Midnight Alias

by Elle Kennedy

  Ribbons of warmth unfurled inside her, and a part of her couldn’t believe she was even hesitating. Luke was saying everything she wanted to hear, damn it. Hadn’t she wanted a man she could count on? A man who would be there for her? A man who loved her?

  Well, here he is, you idiot!

  The little voice in her head made her want to laugh. Wow. She’d known she was cautious, but this was borderline ridiculous. Maybe it was time to throw caution to the wind and listen to her heart for once.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  His gaze bored into her. “Okay?”

  She released the breath she’d been holding. “You promise you’ll always be careful?”

  “Always.”

  “And you’re sure it’s fine if my mom lives with us? I won’t leave her, Luke. She’s still recovering and—”

  “You don’t need to justify it. Your mother can stay with us forever if you want.” His voice turned gruff. “And if you’re up for it, I’d like you to meet my mom. Maybe we can spend Christmas in New Orleans.”

  Emotion clogged her throat. She knew he hadn’t been home since his father’s death, and that he wanted her to be there when he did go warmed her heart. “I’d love it,” she said softly.

  Luke’s gorgeous face took on a serious expression. “So . . . we’re really going to do this?”

  She licked her lips. “We’re really going to do this.”

  Their eyes locked, and the next thing she knew, his strong arms came around her and his mouth covered hers in a kiss that left her needy and breathless. As his tongue swept inside her mouth and teased her to a new level of hot and bothered, Olivia heard laughter from the front seat.

  Her eyes snapped open to find Sullivan leaning around his chair to watch them. As she flushed with embarrassment, the Australian wiggled his eyebrows. “See, I was just telling Macgregor here that you should have led with the hot kiss, mate,” Sullivan reprimanded Luke. “All that convincing you just did? Wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d led with the kiss.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”

  “No problem.” Sullivan’s gray eyes moved to Olivia. “Listen, sweetheart, if this jerk ever gives you any grief, come find me, all right? I’m way better at the love thing than he is.”

  “Said the man who’s in love with a boat,” Luke retorted. “Now will you turn around and pretend we’re not here? Olivia and I are busy.”

  After a laughing Sullivan settled back in his seat, Luke drew her close again and brushed his lips over hers. PDA had never been her thing, but the feel of his mouth was too addictive, and she instinctively parted her lips to let his tongue in. She wasn’t sure how long they sat there kissing, but her lips were swollen by the time they broke apart, and her hair was tousled from Luke’s fingers running through it.

  When she noticed his dark eyes twinkling, she gave a soft, giddy laugh. “What are you looking so pleased about?”

  “I was just thinking about how I can’t wait for you to meet my dog.”

  She stared at him. “Seriously? You were thinking about your dog while we were making out? Jeez. You really do need love lessons.”

  “With you as my teacher? I will gladly learn it all.” He leaned in and suckled her earlobe, then nibbled her flesh with his teeth. “I’m pretty sure I’ll get an A too.”

  With the sheer emotion overflowing in her heart and the pure heat sizzling through her veins, she didn’t doubt him. She got the feeling Luke Dubois could ace any lesson, tackle any challenge, slay any dragon—and yes, still make it home for dinner.

  His mouth traveled down to her neck, pressing hot kisses along her fevered skin, and then he returned to her ear, his voice coming out soft and raspy as he murmured, “Want to fool around in the bathroom?”

  She choked back a laugh, but the reckless glint in his eyes told her he wasn’t kidding.

  Luke cocked a brow, his sensual mouth quirking. “Well?”

  And to think, she’d once considered reckless a turnoff.

  Good thing she’d come around since then.

  Olivia quickly unbuckled her seat belt and said, “Best idea ever.”

