headstrong and impulsive—his polar opposite. Being secretly attracted to her is torture. Seven months together, and he’s still stuck in the friend zone. Waiting. Watching. Planning the perfect time to make his move...
Until armed men beat him to the punch.
A heart-pounding chase and one hell of a Hail Mary escape plan keep them in one piece, but the threat is far from over. And if he wants a future with Kam—a chance to charm her into his bed for more than just a one-night stand—he’ll need all his skills to pull it off.
Six doesn’t know what the men want, where they’ll strike next, or how many will come gunning for Kam. But it doesn’t matter. With the help of his team, he’ll eliminate the threat, or die trying. Because sixth sense or not, Kam’s his new mission. And he doesn’t fail those.
Delta Force: Six
Copyright © 2019, Kris Norris
Edited by Chris Allen-Riley
Cover Art by Kris Norris ~ Covers by Kris
Published by Kris Norris
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author.
To some of the ladies who brighten my day with kind words…Sharon Grow, Becky Parsons, Siobhan Muir.
Thank you for always finding a way to remind me why this journey is more important than where I land. You are all truly inspiring…
And, to my partners in crime ~ my fellow Ladies of the Lake.
To the moon and back, my friends.
Prologue
Afghanistan. Two years ago.
I’m dead.
That was all Captain Kameron Monroe had time to process. Two words. Twenty-eight years reduced to a singular numbing thought as everything exploded into blinding white light.
Outside. Inside. Filling her head, her chest. Expanding outwards as a thousand tiny pinpoints that shattered like the armored truck. Pieces flying everywhere. Metal. Glass. Bone. Grinding against rock, tumbling over. Sand. Sky. More sand. Blasting a cloud of dust into the air. Clogging her lungs. Coating her skin. It rumbled like thunder, making the air vibrate, the ground shake—then vanished. Cut off. Nothing but eerie stillness against the light hum of the tires as they kept spinning. Black rubber against the pale-blue sky, endlessly turning.
Pain. Through her temples. Blurring her vision. Spinning it counter-clockwise. Washing everything into a dull gray smeared against black smoke. Kameron blinked, gagged, then blinked, again. She was on her back, still in her seat. Half the roof above her gone. She managed to focus on her lap—three hands. One bloody. Charred.
She stared at it—confused. Trying to process the information before it hit her. Hard.
One wasn’t hers.
She dropped it, screamed, but it got lost in the sound of gunfire. The pounding of feet in the distance. Running over the hard-packed ground. More explosions raining down rocks and sand. Enemy forces. Baring down on them. Eager to eliminate any non-fatal casualties. Maybe capture a few prisoners to execute, later. Ransom off.
Kameron rolled out of the seat—hit a mixture of metal and rock. Bits of glass bit into her palms, as she crawled out of the wreckage—stumbled to her feet. Flames flickered where the cab had been. The front end reduced to a twist of tan-colored steel glinting off the setting sun.
Shouting. Not too far off. They were coming.
Training, or maybe just her survival instincts, had her scouting the area—looking for survivors. It was hard to tell most of the men apart. Burned remains with extra limbs. Or none at all. Just a mass of flesh and bone and blood.
A groan. On the dirt several feet off to her right.
She stumbled her way over, tripping on debris. He was lying on the ground. Blood coating part of his shirt. A small burn on the side of his face. His eyes opened. Glazed. Slightly unfocused. Kameron went to her knees, working through a quick sweep of his body. His leg was injured. Maybe broken, but no bone jutting out through his fatigues. Cuts and scrapes—that one burn. Probably a class three concussion but alive.
Just the two of them left.
She knew his name. Had traveled with his team before. Nothing came. Just a blank slate. Like the desert stretching out on all sides. Empty brown sand and rock. Dark hills against the horizon. Silhouettes moved within the shimmering heat off to the right, the shapes wavering in the water-like reflections against the ground.
No time to worry about names. Whether moving the guy would exacerbate his injuries. Because he was dead if she didn’t get him up—didn’t disappear before those forces arrived.
