Threat of Danger (Mission Recovery Book 2)

by Dana Marton

  OTHER TITLES BY DANA MARTON

  Mission Recovery

  Silent Threat

  Personal Recovery

  Forced Disappearance

  Flash Fire

  Girl in the Water

  Broslin Creek

  Deathwatch

  Deathscape

  Deathtrap

  Deathblow

  Broslin Bride

  Deathwish

  Agents Under Fire

  Guardian Agent

  Avenging Agent

  Warrior Agent

  Mission Redemption

  Secret Contract

  Ironclad Cover

  My Bodyguard

  Intimate Details

  Hardstorm Saga

  Reluctant Concubine

  Accidental Sorceress

  Other Titles

  Shadow Soldier

  Secret Soldier

  The Sheik’s Safety

  Camouflage Heart

  Rogue Soldier

  Protective Measures

  Bridal Op

  Undercover Sheik

  Sheik Seduction

  72 Hours

  Sheik Protector

  Talk, Dark and Lethal

  Desert Ice Daddy

  Saved by the Monarch

  Royal Protocol

  The Socialite and the Bodyguard

  Stranded with the Prince

  Royal Captive

  The Spy Who Saved Christmas

  The Black Sheep Sheik

  Last Spy Standing

  Spy Hard

  The Spy Wore Spurs

  Most Eligible Spy

  My Spy

  Spy in the Saddle

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Dana Marton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503950054

  ISBN-10: 1503950050

  Cover design by Letitia Hasser

  This book is dedicated to Sarah Jordan and Diane Flindt. Your friendship is a true gift and a privilege.

  Contents

  Prologue

  TEN YEARS LATER

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “HURRY UP!” DEREK drew Jess forward on the narrow path in the woods.

  Jess didn’t need urging. She couldn’t wait to be alone with him at the cabin. Her heart drummed: faster, faster, faster.

  The two eighteen-year-olds dashed through the undergrowth, breathless with laughter. Winter sunshine gilded webs of branches, the sky the most innocent shade of blue, each gap between the tree trunks a stained glass window. The trees—mostly maple—reached up and up, as tall as church spires. Within the magnificent cathedral of the Vermont forest, the joy of young love sang.

  The patches of shadows seemed far away. Jess barely even noticed the dark spots. Each step they took was into light, each breath of crisp air a thrill.

  They jumped a log together, strong and nimble. Jess thought of nothing but the old family cabin, the two of them alone, Derek’s firm and eager body all around hers. Desire tingled through her, her fingers tightening on his as he pulled her forward.

  “We’re almost there.”

  Derek Daley—crush of her life, boy next door, every girl’s dream—wanted her. Finally!

  Jess had pined after him all through high school and would have handed him her heart on a platter, if he’d only noticed her. He hadn’t then, but he did now, home from college on break. Nothing else mattered. He’d noticed her and he’d kissed her, and then he’d asked if she would go out to the old cabin with him.

  Jess knew what boys did with girls at the derelict cabin off the abandoned logging road. That knowledge burst through her in a shower of sparkling light.

  “What’s with the crows?” Derek jerked his head toward the treetops, but he didn’t slow for a second, as desperate for the cabin as Jess.

  His eagerness tasted sweeter on her tongue than maple candy.

  She glanced up, dazed. What? What did anything else matter beyond how fast they could be in each other’s arms? They had the rest of the day, hours and hours, just the two of them, together, but she didn’t want to waste a single moment.

  She wanted his lips back on hers. She was dying for another kiss.

  Derek must have felt the same, because he halted and dragged her into his arms in a wild move that almost toppled them. He kissed the breath out of her before spinning away to run again. Thank God he was holding her hand, or she would have stumbled. When it came to Derek’s kisses, Jess’s schoolgirl fantasies paled compared to reality.

  The black dotting of crows watched them from the trees. They didn’t see the humans as two lovers flying to their nest, but merely prey as yet unaware of the hunter. The same small, sharp eyes that trailed Derek and Jess from above also trailed the hunter who closed in, moving faster than his prey, eager on the scent.

  The birds knew the hunter. He always fed them well.

  Down below, everything was movement.

  Up in the trees, the crows perched still and waited for the bloody bits.

  TEN YEARS LATER

  Chapter One

  Thursday

  THE TWO LONE figures on top of a New York City high-rise clashed, a man and a woman, locked together in mortal combat.

  Jessica Taylor fought the killer with everything she had. She had to get this right. No mistakes. Left hook, right hook, uppercut, and then a swift kick to the middle of a hard chest. Pain shot up her leg, but the man silhouetted against the night sky finally staggered back.

  His long knife flashed in the moonlight. The combatants were evenly matched in fighting skills, but that knife tipped the odds. Jess had been caught empty-handed.

