Deadly Target

by Misty Evans

  Deadly Target

  SCVC Taskforce, Book 9

  Misty Evans

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Cast of Characters

  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

  Romantic Suspense & Mysteries by Misty Evans

  About the Author

  Letter from Misty

  Deadly Target, SCVC Taskforce Series

  Copyright © 2018 Misty Evans

  ISBN: 978-0-9994740-8-2

  Cover Art by Sam Fanderclai

  Formatting by Beach Path Publishing, LLC

  Editing by Elizabeth Neal, Patricia Essex

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Acknowledgments

  This is my 50th published novel.

  5-0.

  Ten years ago, my first book was published and I had no idea I would still be writing (as a career) and turn out so many stories! The great thing is, I still have plenty more in my head. Who knows what the next ten years will bring?

  There are so many people to thank it would take another book to name them all.

  To Mark, Ben, & Sam, who saw it all, stayed by my side, and continued to encourage me to stick to my dreams and tell my stories my way – I love you forever. I would not be here without you (and the dogs).

  Every book is your book.

  To my friends who picked me up a hundred times and stood me back on my feet after crushing rejections, who shared ideas and brainstorming, who would not allow me to give up – you are worth far more than gold.

  To my editors – you’ve taught me much and helped make my stories shine, thank you. I rely on you to polish and glean the best from every book.

  To my cover artists and formatters – your gifts and skills are invaluable.

  To my readers – I am humbled by your love of my characters and storylines. Thank you for letting me share what the crazy voices in my head say.

  A special acknowledgement to my street team ladies, Nikki, Brenda, Danille, and Ruth for lending me their names for Victor’s sisters.

  To my characters, who are real to me – shine on, you weirdos, and I’ll keep writing your stories.

  Shine on, everyone.

  Love & light,

  Misty

  “We are all broken,

  that’s how the light gets in.”

  * * *

  ~ Ernest Hemingway

  Cast of Characters

  Director of West Coast FBI Victor Dupé – the man in charge of all of the California FBI violent crime taskforces. He handpicks his teams, right down to the support staff. Each taskforce has a variety of agents from the FBI, DEA, ICA, Homeland, etc.

  US Deputy Marshal Olivia Fiorelli – known as the rock star of taking down organized crime. Nicknamed “Tinker Bell”, she comes from a long line of mobsters but she broke the family mold and is distant from her mom and hitman father, Felix “The Hook” Fiorelli.

  DEA Agent Cooper Harris – lead agent for the SCVC Taskforce, also known as The Beast. Harris exemplifies the typical DEA agent—big, bad, and machine-like in his take-downs and arrests.

  FBI Agent Celina Davenport – former Taskforce member, still works for FBI as a crime scene photographer. Married to Cooper.

  DEA Agent Thomas Mann – Second in command of the SCVC Taskforce. Cooper trained Thomas and brought him onboard the SCVC Taskforce. His specialty involves gangs.

  FBI Agent Ronni Punto – Celina’s former partner in Des Moines. She now works with the Taskforce, specializing in a variety of criminal organizations such as cults and survivalists. Lives with Thomas.

  Dr. Emma Collins – criminal psychologist who assists Taskforce as well as Domestic Terrorism Taskforce profiling criminals.

  Mitch Holden - Former army, and has worked for National Intelligence and Homeland in threat management analysis. Married to Emma.

  Roman Walsh – head of Domestic Terrorism Taskforce under Homeland security, and is also a PhD in criminal justice.

  Gino DeStefano & Frankie B Molina – heads of the Fifty-seven Gang mob family based in Los Angeles.

  1

  For Victor Dupé, perfection was a moving target.

  Forget fifty shades of gray, there had to be at least one hundred shades of blue. Winter Blue? Sea Sprite? Southern Evening? What he really wanted to know was who sat around thinking up names for all these paint colors? Maybe he was in the wrong business.

  Or maybe he should stick to solving crimes rather than renovating a house.

  With at least a dozen different swatches of blue on the wall, he tried to decide. He’d already purchased several gallons of Southern Evening, but which shade was best for his vintage craftsman bungalow?

  Did it really matter? Who’s going to see it besides me?

  Buying the house and remodeling it had seemed like a good idea. He was tired of living in a condo and was ready for something more permanent. He’d always thought by the time he reached thirty-nine, he would have a wife and kids. A nice house. A dog.

  The FBI had had other plans.

  In reality, he didn’t blame his job for the lack of family and a home of his own. It was his own fault for loving his job more than the idea of marriage and kids. He’d assumed he would have time to settle down and start a family. Now, with his 40th approaching, an irritating itch had set up under his breastbone since meeting Olivia Fiorelli at a Christmas party the previous December.