Kam darted over to the wreckage, retrieved a few weapons and what looked like a somewhat intact first aid kit, then raced back to the guy. She braced her feet near his w
aist then grabbed both his forearms. Levered forward then backward—got him upright. A shuffle back and more levering, and he was on his feet. Unsteady and grunting but up. Only took a couple of seconds to wrap his arm around her shoulder, get them stumbling forward.
She knew the area, at least from maps. Photographs. Her one saving grace as an MI soldier. Military Intelligence hadn’t given her extreme hand-to-hand combat skills. Hadn’t beaten fear and emotions out of her like Special Forces would have. But she had a mental image of this sector. Knew where villages were. Which ones had sympathizers. Were less likely to turn them over to extremist factions. Where the closest outpost was located—the one not readily known. Not indicated on any map.
Not that it was close. Probably forty miles, especially if they had to weave their way across the landscape—stick to the limited forms of cover dotted along the route. The first being a small outcrop straight ahead.
With any luck, the smoke and flames hid them from view as they trudged forward, tripping more than she’d like. The guy—what the hell was his name—didn’t question her. Just tried to keep his feet moving. She’d patch him up the best she could once they had some distance—when they were confident they weren’t being followed.
If they lived that long.
Positive thinking. They would make it. She’d see to it. She might not know how to fight, but she was a damn good shot. Had been going to the range with her father long before she’d ever joined the service. Could handle a range of guns.
She only had three. And a single knife.
She hadn’t learned how to fight with the knife. A damn oversight she’d rectify if—when—they got out of this. She didn’t care what it took, how long it took—she’d learn how to become a lethal weapon. Why hadn’t she done that already? She’d had time. Could have spent an hour each night in a ring, learning how to punch, to maim, to kill, rather than pouring over more maps. Gathering more intel.
She knew how to do that. Was insanely good at it. Was a decent hacker. Why had she focused solely on improving skills she already possessed instead of broadening her horizons? This was war, and she was ill-prepared for it.
The guy groaned, head drooping forward as they stumbled into a small alcove against the rock. He didn’t resist when she lowered him to the sand, leaning his back against the wall. A quick dart out to grab some brush, and she was able to sweep away their tracks—leave others heading in a different direction—then hid their presence behind the greenery.
She placed the rifle at her shoulder—watching the path they’d been walking along. The hole was slightly raised, giving her a decent vantage point. Sweat dripped down her forehead, stinging the shallow wounds as it tracked to her jaw then fell to the sand. They’d stay just long enough for this first unit to pass, then they’d move. Cover as much ground as possible. Stop only when needed. They’d get out of this. And she’d never allow herself to feel this helpless, again.
Chapter One
Las Vegas. Present day.
“Well, this is a clusterfuck.”
Casey “Six” O’Reilly groaned as Kameron’s words hit home. She only ever said that when shit was about to go sideways. Not because of bad intel or them making a mistake. But because she was about to take matters into her own hands.
Which likely meant a brawl.
He snagged her wrist, tugging her against him. The flowery scent of her perfume surrounded him, making the air dense. Saturated with her essence. One he’d gotten so accustomed to, he noticed when his clothes didn’t smell like her. When it didn’t fill his truck or cling to every surface of his loft.
Odd, since they were only colleagues. Partners for most of their cases the past several months. Six wasn’t sure why he’d gotten teamed up with her. Why Cannon seemed to think they were a good match. Six was calm. Level-headed. He’d had strategy and tactics drilled into him for over a dozen years in the Teams, most of that time with Delta Force. Knew a good plan from a bad one. A calculated risk from an act of pride. And had a habit of seeing the way things would play out before they actually happened.
Kameron Monroe was his polar opposite. Impulsive. Always looking to charge in. Worried more about if she could than if she should. To her, any risk was calculated if it got the job done—saved a friend or eliminated a threat. A complete contrast to how she’d been in the service. She’d worked MI, Military Intelligence, with Colt’s wife, Ellis. From what Six remembered from the few times they’d crossed paths, Kameron had always been quiet. Subdued. Gathering all relevant information, first, before making recommendations that might put her fellow soldiers in jeopardy.