  The man surged forward again. Jess danced back, out of reach, but he rushed her with a snarl, a deadly glint in his eyes. She feinted left, then kicked at his right wrist. The knife broke free and flew through the air in a wide arc over the edge of the roof.

  They were both breathing hard. Both bleeding. Both determined to win. But winning meant different things to them.

  For the man, winning meant killing Jess and walking away to continue his evil agenda unimpeded.

  For Jess, winning meant killing the man so no more innocents would be
hurt. What happened to her, what price she had to pay to win, didn’t matter.

  She moved in a careful circle.

  This time, without a weapon, her opponent wasn’t so eager to rush in. He circled with her, looking for an opening.

  When he was finally between the edge of the roof and Jess, Jess charged him—full force, full weight. And she kept going, until they were over the edge, nothing but air beneath them. Falling.

  Far below, cars inched along in traffic, the crowded sidewalk rushing closer. Then the harness jerked and cut into Jess’s shoulders as the wires caught her weight. Pain shot across her neck muscles as she dangled high above the city.

  Breathe.

  She didn’t let in the fear that hammered against her brain. If she did, fear would devour her with a thousand sharp teeth.

  “Cut!” Marvin Molnar shouted. He was the most sought-after director in Hollywood, with the dark good looks of a marauding Hun and the brain of a true virtuoso.

  He directed shoots like the best conductors directed symphonies, acutely aware of a hundred moving pieces and able to hear the notes together as well as each separately. He was able to share a vision of true art that the cast could embody together. Marvin Molnar didn’t simply direct. He inspired. For anyone in the business, working with the forty-year-old director was an honor.

  “Well done, Harvey.” He jumped from his director’s chair and strode forward. “Brilliant, Jess.”

  The crew behind the cameras clapped, everyone grinning and patting shoulders. They’d been holding their breath. Marvin had left the most dangerous stunt until last. Now—the stunt done—a palpable wave of relief spread through the set.

  The tech crew reeled in the lines. Jess and Harvey had solid ground under their feet once again. Dangling over the city was part of the job—high jumps had stopped bothering Jess a long time ago—but she would have been lying if she said she wasn’t glad to be finished. Her gaze immediately sought out Eliot on the sidelines, easily finding those spikes of roasted-chestnut hair, the intent, matching pair of eyes that watched her.

  Tonight’s the night. If all went well.

  The thought made Jess breathe harder than the flying leap into the abyss had. A date with the man who was technically her boss was a different kind of leap, but no less exhilarating. Blood raced in her veins. Tonight.

  The assistants ran over and unhooked the carabiners to untether her and Harvey.

  “Thanks.” Even as Jess rolled her shoulders, she was already walking off the set, making room.

  Karli Winston took her place, wearing an identical skintight black bodysuit. Karli would perform a toned-down version of the fight, the cameras shooting close-up footage of her famous face.

  At age twenty-seven, the actress already had three Oscar nominations and a win. She also had flawless skin, the slimmest of limbs, sultry eyes, and a pouting bottom lip. As soon as she appeared, smiles bloomed wider, and the assistants tripled in number, fawning, nearly bowing.

  “Water, Miss Winston?”

  “Is the light bothering your eyes, Miss Winston?”

  “Does the costume feel all right, Miss Winston?”

  Marvin too only had eyes for Karli. The director’s smile turned warmer, more personal. Rumor had it that they were sleeping together.

  When Karli appeared, Jess became invisible—as stuntwomen should be, in any case. When the movie played in theaters, if Jess had done her job well, nobody would even know that they’d seen her.

  She liked being invisible. She only wished she’d developed the skill sooner. But she cut off that train of thought because it led to the past, and she refused to think about that.

  Aron, the new guy on the tech team, passed by her, dragging a coil of black cables, admiration in his brown eyes—not for Karli, but for Jess. He was the exception to the rule. His love was for stunts, not for starlets. He was a wiry twenty-two-year-old geek, still learning the business. He’d been nervous, but his hands had been strong and steady, his focus remarkable.

  “Great job.” Jess gave him a thumbs-up. “You handled that like a pro.”

  He lit up and blushed at the same time, turning awkward under the praise. “You think so, Miss Taylor? Man, I was scared shitless.” He winced. “Sorry.”

  She laughed. “You weren’t scared. You were excited about the opportunity. Restate and reframe. My first stunt coach taught me that.”

  “Restate and reframe?”

  “You never tell yourself you’re scared. You tell yourself you’re stoked. You tell yourself you’re excited because this is the biggest thing you’ve ever done. You tell yourself that’s not fear pounding in your veins—it’s adrenaline. Your body is giving you a boost and keeping you sharply focused so you’ll succeed.”

  He looked ridiculously grateful for the advice, and maybe even a little awed. “Thank you, Miss Taylor.”

  She picked up her towel from the ground and wiped her face and neck. “Call me Jess. And, Aron, I’d work with you anytime, anywhere.”