  Epilogue

  Isabel sat in the corner of the large visitation room at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, her gaze trained on the door. At the neighboring table, an inmate leaned close to a female with red hair, talking in hushed whispers and gripping her hand as if he never wanted to let go. Across the room, three small children were playing on the floor while their mother argued with their imprisoned dad about car payments and refinancing a mortgage. On the surface everything seemed pleasant, unthreatening, but an undertone of menace hung in the air, in the form of the sharp-eyed guards watching the inmates and families.

  Isabel continued to wait, and finally the door swung open and her father entered the room.

  God, he was skinnier than the last time she’d seen him. Bernie Roma had always been lanky, but now he just looked gaunt, and his dark brown hair, once thick and lustrous, was beginning to thin. He’d turned fifty-four last month, but he looked a decade older, and his eyes were cold and impassive when he spotted Isabel. Well, at least that hadn’t changed.

  Her father shuffled toward the table and eased himself into the chair opposite hers. He didn’t reach for her hand. Didn’t hug her. Didn’t even smile.

  “Why do you keep coming here?” he asked in a tired voice.

  Isabel spoke through the lump in her throat. “Because you’re my father and I love you.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “How are you doing?” she asked. “Are they treating you well?”

  No answer.

  Her hands began to tremble, so she rested them flat on the table. “I’m doing okay, I guess. Work is good”—she didn’t elaborate on that, because her father had no idea what she did for a living and had never asked—“and I’m thinking of taking a vacation, maybe Hawaii. It might be nice to lie on a beach for a while and—”

  “Must we keep doing this?” her father interrupted, his features heavy with weariness.

  “And I’m considering selling my SoHo apartment. I’m hardly ever there, so—”

  “Can’t you let me live out the rest of my days in peace?”

  “—I don’t see a point in keeping the place. But the real estate market isn’t the best right now so maybe I’ll wait—”

  “Jesus Christ, Isabel!”

  He slammed a hand on the tabletop, eliciting a harsh look from one of the guards.

  She blinked, diverting her gaze from the cold eyes piercing into her.

  Breathing hard, Bernie brought his hand back to his lap and interlaced his fingers. “I don’t want to listen to your pointless bullshit and pretend we’re having a chat over a cup of coffee. We’re not sitting in a restaurant, Isabel. I’m in prison.”

  “I didn’t put you here,” she protested.

  “No, you don’t put people in prison, do you? You put them in graves.”

  Agony seared through her. “Dad—”

  “Your brother’s dead because of you. Your mother’s dead because of you. Your grandparents are dead because of you.” Her father barked out a cruel laugh. “Are you starting to see a pattern?”

  The pain squeezing her throat was so excruciating it was impossible to get a word out, but he didn’t give her time to regain her composure. He was already rising from the chair and signaling for the guard. “We’re done here.”

  Isabel’s legs could barely support her weight as she got up. She and her father were two feet away from each other, facing off. She didn’t cry. He didn’t blink.

  She simply stood there and waited for it. The same sentence he spoke each time their visits wrapped up.

  “Don’t visit again, Isabel. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  And she said what she always said.

  “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  As her dad was escorted out of the visitors’ room, she sucked in a breath and took her own leave. She stepp
ed outside a few minutes later and inhaled the cool late-afternoon air. And thought of Trevor. A fleeting image of him waiting for her in her apartment.

  Sighing, she crossed the parking lot behind the penitentiary and headed for her car, pulling her cell phone out of her purse as she walked. She dialed Noelle’s number, relief pouring into her when the boss answered.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Isabel said. “The job for Morgan is done. What’s my next assignment?”

  “Sorry, honey, there’s nothing on the docket at the moment.”

  It was not the answer she wanted to hear. Stifling a groan, she said, “Nothing? Come on, there’s always something on your docket and we both know it.”

  Noelle went quiet for a beat. “Well, I was contacted about a job in Nigeria, but it’s not your kind of assignment.”

  “Undercover?” she asked, unfazed.

  “Yes, but this is a deep-cover gig. Three-month commitment, minimum, and once you’re in, there’s no out. You’re not gathering intel, then stepping aside to let me or one of the girls finish the job. This is a kill operation, honey.” Noelle continued in a dismissive tone. “So why don’t you take that vacation you were supposed to and I’ll be in touch when—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “What?”