  The deputy US marshal, nicknamed the Rock Star Agent of Organized Crime, had stirred a passion inside him he hadn’t realized was dormant. Just as committed to her job as he was his, they had talked for hours over drinks. He’d laughed more that night than he had in the previous year, maybe longer. Her dark beauty had drawn him in, her take-no-prisoners attitude a total turn-on. He liked strong-willed women who knew their worth and had no qualms expressing themselves. There was a mystery about Olivia. A mystery he still hadn’t solved.

  It wasn’t the only mystery he hadn’t solved. He glanced at the wooden dining room table he’d purchased at a local antique shop, dozens of papers spread over the stained and scarred top. Something about stripping wallpaper and fixing the bricks in the fireplace had made him long to pull out the one case in his life he had not solved. Yet, anyway.

  It’s just a distraction. Whenever he got into something over his head, he circled back to the past, looking for answers. He knew subconsciously it was his way of processing the trauma he’d survived, the young boy in him believing if he only had answers to that one mystery, the answers for everything else would fall into place.

  With Olivia, and definitely with this house project, he was in over his head. While he was no stranger to one-night stands, that night with Liv had set a chain of events into play. Hence, the reason he now had a mortgage and
rundown house to fix up and was standing in his living room staring at too many fucking samples of blue paint.

  Only a woman could do this to him.

  Only Olivia Fiorelli.

  Taz, Victor’s Lab mix, lifted his nose and whined at the front door.

  Yeah, he had the dog from his “Things to Have by Forty” list, but Taz was only a loaner.

  “What is it, buddy?” Victor glanced out the bay window and saw a familiar car pulling into the drive. His pulse accelerated and he grinned. Huh. What was she doing here?

  After their one night of heated passion, he and Olivia had texted every day, talked for hours on the phone, and even met briefly for coffee. Every time they’d set up an official date, she’d cancelled. The reason—excuse?—was always work. Each time she had invited him to her place, work had come up for him, so he couldn’t fault her. Even their coffee date had been cut short when she’d gotten a call from her boss. It seemed like the universe was conspiring against them.

  She exited the car with a white bag and a six-pack. The bright pink logo of his favorite bakery in Laguna Beach was visible on the side. Late afternoon sun glinted off subtle copper streaks in her hair, the long, brunette strands pulled back in a ponytail. Kicking the driver side door shut with her foot, she gave his house a once over, her gaze stopping on the six swatches of beige next to the front door.

  Normally, he had no problems making decisions. That’s what made him the efficient director for the West Coast FBI. It was how he kept all of his hand-selected California Taskforces running smoothly. But when it came to paint…

  Taz rose to his feet, a low growl issuing from his throat. Olivia had never been here, had never met the dog. Victor hoped Taz would like her as much as he did. “Down boy.” He ruffled the dog’s ears. “Best behavior, now, you hear?”

  Victor threw open the door just as Olivia started up the wooden steps. He couldn’t keep a smile off his face. “Are you any good at picking paint colors?”

  She smiled back and held up the contents of both hands. “That’s what sugar and beer are for. They dull the brain and give you a good excuse when anyone asks why you picked clashing colors. You can blame it on too many carbs causing poor decisions.”

  Taz sniffed at her, now wagging his tail. “I thought you were working today.”

  “I thought you were too,” she said. “I ran into Cooper and Celina buying diapers at the grocery store with their little girl. Cooper said you’re on a two-week vacation, and planned to work on your house, so I decided you might want some help.”

  She lived in Carlsbad, not far from Cooper Harris, head of the SCVC Taskforce, and his wife, Celina, who’d once been on the taskforce and still worked for the FBI as a forensic photographer. Another reason Victor rarely saw Liv. His office was in LA, his new house Laguna Beach. From his place to hers was only forty-five miles, but with traffic on the freeway, what should take an hour or less often was double that.

  He held the door open and motioned for her to come in. “I’d hoped to have a few things fixed up before I invited you over, but I’m really glad to see you.”

  “From the looks of things,” she said, eyeing the living room swatches, “I got here in the nick of time.”

  “You don’t like blue?”

  “Blue is great for bedrooms. With your west facing window in this room, I think you could get away with something bolder. Something a little more fiery.”

  She liked things hot. With her Italian heritage and olive colored skin, she gravitated to dark reds, deep oranges, and gold. Today, she had on a brilliant yellow tank top under a flannel shirt that reminded him of the sun. Her worn jeans molded to her hips and disappeared into black leather boots with three-inch heels.

  Maybe she’s the right color palette for what I need.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asked, even though he didn’t care as long as she’d brought it.

  “Cannolis. What else?” She laughed.

  Cannolis and beer, what a combination. But that was Olivia—big smile, sexy laugh, and weird taste in food.

