by Kaylea Cross
Dangerous
Attraction
Kaylea Cross | Jill Sanders | Dana Marton | Lori Ryan | Toni Anderson | Sharon Hamilton | Debra Burroughs | Patricia Rosemoor | Marie Astor | Rebecca York
Copyright 2013, Romance Cross Promotion LLC, All rights reserved
This collection and the individual works contained herein contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this collection may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the authors/publishers.
ASIN: B00FSY0XGY
Table of Contents
Ignited
Kaylea Cross
******
Secret Guardian
Jill Sanders
******
Deathscape
Dana Marton
******
Legal Ease
Lori Ryan
******
The Killing Game
Toni Anderson
******
Fallen Seal Legacy
Sharon Hamilton
******
Three Days in Seattle
Debra Burroughs
******
See Me in Your Dreams
Patricia Rosemoor
******
Catching the Bad Guy
Marie Astor
******
Christmas Captive
Rebecca York
IGNITED
Titanium Security Series
Kaylea Cross
* * *
Copyright © 2013 by Kaylea Cross
Cover Art by LFD Designs For Authors
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 9780991905027
Overview:
When her father is murdered by a Taliban cell in the tribal regions of Pakistan, Khalia Patterson reluctantly steps into his shoes to carry on the legacy of Fair Start Foundation, a non-profit group dedicated to furthering the education of girls. There she meets Hunter Phillips, the ex-SEAL and head of her Titanium security team, and quickly learns that coming to Pakistan might prove to be a deadly decision. Keeping her alive is one of the toughest assignments Hunter’s ever faced, yet through one harrowing situation after another she continually impresses him with her strength and inner courage. Even though he fights his feelings for her, it’s a losing battle. And when the job is over, he doesn’t know how he’ll let her go.
Heat Level:
Scorcher
I dedicate this book to the men and women everywhere working to make the world a better and safer place. Your efforts are greatly appreciated.
Author’s Note
This is the first book of my Titanium Security series, and I hope you’ll fall in love with my ex-military defense contractor band of brothers: Hunter, Gage, Sean and Blake. They’ve each got a unique story to tell, so strap in and hang on for the ride as they do their part to eradicate the face of evil they’re hunting.
Happy reading!
Kaylea Cross
I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity. My Nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.
~ Navy SEAL creed
Chapter One
The noise of the growing mob outside swelled louder. A muted roar made by hundreds of angry voices chanting one of the only Urdu phrases he knew.
Death to America.
Hunter Phillips checked his weapon one last time and turned in a crouch to face the six other men now trapped with him in the burning Interior Ministry building. Three of his security contractor teammates, and three international diplomats who were scared out of their fucking minds and visibly struggling to hold it together.
The sound of more breaking glass shattered the tension in the room. Another fire alarm blared to life from down one of the hallways, signaling that the flames were spreading fast. Already the smoke was thick enough to make his eyes sting. “We’ve got a minute or two, max, before they scale the wall,” he said to the man on his right.
Scottie, the team leader and Hunter’s best friend, scanned their darkened surroundings, but they both knew there was only one way out. “Call again for an emergency exfil,” he told Hunter. “Tell them we’ll stay in the building as long as possible.”
It was their only option, since the place was completely surrounded by angry Pakistanis. Trying to escape out any of the emergency exits would result in them being shot or beaten to death, and their bodies dragged through the streets by the enraged mob.
“Fire’s spreading from the north side,” Gage, the retired Special Forces master sergeant reminded him as Hunter got back on the radio to stress the urgency of their situation. “All exits and staircases on that side are out.”
“We’ll have to get to the roof and wait there,” Scottie answered.
“What’s the story on that bird?” Hunter demanded to the man on the other end of his radio, shoving his finger into his other ear to hear the response over the chaos.
“Working on it, sir.”
Not good enough. “We’ve got two Pakistani officials and the American ambassador with us, and we’ve only got a few more minutes before that mob gets inside.” He and his teammates had already spent the last thirty minutes fighting their way through the rabble to get inside the place and secure the surviving diplomats. Getting out was going to be way harder.
Rounds started slamming into the window above them. Spider webs formed around the impact sites. Dozens of them. He ducked instinctively when the so-called bullet resistant glass finally splintered. They all hit the deck and covered their heads with their arms as chunks of it rained down. A split second later a hail of bullets peppered the far wall behind them, a few feet over their heads.
The roar outside intensified instantly. Two firebombs flew through the shattered window, hit the floor and exploded into a wall of flame. Hunter didn’t get a chance to hear what the man was saying to him over the radio. From the sudden rise in volume of that terrible roar, he knew the crowd had finally cleared the wall and were about to storm the building.
