by Marie Harte
“Hell no. I have work to do, Destroying evil.” He wriggled his brows. “Get it?”
Noel groaned. “Please stop.”
Deacon looked at Vi. “Say, we never did get Vi’s designation. I’m dying to know.”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “Dying, huh? Because I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
Noel studied her and smiled. “I know what it is.”
“You do not.” Deacon frowned. “You do?”
Vi laughed and kissed Hammer while their friends argued.
In a low voice, Hammer said, “Five to one says Noel really does know.”
“He should,” she whispered. “I’ve worked with him before, and we kind of brushed by each other. I hadn’t thought he’d remembered it, but I guess he did.”
Noel saw Hammer looking at him and winked.
“That bastard.”
Vi distracted him with another kiss. “How about pie and cocoa?”
Addy groaned. “Oh, I forgot. I need to heat up the hot chocolate.”
“Sounds good to me.” Hammer stood with Vi’s help, leaning on her more than was necessary. He whispered in her ear, “So later, you and me and some special pain killers?”
She blushed. “Hammer, oral sex is not a pain killer.”
“It is to me.”
She laughed. “Fine. But I get to go first.”
“Of course, Nurse Ratched. And remember, no more needles.”
“Shut up.”
He squeezed her to him. “I love you.”
Epilogue
Eleven months later, from the comfort of his office Big Joe watched his nephew and new wife finish a successful contract down in New Orleans. Unsurprisingly, the pair worked so well together they’d become something of a legend of their own. Destroyer and Phantom still existed, but now a new crew known as Night & Day were giving Sinner & Saint a run for their money.
He checked in with Vi, watching as she popped up on the vidcall. “Anything else to report?”
She glared at him. “Yeah. You tell Scoria the next time he gets between me and a mark, I’ll take him out.”
He grinned. “Will do. The boy okay?”
“I’m right here.” Hammer’s voice came through loud and clear. “Jesus. You going to burp and wipe my ass from a distance too?” Hammer pushed Vi aside so he could snarl in person on the vidscreen. “And for the record, she’s not in charge. I am.”
Vi snorted. “Keep dreaming, Hamilton.” She leaned in, and Joe saw her kiss Hammer on the cheek, causing his nephew to grin.
Joe chuckled. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, boy. I meant Little A.” Little Angel, Vi’s nephew.
Noel and Addy had officially adopted the boy last year, naming him Angelino Gunnar Cavanaugh. Joe didn’t think the name worked, but everyone called the boy Gunnar, so no harm, no foul.
“Little A is awesome. How about Little Dee?” Hammer asked. “He okay?”
Little Dee—what they all called Deacon and Solene’s baby boy. Hell, Joe didn’t actually know the kid’s real name. “Still growing like a weed, according to my sources. His mom and dad are proud parents. Deacon’s become insufferable, according to Noel.”
Hammer and Vi laughed.
Joe had been thinking. “So, ah, you think you guys might bid on that spot of land you were looking at on Bainbridge Island?”
“Yeah. We’ve talked about it, like I told you.” Hammer frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking that if you had a place—with a big enough guest room—I might come visit now and again.”
Hammer blinked, turned to Vi, and said, “I think he’s dying.”
Joe glared at Hammer’s fat head. “Jackass.”
He heard Vi laughing before she shoved Hammer’s face out of the way to come back on the screen. “Yes, we are definitely going to buy that place. Maybe you can help us with the home design. But before you start up again, no babies for us for a while.”
“Roger that.”
A pause. He heard revelers on the street, enjoying Mardi Gras.
“Yo, Big Joe?” Hammer said, his voice sober as he came back on the line, his eyes smiling.
“Yeah?”
“Be good.” He clicked off.
Joe sat back and smiled. He went back upstairs, got into his car, and drove a few hours until he found what he’d been looking for. A small house on the coast, away from everyone.
He pulled up and entered. The door had been unlocked.
“You here?”
A beautiful woman with short black hair, dark eyes, and a slender build leaned against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Been waiting for you.” The eyes of a killer tracked him. Wearing nothing but a short blue nightie showcasing some gorgeous assets, she stalked him, the knife at his throat before he could blink.
“Damn, you’re fast.”
She smiled, and the coldness in her eyes vanished, replaced by a light only he’d ever seen. “I am.” She kissed his cheek. “Have I told you how much I appreciate you letting me exorcise my demons?”
A lifetime of abuse had created a killer who needed boundaries. And love. A lot of love.
Joe had plenty to give. “No, I don’t think you have lately. How about you show me?”
She held out her hand and dropped the knife. A flash of wings on her wrist winked at him before she turned and sauntered into the bedroom.
He followed Sue, his lover, his friend, and the deepest covert agent the Business had.
She’d given her life, and her soul, to make peace for a past she’d never deserved. He’d dubbed her the Saint long ago. And he, the Sinner, worked alongside her every chance he got.
Sue turned and winked then dropped her clothes. “I’ve been a naughty girl today.”
“Thank God.”
They both laughed. Then Joe gave them both what they needed. Because sometimes you had to deal with the devil, and sometimes the devil fell in love.
