by Elle James
Reader favorite Elle James knows suspense…and her heroes are trained for danger…
But secret operative Creed Thomas isn’t prepared for Emma Jenkins. Creed needs the diving expert to locate a sunken boat off Oregon’s rocky coast and lure out an elusive terrorist. But he doesn’t need the fiery attraction that tempts the by-the-book agent to break every rule. Emma is everything the man in him wants and the agent in him can’t have.
As an impenetrable fog blankets the seaside town, one thing is clear: Creed is all that stands between a terrorist and the unspeakable act of violence he’s sure to commit. When the moment comes, will Creed be forced to choose between saving his country…and the woman he loves?
“I like the women I date to stay safe.”
Emma’s brows rose. “We’re not dating.”
“According to some people, we are.”
“Creed, what are you afraid of?”
“The man on that yacht was shot and left to go down with the ship. If there was anything on that boat worth killing for, it likely went down with it,” Creed said.
Emma frowned. “That doesn’t mean we’ll be targeted next.”
Creed stared at her, at her gray eyes dark and troubled. He tilted her chin upward. If the man he was after thought Emma had anything that belonged to him, he’d pursue her relentlessly. “Promise me you’ll be careful. And you’ll call if you need me.”
He was already on the precipice, standing far too close to her. The thought of something happening to her sent him over the edge.
In one motion he pulled her into his arms, crushing her lips with his. He kissed a path down to the base of her thoat, where her pulse beat erratically.
“Creed, this is wrong.”
No, that was far from the truth. For the first time, nothing felt so right.
Dear Reader,
I had fun building the little vacation seaside town of Cape Churn and populating it with characters you’ll see again. But the most fun I had in Deadly Engagement was researching the scuba diving and boating aspects of the book.
I took scuba lessons about twenty years ago and have yet to scuba dive in the ocean. I took my open-water dive in a murky lake, and I’ve snorkeled in Cancun, Hawaii, Guam and Florida, but never scuba dived in the ocean and never in Oregon, where the Pacific Ocean is cold and requires a wet suit to maintain body warmth. However, it’s on my bucket list. I had pictures of equipment, dive boats and rocky coastlines bookmarked while I pounded away at the keyboard.
While writing this book, Cape Churn became such a part of my life I wanted to join Emma Jenkins and Creed Thomas Ruckman aboard the Reel Dive on the hunt for the cargo aboard the Pelageya and then go in search of the Anna Maria. What an exciting journey!
Nothing like a little suspense to make the setting even more interesting, right?
Happy reading!
Elle James
DEADLY ENGAGEMENT
Elle James
Books by Elle James
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
Deadly Reckoning #1698
Deadly Engagement #1785
Harlequin Intrigue
Dakota Meltdown #938
Lakota Baby #961
Cowboy Sanctuary #987
Blown Away #1014
Alaskan Fantasy #1033
Texas-Sized Secrets #1052
Under Suspicion, With Child #1080
Nick of Time #1100
Baby Bling #1127
An Unexpected Clue #1156
Operation XOXO #1172
Killer Body #1191
Bundle of Trouble #1226
Hostage to Thunder Horse #1244
Cowboy Brigade #1281
Engaged with the Boss #1306
Thunder Horse Heritage #1357
Thunder Horse Redemption #1382
*Triggered #1433
*Taking Aim #1439
*Bodyguard Under Fire #1446
*Cowboy Resurrected #1451
*Covert Cowboys, Inc.
ELLE JAMES
A Golden Heart Award winner for Best Paranormal Romance in 2004, Elle James started writing when her sister issued a Y2K challenge to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried their hands at ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas) in the Texas Hill Country. Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! After leaving her successful career in information technology management, Elle is now pursuing her writing full-time. Elle loves to hear from fans. You can contact her at [email protected], or visit her website, at www.ellejames.com.
This book is dedicated to my family, whose loving support has encouraged me to continue to pursue my writing career. My husband, who believes in my abilities and asks, “Why aren’t you writing?”; my sister, with whom I brainstorm and share my successes; my father, because he taught me the value of hard work; my mother, who is my first line of defense beta reader; my oldest daughter, who reads my work and always looks forward to the next story; my son, who is proud of his mom and her writing; and my youngest daughter for keeping me on my toes. I love you all!
Contents
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
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Creed Thomas Ruckman’s smart phone buzzed and he pulled the rental SUV he’d picked up at the Portland airport to the side of the road just outside Cape Churn, a quaint Oregon seaside town. The caller ID displayed Blocked Sender. Probably The Man, his boss, who’d sent him on the red-eye flight from Alaska late the previous night, bumping mission status to urgent and a matter of national security.
Royce Fontaine orchestrated the band of Stealth Operations Specialists from their headquarters in Washington, for the most part. On occasion, he ran missions himself. The man was fearless and demanded no less from his operatives than what he expected of himself.