Fucking hell. He grabbed his rifle and rolled back into a crouch as the wall of noise pulsed against his eardrums. They were about to be overrun, and all because some dickhead preacher back home had decided burning the Quran would be a great publicity stunt to show how much he and the rest of America hated Islam. The incident had not only angered the Muslim world, it had already cost the lives of more than a hundred innocent people caught in the crossfire. Including an American philanthropist the Taliban had captured and kil
led in the tribal region of Pakistan for trying to promote female education. Then they’d used the Quran burning incident to justify the man’s brutal murder and incite the general populace to attack American interests in the country.
“Go,” Scottie shouted over the confusion, grabbing the white-faced American ambassador by the upper arm. He hauled the man toward the closest hallway, filled with hellish orange light from the fires while the other two team members took charge of the Pakistanis.
In a running crouch Hunter followed behind, covering their six. A few yards into the hallway the smoke was already noticeably thicker, making them cough as they raced to find a stairwell that would take them to the roof. They turned right and stopped short at the sheet of flame licking the walls and ceiling ahead of them, blocking their exit. Veering left, they ran blindly down another hallway just as the enraged mob breached the building.
Hunter could hear the shouts and pounding footsteps closing in on them, moving closer with every heartbeat. Shots rang out behind them, way too close. Whirling, he went to one knee and brought his M4 up, fired at the shadowy shapes that appeared around the corner. He dropped three of them before he jumped to his feet and raced after his teammates’ hazy silhouettes as they disappeared into the smoke down the corridor in front of him.
“Over here! Hurry!”
He spun and followed Gage’s shout, staying low to keep out of the worst of the choking, toxic smoke. Thirty yards in, the air began to clear slightly. He could just make out the doorway at the end of the hall and ran straight for it. But he wasn’t fast enough.
More attackers spilled into the corridor behind them and opened fire. A burst of rounds plowed into the wall next to Hunter’s head. He whipped around and returned fire, dropping two and wounding another. To his right and slightly above him he could hear his teammates’ thudding footsteps as they rushed the diplomats toward the roof. He chased after them, turning every few seconds to shoot at the men pursuing them.
The dim emergency lighting in the stairwell flickered on and off, casting eerie shadows everywhere. His lungs burned from the smoke, his heart slammed as he raced up the concrete steps. Two floors. Three. And the mob was still coming after them.
At the fourth—and top—floor he turned the corner on the stairs and came to a skidding stop when he saw his team gathered next to a steel exit door. Gage was staggering back from it, swearing and sweating, rifle held tight in his hands. Someone had already put a round through the lock mechanism, which was still holding somehow. When Gage moved aside Scottie backed up a step then slammed his boot repeatedly into the ruined lock. Even with the bullet hole and the ex-SEAL’s considerable muscle, the goddamn door didn’t budge.
Scottie looked back at him, his expression tense. “Get down to the third floor and try another stairwell.”
There was nowhere else to go. “They’re right behind us,” Hunter warned.
“Go,” Scottie ordered. “I’ll watch our six this time.”
Not wasting another second, Hunter turned and ran while the others followed him back down the stairs. He careened around the corner, through a door, and tore down another hallway that led to the opposite side of the building. Distant shouts echoed up from below. His teammates were a few strides behind him. In the thinning smoke his gaze locked on the steel door at the end of the hall. Only steps away, he heard the horde coming.
He dropped to one knee in firing position as his teammates escorting the diplomats rushed passed, and waited. The moment the first attacker cleared the corner he fired, hitting him in the chest. The guy fell, arms outstretched, knocking back the man behind him. Hunter shot him in the head and didn’t pause to watch him hit the floor.
He sprang to his feet and made a desperate charge for the door. Scottie saw him coming and stepped aside in time for Hunter to smash the lock with the sole of his boot. As the punishing impact traveled up his leg he felt the door gave way. One more well placed kick and the heavy door flew open to crash into the concrete wall. The stairwell to the fourth floor—and hopefully the roof—was clear.
The stairwell below them was going to be full of enraged attackers any moment now.
As the clean air rushed past him Hunter moved aside and glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his team with a nod. Two of them shoved the shaken diplomats through the doorway and followed up the stairs directly behind them to provide protection while Hunter and Scottie guarded the doorway.
Scottie stayed on one knee beside him, weapon up, his gaze trained down the hallway where the enemy were about to rush them when a door suddenly clanged against the wall somewhere below them. More men were coming up the stairs at them from the second floor.