Thank You
Thanks for reading the conclusion to the Triggerman Inc. series with Hammer and Violet’s story. I love a heroine who can take care of herself, and strong, snarky Violet was more than a match for Hammer.
And if you missed how it all began, pick up Contract Signed and follow up with Secrets Unsealed.
I love to hear from fans. You can contact me through my website. By joining my newsletter, you can get access to cover reveals, contests, and sneak peeks, as well as free books! You can also follow me on Facebook, Goodreads, Bookbub, and Twitter.
And if you liked this book, please consider leaving a review.
The Lost Locket Excerpt
PowerUp!
Bend, Oregon
Keegan Price knew something had to give when he spied Monica Salazar bending over a weight bench and felt nothing more than irritation that she’d chosen his section of the gym to occupy. Damn it, he needed to work off his frustration during the little free time he had today. He didn’t need her adding to it. More disgusted with the situation than worried, he looked around for help and saw his best friend smirking at him.
Keegan nodded to Monica’s tight ass — how long did it take to choose a fucking dumbbell, anyway? — and mouthed, Help.
James shook his head and mouthed back, No way.
Well, fuck.
The lusty woman glanced over her shoulder at Keegan and winked. “Hey, cutie, can you hand me that five pounder?” It sat two inches from her hand. In order to reach it, he’d have to get a little too close to the woman in order to squeeze between the weight bench blocking her and the musclehead on her other side.
“Sorry, darlin’. It’s a tight squeeze for me. Why not let George help you?” he offered loudly enough to break through George’s focus on himself in the mirror.
“Huh? Oh, sure, Keegan. Mrs. Salazar, let me get that for you.”
Monica frowned at him, and Keegan used her distraction to focus. With a mental push, he scooted the weight into George’s hand.
George picked it u
p in his meaty fist. “Here you go.”
Keegan smiled at her and George, careful not to piss off the gym patrons he dealt with on a daily basis, and resumed his attack on the Nautilus with a vengeance. The burn wasn’t enough, though, and he knew he’d made a mistake by not going downstairs to train when he noticed the sudden quiet.
The handful of people around him stared.
“What?” He used his forearm to wipe the sweat off his brow. The fans helped circulate the air, but he must have been working harder than he’d thought. And of course he’d lost his towel somewhere. Typical Monday.
“Holy crap, Keegan. Every time you lifted those weights, those others over there lifted at the same time. What the hell, man?” George asked, astonished, pointing to some discs across the friggin’ gym.
Before Keegan could dig his way out of the hole he’d unconsciously landed in, James arrived and took charge. “Keegan, quit screwing around. And no more practicing at work. You know what Jack said about your stupid parlor tricks.” James gave the others an apologetic smile. “He’s an amateur magician, but he’s trying.”
Oh man, if Jack found out he’d been losing control of his telekinesis again, Keegan would be in for a world of hurt. “Check it out.” Keegan wiggled his fingers at one of the weights and made it rise and fall.
The others clapped, amazed, and he forced a grin and bowed. Then he wiped down the bench on which he’d been working with a nearby sanitizer and paper towel and followed James away from the main workout area. He noticed Kitty giving him the evil eye and smiled in her direction. She really took her job as manager in this dump seriously.
James nudged him to walk faster, and he complied. Once they left the main area of the facility for a narrower corridor devoid of people, James punched him hard in the arm. “Shit, Keegan. What the hell?”
A testament to how hard he’d been working lately, Keegan barely felt the blow to his massive biceps. “I need a break,” he growled low. “If I have to give one more private training session to some pampered, rich housewife looking to get laid, I’m gonna go out of my fucking mind.”
They walked through another hallway into the employees-only area. Seeing themselves alone, Keegan whipped his shirt over his head and used it to wipe the rest of the sweat off his body. “Monica Salazar won’t leave me alone, and I am beyond not interested. Her poor husband must need Viagra, ’cause that is one heifer in serious heat.”
James choked on the water he’d been drinking.
“You okay?”
His friend gave him a strange look.
Keegan glanced down at his chest to see what had James frowning but could see nothing more than skin needing more sun. When he looked up again, James was once again himself.
James chuckled. “I can always tell when you’re pissed. Your accent gets all syrupy-Texan.”
“Ass.”
“I’m just jealous that my smooth, cultured Yankee voice sounds so dull compared to yours, cowboy.”
Keegan snorted. “Throw me a bottle and shut up.”
James foraged in the refrigerator by the small kitchenette in the break room and found him a bottle of water. But instead of throwing it to him, James brought it with him and sat next to Keegan at the table. He opened the bottle, took a sip, then slid it to Keegan. “Not poisoned.”
Keegan grinned. “And you wonder why nobody likes you.”
“Everybody likes me, Keegan. The girls and the boys.”
Rumor had it James swung both ways, but he kept a discreet social life and had such a way with people no one cared what the fuck he did. Hell, James could probably rob a bank at gunpoint and they’d thank him when he left.
“Freak.”
“Wannabe.”
At that, Keegan nearly spit out his water. “What?”
Before James could explain that little remark, Kitty entered. She took a hard look at James sitting close to him and raised a brow.