  “I said I’ll do it.” Isabel’s tone hardened. “Are you at the Paris penthouse?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’ll catch the next plane out. You can brief me when I arrive.”

  Noelle was still protesting as Isabel disconnected the call.

  Ready for Trevor and Isabel’s story?

  Read on for a peek at the next thrilling novel in the Killer Instincts series,

  MIDNIGHT GAMES

  Available in August 2013 from Signet Eclipse.

  “He called again last night.”

  Isabel Roma froze. Only for a split second, but a second was all it took to tip off her boss, whose smirk widened. Crap. Noelle was a predator—show her any sign of weakness and the queen of assassins would eat you alive.

  “What’d you tell him?” Isabel slowly turned around to meet those shrewd blue eyes.

  “Same thing I’ve been telling him for the past five months. You’re deep cover and can’t be reached.” Noelle paused, an honest-to-God grin gracing those bloodred lips.

  Considering the woman only smiled right before she killed you, Isabel grew a tad worried. Gulping, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Spit it out, Noelle.”

  “He wanted me to pass along a message.” That shit-eating grin got bigger. “He said he never took you for a coward.”

  A coward? The insult prickled her skin, even though she knew the accusation was Trevor Callaghan’s way of evoking a reaction from her. He of all people knew that she was the furthest thing from a coward.

  Bristling, she drifted toward the wet bar on the other side of the lavish living room. She was staying at Noelle’s Paris penthouse until she found a place of her own, and although she was currently homeless, she had zero complaints about her current digs. The gorgeous two-story apartment was located in the Right Bank, an area known for its spacious avenues, ornate nineteenth-century buildings, and wealthy foreign residents. The enormous floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the breathtaking cityscape, even more beautiful at night with all the lights twinkling like diamonds. Outside, the silver frost clinging to the street lamps and the layer of white covering the sidewalks created a magical ambience that Isabel would’ve taken more time to admire if she weren’t so rattled at the moment.

  With a sigh, she poured herself a glass of Maker’s Mark and took a long swig. The alcohol scorched a path down her throat but did nothing to quell the uneasiness that had been rippling in her stomach ever since she’d landed this morning at the private airstrip, where Noelle had been waiting in a silver Mercedes. In that nonchalant, I-don’t-particularly-give-a-fuck tone, Noelle had revealed that Trevor Callaghan had been hounding her for information ever since he and Isabel had said good-bye in New York.

  Said good-bye? echoed the mocking voice in her head.

  Fine. So maybe they hadn’t exchanged any good-byes. Maybe she’d just left.

  Left?

  Gritting her teeth, Isabel tried to silence that exasperating voice by taking another gulp of whiskey, but it didn’t work. Guilt continued to trickle into her, along with a pang of shame that made her chest hurt.

  Damn it. Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe she was a coward. How else could you explain why she’d abandoned him like that?

  Five months ago, she’d done some undercover work for mercenary extraordinaire Jim Morgan, which had yet again paired her with Trevor. The first time she’d worked with the former Special Forces soldier, he’d been a ravaged, grieving mess, a man with a death wish, a man she shouldn’t have been attracted to but had been. The second time around, that attraction had intensified. Trevor had been a changed man. A healed man.

  They’d connected during that second job, really connected. They’d kissed, for Pete’s sake. And what had she done? She’d deserted him. Left him waiting at her SoHo apartment, hopped a plane and fled the country.

  How long had he waited?

  Another rush of guilt flooded her belly as the question she’d been wondering these past five months floated into her head. A part of her hoped that Trevor had figured out the score after an hour or two, but deep down she knew he wouldn’t have given up that fast. He would’ve waited for hours, days even, and when she still didn’t return . . . that’s when the worry would have set in. The anger. The bitterness.

