by Desiree Holt
Someone to watch over her . . .
Her life in beautiful Arrowhead Bay seems like paradise. But for former CIA operative Marissa Hayes, it’s a deep cover she’s forced to live under after daring to take down a powerful enemy with strong terrorist ties. Out of necessity, she keeps her emotions as guarded as her life, even as she finds herself drawn to Justin Kelly, the most arousing man she’s ever met. But when Marissa must find a new place to hide, the able-bodied Vigilance agent is the first man she turns to . . .
Justin can’t get close to Marissa, if he hopes to keep her alive. Which only makes sharing a villa with her at a remote island resort all the more challenging. The passion rising between them is exquisite—and excruciating. Even more so when terrorists infiltrate the island, putting Marissa in the crosshairs. Now Justin will do anything to protect the woman he cares about more deeply than he dares to admit. . . .
Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com
Books by Desiree Holt
Finding Julia
Game On Series
Forward Pass
Line of Scrimmage
Pass Interference
Fourth Down
Vigilance Series
Hide and Seek
Without Warning
A Deadly Business
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
A Deadly Business
A Vigilance Novel
Desiree Holt
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
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Copyright © 2018 by Desiree Holt
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First Electronic Edition: August 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0369-0
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0369-6
First Print Edition: August 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0372-0
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0372-6
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
I have a lot of people to thank for the creation of this story. First and foremost for the real Justin and Marissa, for letting me borrow their names. And to Justin himself for all the help with Marissa’s CIA assignment and personality. To those who requested anonymity but were incredibly helpful: my doctor who answered my questions about Justin’s wound and his hospitalization; the customs officer who was so helpful with information about declarations in Nassau and on the way to private islands; to my always dependable police officer, Joseph Patrick Trainor, who was a great resource about anything to do with the police. And last, but far from least, my incredible editor, Paige Christian, who is sharp, savvy, so good at her job and pushed me hard to get the desired results. Without you, Paige, this story would not sing. Thank you, everyone, for helping me bring this story to life.
Author Foreward
Writing a book is a solitary experience but it never comes to the bookshelves, virtual or other, alone. For me it starts with my treasured friend and beta reader extraordinaire, Margie Hager, who has the best eagle eye in the world. Thank you, Margie for your friendship and for all the hours you put in to help me bring my stories to life. Thanks to Joseph P. Trainor for letting me pester him with a million questions and for keeping me honest and providing me with invaluable information on all things law enforcement and military elite. To my family, who believed in me from the beginning and are my biggest promoters: my daughter Amy and Suzanne, my son Steven and my granddaughter Kayla. And of course, to you, my readers, without whom none of this would be possible.
Desiree Holt
Chapter 1
London
“Thank you for dining with me, Miss Masters. It is always such a great pleasure.”
Valentin Desmet, the man who carried the trash for London billionaire Stefan Maes—her target—stepped out of the limousine and straightened the jacket of his suit. He smiled and gave a slight bow before holding out his hand to her. Others might consider him a sophisticated continental gentleman, but his elegant suit, his linen shirt, and silk tie couldn’t hide, to her, the slimy weasel he was.
Lauren Masters gritted her teeth as she put her hand in his, allowing him to help her from the vehicle, doing her best not to show her distaste.
God. She couldn’t wait to get away from him.
The streetlamp cast its light on his longish, slicked-back, dark brown hair and his tall, slender body. If vampires were real, she would have said he belonged to a family of them. Spending time with him creeped her out, a feeling that had stayed with her from the moment of that first accidental meeting.
The most distasteful part of her job had been establishing the relationship with Desmet. Polished and urbane on the surface, he had a cruelty in his eyes that nothing could hide. Pulling out all the stops before he’d finally referred her to Maes had often turned her stomach. But an assignment was an assignment, and she’d known when she accepted it the kind of people she’d be dealing with. So, she had dazzled him with her knowledge of the financial markets and how to squeeze every extra nickel out of investments, selling him on why he should recommend her to his boss.
Dining with him once a week had become silently mandatory since she’d snagged Maes’s account. She had told the CIA that yes, she’d do whatever was needed to bring down the man who funded terrorists and fomented revolutions in Third World countries. She just hadn’t expected it to include weekly dinners with a man who made her want to take a bath every time she left him.
Sometimes she wondered how she’d managed to do this for three years—playing a part, cozying up to Desmet, but in a very professional way. Dealing with Maes, who was evil personified. But now, at last, it was all paying off.