  His mile-wide grin reflected that he fully understood the significance of the words. With every stunt, Jess put her life into the crew’s hands. At her level, she could, and did, demand to work with the best of the best.

  Aron floated above the ground as he moved on to finish his tasks. He crossed paths with the stunt coordinator, Eliot Santali, and he too gave the kid a few words of encouragement before heading toward Jess.

  He flashed a pleased, proud smile at her, and the last of the tension melted out of Jess’s muscles under the sunbeams of his approval. She had appreciated the director’s praise earlier, but for her, Eliot’s opinion was the only one that mattered.

  The thirty-two-year-old Italian had the lean shape and handsome looks of an international soccer star, which he had been, briefly, in his early twenties. He’d left soccer for stunt work at the urging of a friend. He had started in the trenches, then became a Hollywood legend in a matter of years. He’d been one of the top stuntmen until a motocross injury. Instead of bitterness and resentment, Eliot channeled his energies into creating his own team and making sure his people were top-notch, respected, and safe. As a stunt coordinator, he was Jess’s mentor, and the person she most admired in the movie business.

  “Outstanding work. Great form. Great movement,” he said as he reached her, his smile soft and kind and sexy. “That last shot was perfect. The arc of that jump was a piece of art.”

  His eyes sparkled with excitement under masculine eyebrows. Even the short spikes of his hair looked dynamic somehow, like the man. His entire body radiated approval.

  Pleasure spread through Jess at his praise. “Thanks.”

  The stunt had been her favorite one for Revenge of the Innocent. She felt as proud of herself as Aron must have felt a minute earlier. She felt as if she was flying again. She’d grown to love the sensation of soaring high above, almost an out-of-body experience.

  Eliot handed her a bottle of water. Jess didn’t have her own assistant on set. Unlike the real stars, she wasn’t even important enough for her own chair. She didn’t care. She was here for the adrenaline high, and for the chance to test herself against her fears, to push her own limits. To know that fear couldn’t stop her—that she was stronger than fear.

  As she drank, Eliot watched her, as he always did after a stunt, for any stiffness of movement. He kept a close eye on his team. “Doing anything special before Zombie Zoo? Three weeks off make for a nice break.”

  “Nursing my bruises.”

  He frowned. “Is Harvey being too rough again? I’ll have a talk with him.”

  “Don’t. Please. We both like making it look real.”

  Eliot glanced toward Harvey, who stood with Aron at the edge of the roof, gesturing, explaining something. After a moment, Eliot’s gaze refocused on Jess and warmed. “Let me see the bruises.”

  She turned.

  Eliot pulled down the zipper on the back of her latex bodysuit and peeled the material off her, all the way, leaving her in nothing
but a black sports bra and briefs. The end of February in New York wasn’t exactly bikini season, but the roof was covered with outdoor heaters that made the cold bearable.

  Nobody except Eliot paid Jess any attention. Everyone on set focused on Karli and her close-ups. Not that Jess would have been all that bothered if they did look at her. She was used to wearing next to nothing on sets. She’d even done a stunt naked once—for a sexy spy thriller.

  She didn’t bother to cover up even when British screen idol Spencer Brooks strolled by, flashing her a saucy grin. He was the male lead in the movie, more than six feet tall, inky dark locks in artful waves. He had the bearing and aristocratic features of an earl, and the international fan base of a rock star.

  “Need a massage for those stiff shoulders, luv?”

  Eliot shifted between them in a move that seemed unintentional. He didn’t even look up as he said, “I think they’re waiting for you on set, Mr. Brooks.”

  Brooks gave a dramatic sigh. “Right, then.” But he didn’t move. He peered at Jess over Eliot’s shoulder instead. “After the shoot?”

  Behind him, the director was hurrying over, navigating the myriad cables on the ground. Marvin cleared his throat. “Ready? If you need another minute . . .”

  That even Marvin Molnar handled the British star with kid gloves was a testament to how big Brooks was in Hollywood right now.

  The Brit was waiting for Jess’s answer.

  “I’m heading back to the hotel to soak in a hot Epsom salt bath,” she said.

  Brooks accepted the rejection like a gentleman, giving her a slight nod and a smile that said he wished her response had been different. “See you at the wrap party, then.” He strode off with the director, but he did turn back for a wink, and to have the last word. “You know what they say, luv. Live in hope, die in a tub of champagne.”

  Jess couldn’t help a laugh.

  Spencer Brooks was all right. Jess worked with big stars all the time. They were incredibly talented and worked harder than anyone else on set. You didn’t get to the top by being a bum. Jess admired the star’s talent and work ethic. But the men who wore fame as comfortably as they wore their costumes didn’t interest her on a personal level.

  “Let me see this.” Eliot bent his head to her right shoulder, to the red indentation where the harness had cut into her skin. He rubbed his thumb over the spot gently before he pulled back. “What else?”