He’d heard that had all changed a couple of years ago. After she’d been involved in an IED incident returning from a reconnaissance trip into some two-bit town near Jalalabad. When she’d been one of only two survivors from the eight-man team accompanying her to walk away after avoiding Islamic forces for four days. And she’d done it half-carrying her injured teammate. She’d beaten the odds. Survived, albeit not unscarred. Hers weren’t on the surface. Couldn’t be treated by skin graphs or masked by makeup. They ran soul deep. Hidden so effectively, he’d bet his ass even Kameron couldn’t suss them out. That she only allowed herself to see them when she let her guard down—was vulnerable.
Which she actively avoided. Six wasn’t sure what kind of training she’d undergone, but she’d turned herself into a warrior. Not that he minded. Having a partner who could throw a punch or kick and have it land—take out a tango—was invaluable. Being able to take a few hits and keep fighting was even more impressive. And knowing she could handle herself with a variety of weapons—like the rifle she’d used when helping Colt and Ellis out several months, ago… It made his job that much easier.
Except for the part where the damn girl went looking for trouble. Was quick to not only jump into a fight but start one. As if she always had to prove she was stronger—tougher than every guy in there. Queen of the alphas. She was cocky and reckless and a giant pain in his ass.
And he was hopelessly falling for her. Belay that. He’d fallen for her. The mass of strawberry blonde hair—always slightly tousled. As if she’d been standing in the wind too long. Green eyes that could stop traffic. Not quite jade. Lighter. With a splash of amber—a golden ring around jet black pupils. And her body… It was curvy and strong with a hint of muscle but enough softness he knew she’d fit perfectly against him. Complement all his hard planes and angles. There wasn’t a part of her he didn’t want to touch. Taste. Drown in.
Which made pairing up with her borderline torture. Spending endless hours with her, so fucking close but stuck in the friend zone, was taking a toll. He was edgy. Restless. And so preoccupied that his sixth sense he’d been aptly named for had taken a damn siesta. Just shut down because it was too busy focusing on now. On every moment he spent next to her. How he could make all his dreams come true if he’d just grow a set and make a move.
Shit. Cannon knew.
That’s why he kept matching them up, the sadistic bastard. He was pushing Six. Daring him to lose his cool. To go outside his comfort zone. And Six would kick his buddy’s ass as soon as they got back, but for now…
He needed to crush the predatory look in Kameron’s eyes. The one he knew would either land them in jail or in the hospital.
Kameron stared up at him. Green eyes catching the lights behind the bar. Making those beautiful irises gleam. Her blood-red lips curled into a smile, and he felt his damn heart kick him hard in the chest. An actual thump he was sure moved his shirt because it hurt. Staring at her like that. So beautiful, he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t freaking breathe.
She arched a brow, glancing over at the men gathered around their mark. A dickbag named Clive Martin—wanted for assault, among other nasty habits. Cannon had sent the two of them to hunt down the bastard, then bring him in. A nice twenty-grand to show for their efforts. They’d followed Martin’s ass all the way to Vegas. Not that Six would tell Cannon that. Crossing state lines wasn’t exactly
encouraged. Not when each one had different rules bounty hunters, aka recovery agents, had to follow. It wasn’t illegal, but the last thing they needed was a run-in with the local authorities. It was always a crapshoot whether the lawmen considered them allies or assholes. Six had more experience with the latter. Especially, when things got physical. And damn, they always got physical with Kam. Just not the way he wanted.
“Something wrong, partner?” She stepped closer, pressing against him. Something she did on purpose to distract him. Sway him. She knew it made him lose focus—or maybe just switch it to her. Either way, it spelled trouble.
Six clenched his jaw. He would not develop a boner in the middle of a biker bar when they were greatly outnumbered. “Yeah, you. You’ve got that look.”
“Do I? Which one is that?”
“The one that says we’re not getting out of here without spilling some blood.”
“I don’t plan on it being ours, so—”
“That’s not the point.”
She lifted her hand—ran a perfectly manicured nail along his chest. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about duking it out with a few redneck boys? I thought you Delta soldiers chewed on tanks and spit out bullets?”