Creed hit the button on the headset hooked over his ear. “Thomas.” He used Thomas and other aliases as his last name when he went undercover—Ruckman had become just a name in his file back at headquarters.
“You in Cape Churn yet?” Royce’s deep voice filled his head as if he were there in the vehicle with him.
“Just pulling into town. Any word on Phillip Macias’s whereabouts, or the location of the yacht I tagged in Russia?”
“That’s what I’m calling about and why you’re where you are. The GPS tracking device stalled off the coast of Cape Churn. Satellite images aren’t picking up the boat at the location. Either they scuttled the boat or the boat sank. That’s where you come in.”
“I figured as much. None of my associates in Russia could tell me what’s on board, or why it’s so important to Macias.”
“I put a bug in the ear of one of my contacts in the National Security Agency’s electronic surveillance and monitoring division. He just sent word that something big is about to go down on the west coast, and Macias is at the center of it. There’s a lot of subversive chatter by some of the people on their watch list.”
<
br /> “Any idea what?”
“Only hints at some type of explosions with the potential of killing entire cities of Americans.”
Creed’s heart sank to the bottom of his belly, then bounced back with a kick of adrenaline. “I figured it was something big. Macias is known for drama. When he’s involved, it’s go big or go home. Though they couldn’t prove it, my informants told me he was responsible for last year’s attacks on Chicago and D.C. in an event similar to the Greek Conspiracy of Fire Nuclei of 2010.”
“Right,” Fontaine agreed. “And he was only using pressure-cooker bombs in those instances. From what my NSA source said, he’s going for a bigger bang, possibly dirty bombs.” Royce paused, then continued. “The situation is critical. Since all of this is conjecture at this point, keep it on the down low. We don’t know who Macias’s contacts are, and we can’t trust anyone. If it leaks to the press, we could lose the connection. You have to find out what Macias is up to, his contact for uranium, if that’s his angle, and stop Armageddon from happening. Millions of lives are depending on you.”
“No pressure, right? And what you’re saying is that for all these years people have been prophesying California would one day fall into the ocean, that event may come earlier than we think.”
“As soon as I can pull some of the others in on this mission, I’ll send them your way. In the meantime, you’re the lead man.”
“Sounds like I’m the only man.”
“For the moment, you are. I’m working intel from this end. I’ll feed you everything I know as soon as I know.” True to his word, Royce would do everything in his power to help him. The head of SOS kept his promises. “You’ve got all the information and the cover you need to find that yacht. Go get ’em.”
“I’m on it.” Creed hit the button on his earpiece to end the call, drew in a deep breath and drove into town, to the Cape Churn police station. He climbed out of the rental and entered the office, wearing shorts, flip-flops, sunglasses and a T-shirt with the image of a sailboat emblazoned across his chest. Pasting his friendliest insurance-adjuster grin on his face, he extended his hand to the man he presumed was the chief of police, the one person in town who would know a local from a transient, and where to go to get what he needed. “Hello, I’m Creed Thomas. Are you the police chief?”
“That would be me.” He gripped Creed’s hand in a firm handshake. “Tom Taggart. I don’t believe I know you. New resident in town, or here on vacation?”
This was where his cover came into play. Until he knew the trustworthiness of the locals, he couldn’t reveal the potential danger lurking in the quiet seaside town. “Actually, I’m here on business.”
“What kind of business brings you to Cape Churn? Setting up a golf tournament? Team building weekend? Searching for a vacation home?” The chief smiled. “Just ask—we’re likely to have what you’re looking for.”
Creed removed his glasses, liking the older man’s open, friendly face. “I’m looking for a boat.”
“A boat?” Taggart’s brows rose. “Renting, buying? Anything special you got in mind?”
“A missing boat, to be exact.” He handed the chief his fake business card with Thomas Brothers Insurance written in bold lettering across the top. “I underwrote an insurance policy on a yacht we believe went down off the coast of Cape Churn in the past couple days.”
“Is that so?” Taggart scratched his chin. “I don’t recall receiving any reports of a ship in distress or BOLOs on missing persons.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. The owner probably didn’t know he was in distress until the ship went down, and his family won’t be missing him for several days. I understand there was a significant amount of fog the night before last?”
“True.” The chief nodded. “Folks around here call it the Devil’s Shroud. Nothing but misfortune happens when it slides into the coast. Could be your boat got caught up in it.”
“That’s my bet. Fortunately, we have tracking devices on the yachts we insure, and I believe I can locate it. All I need is a guide to get me out to it. That’s what I was hoping you could help me with.”
“Depends on where you’re going. The shallows around here are pretty treacherous, even on a calm day. If you have the GPS coordinate, and it’s not in the middle of the rocks, I recommend Dave Logsdon’s dive boat and Emma Jenkins as your guide. She’s not a full-time diver, but she has the most diving experience all around the cape.”
“Where can I find them?”
“Logsdon docks his boat at the Cape Churn Marina. It’s early in the summer season, and schools aren’t out yet. You might catch him, if he’s not chartered.”