She gave Desmet her best fake smile. “The pleasure was mine, Mr. Desmet.”
She hoped she didn’t choke on her words. She should get an award for acting.
He continued to hold her hand even after she exited the vehicle.
“Come, come.” He shook his head. “Mr. Desmet? I keep telling you we’re past that. After all this time we should be on a first-name basis, no?”
No! She’d call him a slimy piece of shit if she could.
“I try to keep business and pleasure separated. You know that.”
He gave a soft laugh. “One of the many things I admire about you. All business, and exceptionally good at it. Mr. Maes is very pleased with your work. I still c
onsider the day we met one of my most fortunate.”
“Thank you. I do my best.” She eased her hand from his as gracefully as possible.
“Well, enjoy your weekend.” He took a step back. “Plan on meeting for lunch next week. Mr. Maes has some additional assets he needs to deal with.”
More assets? This could be the last piece of the puzzle she was looking for. Among other things, they still had no information on the other men Maes had dealt with, men who colluded with hm. Maybe whatever Desmet had would lead her to them. Then maybe she could get the hell out of here before it all fell apart.
“I look forward to it. And again, thank you for dinner.”
She tamped down her need to hurry as she mounted the steps to her building, turned once to wave at him, then let herself in. And leaned against the door, drawing a breath, and exhaling slowly. A ribbon of excitement curled inside her at his last statement.
After three years of swimming in the high-energy financial waters of London’s Canary Wharf district, she had almost enough for the CIA to drop the net on Maes, but there was one piece of the pie she was still missing. She prayed that what Desmet had for her was that piece, because she needed to get the hell out of London. Lately she’d had the itchy feeling she was being watched. And was there a slight change in Desmet’s attitude at dinner, or had she just imagined it?
She checked her watch, realized she was running late for her meeting with Craig Joffrey, and raced up the flight of stairs to her flat. The man had been her handler from day one, and she both liked and respected him. Tonight, she had two things for him: a flash drive with more critical information on Maes’s accounts, and the tidbit Desmet had teased her with.
One good thing about a small flat was you didn’t have to look a lot of places for things. In less than ten minutes her business look was gone, replaced by jeans, sweater, and battered boots. A worn jacket and a watch cap pulled down over her distinctive auburn hair, the flash drive slipped into a hidden pocket in her sleeve, and she was ready.
Downstairs again, Lauren pressed a hidden button that opened a panel at the back of the foyer. In seconds, she was racing through a tunnel connecting to the house behind hers. After exiting the other building, also CIA-owned, she hurried to the corner and turned right. She always used this method when meeting Craig. Anyone looking for her would be watching the front of her known address.
She loved the fact the Kensington area was convenient for transportation. The Tube was only two blocks from her flat, and with her Oyster card she could travel anywhere in London and be as anonymous as possible. Even if someone followed her, getting lost in the station and on the train was old hat to her by now.
But no one followed her on the street, and nothing tickled her senses at the station. On each new train, she changed cars to see if anyone followed. If only she could get rid of that damn itch between her shoulder blades. Nothing had happened to put it there, but she’d been at this for three years now. The shelf life of safety was about to expire, and she knew it. If she could just make it through next week.
She had no qualms about what would happen to her if Maes knew what she was doing. When Brian Gould had recruited her, he hadn’t pulled any punches describing the man.
“He’s a vicious bastard with no conscience and no soul. He destroys lives as easily as some people squash bugs. He kills as easily as some people brush their teeth. He’s not too particular, either. If someone gets in his way, they and anyone connected with them become his victims.”
“Nice guy,” she’d commented, and shivered.
“Not,” he’d snapped. “He’s the quintessential Croatian thug, growing up on the streets of Zagreb where the biggest requirement was a lack of conscience. He has a hit squad recruited from the gangs he ran with, and inflicting unbearable pain is only one of the weapons in their arsenal.”
“If you’re trying to scare me,” she’d told him, “you’re doing a good job.”
“I just want you to watch your step, but we’ll have your back all the way.”
It still amazed her that for three years she’d walked this tightrope without falling off.
Two Tube transfers later, she entered the Dirty Dog, a pub in a dingier part of Kensington whose dark interior provided the perfect environment for her meetings with Craig. She found him waiting in their usual booth, two beers sitting on the table. He always ordered to keep the waitress from pestering them, but they only pretended to drink, taking a sip for show now and then.
She slid in across from him and pulled off her cap.