  But again, she knew Trevor—no matter how angry he was, he’d need to make sure she was all right, which meant he’d move heaven and earth to track her down.

  According to Noelle, he’d been doing just that.

  “Ditching Callaghan like that was a coldhearted move, honey,” the blond assassin said with a chuckle. “Giving men the slip is more my style than yours.”

  Coldhearted. Was that was she was? No. No, she couldn’t be. The way she’d ended things with Trevor had been callous, but she’d been motivated by the need for self-preservation, not cruelty. He’d gotten too close. Made her believe that happiness could play a role in her future, that she could actually be a normal woman who had normal relationships and a normal life—but Isabel knew better.

  She wasn’t destined for normalcy. The most she could ask for was professional fulfillment, and her undercover work provided that. She was good at pretending to be other people. Maybe it wasn’t the most honorable profession out there, but she excelled at it. And Trevor, with his perceptive brown eyes and understated charm, with that quiet strength he exuded and his rare but gorgeous smiles . . . he was too big a distraction. Each time she was around him, she lost her head and dropped her guard—and for a woman who’d spent her entire life perfecting a composed, easygoing front, neither of those responses was welcome.

  “You never told me why you bailed on him,” Noelle prompted.

  Isabel shrugged and took another sip of whiskey.

  “It’s all right. I already know the answer.”

  Although the entire exchange was making her uncomfortable as hell, she couldn’t fight that spark of wary curiosity. “Oh, do you?”

  Lithe as a cat, Noelle slid off the arm of the recliner she’d been perched on and strode across the white Burberry carpet. Her tight black leggings and even tighter black tank top contrasted with the all-white color scheme of the penthouse. Isabel wondered if Noelle’s interior designer had been making some sort of ironic statement. White leather couch, white armchairs, white carpeting, white walls. The place was very . . . sterile. Cold. Unwelcoming.

  The penthouse suited Noelle to a T.

  “You left because that man scares you shitless.”

  Noelle’s assessment made her frown. “Trevor doesn’t scare me.”

  Liar.

  “Liar.” Noelle reached for an empty glass and poured a healthy amount of bourbon into it.
She curled her fingers around the tumbler, red fingernails tapping on the glass. “Callaghan was starting to get to know the real Isabel, but we couldn’t have that, could we, honey? Because the real Isabel is so very damaged, isn’t she?”

  Her shoulders stiffened.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that, so offended and incensed. I’m not saying anything you haven’t thought a million times before.” The amber liquid in Noelle’s glass swished as she headed back to the sofa. With the grace of a ballerina, the blonde sank onto the cushions and demurely crossed her legs, balancing the tumbler on one delicate knee.

  Isabel couldn’t control the rush of indignation that coursed through her. Noelle was a bitch on a good day, but it was rare for one of her “chameleons” to be on the receiving end of that sharp, antagonistic tongue. Isabel had been working for the woman for seven years now, and this was the first time the deadly blonde had unleashed a personal attack on her.

  Damaged? Christ, the woman ought to take a good long look in the mirror. Noelle was the freaking definition of the word.

  “You think if he sees the real you, he’ll realize how flawed you are and run in the opposite direction.”

  She resisted the urge to slap that amused look right off Noelle’s gorgeous face.

  “I left because I’m not looking for a relationship,” Isabel said stiffly. “That’s what he wanted from me, and I couldn’t give it to him.”

  “Mmm-hmmm. What’s the next bullshit excuse?”

  Her jaw tensed. “These aren’t excuses. It’s the truth. Look, he clouds my judgment, okay?” Even she could hear the defensive note in her voice. “Back in Manhattan, I was supposed to help one of the girls I met when I was undercover at the strip club. I was taking her to a rehab facility, but I was late because of Trevor. I was late, and that poor girl killed herself.”

  Noelle offered a long, throaty laugh. “That junkie would’ve killed herself regardless. You think even if you did manage to get her to rehab, the program would have stuck? How naive are you, Isabel?”