Shit. “Let’s go,” Hunter shouted over the blare of the alarms, the rising shouts from behind and beneath them. The rest of the team were already up the stairs. Hunter started ascending. He could hear someone kicking at the door to the roof up there. Please open. “Come on!”
Scottie was too busy to respond. He fired a double tap in one direction, then swiveled and took aim down the stairwell to the second floor.
Hunter cursed and turned back. He was halfway to Scottie when his friend looked back at him with a pissed off glower. “Go! You’ve got the only working radio. Get everyone on the roof and onto that chopper.”
“Fuck that.” No way in hell Hunter was leaving him here to fend off the attackers alone.
Scottie ended Hunter’s descent with an upraised fist that commanded him to stop. His voice was calm, his eyes intense as he stared up at him. “That’s an order, Hunt. Get your ass up there.”
Everything in him rebelled at the command, but he knew Scottie was right. His first duty was to the diplomats they’d voluntarily come to save. He’d get everyone to the roof and direct the bird in, then come back for Scottie if necessary. “Roger that.”
Suddenly Scottie’s head snapped around to face the corridor and he fired twice at more attackers. Hunter turned and ran, taking three stairs at a time. Four strides up, he heard Scottie grunt. Hunter whirled in time to see him struggling to his knees, blood pouring out from beneath the bottom of his tactical vest.
Without hesitation he lunged down the stairs toward his friend.
“I said go!” Scottie’s annoyed gaze bored into his, filled with resolve. Hunter read the unspoken message there. Scottie was prepared to give his life to save the rest of them. He’d stay and protect them all, fight off the attackers until his last breath. That’s what all SEALs were trained to do, and that training never went away, even after they left the Teams.
The thought of Scottie making that ultimate sacrifice turned his blood to ice. He hesitated.
Torn between duty and the need to protect his buddy, years of training and discipline kicked in. Swearing, Hunter turned and raced for the fourth floor. The door to the roof was ajar, and he caught the faint throb of rotors when he slammed the door open and stepped into the clear air on the darkened rooftop—
Stop.
Hunter blinked and sucked in a calming breath. It took him a moment to come back to the present and remember he was in his own house.
Pulling out of the painful memory, he raised the TV remote and pressed pause, freezing on screen the image of him as he emerged onto the roof. His throat was dry, his heart pounding like he was still back there rather than sitting on his leather couch at home. He swore he could smell the acrid tang of smoke, taste the bitterness of it in his mouth. On the TV he stood in the open doorway dressed in his tactical gear, radio in one hand, rifle in the other. In front of him the other security team members were kneeling with their weapons raised, facing outward with the diplomats huddled between them.
That’s the image the rest of the world had seen—a group of men gathering on the roof while the rescue helicopter came in.
Now, gazing at the high definition screen mounted on the wall across the room, Hunter searched for answers. He’d watched this same footage countless times over the past ten days since he’d been home, torturing him
self with what he could have done differently. Maybe if he’d stayed in that stairwell he could have saved Scottie. Instead, once that helo had begun its descent he’d gone back inside to drag his unconscious friend over his shoulders and take him out to the waiting bird.
The camera crews on the streets below had captured shots of him appearing with Scottie slumped over his shoulders too. He didn’t need to see it on screen or in any of the newspapers or magazines again. That awful moment was permanently burned into his memory without another visual reminder.
Willing his pulse to slow down, Hunter hit the power button and turned off the TV. The recorded image of him vanished, replaced by his reflection in the black of the screen. In the empty silence the roar of the attackers slowly faded from his ears. He leaned back into the leather with a sigh and stared at the darkened screen. Though the images were gone, in his mind he was still back in that dimly lit stairwell watching Scottie bleed all over the floor as he struggled to bring his weapon up into firing position.
The news crews had only captured the chaotic scene from the outside of the ministry building. Ironic that the rest of the world would never see what had happened inside, while Hunter couldn’t close his eyes without seeing it imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
In the stillness of his living room, the sound of waves crashing onto the shore came through the screen door that led out to the large deck outside. He and Scottie had built it last fall when his buddy had come to stay with him for a few days here on St. Simon’s. They’d enjoyed many a beer on that deck together while staring out over the rolling Atlantic. It used to be Hunter’s favorite spot in the house. Since coming home this time, he hadn’t set foot on it once.
The shrill ring of his cell phone broke the quiet. He got up and paced to the granite counter that separated the living room and kitchen. When he saw the number on the screen he almost didn’t answer it. Something—maybe morbid curiosity—made him do it anyway. “Tom. What’s up?”