“Safe for another week.” It was her standard greeting, only tonight it sounded hollow to her. More than at any other time since she’d stepped into the role of Lauren Masters, financial wizard, she felt uneasy.
Craig scowled. “Don’t joke about that, kiddo. Any op can turn sour in a minute. And you’ve been on this one for three years. That’s a long time in anyone’s book.”
“But it’s worked so far, right?” Joking was one way she dealt with the tension of her situation. She never forgot for one minute the dangerous game she’d agreed to play.
“So far.” He frowned. “I never did cotton to the idea of the CIA taking untrained people and putting them in dangerous jobs. I just wish I didn’t have this feeling we’re pushing our luck.”
Lauren tensed. So, he felt something, too? Should she forget about next week, and have him pull her out now? No. She didn’t want to leave feeling her job wasn’t finished. Surely, she’d be safe for one more week. Right?
“I was trained,” she reminded him.
He shook his head. “A degree from the London School of Economics isn’t much good in a firefight.”
“But it’s what you needed to put someone in place to handle Maes’s financial accounts. Besides, you’ve done this long enough. If you thought there was imminent danger, we’d flip the kill switch now. Right?”
“Right, I just…” He shook his head. “I haven’t because I think you’re the most focused agent I’ve ever worked with. And doing a damned good job.”
“I think that’s a compliment.”
“It can be good and bad. Never mind. Just be alert. How was your dinner with Desmet tonight? You watch your back with that slimy bastard. He’d cut your throat and not turn a hair.”
Lauren nodded. “I agree, but I’ve learned how to handle him over time.”
She hoped.
“Just be on your toes, please. You’ve done a great job for us and I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”
Lauren grinned. “Aw. You like me,” she teased. “You really like me.”
“Don’t joke, Lauren.” Craig’s tone was dead serious. “I told your boss we needed to wrap this up. Stefan Maes trusts no one, except maybe Desmet. He’s been known to set traps for people—both real and electronic—just to set his mind at ease that nothing wonky is happening. I want you out before he decides you’re next up.”
“I am being very, very careful,” she assured him. “Believe me, I don’t want to be the object of his wrath.”
She didn’t want to tell him she’d been feeling uneasy lately. That she looked constantly to be sure no one was following her or checking her computer work. If she did, he would pull her out right now. Maybe he should, but there was that little tidbit Desmet had dangled in front of her tonight. It could be the final nail in Maes’s coffin.
Still she couldn’t help sliding glances toward the door, checking people who entered.
“Just don’t forget where that asshole came from.” Craig growled. “He’s a soulless bastard.”
“We still have eyes on Adrian McCormack, you know.” Craig shook his head. “He’s a loose cannon and I don’t trust him.”
McCormack was the account specialist whose firm had previously handled everything for Maes. Until Lauren became the shiny new penny at Heath Financial, got close to Valentin Desmet, and
swiped the account from under McCormack’s nose. He continued to badmouth her, even after all this time.
“He can’t still be on a tear over what happened.” She frowned. “I thought he got over the whole thing. As he loves to say, it’s just business.”
Craig shook his head. “You grabbed a major account from him. From his firm. You think they would ever forget something like this? Or let him forget it? He’s been doing his best to find out whatever he can about you. I worry that he’ll somehow manage to turn up something and take it to Maes to expose you.”
“Expose me how? He doesn’t know a damn thing about me.” She scowled. “Right? My cover is still in place? Isn’t it?”
God! Was he trying to tell her something?
“Of course. But you and I both know if someone pays enough money to the right people, no information is sacred.”
“Wait. Are you saying there’s a leak somewhere?” Butterflies began dancing the tarantella in her stomach. Damn! She’d been warned from the very first day there was always a remote possibility her cover might be blown, but she had been assured ten times over the percentage of that happening was very small.
Craig shook his head. “No. I’m not saying that. But I am telling you there’s always that possibility. If McCormack is bitter enough, if his life has been destroyed enough, there’s always the chance he’ll find a way to make this whole thing blow up.”
“The escape plan is still in place, right?”
He nodded. “We can activate with one phone call. I promise you that. Your safety is a primary goal.”
She blew out a breath. “Good. I know, but it helps to hear you say it.”
“We don’t want anything to happen to you,” he assured her. “Like I said, I just have a funny feeling.” He studied her face. “I expect you took the usual precautions getting here tonight?”
“I did. Just like always.”
“Good.” He leaned toward her. “Tell me about tonight’s dinner with Desmet.”