Keegan felt himself flush and snapped, “We’re just getting a drink. Get your head out of the gutter, girl.”
“Sure thing, he-man. But next time you start moving things with your mind, don’t. If Jack catches you, he’s not going to be happy.”
“Is he ever?” James sighed.
“No. But lately, he’s worse.” Kitty frowned. “I’m worried about him. But then, I’m worried about all of us. We’ve only been here a few months, guys. We can’t blow it now.” Then she blinked at James and turned scarlet.
“What’s wrong?” James asked with a straight face.
“Oh.” She huffed, turned on her heel, and stalked from the room.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, drinking their waters.
“Had something to do with the word ‘blow,’ right?” Keegan asked, sure James had intentionally projected some feeling to the empath to throw her off balance.
“Yep.” James didn’t offer more, and Keegan didn’t ask.
“Nice work, son.”
“Thanks. I try.”
* * *
The Lost Locket
To Hunt a Sainte Excerpt
Westlake Enterprises
Despite the glass frame around the closed office door, Hunter needed more than perfect vision to see in the dim light. He took a moment to focus, and the office space brightened. High-quality leather furniture and expensive art decorated Omaney’s space. Photographs of the slick businessman shaking hands with prominent politicians graced the burnt orange walls while a state-of-the-art computer whirred to life on Omaney’s solid-oak desk. Where two masked figures waited.
The arrival of security stopped the intruders’ hasty search. The door burst open, and the largest guard waved a gun at them. “What the hell do you two think you’re doing? Get away from the damned computer, on your knees.”
The guards surrounded them, obviously expecting the masked figures to stop whatever they hell they had planned and kneel on the floor. Clad in black from head to toe, only one of the prowlers looked big enough to successfully engage his opponents. The other was smaller in comparison, a slim figure huddled behind the bigger male. So it came as a surprise to watch the smaller man attack first, taking down the largest guard with a kick to his gun hand and a punch to his neck. The intruder’s partner moved with an efficient grace. He looked as if he spared little more energy than needed to subdue the guards, working in tandem with his companion.
In minutes, all four of Omaney’s sentries sprawled bruised and unconscious on the floor, their guns in a pile on a nearby chair. The intruders had yet to speak. The larger of the two hurried back to the computer desk and plugged in a thumb drive. He typed at the keyboard, then waited, glancing repeatedly at the clock on the wall. The smaller figure remained still, vigilant while he—or was that she?—watched the doorway.
Hunter had sensed something odd about the smaller male, and now that he concentrated, he could make out a woman’s form under all that black. She had taken on her attackers with ease, dispatching them quickly. Her large partner had been equally skilled at hand-to-hand combat, and Hunter reevaluated his assessment of the pair, wondering exactly why they sought to invade Omaney’s space. These weren’t ordinary burglars.
Nor was Omaney an ordinary businessman. Due to new evidence Hunter’s team had unearthed a mere week ago, he had no doubt Peter Omaney was involved in their current case. But he didn’t know where these prowlers fit into the equation. It had taken his agency time and exhausting effort to get even a whiff of Omaney’s involvement. The philanthropic businessman was squeaky clean. But obviously someone else knew there was more to Omaney than met the eye.
What the hell had they copied? Hunter needed a bead on the computer, but knew he had little time. Though he’d kept out of the way of the security cameras, these two had activated the motion sensors in Omaney’s office. Even now, others rushed to investigate the warehouse’s silent alarm. He needed to get his ass out of here. Yet…how had these two known to come here, to this particular site? Omaney kept this place off the radar.
&nb
sp; Unfortunately, nothing about the masked pair seemed familiar. Running out of time. He willed them to reveal some important detail as to their identity before he was forced to flee. Westlake Enterprises couldn’t afford to be linked to this break-in, or they’d blow their case.
As if hearing his plea, the man behind the computer did something fairly strange and decidedly stupid. He removed a black glove and placed his hand directly over the keyboard, lightly stroking the keys with his fingertips.
A chill bristled Hunter’s spine, even as he scented the faint trace of extrasensory miasma—a cloying aroma Hunter associated with anything remotely psychic in nature. Holy shit. Jurek needs to know about this, pronto.
The man placed his hand back in the glove, pulled out and pocketed the memory stick, and turned off the computer. His accomplice tossed him a spray bottle and rag and waited while he wiped the keyboard clean of prints.
Saying nothing, they moved together out the office door. Hunter remained still, watching with great curiosity as they backtracked their way to the exit. They paused while the large man listened at the top of the stairs. He nodded and exited, swallowed by the darkness.
Who the hell were they? More importantly, who were they working for? Hunter needed to get J.D.’s ass out here right away to look at that computer.
He waited for the woman to follow her partner and took a second shock to his system. She turned and looked right at him. Even in the dim light, Hunter could see her gray-green irises. With grudging respect, he studied those eyes that slowly examined his form hidden in the shadows.
When he remained unmoving, the woman disappeared into the darkness. He allowed her a small lead before he followed, his curiosity growing in leaps and bounds while he burned to know the woman’s identity. But, when he reached the ground level, he found the exit door stuck in place. Swearing under his breath, he wrestled with it until the frame cracked and the door swung open.