  He took the six-pack and led her to the kitchen. Although he’d moved in weeks ago, boxes were stacked on the counters and floor. He’d managed to unpack a couple of plates, some glasses, and a plastic bag with disposable silverware. Rooting around for his bottle opener, he hoped the mess didn’t offend her.

  “Aha.” He found the hammer-shaped opener and popped the lids off two beers.

  Olivia accepted one, eyeing the novelty opener. “Why am I not surprised you have a tool that does double duty?”

  “It was a housewarming gift from Cooper’s team. Apparently, they thought I’d be doing a lot of drinking while rehabbing the house.”

  Olivia clinked her bottle against his and they drank. She cleared a spot on the table, set down her beer, and opened the bakery bag. As she drew out the cannolis, Victor tore off two paper towels, making plates out of them.

  They ate in silence, Victor studying her under half-lidded eyes. She was sultry and beautiful. In direct contrast to the sunny tank top, she wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She looked like the sexiest home-improvement contractor he’d ever seen.

  She caught him staring at her ample cleavage and smirked as she licked cream from one end of the cannoli. Teasing.

  That was all it took. He remembered the feel of her tongue on him, those lips scorching every bit of skin they’d touched. In that instant, his mind went back to that night and all they’d shared. He had no doubt that was her intention as she slowly bit into the pastry and grinned wider as she chewed.

  Taz sat patiently at her feet, his big tongue hanging out the corner of his mouth. He’d been part of a dog fighting ring and had lost teeth before being rescued when Victor and his team had slipped in to arrest several of the participants. If there was one thing Victor hated, it was bullies and those who hurt others, human or animal. He’d made sure the dozen dogs received proper medical care and were taken to a no-kill shelter. Once Taz was on his feet again, the shelter’s manager asked him to foster the dog, who needed to work on his people skills and manners in order to be a better candidate for adoption.

  Taz was obviously becoming quite adept at his people skills since he gave Olivia pleading puppy dog eyes, hoping for his own cannoli. A tiny bit of drool ran out the side of his mouth onto the floor.

  Watching Olivia, Victor figured he wasn’t much different, although he hoped for something more than a bite of cannoli. Finishing his pastry, he checked the corners of his mouth to see if he’d been drooling himself. Maybe a little.

  “So what color do you suggest for the kitchen?” he asked, trying to get his big brain back online.

  “Hmm.” She glanced around, slipping the dog a piece of her cannoli. “Pumpkin, maybe, or squash.”

  “Are we talking paint or food?”

  “The woodwork is really beautiful. In here, with the lighter fir trim around the windows and on the cabinets, I think the best colors would be in the warm, fall category.”

  She licked the ends of her fingers and toyed with her beer bottle.

  Once again, the brain in his head had trouble focusing as the blood ran south. “Well, I don’t have either of those, nor anything fiery for the living room.”

  “Guess that just leaves us one option, doesn’t it?” she asked, her dark eyes teasing.

  Please, God, let her be thinking what I hope she is.

  One of the things he’d loved about Liv from the start was the fact she didn’t beat around the bush. While she didn’t always come right out and say what was on her mind, he seemed to be able to read it anyway.

  She had a few crumbs on her tank top. He leaned forward and teased them off the fabric, letting his fingertips brush against the bare skin above the soft cotton. “You seem to be the expert,” he said, tipping his face closer to hers. “So, unless we’re making a trip to the hardware store, it looks like we’re painting my bedroom this afternoon.”

  Her breath hitched, th
ose piercing eyes searching his face. He caught the scent of beer and chocolate on her breath. “Do you have all the tools you need?”

  I have you. “Maybe you should check my toolbox and see.”

  “That’s a terrible pickup line.” She laughed, low and sexy. “Totally cheesy.”

  “I never was good at them.”

  She kissed him then, letting her tongue outline his lips. “I don’t work for free, you know. I expect dinner in exchange.”

  Holy hell, he’d give her anything she wanted. “Is that all?”

  “Where’s the bedroom?” She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. “Dinner is only the beginning, polpetto.”

  “I love it when you speak Italian,” he said, following her up the steps to the bedroom loft. “What does that mean?”

  “Meatball.”

  Meatball? What the…? “Seriously?”

  She laughed and yanked him inside where they collapsed onto the mattress lying on the floor. He hadn’t set up the headboard and rails yet. “Trust me,” she said, as she took off her flannel shirt and went to work on his belt. “It’s a term of endearment. There’s not much we Italians love more than a good meatball.”

  God, this woman. He’d barely known her a few months, but there was no doubt in his mind, he was totally head over heels for her. Just gone.

  Helping her remove her tank top before he pulled her down beside him, he once again realized perfection was a moving target.

  And right now that target was a beautiful US deputy marshal who had her hand down his pants.