A man wearing a navy blue police uniform entered the building behind Creed and removed his uniform cap.
The chief turned to the officer. “Gabe here can show you the way.”
“Where to?” Gabe stuck out his hand. “Gabe McGregor.”
Creed introduced himself.
“Mr. Thomas needs to hire a boat and a guide to look for a potentially sunken yacht his company insured.”
“Think it got caught in the fog the other night?” Gabe ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “We haven’t had any distress calls or bodies wash ashore.”
“The GPS tracking device we installed on the craft indicates it’s offshore, not moving. Too far to be anchored, which leads me to believe it’s at the bottom.”
“You’ll want Dave Logsdon and—”
“Emma Jenkins,” the chief finished. “I’ve already briefed him on the best guide in the area. Would you show him how to get to the marina? I’ve got a meeting with the mayor in fifteen. We’d send a diver with you, but we’re short staffed, and diving isn’t necessarily a requirement for the job. I can put a call into the coast guard and have them start a search for survivors.”
“Thanks.” Creed would rather not get the coast guard involved just yet. “In the meantime, I’d like to check the location and make sure the boat wasn’t stolen or the GPS device tossed overboard.”
“I’ll put out the word to be on the lookout for any casualties that might have washed ashore.” The chief stepped around Creed and Gabe. “Gabe can take you to the marina and get you set up.”
Gabe waved toward the door. “I can take you there, or you can follow me.”
“I’ll follow,” Creed said.
“Dave’s the most reliable captain in the area. He can get you just about anywhere, or close enough you can swim in. And Emma is the most experienced diver. Can’t go wrong with her.”
“Good to know.” He didn’t really care as long as he had a boat to get him to where he needed to go. He didn’t necessarily need a local dive master to guide him in. Having received his training courtesy of the U.S. Navy SEALs, Creed could dive circles around most recreational divers. But to keep his cover, he’d go along with the locals and maybe learn something about who Phillip Macias was planning to meet with his Russian cargo.
The sooner the better. He had a feeling the yacht going down wasn’t part of the plan, and whoever was expecting it would be in a hurry to get his hands on whatever was on board. If that happened, it could initiate a chain of events that could potentially destroy the entire western coast of the United States.
* * *
They’re cancelling the Children’s Wing Project.
The words echoed in Emma Jenkins’s head as she shoved her duffel bag with her wet suit and regulator into the backseat of her Jeep. She slipped behind the wheel and headed for the marina, her chest hurting so badly she could barely breathe.
If she hadn’t scheduled the week off, she might have been tempted to call in sick to the hospital where she worked as a nurse. The same hospital her former fiancé had swindled out of the funds raised to build the new children’s wing eight months ago.
Laura Kurtz had called that morning with
the news. “I wanted you to hear it from me first, and to assure you it’s not your fault and no one thinks that way.”
Yeah, right. If she hadn’t introduced Randy Walters to the board of directors, he wouldn’t have been offered the consultant position for raising funds for the new children’s wing.
“If you’re at fault,” Laura had said, “then so am I for not seeing through his lies.”
Emma had been so gullible, thinking Randy was trustworthy, loved her and really had planned to marry her in June. Her wedding dress still hung on her closet door, a painful reminder of the fool she’d been to trust a man.
“Take this week off as an opportunity to get yourself together, have some fun counting starfish or whatever it is you do on your dives, and come back refreshed. We need you here at Cape Churn Memorial. You’re the best nurse we have.”
At that point Emma had faked an incoming call, her voice choking on a sob she refused to release. Randy didn’t deserve a single tear. He’d hurt her, but worse, he’d hurt the children of Cape Churn and the surrounding seaside towns by absconding with the money meant for the addition.
Emma’s only hope at redemption lay in the sea. Call it a hunch, but today was the day her luck would change. She could feel it in her bones and flowing in her blood, the same blood that flowed through the long line of Cape Churn Jenkinses, who’d helped establish this little town on the coast of Oregon in the mid-eighteen hundreds. The sole surviving Jenkins, she had an obligation to redeem the family name.
As she turned her Jeep into the marina parking lot, her heartbeat slipped into an unsteady rhythm, her breath coming in shorter bursts as excitement mounted.
Today would be the day she found the wreck of the Anna Maria, a ship legend told of having sunk in the Devil’s Shroud in the late 1700s. She climbed out of her vehicle, grabbed her duffel and hurried toward destiny.
The boat that would get her there, the Reel Dive, rocked gently against its mooring. Dave Logsdon trotted along the dock carrying a cooler, probably filled with beer, his flip-flops making soft slapping sounds. He wore a worn U2 T-shirt and cargo shorts stained from fish guts and bait and frayed at the edges. An L.A. Dodgers baseball cap perched on his curly blond hair, tipped back so that he could see. “Some fog we had the past couple nights, wasn’t it?”
